It was likely to bruise easily, that delicate pale skin just below her jaw that was currently covered by a scarf. Whenever Helena moved her head a bit too far to the right, which she sometimes did while speaking to Claudia or Pete, it became almost visible, but only to those who were looking for it (namely Myka).
To others, the dark, hatefully glorious hair that cascaded over her shoulders like fucking waterfalls probably was kind of a distraction. The hair that was haphazardly supported by one fragile looking, perfectly formed ear. It seemed entirely too unharmed.
A hundred and forty six years and this woman looked like she had literally just been created by God, uncounted fights and she didn't even have a scratch. Or a wrinkle, for that matter.
No, she just continued to look stupidly dashing and sidetracked Myka from work,
it was outrageous.
Myka Bering didn't stare at other people's necks (and hair and ears and lashes and the rim of her lips), she was focused and smart and reputable.
Which was why Helena's charms and wits and her deliciously educated language weren't helping. At all.
Not that Myka was paying all that much attention to what she was saying. She had come to be astonishingly good at engaging in their verbal swordplay and getting lost in Helena's old-fashioned ways of expression at the same time.
Gawd, (Gawd? That was so not how she spelled words! Brain, what the fridge?) Victorian English was just luscious, especially when pronounced by someone with the mind to match - and she was talking about fucking H.G. Wells, after all.
Someone who had been modern and emancipated enough to overcome the rules of the nineteenth century (hello!), and thus written a hundred books, kicked a bunch of evil asses, invented a time machine and to sum it all up, probably majored in badassery.
Someone who was now sitting across from her, svelteness in person, doing inventory and chit-chatting with her friends.
It made Myka furious and way behind her paper work.
The past twenty minutes, Helena had been indulged in a heated conversation with Claudia, something about Tesla and other technical stuff - Myka did know a thing or two about it, but the the others had left her level of knowledge behind after the first sentence.
And as someone who usually tended to be a little smarter and a little better informed than everyone else, Myka was surprised at just how hot it was to witness Helena get all clever and inventive over steam punk weapons.
Talking about weapons.
Myka had always resented the way most men thought that women with guns were sexy, but somehow, a change of heart had occurred recently - supposedly in connection with certain slim but painfully strong fingers curling around cold brazen metal.
Made her wonder what else those fingers were capable of and okay, that was so not what she should be thinking about right now. Or ever. Myka hurried to hover over her file again, which was the closest she had come to actually reading it, so far.
But wasn't it Helena's fault, really? The teasing innuendos, the glances from beneath half-mast eyelids in plain public, the accidentally brushing hands and her constant invasion of Myka's personal space. Especially latter.
Yes, definitely her fault.
She pushed her file aside.
»HG, can I talk to you for a minute?«
»Yes, Darling, what can I -«
Helena was unceremoniously cut short when the entirety of Myka crushed into her, cold hard hands on her wrists shoulders neck rushing in her hair and tugging, Helena's insides dissolved with the spark-giving contact of her mouth burned by wayward lips.
Before she had caught her breath and realised her eyes had closed, Myka had swept over her like a thunderstorm, tongue and teeth and terrific truculence, magnified her own desire sevenfold and torn away.
She even had the sassiness to cock an eyebrow at her as she stepped back, lips curling into a bold smirk, turned around and sauntered away.
She had already reached the end of the hallway when Helena found the wit to retort:
»Care to elaborate on that?«