Page 29 of Leather & Lark
“That’s the spirit. Just the enthusiasm every woman is dying for.”
I hold out my hand. “Ready, duchess?” I ask. She doesn’t answer, just stares at my palm like she has to work herself up to touch me. Maybe it’s my missing fingertip? Does it freak her out? Maybe she never noticed the first time we met and shook hands. She doesn’t seem like the type of person that would be put off, but the longer she hesitates, the more I grow unsure. “It’s not that bad,” I grumble.
She cocks her head to the side. “What isn’t? Dancing with someone who hates you?”
Lark watches as I swallow and try to smooth my surprise beneath an apathetic mask. “I … I meant the finger.”
Confusion deepens the crease between Lark’s brows until I change the angle of my hand so she can better see the missing end of the digit. Now she just looks …insulted. She scoffs and slides her palm onto mine, not taking her attention from my face when I curl my inked fingers around her hand. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you,” she says as we face each other, “but you really are a dumbass.”
“Just the compliment every man is dying for.”
With a wink that earns me an eye roll, we start dancing, just a slow sway of movement in a gentle arc across the polished parquet floor. Though we don’t talk, I sense there’s something Lark is eager to say. It’s as though she doesn’t know how to start, so she presses her lips together and hums instead. At first, it’s so quiet that I’m not sure if I’ve imagined it, but then it grows louder. Soon she can’t seem to help but sing the occasional word, her gaze trapped somewhere beyond my shoulder as she loses her focus to the melody.
“I don’t hate you,” I finally say in the hope the tension between us will break, my tone low and quiet, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes snap to mine and her cold edge is back.
“Sure you do. And I don’t think I like you either.”
“Would you really give a shit if I did?”
“Yes, but not because I’m desperate for some dickhead guy to like me.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s just weird. So yes, I do give a shit.” There’s no hint of hesitation in Lark’s voice. Her honesty isn’t just surprising, it’s refreshing. She must notice that she’s caught me off guard with her reply, because she lets her eyes rest on me for a moment before she looks away and shrugs. “Despite what you think, I’m pretty nice, most of the time. People like me. Even the ones who betray me.”
“Betray you?That’s dramatic,” I scoff, though an irrational spike of anger still flares and dissolves in my chest. “They can’t like you that much if they turn on you.”
“I said they like me. I didn’t say they respect me. There’s a difference.”
I turn her words over in my mind, reflecting on my interactions with people in my past and the times I’ve felt betrayed and disrespected. “Maybe you’re on to something there, duchess. I’m not sure how many people like me, but most respect me, I think.”
“Most people don’t like you? What a shocking revelation.”
Lark’s hand leaves my shoulder and I glance down to catch her bright smile and her flicker of a wave in Sloane’s direction. In just an instant, she’s transformed, from cold and cutting to bright and blinding. I can actuallyfeelit, her love and adoration for Sloane, like rays of sunlight that slice through a cloud. But it doesn’t feel forced or disingenuous. Her warmth seems just as real as the icy unease that descends as soon as she faces away from Sloane and back to me.
“How’s work? Still going swimmingly?” she asks. “Many glowing reviews?”
A mirthless chuckle escapes and I scan the patrons around us. Her words a trigger for an automatic response to check mysurroundings. “It’s feckin’ fantastic,” I deadpan. “I get all the fun jobs, thanks to a certain former client of mine.”
I glance down to watch the pulse pound in Lark’s neck where the skin blotches with a deep crimson flush. She glances at me but can’t seem to hold my gaze. “What if I told you I could fix that?”
I bark a laugh. Glare at her. Laugh again. “Fix it?”
“That’s right. And since your sense of intuition is about as functional as tits on a rock, I’ll tell you this plan makes me fucking miserable, if that’s any consolation.”
“Well, that does hold a certain appeal. Do continue.”
Lark chews her lip for a long moment, and I remain silent this time, determined to wait her out. “I’ve heard you’re looking to retire from your … freelance … escapades.”
“You mean my contract killer side gig and all the other bollocks that I get roped into on a regular basis for my psycho boss?”
“Yeah,” Lark says after an audible swallow. “That.”
“Sure, retirement would be the goal, but I don’t think that’s ever gonna happen.”
“You’re right, it won’t. Not unless you have a little help.”
“And you think you can help me?”
