Page 12 of Blue Embers
“I hope you like Chinese,” he said, turning back around to unpack the numerous, paper takeout boxes from the bag.
“Takeout? Doesn’t really seem your style.”
“You don’t know my style yet, Ms. Grant.”
I started toward the table. “Hope you got egg rolls,” I said.
Killian smiled. “Obviously. Fried rice or noodles?”
“Noodles,” I claimed.
The two of us divided a few things between us, pulling up a couple of foldable chairs from a small stack by the wall, and started digging in. That first bite of egg roll dipped in sweet-sour sauce made my taste buds sing. I relaxed a bit, though eating from takeout boxes with Killian Valentyne was a little unexpected. I glimpsed up at him, finally realizing his attire.
Rather than an ironed, button up shirt and jeans I was sure cost more than my car payments, he was wearing a pair of black jogging pants and a grey t-shirt. Granted the t-shirt did a nice job of accentuating the flawless contours of a body most would call perfect. His dark hair was shaved on both sides and faded up into longer hair on top, which was usually combed back, but tonight it was a little messy. In an attractive way, strands kept falling into his eyes and he’d brush them back with his hand between bites of food. It wasn’t until his blue gaze met mine that I realized I was staring. Realizing I’d been discovered and knowing that shying away would just amplify the embarrassment still lingering from earlier, I kept his gaze and tilted my head curiously to the side.
Killian’s face was an elegant canvas of handsome features. High cheekbones as sharp as glass gave his face an exotic aura. Almond shaped eyes looked like they were always thinking dirty thoughts and the almost slight yet constant slant of his lips just added to that theory, making him look like he was either smirking or on the verge of doing so at all times. This was the type of man that didn’t have to say a single word to let someone know he was thinking of licking them all over. I tried my best to dismiss that idea, spilling out words to distract myself.
“So why was your day so long?” I asked, swallowing a bite of noodles.
“I’m working on a project with a friend of mine,” he explained. “I thought I would make more progress on it today than I actually did and it was a bit upsetting.”
“Seems like an important project. There aren’t a lot of things that are known to cause a Draak stress.”
“It is. You said yesterday that there are problems I might know about as a former Draakir member. Well, there certainly are some problems.”
“Ahh,” I nodded once. “Different kind of project than one might think if you hadn’t mentioned the Draakir.”
“And you?” Killian asked, quickly turning the attention on me. “You’re up late at the museum. You haven’t eaten. You lied about being ill. Clearly, there was some anger behind that rather strong throw when I came into the room. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t even know you,” I said. “You’re my boss and honestly personal issues shouldn’t make it into a work environment.”
“I’d hardly call this a work environment at the moment. I’m in joggers and you look like you threw on a dress from last week off the top of your dirty clothes pile. So what’s burdening you?”
I looked up at him with lazy eyes, pursing my lips. “You trying to get me to open up so I...openup?” I said without restraint, regretting my words as soon as they spilled out. I kept an air of confidence however, though I was sure my heart had skipped and betrayed the lie of an expression on my face.
“What kind of man do you take me for?” Killian said.
I leaned forward on the table, hitting him with a studying gaze. Analyzing his current state, I found myself smelling sweet, feminine vanilla faintly lingering somewhere on his body. I raised a brow.
“The kind of man that smells like vanilla,” I said. “Vanilla cologne doesn’t seem your style.”
Killian leaned forward himself, bringing his face close enough to mine that I could feel his breath skim my cheek. I could play that game. I didn’t budge. I didn’t move toward him and I didn’t move away. I held my ground, trying to assert some level of dominance in the situation, but my pulse certainly did pick up.
“I don’t wear cologne,” Killian said in a near whisper.
“Exactly,” I said with a victorious grin. “You smelled like oranges yesterday and not the artificial kind.”
I drew back to continue eating, hoping my observations were accurate.
“You are incredibly observant, Persephone,” Killian praised, taking another bite of rice. I perked up inside, but tried not to show it. “I’d imagine it’s a daunting trait to the average man.”
“Not for you, huh?”
“Nothing is daunting to me,” he shrugged. “And I’m not your average man.”
“What about this project you’re working on? You seem bothered by it.”
“That,” he sighed. “Is quite a different story.”
