Page 21 of The Darkest Chase
“Well, yeah, but it’s still embarrassing, you know? Like if I’m going to collapse into an asthma attack, I’d prefer to do it in the privacy of my own home.” Her lips quirk. “I usually manage them better.”
“This is a regular thing for you?” I ask again, sipping my coffee.
“Not as much lately.” Miss Grey shrugs, glancing away, her fingers tangling in her hair and twining a lock of it slowly. “I was sick all the time when I was little. I could barely get up a flight of stairs without collapsing, and I was always in and out of the hospital. I’ve gotten a lot stronger, though. I’m normally pretty good at controlling my breathing before anything severe hits, but this time…”
She trails off.
She looks so uncomfortable I cock my head, studying the way the light falls over her jawline until it’s almost transparent. Her skin is so fine.
“This time?”
“I was a little off my game today, I guess.” Her eyes fall. She won’t look at me. “I should’ve been able to handle it better.”
I’m not sure how to respond.
It’s not my job to console her, and it would be crossing a professional line to try—just as much as it would be to give in to the urge to reach out and touch her pale skin, watching the color bloom under my fingers when she’s just so delicate.
So frail, and I don’t just mean her body, her lungs.
Even if it must have taken incredible willpower to master her asthma, there’s something about her.
Something that would be so easy to destroy.
Deep down, I can’t decide if I want to shield it or take her in hand and watch her struggle.
Obviously, I can’t do either.
I also can’t seem to look away, and the longer I watch her, the more she fidgets in her chair, darting quick glances at me. Her cheeks are cherry blossoms now.
She snatches her drink, the ice rattling against the plastic cup and the tea sloshing as she fits the straw between her lips, pursing them like a kiss to take a drink.
Damn.
That gleam on her lips steals my glance before I shift back to her wide, questioning eyes before she looks away.
Why are you staring, Officer?
That’s what she’s asking.
I can’t help answering the unspoken question. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss Grey?”
Her shoulders jerk sharply as she sets her cup down. She might as well have said yes.
Her brilliant blue eyes shift to me—but not quite.
My mouth.
Is she staring at my mouth?
Right before her eyes drop back to her drink.
“Oh, I— Um, no. You’re just the second person to ask me that today.”
Her voice fades into this breathy whisper.
Interesting.
Who was the first person?