Hourglass (Hourglass 1)

Chapter 7

I arrived at the restaurant early to wait for him, thinking I’d be more comfortable if I were seated first. The maître d’ led me to an intimate little table for two, tucked into a cozy alcove and illuminated by two brushed metal sconces. I felt like some kind of seductress and considered switching tables, but that changed when I caught a glimpse of Michael walking toward me.

His crisp white shirt complemented his olive skin perfectly. Khaki slacks rode low on his hips and accentuated his muscular build. In the soft light he looked like some kind of dark angel, his eyes almost as black as his hair. They met mine before flickering over my face and neckline. I felt uncomfortable until he let out a low whistle. Then I felt uncomfortable in a whole different kind of way.

“Hey.” The word came out on a wispy breath of air. I sounded like I was trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe.

Michael didn’t answer, only smiled and took his seat. I caught the scent of his cologne: light, crisp, and citrusy. Tempting me to move closer.

I started to bite my lower lip, thought about the gloss Dru had so artfully applied, and stopped myself. “How was your afternoon?”

“Productive,” he answered, pulling his napkin into his lap. “Yours?”

“The same.”

“I talked to Thomas about taking one of the lofts in your building. My roommate from last year transferred, and I’d rather live alone than play the live-in lottery.”

I was really glad I didn’t have anything in my mouth, because I’m certain I would have choked on it. Iced tea streaming out of my nose—not pretty.

“A loft? In my building? Wow, really? Wow.” I cleared my throat. “So you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”

“As long as it takes.” Michael’s eyes searched my face, lingering on my mouth a fraction of a second too long. Again, I fought the urge to bite my lip.

Tried really hard not to think about biting one of his.

“So,” he asked, leaning closer to me from across the table, “did you come up with some more questions for me?”

Time to get down to business. My list was in the front pocket of my purse, but I doubted I’d have to refer to it. Feeling fidgety, I reached out to play with a tiny pink rosebud in a vase on the table. “Well, I was thinking about what happened last night. What I see is getting stronger. I mean—a jazz trio? Fully equipped with a grand piano? Did it gradually get worse for you?”

He was silent for a moment before answering. “I can’t explain what you saw yesterday. Rips that come with scenery are new to me, too. I wouldn’t worry. My guess is that it has something to do with our ability growing stronger as we age.”

“Your guess? That’s comforting.” I laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious? I’m not supposed to worry when you can’t even give me a decent answer to my first question?”

Michael focused somewhere over my left shoulder. His voice was firm when he spoke. “I’ll get the answer. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” I said, doubt almost crowding out curiosity in my mind. “Have any of the rips ever known anything about you?”

“What do you mean?” His gaze returned to my face.

“Like your name, or …” I trailed off. Maybe I should keep that specific incident to myself. I pictured the list of questions in my mind. “Um, when you know you’re seeing a rip—how do you approach it?”

“Very slowly.” Michael grinned, breaking the tension.

I was still fiddling with the rosebud in the vase. Sidetracked by his smile, I stopped paying attention and tipped it over, spilling water onto the table.

Good thing I wasn’t on a date. I might’ve been embarrassed.

We reached to pick up the vase at the same time, and our fingertips touched. A current of energy pulsed through his hand to mine. My skin felt too small, stretched too tight, as if searching out more exposure to his. I heard several pings, and the table went dark.

Something was very, very off.

I slowly raised my eyes to meet Michael’s. The muscles in his face tensed; his expression was completely unreadable. Confused, maybe scared, I pulled away. I could still feel the way electricity had flowed through his fingers to mine, all the way to the roots of my hair. The remaining lights returned to normal.

I could’ve sworn I was twitching. Michael tucked his hand under the table and stared down at his menu.

o;Tonight isn’t a date.” I said it out loud, reminding myself. “It’s a business dinner—he’s getting paid to take me out. Thomas hired him. It’s not like Michael turned up and asked for an introduction.”

Dru didn’t meet my eyes. “What are you going to wear?”