Page 38 of Fateful Exposure

"Charles Bukowski."

I let my disbelief show. "Shut up. I don't believe you."

Her little giggle was like a fresh wind hitting her face after hours of purgatory. When her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, I watched, utterly entranced, as her gaze dropped down to my lipsbefore lifting to look at me. That tiny action, yet so salacious, was the most provocative thing I'd ever seen in my entire life.

"If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it's your duty to be reduced to ashes by it," she started, her face hovering over mine. So close that the heat of her breath fanned my jaw.

My voice fell to a whisper as a foreign, intense feeling gripped me. "Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life."

Fuck.

I was in way over my fucking head being here with her. Being in her presence was exhilarating and it was with fear that I realized I was in trouble of losing my heart to her. I'd already lost my body as it was. The thought of touching another woman or kissing anyone else paled in comparison to the idea of being able to see her every day for the rest of my life.

And I would look at her like she was art. With a deep appreciation for her vibrant colors and a deeper understanding of the kind of fire she elicited from inside me. The world could crumble around me, and yet I wouldn't blink. I would just stand there and exist, looking at her.

Selma was a masterpiece, a tapestry of beauty and complexity that filled me with awe.

I studied her face as she smiled down at me, my gaze settling on her with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. I committedto memory every curve of her smile, every speck of color in her eyes, the creamy paleness of her skin, suddenly wishing I had brought my camera so I could take a picture—or a thousand—that I knew I would spend days, fuck,yearsstaring at.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly. "You suddenly went quiet."

I couldn't tell her that I was thinking about how I would love to worship her body for the rest of my life. If she didn't believe me, she would be running for the hills, and I'd never see her again.

"Did you love him?" It was the first thing that came to mind, but I did want to know. What was this Alex person like? How had he captured Selma's heart so fiercely?

She nodded, her eyes taking on a distant look.

Is she thinking about him?I wondered.

Why did that piss me off?

"I did," she said. "Too much, it seemed."

God. So many fucking questions. What did it feel like to be loved by Selma? Was she softer and affectionate? Did her kisses feel different? Were her touches more intimate? And why the fuck did I feel the inclination to find out?

I placed my hand on her lower back, wanting to touch her so I could distract myself from harboring such stupid thoughts. "And did he love you?"

She shrugged. "I'd like to think so. Otherwise, two years of my life have gone down the drain." Then she chuckled humorlessly. "Though I guess it's still wasted even if he did love me. When I needed him the most, he wasn't there. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was the reason Volkov fell apart."

"How so? When the media began peddling those false rumors?"

Her gaze snapped to mine, narrowing into slits. "What makes you say that? I thought you believed I was toxic."

"Maybe. At one point. But I've been around you for almost two weeks now, and I've come to understand that you don't have a toxic bone in your body."

She smiled, and it was warm and deep. "That's…very nice of you to say."

We held each other's gazes for what seemed like an hour when, in truth, it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds. Brown to green. Green to brown. An electrifying sense of intimacy passed between us.

Then she pulled away—or rather, I felt her pull away, clear her throat, and tuck a strand of hair behind her left ear.

"Yeah, uh…I realized a bit late that Alex never cared about me. He probably loved the thrill of being called Selma Volkov's man, or maybe it sliced at his masculinity. Either way, I'll never know. Before he walked away from me, he said I was difficult to love. Too hard-headed. Iris was more malleable. Maybe that's why he fell for her."

"That doesn't make it okay to betray you like that, and with your cousin, no less. Sounds to me like he's prone to stupidity." From what I'd heard, that Alex person was a fool. You don't have a woman like Selma in your life and fumble it so fucking terribly. He was either not man enough to handle her fire, or he just didn't know what he had.

Either way, good riddance. How did the saying go again? One man's meat is another man's poison, right? Selma was mine now. I would make sure of it.

"It took me a long time, but I'm over it,” she said. “He doesn't deserve anything from me. Not even regret. If leaving me for my cousin hadn't been enough, he'd stolen my designs, too, and they'd started their own company together. With my fucking designs."

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