Vital information

*Somewhen during the storm*

Julie was... That woman was sleeping soundly, nestled on the side. Her hair was on the white pillow, the black strands in contrast with the bedsheets. With her fierce eyes closed, she looked so innocent and young. How old could she be? Twenty?

Her skin was pale and silken, her body slim and in the right shape, her bosom round and generous. It was the figure of a woman in the prime of her youth. Just, when her eyes were open and watching, she did seem to know something that bare mortals didn't.

More than her shyness and delicate traits, those eyes were what charmed him the most.

Neven was sitting on the bed, leaning on the headrest and observing that woman in the darkness of his room. In the distance, thunder rumbled without rest. However, it was far from them.

The storm was leaving Paris, finally. A couple of hours more, at most, and it would be far from there.

He had almost forgotten about it, but, after the wind had caused a window to stop a kiss, he had hated the rain. He had hated it so intensely that the storm must have felt it since they had some calm.

He abandoned the bed and wore his trousers - before walking around naked and maybe scaring his woman. What if she woke up? He had to look proper and elegant, not like a psycho. Even if there was no chance she decided to stay just yet, he needed to leave a good impression if he wanted to conquer her later.

But first, he needed to find out her real name. With that, he could investigate further and discover her identity, where she lived, and what was her job.

He opened her backpack, silent like a tiger. He kept his ears on alert in search of any sound, even just the moving of bedsheets. However, she was exhausted. How could she wake up suddenly? All those worries were useless.

But he still had to avoid looking like a psycho. Also, he was tired as well. He couldn't wait to go back to the bed and sleep. At least, he needed not to worry about his woman's delicate appearance.

He scratched his hair, annoyed. She was already his woman in his mind; too late to go back.

He finally found her phone, but he couldn't unlock it just yet. What if there was some mechanism that would warn her? It was better to go safe. Her wallet fell on the ground when he moved something else; luck was on his side.

He found an ID. Finally, a name!

«Vera Bogdan,» he murmured. He read the other information, and his lips curled up.

What sheer luck! She was a student in Milan, living not far from the university. Also, the document was wrong about her height. The officer had added her two centimetres more!

Her hair was dark; her eyes weren't brown. What idiot in what Italian public office could write down that? Her irises were light-coloured like honey but had some spots almost orange. Depending on her mood, Neven was sure they could become redder or more yellow. But brown? No way!

He read her information again, memorising everything. Even the code of the document - if he needed an investigation to find her, that could come in handy.

He put back everything, pushing the wallet down. She must have put it down to avoid snatchers.

He closed the zipper of the backpack and returned to the bedroom. He pulled the curtains to avoid being disturbed by the morning light and lay down.

There, he had to fight against his instinct to hug her. But, he couldn't let his w... Vera. He couldn't let Vera think he was clingy. He looked at her some more, smiling amused at the sign on her skin, between her neck and shoulder. There were also a couple of hickeys in hidden places. Her hair was messy, her body covered in sweat.

She was breathing stably, and he would listen to the rhythm with utter attention until the sound calmed him as well. The exhaustion took him by surprise. Since when was he so easy to tire? That woman sure was a challenge!

He had thought she would feel tired earlier, but she had withstood his energy pretty well. When she had fallen asleep, he was already satisfied. He had done his best so that she also was content, and the way she could sleep like that confirmed his success.

If they met again, he would have one strong point to his advantage. When they met again, he corrected himself.

It was too late; he was hers.

He lay closer to her, turning on his stomach and looking for a position from where he could continue observing without being suspicious. He placed one arm under the pillow and the other not far from Vera. His fingers touched her hair, and he rolled a lock around his index finger.

It was like playing with fire, but it was also irresistible.

«Vera,» he repeated. He liked her name, it sounded good.

Also, how did it sound next to his? Good, right?

It was a sign of fate: he had found someone worth not just his time and attention. He was not letting her go; even if it meant pretending to meet her again by chance - or whatever story he would need to make up to get to her heart.