Page 13 of Carved Obsession

“Mrs. Brasa-Glass.” He rolls my name off his tongue, stroking every single letter with that smoky voice. It sounds new. Like he’s still testing to see how it feels to say it. He must have just found it out.

“Miss,” I correct him. “Welcome.” I motion to the ungodly expensive watch. “Are you interested?”

I don’t miss the sharp rise of his chest and the longer than necessary pause before he answers.

“It’s surprising what treasures an inconspicuous store can hold.” He shifts his attention to me, his gaze molten lava against my cheek, but I stay put. “And a secret, too,” he adds.

His breath brushes against my ear, and goosebumps feather beneath the warmth, running viciously down my neck and wrapping around my throat. I think I dreamed of this sensation licking my skin. Or maybe I wished it.

“Just because something has yet to be found, it doesn’t make it a secret. Regardless, precious pieces are the specialty here. But not many as expensive as this watch.” I’ve never been so damn polite in my entire life.

I risk a quick side-glance his way, catching the fevered intensity of his gaze.

A second is enough.

Two would be a trap.

Three would be my undoing.

He looks like a walking wet dream in tailored clothes, with a face carved by Renaissance masters.

“If not a secret, then what?”

I shrug. “It’s not up to me to give it a name. I’m not the one who’s been seeking it.”

He exhales slowly, the sound of the air reverberating from deep in his chest, like a dragon breathing fire just before he’s about to truly attack.

“You’re a bold kitten.”

I can’t suppress the sharp inhale filling my lungs with fire. That term of endearment is too close to the edge of condescension to hit the right spot, but it does anyway. This man has a maddening, hypnotic effect on me, and I find myself leaning into the unspoken, yet promised, violence.

It’s suicide. Yet I seem to be keen on tying the noose myself.

“You must not be used to people speaking their mind around you.” I peer over my shoulder, and the clashing of our eyes feels like an explosive volcanic eruption.

A magnificent destruction that threatens to decimate, burn, and melt me until I’m part of its cataclysmic soul. I wouldn’t look away, even if I knew better. A part of my soul burns for that havoc, begs to be part of it. To finally find its perfectly fitted half.

His eyes are mesmerizing. I thought they were blue, but they’re not just that. They’re also gold and green. Dark and bright. And every other shade humanly possible fitted into those saturated blues seeping into a spellbinding hazel. Only, the colors would be nothing without the cruel intensity of this man’s soul, an eerie emptiness staring into me like it’s absorbing my very essence.

There is a depth in there, devoid of life. Of feeling. Of caring. A bitter, contrasting abyss. And it’s looking right back at me.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m not the only one affected here.

Too many seconds pass without an answer from him. Without any word at all. And being caught in his bone-chilling stare, as he decides if this is the moment to strike, makes me jittery.

Yet, I can’t look away.

“Interesting setup you have here.”

Finally, he speaks!

Though the man seems to have found a formula for how to convey his point by using the fewest words possible.

“The setup isn’t quite mine, sir, but I trust you already know this.”

His right eyebrow springs up, the curve giving his already cool demeanor an even icier edge. I’m unsure what triggered it, though.

I force my composure, no matter how difficult it proves. Something about this man’s energy threatens to bring me to my knees. And I refuse to bend.