“Lesson learned: Avoid wearing cashmere on drug busts,” Vika stated as she glared as the culprit of her annoyance- a short navy dress and the red staining the white collar.
“Did you try hydrogen peroxide?” a voice behind her suggested. Of course the girl recognized his mocking Londres accent. She attempted to sound miffed at his sneaking up on her unpronounced, but she could do little about the blush that darkened her cheeks.
“What are you doing in a lady’s bedroom?” she demanded from him, hoping to fluster him. But when she spun to face him, he was leaning leisurely in the doorway unfazed.
“I’m not technically in your room,” he pointed out. Vika rolled her eyes at the Brit, though she could not avoid noticing the tired slump of the his posture, the dark circles beneath his eyes that she had missed in her initial irritation.
Realizing that she had stares a moment too long at him, Vika turned back to the blemished dress lying on her damask comforter. “That was not an answer to the posed question.” When no response came, she decided she was done with Nic’s antagonizing.
“Why are you here?” she persisted, putting force behind her words. “Should you not be out pursuing that Wiccan girl you are so fond of? I am sure you would have a much better time-” When she turned to face him here, she was startled to find herself inches from his chest.
So surprised was Vika that she stumbled back a step and lost her balance. Her hand shot out to steady herself and ended up grabbing a thick, muscular arm. the end result was the girl on her back on the bed, Nic’s face inches from hers. Having caught himself, he was leaning over her with a hands braced on either side of her head. Their bodies were so close that Vika could feel the warmth emitting from the fire-caster, smell his radiance of leather, sweat, and smoke.
Neither moved for a moment, which was long enough for her to make out finer details of the boy’s fine, chiseled, handsome, weary features. His eyes were an even darker shade of blue that the dress Vika had fallen on. Nic opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. For a moment his guard fell, and she saw a vulnerability in the shadows of his sunken cheeks, in the lack of light in his eyes, as if the haughty, confident spark that usually lived there had been evicted.
It occurred to Vika that perhaps he may of come to ask something of her. At this point, she was ready to do anything for him with few exceptions.
But as soon as it has appeared, the vulnerability vanished. Nic pushed himself up with a muttered apology. Vika sat up, ready to reassure him that he need not apologize, that she would listen to whatever it was that he had come to tell her.
But por the time Vik had caught her breath, Nic had exited from her room. She fell back on the cama with a defeated groan, her mind far too occupied to worry about her ruined cashmere dress.