Chapter 2 #2
Tony laughed, scooping up his tea but leaving the bag of scones. “Fine, fine. But I’ll be back next week, Lisa.” It sounded like a promise, but the look in his eyes was for Rezer, and it was most definitely something different.
“She could just mail you the tea,” Rezer suggested, out of nowhere. “I’m sure her shop's capabilities have moved with the times and in this modern era lovely Lisa could simply pop your order in the post and then you wouldn’t have to show your face here again.”
Lisa’s brow rose so high she was sure her eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline.
Tony didn’t seem phased at all. “See, that’s the thing, it’s not my face I’m worried about. It’s lovely Lisa’s face that concerns me.”
Lisa’s eyes jumped to the dark elf, whose own eyes almost appeared to glow. “I’m suggesting, cordially, that lovely Lisa’s face no longer concern you.”
Then her eyes bounced back to Tony, she felt as if she was watching a tennis match.
“Oddly enough, I stopped taking suggestions from dark elves,” Tony’s teeth gleamed in the light with his sharp smile.
“I learned the hard way that they can’t be trusted.
” Then he turned to look at Lisa and bowed his head.
“Same time next week, lovely Lisa.” The term was said with a bit of humor and a bit of annoyance as he winked at her.
Then Tony headed for the door, and when the bell chimed behind him, Lisa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Rezer hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked away from her.
She met his gaze and folded her arms. “For the love of all things, was that necessary?”
He settled back further into his chair, if that was possible, a hint of satisfaction ghosting across his face. “Completely.”
Lisa narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.” Even as the words left her mouth, her stomach twisted, and not in a bad way. Stupid stomach.
He tilted his head slightly and paused as if listening for something. After at least fifteen seconds he said, “So I’ve been told. He wants you.”
She turned away, muttering something about patience being a myth, but her pulse was unsteady, and she hated that he’d notice. That’s what he’d been listening to. Damn elf hearing.
Behind her, Rezer’s voice came quiet, almost thoughtful. “You don’t deny it.”
She went about her usual tasks for getting ready to close. “Deny what?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“That he’s interested in you.”
Lisa didn’t turn around. “Why would I have to? It’s obvious and you noticed it. Do I really need to confirm something you noticed yourself?”
“No,” he said lightly. “But you’re not interested in him.” He said it with a confidence that made her want to snarl at him.
She shrugged.
“Then why do you not discourage him from coming back? If you have no plans to let him court you, then why the dance?”
She thought about it instead of blurting out some flippant answer. Lisa had asked herself that same question many times. Finally, she spoke. Her answer was soft, honest. “Because being alone is easier to accept when you still feel wanted by someone.”
Rezer didn’t reply. But she felt something in the room shift.
The quiet that followed her words was heavy enough to feel. Rezer didn’t move for several heartbeats. Lisa didn’t either.
Then, he rose from the chair, the old wood creaking beneath his weight.
Lisa’s back was to him, but she tensed, as if she could sense the change.
He moved quietly, controlled, until he was just behind her—close enough for his presence to reach across the narrow space and brush the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t need to.
The awareness between them was electric, a pulse that seemed to thrum in the quiet of the shop.
“Rezer.” Her voice was low, warning, a thread of something that made his chest tighten. “Don’t.”
He stopped, resisting the urge to close the final inches, to see how soft the skin behind her ear might be. She didn’t turn, but he could see the tension. He let his voice drop, deep and quiet, letting it fill the space between her shoulders. “Don’t what? Speak? Breathe?”
She turned at that, and he was closer than she’d expected judging by the intake of her breath, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her pupils widened when she met his gaze.
He couldn’t help it: his eyes lingered on her mouth, the soft bow of her lips, before climbing back to her eyes. “Don’t disrupt my calm life.”
He inhaled, slow and deliberate, letting her scent, tea, honey, something wild and old, fill his lungs.
For a moment, he let himself imagine leaning in, brushing his mouth over hers, tasting the warmth there.
Instead, he spoke, his voice a near-growl: “You call that calm?” He was speaking of her heart pounding in her chest that he could easily hear with his superior senses.
She crossed her arms, and he saw it for what it was, a shield, armor she’d learned to wear.
