Page 5 of The Hunted
She was dressed in all black, and there was faint scarring teasing her forearm. His palms actually itched to trace the scars, wondering what exactly made those marks. Had they been a self-inflicted accident, or had she survived something that should have killed her?
And why do I want to know so badly?
“Your heterochromia is hereditary, or is there a far more interesting story to go along with such beautiful eyes?” He smirked when he watched her eyes narrow.
“Glad you passed basic science, but that doesn’t give you a pass for making me spill my expensive coffee. You owe me another one.”
Santino cocked his head to the side, hoping it would let him hear the accent that seemed to slip on every few words as she spoke. Either she was aware she had one and was trying not to talk with one, or she was faking it, which only upped his intrigue of her.
“If it’s so expensive, why not just make it at home?” he questioned, realizing too late that he was enjoying himself. Any other time he probably would have walked right by her and forgotten her or saved himself the trouble and given her the money outright for a new cup. But he found himself unwilling for this exchange to end. He wondered briefly how far he could take this with her. It would be much easier to pass off a steady girlfriend than it would be to explain why he never had a relationship of sorts.
“Because it doesn’t taste the same. Why do you even…you know what? As stimulating as this conversation is proving to be, you owe me another coffee. Had you been paying attention, you would have seen me coming. So,” she held out her hand, “six ninety-five, please.”
Santino laughed despite himself. “I’m not giving you six ninety-five, princess.” He threw in the pet name just to see what she would do.
Was this all false bravado, or was there someone with sharp claws waiting to lash out?
She dropped her hand, and he was almost disappointed when he saw her shoulders sag.
Was she giving up that easily?
A pity.
She took a step toward him, closing whatever space remained between them, and his body instantly reacted. He felt himself harden as he watched the way her mouth slightly parted, and she licked her lips. It felt like an invitation for him to do the same, but he held himself still, wondering what she was up to.
“You don’t have to give me the ninety-five cents,” she whispered. “No one walks around with that much change anyway. But you will be buying me my coffee, willingly or not.” She smiled up at him, and he tensed waiting for the slap to the face or something far more predicable like a knee to the balls, but it never came.
“So what will it be?” Her smiled widened. Every instinct he had told him to step back and put some distance between them fast, but he only stepped in closer.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had entertained him like this. It was alarming how much and how quickly she riled him up and kept him engaged.
“I’m not giving you the money, princess. Who’s to say you didn’t bump into me and this wasn’t your fault?” She bit her bottom lip, and he found himself wanting to touch her and continue this little game between them, just to see what other reactions he could get out of her.
“Unwillingly then? Okay, I hope you have a good rest of your day,” she stepped back and bowed her head. “Your highness.” She added on with a wink and turned to walk away.
He caught her arm almost immediately when he realized what she’d done. Her body tensed under his hold, and again he wondered if she was going to swing on him. “Not so fast, princess,” Oh, she was good. He had to give credit where it was due. The fact that he barely felt her rummaging through his pockets only heightened his interest.
“Stealing from a federal agent is a felony.” He pulled her back toward him and again his body reacted.
“It’s not stealing. You’re simply paying for the coffee you ruined. Whether you’re aware of doing it is irrelevant,” she stated matter-of-factly, and it made him bark out a laugh that surprised him.
He couldn’t tell if she simply didn’t care or if this was an elaborate act. People had a tendency to put on a mask—become performers for the rest of the world. He was usually good at picking apart the roles they placed themselves in, but he couldn’t tell with her.
And that only furthered his need to know more about her.
“What’s your name?” he questioned.
She cocked her head to the side, and he could almost feel her gearing up to lie. The way her mismatched eyes seemed to take him in, he could see the calculations as if she were weighing her options.
“Silva.” Her voice was low, like she was imparting a juicy secret instead of her first name.
“Is that your actual name?” he wondered, though he was almost positive she gave him the truth.
“If it wasn’t, I picked an incredibly boring name.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He smirked at her. He dropped his hold when he realized he still held her in a firm grip. “It means forest and woodland. Something tells me,” he looked her over, “the name suits you.”
It was her turn to laugh, and the sound was as wild as a summer thunderstorm. The sound echoed around them, drawing in looks from the people walking passed them, which only made her laugh harder.
