Page 50 of The Den of Sin
I watched her cheeks blush with color, her eyes careful on me, untrusting. After what I had done to her, I couldn’t blame her. I would take the rest of my life, if she let me, and make it up to her. I just needed her to give us a chance.
“No worries.” She forgave too quickly. Or she just didn’t care. I wasn’t sure. There was this amazing attraction between us, there was no denying it. But for the first time in my life, I wanted more with a woman. And I wanted it only with her.
Her eyes lowered onto her package, her fingers nervously fidgeting over it.
“What’s that?” I asked her curiously.
“A souvenir.”
She didn’t strike me as a souvenir type. My lip curved into a smile. “A mask?”
It looked too big to be a mask. You never knew though, some were rather extravagant.
She returned the smile. “Nope. Try again.”
Surprised at her playfulness, I decided to go along. Besides, it was the first time she actually talked to me since I came back into her life.
“A voodoo doll.”
She threw her head back and her soft laugh rang throughout the car.
“Seriously?” she retorted, a smile in her voice. “Do I strike you as a person that would buy a voodoo doll?”
“Hmmm. Maybe not.”
“Try again.”
“Shitload of Mardi Gras beads?” I joked. I wanted to hear her laugh again.
A soft chuckle. “You are horrible at this game.”
“What?” I grinned. “I thought I was doing pretty good.”
“Horrible,” she grinned back. “Do you give up yet?”
“Malyshka, I never give up.” I thought of the next thing to guess. “An instrument? Saxophone?”
She laughed again, her eyes on me, shining with happiness, and my heart squeezed in my chest. She almost looked like that young woman before I turned her world upside down.
“Nope.”
“A painting.”
“Bingo,” she exclaimed. “You get a prize.”
I grinned. “I like this game.”
“Yeah, me too,” she smiled, a distant look in her eyes as she looked out the window. “I used to play it with my mom when we-”
Her body tensed and her smile faltered. I caused this and hated myself for it. But unless I fixed it, there would be no moving forward for us. And I wanted to move forward - with her. Only with her.
“When you-” I encouraged her to continue.
Careful, like a wounded animal, she peered at me through her dark lashes. I smiled, hoping she’d read in the expression on my face that I really wanted to know. I didn’t smile often so I hope it wasn’t a grimace.
“It was a game my mom and I played when we traveled long distances,” she muttered softly. “A guessing game about a story, what we wanted to eat, anything really.”
I nodded. “I like it.”
