Page 2 of Dark Romeo

A sound made me turn my head. Someone was approaching and approaching fast. A tall, dark figure came leaping out past the corner of the huge mausoleum before me. I opened my mouth to let out a noise of surprise. Until I saw him.

My breath was trapped under the thick knot that developed in my throat. Everything above it—my mouth, my tongue, my lips—all went dry. My heart began to thump against my ribs. I could hear the glugging sound of my blood in my own ears. Suddenly I felt dizzy, my mind going blank except to focus solely on the sight of him. Was I having a heart attack? Surely not. I was only twenty-five for God’s sakes. What was happening to me?

Somewhere deep inside, I was vaguely aware that I was staring. I should look away. I should say something. Anything.

I opened my mouth and…

Nope, nothing. How curious. My voice seemed to have stopped working.

My eyes kept working, though. They drank in the sight of him from head to toe as he pressed his back against the mausoleum, his hands gripping the stone. He was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him. Like I was staring at the sun, his image burning a permanent mark on my brain.

His dark hair was long, almost too long, curling over his collar, tousled and messy like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times today. It was done in a way that looked incredibly sexy, like he’d just rolled out of bed. His deep-set, hooded eyes were dark, either deep chocolate or black; I couldn’t tell from where I was standing. Framed by thick black lashes and dark brows, they were much too intense, like two black holes drawing my awareness towards him. The features of his face were expertly put together like an artist had sculpted him: straight nose, high cheekbones, smooth light-brown skin, a hint of stubble shadowing his strong square jaw.

He was tall, his wide shoulders and thick torso evident even through the tailored black suit jacket he wore unbuttoned, showing a white shirt underneath and a slim black tie which sat slightly askew. Even this didn’t make him look unkempt but rather roguish instead. His trousers matched, fitting perfectly, showcasing strong thighs. His black leather round-toed shoes were expensive; I guessed Armani or Gucci.

He had a sophisticated polish to his air, like he was born wearing a suit and yet… there was something dark about his demeanor. Something rough. Aggressive. Like he’d fit just as well in a boxing ring or wearing a black leather jacket and straddling a bike. Like he’d give me a run for my money in a shoot-out.

What a curious combination. One I’d never seen before. I’d met plenty of men. They were always one or the other. Either educated and well-mannered yet almost feminine in their polish. Or coarse and brutishly aggressive without a scrap of sophistication.

He raised a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, making a shushing motion. God, those lips. Even from here I could see they were thick and pillowy; the kind of lips that were made to suck and nibble on.

Whoa. Julianna. Where did that thought come from?

Heavy footsteps came towards us, echoing off the gravestones. I tore my eyes off this curious stranger. On one side of the mausoleum a wiry man in a dark suit and black leather gloves approached, a nasty-looking scar going from his left ear across his cheek and to the corner of his lip.

Instinctively I leaned back. All my years as a trained police officer gave me a second sense for bad men. He was one of them. It was something in the cruel whip of his mouth, in his eyes… they were dull and flat, like no spark of life or humanity was left.

I fought a shiver, my fingers going to my hip. Shit. No gun. I was off-duty today. I had a piece in my car parked in the lot about a ten-minute walk from here, but it was no use to me now.

Scarface halted at the sight of me, pausing for a second, probably wondering what to do now. I dropped my gaze, hoping he would ignore me.

“You.” His voice was harsh and rough like someone who’d spent too many years smoking cigarettes. He spat out his words as if he was angry that I was even here.

I looked back up to him, willing myself to remain calm even as he glared at me as if he was picturing cutting me into little pieces. I would not attack first, but I would defend myself.

“Did you see a man coming by here?”

It clicked into place. Scarface had been chasing the beautiful man still hiding against the mausoleum wall right in front of me. A man that Scarface would see if he took two steps forward.

A protectiveness rose inside me. Scarface could not have him.

“I did,” I said. Even though I took pains not to glance in his direction, I could sense the beautiful stranger flinching, no doubt wondering if I was going to give him away. I had to speak fast so he wouldn’t do anything stupid. “He went running that way.” I pointed out towards my left, towards the other side of the cemetery.

Scarface glanced over to where I had pointed. He looked back to me, doubt clear in his narrowed eyes. “That way? You’re sure?”

“Good-looking guy in a black suit, running bent over? He went that way,” I said casually as if I didn’t care whether Scarface believed me or not.

“Good-looking,” Scarface muttered. He snorted. “Yeah, that’s the bastard.”

He turned and ran through the gravestones in the false direction I had given him. He didn’t even say thanks. Rude prick. In case he decided to glance back, I lowered my eyes back to my mother’s grave.

My awareness drew back to the beautiful stranger. I could feel his eyes on me, making every inch of my skin become super-aware; I could sense where the air met my bare forearms, feel my hairs standing on end, feel the way my breath caught in my lungs. Or was I just imagining that he was looking?

I glanced up. Sure enough, his eyes were focused on me. My stomach did a shaky little flip. Why was he staring? It was making me feel…weird.

I forced my eyes back down to the grave. I wasn’t sure I could stand to maintain eye contact with him while he was looking at me like that. Maybe if I ignored him he’d go away?

Not a chance. The stranger pushed off the stone and strode towards me, causing my gaze to jerk involuntarily up to him again. He moved like a panther, proud and prowling, powerful strides making me want to back up. My heels wobbled in the grass and I longed for something to grab on to.

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