Hot tea and sweet pastries (3)
Neven arched his brow, surprised by that daring reply. He wasn't expecting it. The girl in front of him looked shy, reserved, and utterly mysterious.
Since the first time he had seen her, he had desired to touch her skin and feel whether her cold amber eyes hid a more delicate soul. And, apparently, they did.
She had sat silently on his sofa without doing anything that any other woman would have. She was wearing his shirt and drinking tea, observing the pastries with a pondering expression. She hadn't eaten any yet.
She didn't use the chance to show him her legs - not on purpose! - or let the shirt slip down her shoulder. She didn't even stare too much, all things considered. Living with his aura wasn't an easy feat, and all the women would feel attracted with a single gaze.
Yet, that girl... Julie - the fake name she had told him - resisted. She was attracted, sure. But her brain could process something else while being in the same room.
It was refreshing, for once. And, the more she ignored him, the more he wanted her eyes on him. When she grinned back at him, he felt his heart grow warm.
She wasn't one to smile too often, was she? Her expression was too shy, and her lips were a little nervous while curling up and offering to do... whatever he wanted? She didn't know what she was getting herself into.
Oh, maybe, she did.
«The storm will be long, apparently,» he said.
How could she know it? Not even the weather forecast had noticed yet; everyone thought it would be over soon. But he knew this rain was not natural. He could feel it.
It would have lasted long, according to Julie's words. What better chance to stay inside, in a comfortable place?
He woke up from his gaze and noticed his own posture. He was leaned on the armrest, bent forward to be closer to that interesting little thing. She was tending towards him as well, her eyes slower and slower at abandoning him. Her shyness was disappearing, bit by bit. And the way those eyes could openly stare at him was even worse than he thought.
He loved that colour: perfectly in between brown and yellow, almost orange under a certain light. It was as if she could see through him, catch signs of his nature. But how could she? Those like him were long forgotten. Not many knew about the existence of such creatures; none could guess his strong points and weak spots.
As for Julie - oh, he was starting to hate that name - she was too calm to be unaware. But what woman would stay there if she could feel that her attraction wasn't natural? She wouldn't have just surrendered... unless she knew more than she seemed to.
He reached out to the towel on her head and pulled one end until it released her jet-black hair. It was long and silken, perfectly straight.
It reached her waist in a waterfall of dark locks, and he observed the contrast of that colour with his white shirt. His shirt... She was wearing it so easily that he couldn't hide a smile.
He could imagine her walking in that place with only the shirt on; or maybe at home, after waking up in the morning. He could see her rub her eyes and push her hair away from her face, move in his place and use his things...
His heart throbbed, and, at that moment, he knew he was in trouble. If just looking at her had that effect, his life was going to turn in the wrong direction. Those like him better not fall in love; it was a fact: it would bring him to insanity.
Yet, how to avoid it? He couldn't even throw the guilt on her because she was doing - literally - nothing. Just being there, for goodness' sake. Was she a trap the Gods sent especially for him?
Maybe, letting her in his apartment hadn't been so smart. But was he supposed to let her freeze under the rain? No way!
He noticed her shoulders tremble while a shiver crossed her back. He could wonder whether she was feeling under scrutiny, whether it excited her a little. But he knew it was most likely because of the cold. She was half-naked, after all.
«I will bring you a blanket,» he said. He should have thought about it sooner.
«It's okay,» she shrugged. «My clothes will be dry soon, right?»
«No.»
«No?» she murmured, raising her eyebrows and turning to him, her eyes confused and worried.
«The drying machine is so slow, I know. But I didn't find any reason to change it. I'm sorry...»
He shrugged, hiding his real thoughts. How could he let her go once she was in his reach? He had chosen the delicate program, the slowest one, on purpose.
Not because he had any evil intention, actually. His finger had pressed it almost by mistake, his brain deciding her clothes could get ruined.
He wasn't even thinking about how his choice could look suspicious. He wasn't a psycho, trapping a girl in his apartment just because he felt the need to do so. Was he? Or was he turning crazy already?
He wasn't thinking about keeping her nearby for the night when he had chosen the program. Not yet.
But, after a few minutes in the same room as her, he was done for. And he was thankful for that decision. She was his for a few hours, even if she didn't know it. He had that night to convince her to stay forever.