Desolation Road (Torpedo Ink 4)

Until now. Until Scarlet Foley. The redheaded librarian complete with her black or purple or red square glasses framing her gorgeous eyes seemed to have taken command of his body. She was definitely his lady. His literaturnaya ledi, literary lady. He loved that she was as much into books as he was. That she loved the written word and she could read and comprehend what she was reading fast.

“I don’t know exactly. I haven’t been around motorcycles. I think I thought of them as death traps. One accident and bye-bye, brain.” She pushed her salad away. She’d eaten most of it. “You don’t like salad.”

He looked down at his plate. “It’s lettuce. Ruffled lettuce, but green all the same. Bugs thrive on this stuff.”

She burst out laughing and that dark place inside of him that was so solid nothing could penetrate it cracked. It just cracked like an iceberg. The sound of her laughter was incredible. Low. Soft. Intriguing. The tones played over his skin like the dance of fingers. He felt the brush of the notes on his chest and down his spine, the stroke of them on his cock and balls like caresses whispering over him. He wanted to close his eyes, all the better to savor the sensation. He had to file it away to take out later, but he knew he would never forget it. She had given that to him, just as she’d given him the first natural erection he could remember.

“So, you’re afraid of lettuce but not of motorcycles. I suppose, since you put your argument for riding motorcycles so eloquently, I’ll have to concede it sounds pretty awesome, as long as you ride with a helmet.”

“Babe, there’s a law in this state that makes that mandatory.”

The waiter arrived with their food, stepping very close to Scarlet so that when he bent to place her plate in front of her, his face was almost nuzzling her neck. She pulled her head immediately to the side, to get away from him, with a look of distaste. The move was almost reflexive.

“Step away,” Absinthe commanded, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the threat. He “pushed” blatantly, although no one would know. Only the waiter would feel it—and the threat that was all too real. “She doesn’t like you so close.”

The waiter immediately complied. There were very few people who didn’t comply when Absinthe used his voice at that level. It was rare and he was shocked that it came out so aggressively when the indiscretion had been a small one. There was silence as the man finished giving them their food. Once they were alone Absinthe reached across the table to gently cover her hand.

“I’m sorry, are you all right?” He removed his hand immediately before she could be the one to withdraw it. He wanted her to feel his touch, to be comforted, not offended by it.

“He just startled me, that’s all. I don’t like anyone I don’t know coming so close to me. It’s just a thing I have.”

“It’s not a bad thing to have, Scarlet. It’s called self-preservation. You’re a beautiful woman and men are going to find you very attractive. Most will just look. Others take advantage when they shouldn’t.”

“What do you do?”

“I ask you out and see if you’re interested.” He flashed a little self-deprecating grin. “I confess my worse sins, including not liking lettuce, and let you decide.” He was a fucking liar and he was going to burn in the fires of hell, but she was worth it.

She flashed him a smile and pointed to his steak. “Eat up before it gets cold. Do you actually own a motorcycle? Is that what you ride all the way from Caspar to here on? Because it gets cold, you know.”

It was his turn to laugh. They spent the next hour and a half talking and laughing together. He enjoyed every minute with her far more than he expected. He spent all of the time watching her every move, absorbing her as if he could just take her inside of him. It was interesting to be able to relax wholly in her company. He didn’t know why he didn’t worry about making mistakes with his voice, but he didn’t. He just felt at peace, the chaos in his mind receding until it was gone completely.

After dinner, he walked her to her car and told her he had a great time and he’d see her in a couple of days. She didn’t object or pull away when he brushed a light kiss across her forehead. Touching her skin was a mistake. Inhaling her scent was a mistake. Taking in her laughter and the poetry of her lyrics was even worse. It didn’t matter. He’d done it and he’d do again. She was his addiction now and he would return again and again. He hoped she felt the same about him.