Page 11 of Touch of Evil

He’s dumbstruck. I am, too. Everything happened so quickly, hardly any wine splashed across the bar.

Our kiss was barely there. Brief.Sweet. Yet hot enough to scorch my legs.

I force my toes to uncurl and glance around awkwardly when he just stares.

“Ah. Sorry,” I offer. “I meant to aim for your cheek.”

He straightens. “You sayin’ you wanted to take the glass,that glass—” He points. –”And smash it against my face?”

Humiliation throws me into panic and awkward mode. “No,no. The kiss. Kissing you. I meant to kiss your cheek. The one on your face,” I add like an imbecile.

I cover my eyes. This is one of the many reasons I tend to stay quiet. Speaking hasn’t worked out for me much.

Bren’s releases a heavy sigh and swipes at this face. “Thanks for clearing that up.” He winks. “I was sure you wanted to cut my face and kiss my ass.”

Bren throws his head back and laughs when I gape at him. “Em, relax. I’m just messing with you.”

“I am sorry,” I stammer, wishing my reply didn’t sound so high-pitched.

Bren wraps his hand around the base of my neck and pulls me to him. His lips soft and warm against my forehead. “Don’t be,” he whispers. “I’ve waited years for that kiss.”

The clouds break and the world erupts with sunshine. “Really?” I ask. The excitement in my voice gives us pause. Once more, I wish my power included turning back time.

Bren analyzes me closely and takes a deep breath, using his heightened sense to determine if I’m lying or if I’m seriously that much of a simpleton. Had I my sisters’ olive complexion, my blushes wouldn’t be so obvious. Except I don’t, and here I am, again.

Bren edges away from me. “I’ll pour you another glass,” he says carefully, his watchful gaze hitched on me.

“I’ll just have water please.” I play nervously with my hands. My exchange with Bren has been juvenile at best. Alcohol won’t make me more prolific.

Bren pours me a water and places it in front of me. “Thank you,” I mumble, hoping my skin has returned to a less mortified shade of red.

He greets me with a tender smile. It’s all I seem to need. Relief washes over me. Maybe things between us aren’t so bad after all. Maybe, we’re going to be all right.

The waitress from before returns, interrupting by slapping her tray on the bar and waving the ticket at Bren, her annoyance having doubled since she last appeared.

Bren pushes away from the bar. “Give me a sec, okay?” he says.

I nod and turn my attention toward the waitress when she huffs. She’s ready to snap someone in two. She’s human, and unbeknownst to her, surrounded by beasts known to exude their dominance. Her job can’t be easy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

The scowl she greets me with suggests I shouldn’t have asked and why don’t I just run along and burn in hell.

She huffs again and gives me her back, adjusting the fastener holding her ruby red hair in place. “Bren,” she says. “What are you doing? Did you forget how to read? The assholes at table eight only want top shelf. My tip depends on it, baby.”

I stiffen at the “baby” reference. It’s not that she said it, it’s how she said it. If I know Bren, they’re more than just coworkers.

“Sorry, Nance,” Bren mutters. “I’m on it.”

“Lai-la,” she enunciates.

“What?” Bren says, looking up.

“Nancy quit two years ago, dipshit. I’m Laila.”

Bren pours vodka into a mixer and gives it a few shakes. “Hmph? No kidding. I really liked her.”

Oh, and doesn’t that make Laila mad? Yet somehow, I’m the one she trains her steely features on.

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