Read Online Shadow's Edge by J. T. Geissinger - Free Book Online
Authors: J. T. Geissinger
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shape of her jaw or the mass of shiny golden locks cascading over her shoulders that set her apart, that drew admiring glances from every male as she passed by.
It was simply that she shone like a flame, a flawless diamond breathing living fire among so many dead lumps of coal.
As she moved gracefully through the swinging doors of the kitchen, past the tables of diners, coming toward him through pools of warm candlelight and patches of dappled shadow, slender and lovely and tall, she blazed brighterand more brilliant than the noonday sun, illuming the air around her like a torch.
She stepped past the bar, lifting her arm with the grace of a swan to snare a Bordeaux glass as she passed. The Blood of the
Ikati
was clearly visible in her figure, the sensual lines of her body, the way she floated like a panther hunting its prey in the forest. She was lissome and sleek and glorious.
Her beauty made his skin prickle.
But it was those Eyes that drew him in, strange and clear and haunting, that look of something carefully hidden, something guarded. She was brittle and brash on the outside, full of poise and confidence and strength, but her every glance was oddly wounded. Even as she mocked him and called him pathetic, there was some fathomless depth of...
“I suppose I owe you both an apology
and
a thank you,” Jenna said primly, eyes downcast as she presented the bottle of Latour, label up, for his inspection.
Her voice, quiet and melodious, sent a fresh shiver crawling up his spine. He was glad for the stiff leather of the banquette against his back, real and grounding. He made a conscious effort to keep his body relaxed, his breathing regular.
“You’ve already apologized. And no thanks are necessary.” Leander stroked a thumb over the fine layer of dust on the Latour’s label, keeping his own eyes focused on the bottle.
He nodded toward the bottle, approving.
She set the Bordeaux glass on the white linen tablecloth and used a foil cutter to remove the foil cap over the cork. A corkscrew appeared in her hand.
“I’m sure you must have said something to the maître d’. My job has miraculously been restored.” An elegant turn of her wrist released the cork from the bottle. “Not that I deserve it,” she added, almost inaudibly.
Leander glanced up at her face. His acute hearing had allowed him to overhear every word that dreadful little rat of a man had spoken to her in the kitchen. He had wanted to take Geoffrey’s neck between his hands and squeeze very, very hard.
“I informed him that I plan to dine here every night for the remainder of my...vacation...and simply made clear my expectation that his talented and insightful sommelier would be on hand to assist me with my wine selections.”
He accepted the cork she held out to him without further comment. She watched him stroke a finger up and down the slender stem of the wine glass.
“Shall I decant?”
“No,” he replied, raising his gaze to the poem of her face. “But you should bring another glass.”
“Is someone joining you?”
“Yes. You are.”
He saw how that surprised her. Her slender fingers tightened around the neck of the wine bottle. She shifted her weight to her opposite foot.
“Ah...” She shot a glance toward the kitchen doors. “I don’t really think that would be the best—”
“Come now,” he interrupted with a small smile. “I don’t think your maître d’ would approve of you denying the request of His Holy Dignity, do you?”
It was a provocation—and a deliberate one. He wanted her to be curious, wanted her to wonder how he knew theridiculous moniker Geoffrey had called him, wanted her to want to get closer—
Jenna slammed the Latour down upon the table with a jarring
thump
, the wine sloshing in the bottle. Hectic spots of color stained her cheeks.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she said through stiff lips. “Am I on camera or something?
How did you hear that
?”
Leander made a mental note for
It was simply that she shone like a flame, a flawless diamond breathing living fire among so many dead lumps of coal.
As she moved gracefully through the swinging doors of the kitchen, past the tables of diners, coming toward him through pools of warm candlelight and patches of dappled shadow, slender and lovely and tall, she blazed brighterand more brilliant than the noonday sun, illuming the air around her like a torch.
She stepped past the bar, lifting her arm with the grace of a swan to snare a Bordeaux glass as she passed. The Blood of the
Ikati
was clearly visible in her figure, the sensual lines of her body, the way she floated like a panther hunting its prey in the forest. She was lissome and sleek and glorious.
Her beauty made his skin prickle.
But it was those Eyes that drew him in, strange and clear and haunting, that look of something carefully hidden, something guarded. She was brittle and brash on the outside, full of poise and confidence and strength, but her every glance was oddly wounded. Even as she mocked him and called him pathetic, there was some fathomless depth of...
“I suppose I owe you both an apology
and
a thank you,” Jenna said primly, eyes downcast as she presented the bottle of Latour, label up, for his inspection.
Her voice, quiet and melodious, sent a fresh shiver crawling up his spine. He was glad for the stiff leather of the banquette against his back, real and grounding. He made a conscious effort to keep his body relaxed, his breathing regular.
“You’ve already apologized. And no thanks are necessary.” Leander stroked a thumb over the fine layer of dust on the Latour’s label, keeping his own eyes focused on the bottle.
He nodded toward the bottle, approving.
She set the Bordeaux glass on the white linen tablecloth and used a foil cutter to remove the foil cap over the cork. A corkscrew appeared in her hand.
“I’m sure you must have said something to the maître d’. My job has miraculously been restored.” An elegant turn of her wrist released the cork from the bottle. “Not that I deserve it,” she added, almost inaudibly.
Leander glanced up at her face. His acute hearing had allowed him to overhear every word that dreadful little rat of a man had spoken to her in the kitchen. He had wanted to take Geoffrey’s neck between his hands and squeeze very, very hard.
“I informed him that I plan to dine here every night for the remainder of my...vacation...and simply made clear my expectation that his talented and insightful sommelier would be on hand to assist me with my wine selections.”
He accepted the cork she held out to him without further comment. She watched him stroke a finger up and down the slender stem of the wine glass.
“Shall I decant?”
“No,” he replied, raising his gaze to the poem of her face. “But you should bring another glass.”
“Is someone joining you?”
“Yes. You are.”
He saw how that surprised her. Her slender fingers tightened around the neck of the wine bottle. She shifted her weight to her opposite foot.
“Ah...” She shot a glance toward the kitchen doors. “I don’t really think that would be the best—”
“Come now,” he interrupted with a small smile. “I don’t think your maître d’ would approve of you denying the request of His Holy Dignity, do you?”
It was a provocation—and a deliberate one. He wanted her to be curious, wanted her to wonder how he knew theridiculous moniker Geoffrey had called him, wanted her to want to get closer—
Jenna slammed the Latour down upon the table with a jarring
thump
, the wine sloshing in the bottle. Hectic spots of color stained her cheeks.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she said through stiff lips. “Am I on camera or something?
How did you hear that
?”
Leander made a mental note for
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