Page 80 of The Darkest Chase
They’d know how to make the man they want look at them with hungry eyes.
Me, I only seem to attract the one I don’t want.
Isn’t that usually how it goes?
I try to make my brain shut up.
Self-awareness sucks.
I tell myself not to think about it.
Not to get all giddy as I make my way through a night drenched in the scent of azaleas and just warm enough to feel pleasant. Until I turn down the lane where Micah’s house sits in its own little glade.
It’s shaded by old trees, settled on a neat lawn with a small pond glimmering to one side. The modern timber-frame house looks so cosmopolitan against Redhaven’s classic colonials, all sharp angles and clean edges.
Just like Micah Ainsley himself.
The porch light’s on, casting gold everywhere, but the tall windows fronting the house look dark, only faint glimmers inside. Even if I tell my heart to settle down, it’s thumping by the time I knock on his door.
It thumps even harder when he answers.
He’s still in his uniform slacks, crisp and blue and pressed just right, highlighting the angle of his hips. But he’s stripped down to a black short-sleeved undershirt that clings to his body like paint, hugging his chest and nearly snapping at the seams over sculpted biceps.
His silvery-white hair looks disarrayed tonight, falling into his eyes.
And those silvery eyes seem dilated behind a pair of thin rimless glasses.
A glass tumbler filled with gold liquid surrounding large ice cubes dangles from one hand.
Oh, my.
No wonder he wanted to meet here instead of in public. It would probably look sketchy for an upstanding officer of Redhaven PD to be tipsy among the people, even if he’s not on duty.
Micah leans against the doorframe with a long, brooding look.
He’s so unreadable I feel naked, every inch of me prickling as he takes me in. I want to say hello, but I can’t look away from him until Rolf thrusts his head past Micah’s leg.
The dog looks up at me with guarded curiosity, laying his ears back.
“Still hates me, huh?” I manage a smile, clutching the strap of my bag.
“I told you, he’s stubborn.” Micah stares, then takes a step back. “Come on in.”
I follow him inside.
It really does feel like stepping into a wild animal’s den.
The entire house is dark, paneled in mocha shades of wood in interlocking accent patterns to create a subtle motif. Black stone makes up the rough-tiled floor, the massive fireplace, and the lower wall accents. The furniture is all black leather, too, with hints of glinting steel here and there.
It’s almost too classy for small-town North Carolina.
“I feel like I just stepped through a portal. Right into your fancy New York condo.”
Micah stops mid-stride, looking over his shoulder.
I can only make out one blue-grey eye past the gleam of his glasses, but it’s hard, bitter.
Oof.