Read Online Find Me in Darkness by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page A

you touched me.” I reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers. “Really. I’m fine.”
    “Then it wasn’t—”
    “Just imagination,” I assure him, and to my relief, he seems to believe the lie.
    In front of us, the butler waits beside the doors, his expression entirely unreadable. “Shall we continue?”
    I hesitate, because this is my chance to turn back. I can make up some excuse and return to the apartment, leaving Brayden to either go with me or continue on. He would be perturbed, but he’d get over it. And I would be free of these oppressive walls and the fear that I do not have the strength to survive whatever journey I am on.
    But the truth is that I don’t want to run. I want to go forward and come out the other side, and then I want to look back and thrust out my middle finger and say “fuck you” to all the fears and fugues that have plagued my whole, goddamn life.
    “Yes,” I say firmly. “We should absolutely go on.”
    If either of the men I’m with understand the magnitude of the statement I’ve just made, they don’t show it. Instead, the butler simply puts a card key against the door, then pushes it open to reveal a lounge area full of wood and leather and the subtle, spicy scent of cigar smoke.
    The lounge is like something out of an old movie, and I’ve never been in a room that feels so rich. Not just in terms of the collective net worth that must be represented here, but in the deep sensuality of the leather and the wood. In the straight, classic lines of the humidor that runs perpendicular to a long, polished bar that I think must be made of mahogany. In the crystal glasses that gleam from behind the bar, and in the array of well-aged bottles of scotch that line the glass shelves, glittering and shining in the room’s muted lighting.
    All around us, people laugh and talk, their voices mixing with the soft, classical music that fills the air. Scent and sound merge to create a magic carpet of sensuality that I think could whisk me away to another world if only I would let it.
    I try to look around—to fully take in my surroundings—but my attention keeps returning to the bar. Not to the liquor, but to two men who are seated there. One sits with his back to us, facing the bar, his reflection in the bar mirror hidden by a selection of fine whiskeys. But though I can see little of him, he is undeniably familiar to me. I feel as though I could close my eyes and trace the line of his shoulders under his suit jacket. And I can imagine the way his coal-dark hair would feel if it brushed lightly over my fingers the same way that it brushes the back of his collar.
    He is relaxed—a man probably having a drink with a friend—and yet even in this casual moment there is something about him that suggests power and confidence and grace. I want to go to him. Hell, I want to touch him, and the intensity of that desire scares me, because I have never felt such a strong familiarity to another person, let alone a man I do not even know.
    But you do know him.
    I shiver in defense against the unexpected thought, and feel a rush of gratitude when Brayden brushes his fingers against my arm and distracts me. “Look,” he whispers.
    I glance at my friend’s face, then realize that he is also watching the two men. His attention, however, has been drawn to the second one, who is sitting at more of an angle, so that I can actually see most of his face. It’s exceptional, but what surprises me is the tattoo that I see extending up his neck, suggesting that there is more ink beneath his shirt. And when he reaches for a glass on the bar, the cuff of his shirt shifts back just enough for me to see the edge of a tat decorating his wrist.
    I catch Brayden’s eye and he leans over to whisper, “Maybe the place isn’t as stuffy as it seems.” I have to agree. For that matter, I don’t think anything about this place is what it seems.
    Beside us, the butler is speaking to a young brunette who is seated at a