Chapter Six #3
“I know the rule; I’m not trying to change the rule.
” I want to touch his face, to feel the bridge of his nose, to run my fingertips down to his lips and outline them.
Are they full or thin? What is the cut of his jaw like?
And the angle of his brow? “May I ask you questions about what you look like? That way I have something to imagine about the man I’m speaking with.
All I know right now is that you have very nice shoulders. ” I grin.
“Very well. I shall grant you this.” He chuckles and takes his own seat. I amuse him. I’m shocked to find how much I like that.
Suddenly, the new seating arrangement feels like an interrogation. It’s rather thrilling. I’ve gone from being vulnerable due to my lack of knowledge about him to having power. He’s going to answer my questions. “Your hair—is it long? Or short?”
“Somewhere in the middle,” he answers.
“To your shoulders?”
“Just beyond, only slightly.”
I purse my lips to stop myself from grinning like a fool as I begin to paint a portrait of him in my mind. “I should warn you up front, it’s impossible to lie to me. So don’t even try.”
“I wouldn’t dream of attempting it.”
“Good.” I lean back into my chair. “Is your hair curly? Wavy? Straight?”
“Mostly straight. It does often have a mind of its own, however. Oren is always telling me to cut it shorter, as it gets in my eyes constantly.”
“Do you pull it away from your face when it gets in your eyes?” I can sympathize with the frustrations of longer hair.
“I’ve been known to weave it in a braid or two from time to time.” I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“What color?”
“Dark brown, a bit darker than yours.” That gives me a nearly exact shade.
“What color are your eyes?”
“Green.”
“Like the pine trees?”
“No, more like a lime,” he says. I burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Green like a lime?” I shake my head. Who would describe their eyes like that? “That’s such a bright color.”
“I have been told I have piercing eyes.”
I scrunch my brow slightly, trying to picture the exact shade. Is it truly as vibrant as he says? Dark brown hair, bright green eyes…It makes for a beautiful combination. “What about your jaw?”
“What about it?” He seems amused I would ask.
“Is it wide? Narrow? Stubbled?”
“I try to keep myself clean-shaven. I admit my success with it can be varied.”
“Are you successful right now?”
“No.” I hear the amusement in his voice. A light stubble, then.
“And the shape of your jaw?”
“I admit I’ve never analyzed it.” A pause. I imagine him running those smooth fingers of his over the roughness of his stubble. After a pause he says, “Square, I suppose?”
I let out a low hum.
“You don’t seem satisfied with that answer.”
“I’m just…”
“Say it,” he demands. I think it would be impossible not to heed that firm tone.
“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” I admit and immediately find my glass of mead and busy my mouth with it.
“What’s wrong with me?” I hear him take a sip as well.
“You sound…stunning,” I say in little more than a whisper. “I thought you might not have wanted me to see you because you were hideous.”
His glass clanks softly on the table. I hear him stand.
I’ve offended him. Before I can apologize, he’s there again in front of me.
He lifts my chin with his pointer finger and his thumb and guides my face up toward where I imagine his to be.
I know he’s just a breath away. I feel every little bit of aching distance between us, paired with a surprising need to cross it.
I’m hot all over, but I can’t move to ease the tension. He’s trapped me with two fingers.
“Maybe,” he whispers, “I’m trying to protect you because I’m stunning. Because if you were to look at me with those eyes that Oren tells me are like a tempestuous sea, I could never let you go.”
I can smell the sweet liquor on his breath.
I wish I could taste it on his mouth. That want is so all consuming, it startles me.
My mind pushes away instantly. No—whatever is happening between us is the last thing I want.
This is the start of the same road that led to my father being entangled with Joyce.
Romance starts well and ends badly. That’s how it fools people into attempting the futile effort. Joyce was Father’s light, he said, pulling him out of the despair of my mother’s death. And then, once she had him, she showed her true colors.
I won’t let Lord Fenwood or anyone else ensnare me. It’s not a risk worth taking.
He releases me as if sensing my hesitation. As if realizing that I’ve reached the same conclusion that he has: The best thing for us to do is avoid each other at all costs. If we can’t see each other, then we can’t lust after each other, and this heat will ultimately fade.
“Good night, Katria.”
Yet even as I come to those realizations, the sound of my name on his lips has my breath catching.
He leaves me with the remnants of the fire smoldering in the hearth—smoldering within me.
I sit alone in the room, still blindfolded, slowly tweaking the delicious mental portrait of him I’ve begun to construct.