She had come, unannounced, waltzing right into the vigorous world he had created.
Her eyes were like a mirror, reflecting all the hidden emotions he had fought against, trying to conceal, to forget, to ignore. He was fine. She showed him he was not.
She recalled the memories of disgust, contempt, shame and embarrassment. Everything about her was reminiscent of that he had been trying to force back into his cesspool of screaming agony. He had been pretending so hard, he could swear he fooled the radical honesty that made the words come out of his mouth. She walked in, saw right through him and painted all the forbidden feelings and thoughts on her face.
He knew, the second he was her, that she was trouble. That she was an artist, the Da Vinci of lying. He could, how, he was not sure. A sense, a feeling, a small hint that rapidly crawled into his brain like an ant sensing sugar. Perhaps that was why he felt attracted to her almost instantly. He could feel the words itch in his throat. Swallowing hard, he tried to push them back down into the abyss, back into the box of unspoken words and blinded thoughts.
There she was, coming closer. For a split second, he thought that her visit was only saved for Lightman, or Gillian even. But then she deviated, turned slightly in her long strides and headed into his direction. Her fierce, penetrating yet ambivalence eyes had found his stare, causing her to approach the already nervous researcher. He broke into a profuse sweat, his leg anxiously bobbing up and down as if dancing, the pen in his hands rhythmically hitting his desk as if drumming.
She opened the lab door and her phantom scent permeated his nostrils; roses and autumn rain. A rare combination, even for him, but he guessed that she reminded him of that. She parted her desirable red lips but before a words could emerge from her mouth, he interrupted her.
"I think I'm in love with you."
To his surprise riddled dismay, she flashed him a smile. He had wanted her to turn and run away. Perhaps scream at him before she fled, yelling and shouting what a weird, perverted man he was. Instead, she flashed him a surprised, but mostly amused smile. And he couldn't help it, he sought the truth. Eyebrows slightly raised, contraction of both the zygomatic major muscles (She has dimples…) and the orbicularis oculi muscles (Crow's feet around her dark, gorgeous eyes…), sparkle in his eyes. The truth. Genuine.
"Well, handsome, your name, phone number and the directions to Lightman's office please."
Her British accent was heavy and thick, the spoken words still reverberating in the room, the motion of air rippled against his skin like a cool hand caressing him.
"Uhm, second door on your right. Down the hall."
The exquisite Brit was halfway through her actions to turn and leave, when she didn't. She raised one corner of her mouth, seduction in her eyes, fascination on her face, as she turned herself back towards the still-gazing man.
"Didn't catch your name, love."
"It's Eli. Eli Loker."
"Well, Eli. Nice to meet you."
And with that, she finally turned and left, leaving the handsome Eli Loker baffled and astound, her dark green dress swirling with every (suave and sexy) move. Realisation hit him and made him jump up from his chair, knocking over his pencil jar in the process. He cursed and cursed again once his green eyes had found the figure of the woman, just turning around a corner.
Perhaps it was for the best; if Cal found him drooling over a friend (Or perhaps even an (ex-) lover… She's British after all…) he should have cleaned up his office weeks ago. Still. He didn't ask her (name).