He let his eyes drift down, taking in the flutter at the hollow of her throat, the unsteady beat of her pulse that continued to grow more rapid.
The sight of it, so vulnerable, made something dark and possessive unfurl in his chest.
“It’s manageable,” she said. But her voice was thin, breathy, and he could hear the lie in it.
He smiled—slow, predatory. “Manageable. A convenient word for pretending you’re not angry.”
She lifted her chin, stubborn as he was learning. “I’m not angry.”
He stepped in, until he knew she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath ghosted across her cheek as he spoke, and he watched the way her lashes fluttered. “No?” He asked and then his confession slipped out, rougher than he intended, intimate as a caress. “Because I am.”
Her brow arched, but he could sense her composure slipping, the tightness around her eyes, the quick flash of her tongue wetting her lips. “At what, exactly?”
“At him. At you. At myself.” The words left him raw, stripped bare. He didn’t know when he’d let someone see him like this, maybe never. But he couldn’t seem to stop.
She drew in a sharp breath, her lips parting in surprise. “You have no reason to be angry with me.”
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, feeling impatient and frustrated by his own honesty. “I don’t,” he said, voice rasping. “But it doesn’t change that I am.”
He let his gaze roam over her, memorizing the curve of her jaw, the way her chest rose and fell.
Months of holding back, of watching from the periphery, pressed in on him all at once.
“I’ve watched you for months. Telling myself it was just curiosity.
That it would fade. But today—” He broke off, searching her face for something he couldn’t name.
“Today seeing you with him, something in me snapped. I didn’t like it. ”
Her eyes softened, but she was bracing herself, holding tight to her own edges. “You’re jealous.”
He barked out a rough, humorless laugh. “Jealous shouldn’t be one of the things I am.” He closed the distance, stopping only when he could feel the faint tremor of her breath against his chest. “But yes,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “It seems I am.”
Her pulse leapt at her throat, and for a moment, all he could think about was tasting it, feeling her surrender.
Her breaths were shallow, uneven, as if the air was suddenly too thick to draw in.
“You’ve known me for half a dozen conversations and a few letters, Rezer.
This—” she gestured, and he caught the tremor in her hand, “whatever you think this is—it’s not real. ”
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. The space between them was charged, a storm waiting to break. “Then why can’t I walk away?”
He saw it, the catch in her breath, the way her body leaned infinitesimally closer, as if drawn by gravity. The tension snapped taut, humming in the narrow distance that remained.
“Don’t,” she whispered, repeating herself. The word vibrated between them, more plea than command.
He leaned in, so close he felt like he could practically taste her, the edge of her jaw just out of reach.
His voice was dark, even to his own ears.
“All day, I’ve watched you. The way you move, the way you smile—” He let the truth spill out, unguarded.
“You undo me. You calm me in a way I don’t deserve. ”
Her eyes flickered, some softening there, but her jaw stayed stubborn. “You’re not at peace, Rezer. You’re bored, and I’m something new and shiny.”
He smiled, slow and devastating, letting her see the hunger he usually kept caged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But what I know for certain is near you, I feel something that isn’t chaos. Something that isn’t darkness.”
He let the words hang, then, aching with restraint, he started to lift his hand and reached for the line of her jaw, then stopped himself, fingers curling into a fist. The restraint was agony, more than any battlefield wound he’d ever known.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said, softer, almost a prayer.
“But I can’t pretend you don’t matter. That I’m not burning for you, every minute I’m near you. ”
She didn’t back away. She stood her ground, fierce as always. “You should go.”
“I should,” he agreed, but didn’t move. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there, then rose to meet her eyes, taking in every detail, every flicker of want and defiance. “But I won’t.”
She swallowed, the moment stretched taut, trembling with everything unspoken. “Rezer—”
He leaned in, letting his mouth hover just above hers, close enough to taste her breath. “I’ll indulge you this,” he whispered, each word a dark promise. “I won’t kiss you until you beg me to. And you will, lovely Lisa.”
He forced himself to step back—one sharp, painful stride that felt like tearing skin from bone. The loss of her heat, her scent, was like the sudden absence of gravity.