Strong Enough(7)

I clear my throat, mentally shaking off the spell that his eyes are weaving around me. “A man.”

One dark brow shoots up. “A man, huh? Who is he?”

“A . . . friend,” I hedge, not wanting to give him any more information than I absolutely have to. It’s too dangerous.

He nods slowly again. “And does this man know you’re looking for him?”

“Probably.” Surely my father would know that I’d come looking for him when I didn’t get a response.

“And does this man have a . . . significant other that I should know about?”

I frown. “A significant other?” I’m confused.

“Yes. Wife, girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“No, but why would that matter?”

“Just wondering if I’m likely to run into an angry lover along the way.”

“What?” And then it dawns on me what he must think. “No! God no! It’s not like that.”

“No? Then how is it?”

“This guy is older.”

Jasper raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I don’t judge.”

“No, no, I mean . . . He—he’s not that kind of a friend.”

He watches me wordlessly, neither refuting nor accepting my explanation. “I’ll need some information, of course. A place to start.”

“Okay. Whatever you need.”

He glances around. “Is now a good time?”

As much as parts of me would like to, I can’t hide in the back forever. Melanie probably still has no idea I’m gone. “Well . . . not really. Can we, uh, can we meet after work?”

Jasper glances down at a chunky black watch. It looks like something a Navy SEAL or someone like that would wear, something that tells time in a million countries and can synchronize with a death squad. “I’ve got some things I need to do. Can I come by your apartment later?”

I find myself frowning. Again. “How do you know I live in an apartment?” Jasper gives me a withering look that says, Really? “Oh, right. I’m sure you . . . looked into me first.” On the one hand, the thought makes me feel a tad violated, like my privacy has been compromised. But, perversely, on the other hand I find it a little thrilling to think that he might’ve been by my place, that he might’ve watched me from afar. Were my blinds not fully closed? Did he see me eating breakfast or getting dressed?

I shiver in response. That’s twisted, but no more twisted than the way I’m reacting to the mere thought of being stalked by the likes of him.

I doubt that’s the case anyway, what with all that information being obtainable via the Internet, but still . . . it’s possible.

“Tonight then?” he prompts.

“Oh, uh, yeah. That would be fine. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

I give him a tight, cool smile, anything to belie the jittery, anxious, excited feeling that’s jumping from synapse to synapse.

I watch Jasper as he walks away, noting everything from the liquid way he moves to the way the light gleams off his short, inky-black hair. My entire being seems to slump when he disappears from sight, the absence of him bringing an empty chill over me.

I’ve never met someone more stimulating and handsome and intriguing than Jasper King. I’ve never met someone who makes me want to ask so many questions. And I’ve never met someone who makes me feel like I’ll never get any of the answers.





FOUR


Jasper

Lilac. I smell it as I raise my hand to knock on the closed door of her apartment. It’s like a delicate shroud that surrounds her, permeating the air wherever she is. It reminds me of a small town that I traveled through just outside Paris. It had somehow remained untouched by most things modern, a single white thread in an otherwise dingy, yellowed tapestry.

It takes Muse almost two full minutes to answer the door. She flings it open and glares at me, pulling her flamboyant turquoise and pink robe tighter around her waist. She’s angry again. Not only can I see it in her eyes, it’s there in every rigid line of her body as well.

She starts in without preamble. “You’ll have to excuse the way I’m dressed. Silly me, but I just assumed you’d come by at a decent hour.”

“Are you always like this?” I ask.

Another frown. “Like what?”

“So high-strung.”

Her mouth drops open in aggrieved surprise. “I am not high-strung.”

To this, I say nothing. I like that I throw her off yet she still grapples for control. I like that she’s so rigid around me when everything else about her screams that she’s dying to let go. I like that she fights. I like that a lot. And I like her fire. Everything about my life is cold and calculated. Sometimes fire feels good.