Topaz tossed her keys to a chocolate suede sofa. She headed toward the brass bar cart located at the rear of the living room.
Alex moved farther into the room while inspecting his hands. He flexed them, making fists and wincing at the tightness he felt setting in. His gorgeous turquoise eyes frequently settled upon Topaz. She’d been relatively silent and calm, but he wanted to determine her true state of mind.
He watched as she poured a glass of vodka and gulped it down. He smiled—understanding how shaken she must have been and probably still was. Alex felt his smile fading when she poured and downed a second glass of the clear, potent liquid. A frown appeared when he spied her pouring a third. Then he rushed across the room and clutched her arm gently.
“Hey, hey ... ” he whispered, pulling the glass from her fingers. “This won’t help.”
Topaz fixed him with a doubtful look. “Believe me, it’s helping,” she assured him and turned to pour another glass, which she presented to him.
Alex hesitated only briefly before taking the drink. Topaz smiled while leaning down to unfasten the straps of her heels. Alex leaned against the bar while she prepared a pitcher of vodka and pineapple juice. Then with the glass and the pitcher in hand, she headed toward the sofa and set everything on the glass-top coffee table.
“I’ve got something to help that,” she offered, noticing Alex inspecting the gashes across his knuckles.
“Thanks,” he called, his bright gaze following her as she left the room. What the hell am I doing here? he asked himself, surveying the coziness of the room with unmasked skepticism. Being anywhere within a foot of Topaz Emerson was far too dangerous, given how powerfully attracted he was to her. Of course, there were other reasons why he should forget this relationship—reasons far too frustrating to think about.
“All right, this should help those hands,” Topaz announced, returning to the living room with a small first-aid kit. She took a seat next to Alex on the sofa and pulled one of his hands into hers.
“Oooh,” she remarked, wincing a bit as she lightly brushed her fingers across his bleeding knuckles. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” she said, giving the hand a gentle squeeze. “At least I don’t think anything’s broken,” she added, with a nervous laugh.
Alex was silent, his extraordinary stare tracing her face and body. Her lovely dark hair and cocoa skin held his attention as he focused on her gorgeous legs bared by the flaring hem of her dress. She glanced at his face, looking for any sign that she was hurting him. Alex cleared his throat and pretended to be concentrating on her treatment to his hand.
“Okay ...” she whispered, using infinite care as she pressed peroxide-dampened cotton balls to his skin.
Alex smiled, in spite of the burn as the clear liquid fizzed over the wounds. Topaz was blowing cool air across the tops of his hands. He likened the gesture to a mother soothing her child as she treated him. His eyes narrowed when he smiled at her efficient yet tender bedside manner.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked in the midst of applying antiseptic ointment to his knuckles.
Alex simply shook his head. In actuality, the treatment Topaz provided completely took his mind off any discomfort.
“There,” she announced, setting the kit on the coffee table and lifting Alex’s hands to inspect her work. Sighing, she gave them a gentle squeeze and grimaced. “Tonight was a big mess and I’m so sorry,” she whispered, looking down.
Alex nudged her chin with the back of his hand. “Hey,” he called, waiting for her to meet his gaze, “I don’t want to hear another apology from you, all right?”
Nodding, Topaz managed a smile and turned to the coffee table. “Fix you a drink?” she offered.
“I’m good, but thanks,” he said, leaning back as he watched her help herself.
Topaz finished half a glass of the vodka-pineapple juice mixture, then prepared another full glass.
Alex leaned forward, about to advise her to slow down with the drinks. Before he could form the words, she began to speak.
“I still can’t get over the way you handled those guys,” she reminisced. “I’ve only seen fighting like that in the movies. How’d you learn to fight like that?”
Alex tensed, his jaw clenching when his hand tightened into a reflexive fist. “When you grow up like I did, you have to know how to defend yourself,” he explained, having no desire to share the story of where and how he’d learned his fighting moves.
“Well, I’m sorry that you grew up in a rough neighborhood,” Topaz was saying while adding more drink to her partially filled glass, “but I’m glad you were in control out there tonight.”
“In control, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she drawled, the alcohol beginning to work on her faculties, “I’m so glad you were”—she yawned—“were there. I’ll have to get you to show me some of those”—another yawn—“moves.”
Alex chuckled as Topaz drifted off to a deep sleep. He knew their conversation was done for the evening, the vodka having worked quickly and silently. Gently, he removed the glass from her loose grip and set it aside. He stood, deciding it was well past time that he head out. Watching her there asleep, her head bowed as she sat slumped over the arm of the sofa, he debated on whether to leave her there. Surely, he knew she’d feel bad enough when she awoke the next morning. No sense making it worse by letting her sleep it off on the couch, he thought.
Exercising extreme care, he slowly pulled her against his chest. Her head fell against his shoulder and he smiled when the tiniest snoring sound rose from her throat. For a while, he stood there holding her secure in his arms. She felt incredible, as though she were meant to be there. Casting off the notion as silliness, Alex left the living room in search of the bedroom. The spacious one-floor dwelling housed an impressive master suite at the rear of the condo.
A soothing, musk aroma rose in the air the instant Alex stepped through the doorway. He hit the switch with his elbow and the room was suddenly bathed in the softest golden light. The king-sized brass bed was oval shaped and littered with pearl satin pillows and a matching comforter.
Alex placed Topaz on top of the cover, then went to move her feet to the center of the bed. He indulged in studying the shape of her foot—his fingers tracing the tops of her pretty French-pedicured toes. Of its own will, it seemed, his hand smoothed along the line of her calf and he marveled at its tone and shape. The touch was venturing higher toward her thigh when she shifted.
“Alex?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and caressed a lock of her hair. “I’m here,” he whispered.
Topaz smiled, as though the sound of his voice further relaxed her. “Thank you,” she sighed, her lashes fluttering closed as she dozed off again.
Her soft, trusting tone made him feel like a heel. She was so vulnerable then, and there he was with his hand beneath her dress. Grimacing over his loss of control, he left the bed and hurried from the condo.
“You think there’s somethin’ shady goin’ on?”
“I have no idea.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“Hmph, I think I’m afraid to listen.”
