Page 14 of The Enforcer's Vow
"This is unexpected," she says.
"I couldn't stop thinking about last night." I move closer, not quite close enough to touch. "About you." My gut twists as I let the lie roll off my tongue. I'm the master of manipulation, speaking sly half-truths to women all the time, so why does this lie make me cringe?
She steps back, letting me into her apartment. "You could have called."
"Would you have answered?"
"Probably not."
I smile at her honesty. "Then I made the right choice by coming here."
Her apartment is small but clean, furnished with pieces that look secondhand but well-maintained. A narrow kitchen opens onto a living room with one couch, one chair, one small television. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with volumes that look actually read rather than decorative.
"Can I get you coffee?" she asks.
"Please."
She moves to the kitchen and I follow, ostensibly to continue our conversation but really to observe. The refrigerator holds the basics—milk, eggs, bread, nothing expensive. A single mug sits in the dish drainer beside the sink. She lives alone and doesn't entertain often.
The coffee she makes is strong and bitter. We sit on opposite ends of her couch, and I notice how she positions herself so she can see both the door and the kitchen. Survival instincts.
"You didn't really happen to be in the neighborhood," she says.
"No."
"So, why are you here?"
I set down my mug and turn to face her fully. "Because I've been thinking about you since this morning. Because I couldn't concentrate on work, couldn't focus on anything except wondering what you were doing, whether you were thinking about me too."
She watches my face as I speak, searching for tells. I let her see what I want her to see—interest, attraction, the beginning of something deeper. And inside, I'm conflicted, which is strange for me. This game is old hat, and I am good at it, but Zoya's honesty and abrupt demeanor aren't like other women. I'm fascinated by her.
"You don't know me well enough for that," she says.
"Don't I?" I move closer on the couch, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "I know you're careful with your trust. I know you're loyal to the people you care about. I know you're braver than you let people see."
"You learned all that from two conversations?"
"I learned it from watching you. The way you carry yourself, the way you think before you speak. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."
Color rises in her cheeks. "How do I look at you?"
"Like you're trying to solve a puzzle."
"Maybe I am."
I reach out and touch her arm, let my fingers trace a light path from her wrist to her elbow. She doesn't pull away.
"What puzzle?" I ask.
"You." Her voice is quieter now. "You show up out of nowhere, you're charming and attentive, you say all the right things. But there's more to you than owning a track and eating casual dinners."
"There's more to everyone."
"Not like this."
I cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "You're beautiful, Zoya. Do you know that?"
She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, I see vulnerability there, carefully guarded but real. But I mean it. She's ravishing, the sort of woman I would bring to my bed more than once, which is saying something.
