brief.
He leaned away again, his hands still behind his back. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your room.”
Her eyes widened. He could not be serious.
With a chuckle, Don Juan was back and reading her mind. “Yeah right, Clara. You’ve got to give me more credit than that. I may be an ass, but I’m not a total moron. I know my chances of making your highly coveted screwable list died a violent death about ten minutes ago. But I can’t leave you standing here like this. I just can’t.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glanced away, apparently watching the crowd.
She laughed, too, but it sounded distorted and wrong.
He could be an opinionated jerk, but there were times, like now, when Sebastian did things so affectionate and seemingly out of character that she was sure the Oscar the Grouch routine was exactly that, a routine to keep everyone securely out of reach. If he didn’t care about anything, if he was really as bitter and unfeeling as his words suggested, he wouldn’t have apologized—she guessed the rambling a moment ago was meant to be an apology—and he certainly wouldn’t have meant it. Then, even though she’d refused to forgive him, he’d offered to be a gentleman and walk her back to her room, knowing full well he wasn’t coming in.
Did wonders never cease?
“No thanks,” Clara replied, surprised when her voice came out even. Eyeing the lights in the near distance, she dried her face with the back of her hand. “I still need to do a couple of things before I leave tomorrow.”
“One day!” Sebastian froze, for all the world looking more stunned than he had when she slapped him.
Geez, Clara winced. She’d actually slapped him. In front of dozens of people. Her mother had to be turning in her grave.
“Who comes to Vegas for one day? ” he demanded, panic tingeing his voice.
“I do. My lazy ass has a job interview on Monday.” She shrugged and turned to lean against the stone balustrade. But not before she saw him blanch at her words.
Watching the green water shimmer, she put him out of his misery. “Let’s just call it even, okay? You are an ass,” she felt compelled to add, because he looked so very pleased. “The world isn’t black and white. You have to weigh the cost. Yes, there are people who abuse the system. But there are also people like my aunt, good people who can’t get what they need without a little help.”
His jaw ticked, but he nodded, conceding her point. The subject was as personal for him as it was for her, though obviously for very different reasons. Her lips ached to ask him what had happened even as her brain told her it didn’t matter.
She peered up at him—trying to ignore the heat that always crackled between them, tangible and terrifying—and forced out her own sort-of apology. “But I haven’t exactly acted like Miss Manners today. I mean, I actually called you an ape. That was almost as bad as what you said. Almost. ”
He smiled that slow, sexy smile she’d already come to enjoy. But his rounded cheek also bore the pink imprint of her small hand. That, for her at least, put a big, wet, smelly blanket on the fire in her belly.
“I shouldn’t have hit you like that either,” she whispered, slowly reaching up to caress the mark she’d given him. She forced herself to meet his stormy eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I’m normally a very sweet person, you know. You just have the craziest knack for finding my buttons and stomping all over them.”
He chuckled, a warm rumbling that made her stomach clench. “You’re not too bad at button stomping yourself. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”
The air around them thickened. This time the silence wasn’t stiff or angry. As Sebastian shifted closer to her, two hundred forty volts of knock-you-on-your-ass electricity lit her up from the inside out.
He leaned in, his full lips only a breath away. But then he stopped, his eyes locked on hers. His message was
Learning to Kill: Stories