Page 4 of Ivory's Ruin Romance
There was always a shadow around him.
Several chairs lay scattered at the edge of the deck, and as Adrian sat, she found a spot a few paces away. This place suited him. His black clothes both blended into the night and stood out—metal accents glinting small reflections of light from the party behind them. Adrian inspected his beer without taking another sip.
Unlike inside, relative silence hung around them. Neither spoke, and the music faded into nothing more than a heartbeat.
She didn’t mind.
Even anticipating rejection, she found comfort in finally being alone together. The rough exterior he carried wasn’t imposing like Jace’s, and it didn’t make her feel small. In fact, just sitting here felt more enjoyable than being around everyone else.
Working up the courage to speak, she sipped more house margarita and tried not to let her eyes wander too much.
After a minute, he dropped the beer bottle between his parted knees and held the neck with ringed fingers, hair falling in front of his face. The movement caught her attention, and heat reignited in her cheeks. If only he didn’t have such an embarrassing effect on her. Everything he did caused a reaction in her body, his every breath practically triggering her heart to skip. The tequila certainly wasn’t helping. Chewing her lip, she tore her eyes away and took a sharp inhale of cold air.
The moon had been out earlier, but now clouds covered its silver light. The yard had grown so dark that anything more than fifteen feet out looked pitch black.
What would it be like if they went further into the trees, where the branches blocked out the party and the cloak of darkness concealed them—would he teach her why he liked being in the shadows? Would she like it if he did?
Adrian set his beer on the ground, and she clutched her cup tighter, then cringed as the plastic crinkled. She should’ve refilled it before coming out. At this rate, more would be better than less.
And she needed to look somewhere other than the yard. Somewhere safe, so her drunken mind wouldn’t get away with those kinds of thoughts. His eyes drew her in, their golden glow swirling as warmth spread through her chest and saturated her veins. Her breathing slowed to an even pace. Perhaps it’d be better to let him make the first move. Mostly because she still didn’t know what to say.
He met her gaze, and something stirred in their depths as his lips parted. “I won’t bite unless you ask.”
He spoke in a subdued tone, a whispered confession in a smooth baritone that bridged the distance between them. She finally mustered up enough courage to reply, “Do you get asked often?”
“Not by you.” His undivided attention held her captive far too thoroughly.
She averted her eyes. Surely, it had been a harmless joke, but a part of her hoped he might be serious. She lifted her cup, only to find it empty.
Unbothered by her reaction, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and, balancing one pale stick between long fingers, flicked the lighter. The cherry flared orange, and her nose scrunched as the sharp, smoky smell of toxin released into the air. She let her gaze follow the cigarette to the place where his lips met, dark and red. Probably soft and warm, too.
A puff of white smoke swirled out of his nostrils, lazily drifting into nothing before he opened his mouth and blew out the rest.
She coughed, batting at the air.
“I don’t do relationships,” he said, back to using the blunt, emotionless tone.
She gave a polite smile to hide the pang of disappointment. “I wasn’t looking for one.”
That’s not what this was supposed to be about. If she’d been given the chance, or rather forced, into finally talking to him, then she wanted to find out why he seemed so haunted—try to get a hint at his burden and offer what she could to help. Not indulge in her personal fantasies without caring about the other person involved.
“Then are you looking for a game?” he asked. “To let me play with you until I’ve had my fill? Because that’s what I offer.”
The words stung like a slap to the face, thrown out to unsettle—but coming from him in that calm, controlled voice, she almost wanted to say yes. Almost.
She shook her head. “No.”
This wasn’t the time for her hidden desires to intervene or for her to remember all the times he appeared behind her closed eyelids—this was about him. Not her. Not the part of her she wished didn’t exist in the first place.
“Such a sweet girl,” he mused, taking another long drag of the burning cancer stick, and met her gaze. “You don’t want me.”
She held her breath, unable to confirm or deny his declaration even to herself. Her gaze traced along the subtle movements of the tendons in his hand as he tapped the end of his cigarette.
“And yet…” he continued, “Somehow, I believe you’d still let me bring you to my place tonight. Ever since you first saw me, you’ve been working up the courage to say something. Your eyes haven’t lingered on another guy for more than half a second, but you followed me out here alone and haven’t broken eye contact once.”
Smoke seeped out from between his lips, and she let her eyes wander down just to prove him wrong—that she could look away—but immediately felt the pull to look up again.
“I wouldn’t go home with you,” she insisted. Struggling to keep up the smile as her nose wrinkled at the bitter smell of smoke, she forced herself to believe her words. “Because you don’t take girls home, do you?”