Page 42 of Cruelest Contract
She sighs and unfolds her legs, sticking them straight out while careful to keep her skirt modestly smoothed. “Not everything I own is pink,” she insists and looks at me. “Fort said you picked out these boots.”
“I might have had a say,” I admit.
After consulting Cecilia’s tastes, courtesy of her hacked Pinterest account, I arranged a purchase from a store in Laramie. Last night I sent the owner a nice chunk of change to open the place at the crack of dawn. One of my guys was waiting to pick up the boots so Cecilia would have them first thing this morning.
Cecilia studies me more closely. “You seem to have a very good eye when it comes to my taste in fashion.”
I meet her gaze without blinking. “I’m observant.”
She breaks the stare first, letting her eyes coast over my jaw and start to move down my chest before she catches herself in the act and shifts gears, brushing some imaginary dirt from her skirt. “Yeah, I’d say there’s not much that gets past you, Julian.”
“Why would you want to put anything past me, Cecilia?”
She clears her throat and her breathing does a little skip.
I stifle a grin of triumph. She tries so hard to disguise the way she gets all flustered around me.
“Thank you for the boots,” she finally says.
“You’re welcome.” I’ve already memorized her features but when she’s this close I refuse to look away.
And why should I? She’s fun to look at and I brought her here for a reason. I’ll stare at her all I want.
Cecilia’s beauty is fresh and uncomplicated. Her nose is straight with a faint crease on the tip and her lips are ripe and tempting. Sunlight catches the hint of red in her thick brown hair, gathered in a low ponytail. Her wide brown eyes are lighter in color than mine. Softer. Cecilia’s default expression is serious so a smile from her is that much more rewarding.
She’s not smiling now. She’s thoughtful. A wrinkle of distress appears between her brows but is swiftly flattened.
“I never did thank you for saving my life,” she says.
“You shouldn’t thank me for that,” I say.
After all, I barely knew her name at the time and didn’t even think before using my own body as a shield.
We were both lucky. Anyone who survived that day was lucky.
My impulse now is far different. I’d love to pull her into my arms and cage her soft body, not only protecting her from the world but keeping her for myself.
“I’m thanking you anyway.” Cecilia’s fingertips toy with a ruffled edge of her pink skirt and for a moment she’s lost in some private thought before she speaks again. “Tye is wrong. I don’talwayswear pink.”
“I think you said that already.”
“But I will admit that pink is overrepresented in my wardrobe. We have a complex relationship, me and pink.”
She could be a painting, sitting here in the grass with the hills in the background. The sleeve of her white shirt slips a little and exposes two extra inches of her smooth shoulder.
I want to put my mouth there. Suck her skin. Push my hand underneath that stupid skirt. Find out how fast my fingers get her wet and hear what kind of sound she makes when she comes.
Instead, I pull my knees up and rest my forearms on them, casual as can be. “How so?”
She fixes the sleeve of her shirt and a vaguely sad smile tugs at her lips. “I was the only daughter. My mother tried in vain to dress me in frilly pink dresses but I just wanted to be left alone to wear whatever I wanted. Sometimes this would hurt her feelings. You have your ways of honoring your mother. This is how I honor mine, by wearing her favorite color.”
A few feet away, Tye starts snoring while cuddled up with his pink sweater pillow. The guy could fall asleep in the middle of a hurricane.
“Tragedy changes you,” I say. “Especially when it’s brutal.”
She stares at me like I’m a puzzle with some pieces that won’t fit. “Yes, it does. Matthias became a completely different person. Losing our parents and the girl he loved just destroyed him. He changed so much that he became a stranger. But you understand. I’m sure you miss your mother terribly.”
The thought never enters my mind in such simple terms. Teresa’s absence is an infinite void lined with pain and jagged edges. To my brothers, who mostly don’t remember her, and to my father, who remains tormented, she’s become a legend, an idealized myth.
