Page 48 of Black Velvet

She huffs. "You'll have to give me more than that for an explanation."

"No, I don't," I object.

I can feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to reciprocate the look. I can't look at her right now, because I know I'm powerless against the blue depth of her eyes, the ethereal face, those bright blonde strands framing her pretty face and giving her fairy-like features. She's so dazzlingly beautiful, looking so pure and innocent, even though I know she's anything but that.

"How long have you been working for the agency?" I ask without looking at her.

She shifts in my arms, seemingly uncomfortable at the question. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because I do," I say, now turning to meet her azure gaze. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I would like to know."

The expression on her face is blank when she replies: "About four years. I started right after I turned eighteen."

She's much younger than I thought she'd be. Despite her pristine and innocent looks, she's radiating a kind of wisdom that doesn't suit a twenty-two-year-old. It might come with the job and the kinds of things she's been doing for years. She has spent a lot of time with men who are significantly older than her, engaging her in conversations that are very different to the ones normal college kids would enjoy, doing things with her that went far beyond the normal sexual experiences of a young girl.

"Not what you wanted to hear?" she probes, cocking her head as a hint of insecurity scurries across her face.

I smile at her, shaking my head. "You're just younger than I thought."

Our eyes meet and for a moment I fear that she might have taken my words as an insult when she knits her eyebrows together.

"I'm not saying you look old," I assure her.

She smiles. "It's fine. You're not the first person to say that to me."

Her expression turns somber as she reaches for her drink to take another sip. I watch while she brings it her lips, wondering whether I regret my comment or not. She doesn't look hurt, but it definitely affected her.

"I guess it's this job," she says, her gaze absentmindedly traveling through the room. "It does things to you."

We're sitting in a darker corner of the guest room, partly shielded by the stage that spreads out before us. A dim red light illuminates most of the area, hiding everybody's secrets in blood-colored shadows.

My gaze follows hers before I turn to her, pulling her closer in an embrace.

"You don't look like it left traces on you," I tell her.

She huffs. "You mean I don't look used up?"

"Not in the slightest. You look oddly innocent, even in black."

The smile on her face freezes and she turns around to me, reciprocating my look.

"Is that why you don't want to fuck me?" she wants to know.

"I do want to fuck you," I say. "And I will."

"When?"

Our eyes remain fixated on each other while I try to gather a response that is neither a lie nor giving away a truth I'm not willing to share. I hate lying as much as I hate being lied to, but giving her an honest answer would inflict unnecessary pain.

The truthful answer to her question is as simple as it is daunting, and I'm not quite sure myself whether I'm ready to accept it.

I wish it were different, but I know myself well enough to know that it isn't.

I know that the moment I decide to fuck her is also the moment I decide to let her go.

Chapter 29

Elene

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