Hawks was about to begin his first patrol of the day when he saw her sitting at the outdoor cafe. Since she had not spotted him yet, he stood across the street observing her as she stirred her coffee while staring into the cup.
Farrah wore a plain, little black sheath dress. He could not help but comtemplate if it was something like the one she had worn to entice the man in the car to pick her up. Her long hair had been twisted into a sleek ballerina bun positioned at the crown of her head.
How much had she drank last night to forget? The large round black lenses of her sunglasses hid her eyes and half of her face. With her huge movie star sunglasses, she looked like a bored starlet, all dressed up with no where special to go, sipping a cup of overpriced coffee.
Tugging at the collar of his jacket and combing his fingers through his perpetually messy blond hair, he put on a smile and walked over. Her eyes casually scanned the passers by on the sidewalk finally landing on him when he stepped his booted foot onto the curb. Her dark pink lips free of lipstick stretched into a smile when she locked onto him.
"Hey, there," he greeted her, propping his elbow on the waist high fence made of thin black rails to separate the cafe seating from the sidewalk. "It's a lovely morning isn't it?"
"It is," she agreed, sitting her cup down on its saucer with a low clink of ceramic.
"Do you have any plans for dinner?" he boldy asked without bothering to mince words.
"Hawks, are you asking me out?"
"I am."
"Well," she began to be interrupted by an ear splitting shriek from somewhere down the block.
His head immediately whipped in the direction of the sound as he stood tall and straight ready to launch his lithe body into action. Farrah watched as he smiled and relaxed, resuming his position of casually leaning on the decorative fence.
"So as I was saying," he started to be interrupted by squeals of delight.
The three girls dressed in green and blue pleated skirts and white button down dress shirts, undoubtedly on their way to school, huddled together holding hands while jumping up and down in their excitement at spotting the handsome hero.
"Oh, it's Hawks!" cried out one of the teenage girls, her ponytail whipping in the air behind her as she literally jumped for joy.
"Wow, your mere presence spreads a lot of happiness," Farrah remarked, picking up her cup.
"You think?" He lifted his hand waved which set off another barrage of fangirl screams.
"God," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, he's so cute! We love you, Hawks," another screeched.
"Oh, dear," Farrah murmured, watching the three girls as they waved back and giggled with abandon. "Members of your fanclub I take it?"
"Ah, the price of being popular," he sighed with mock resignation. "But I am willing to pay it."
She could tell he loved the attention when he smiled broadly and waved at them initiating a shriek of delight from them.
"Morning, ladies!" he greeted them. He turned his attention back to her. "About dinner..."
Without leaving him hanging, Farrah picked up on his hint to make him an offer of a place and time.
"Why don't you come to my hotel room?" she suggested. "I'll order room service. What's your favorite food?"
"Chicken," he answered without hesitation.
Her eyebrow shot up to her hairline questioningly. A bird who eats other birds? He truly is a hawk, a raptor. Her lips stretched into a broad grin.
"You know how funny that is right?"
"What can I say? I'm a complicated man with unusual tastes."
"Indeed. Eight o'clock?"
"I'll be there," he returned with a wink.
"Hawks! Hawks!" the girls cried in unison beginning their not so stealthy approach. "Can we have your autograph?"
Still clinging together, walking hip to hip, they looked like a six legged, six armed beast slowly stalking toward him. Their weapons were notebooks and pens, already extended toward him despite their being half a block away.
"You better tend to your adoring fans before things get out of hand," she said with a little chuckle.
"I suppose so," he sighed, not annoyed in the least by their overbearing attention. Touching two fingers to his brow in a little farewell salute and winking at her, he said, "See ya."
"Yeah," she murmured, rising from her wrought iron chair to leave. "See ya."
On her way back to her hotel, Farrah found she could not stop smiling while thinking about the gorgeous young hero with the crimson wings. He was really extremely sweet and patient despite being a little conceited. Lost in her thoughts, she almost bumped into a harried mother with a toddler perched on her hip as the woman rushed into the grocery store.
For a long moment, she stood on the rubber mat staring into the open double doors of the establishment. She could not remember the last time she walked into a grocery store much less cooked a meal. Most of her food came prepackaged or cooked by professionals. Her meals came cold from big coolers in convenience stores, overpriced and in small quantities from fancy restaurants with snotty maître d's, or under big silver domes from room service.
Hawks said he liked chicken. Her brain linked the words chicken hawk together bringing to mind an image of the pretty bird with the somewhat comical name. She giggled to herself.
An older couple walked toward her to exit the grocery store. They bowed politely and gave her a warm, gentle smile that pushed up their wrinkles, layering them like slats of a window blind being pulled up.
Farrah smiled and bowed in return, pivoting her body to watch them walk away. They tottered away slowly, the woman's arm linked securely through her husband's while he carried their single brown paper bag of groceries. Those two had been married for a very, very long time and still cared deeply about each other.
She often wondered what it would be like to grow old with someone, to dawdle along arm and arm with the love of her life, doing everything together and enjoying their last few years of life together. She sighed sadly, self-pityingly, hoping she would have a chance to get that old by herself.
Enji begged her, in his own demanding and forceful way, to stop killing people. Did he fear for her safety? That one day a target would make her the victim instead? Or did he intend to take her out himself should he find her at the scene of her crime? Her time seemed to be limited regardless so she should make the best of it.
Turning back to the front doors of the grocery store, Farrah walked inside. Picking up a shopping basket, sliding the cold plastic handles up to the bend in her arm, she headed toward the fruits and vegetables. She had made a unique and shocking decision - for her anyway - she would cook dinner for Keigo Takami. The suite had a full gourmet kitchen worthy of any restaurant. She should make use of it.
But what to cook? Her father's favorite meal was Chicken Marsala. Fairly simple. Chicken served over pasta and covered with a simple but delicious sauce made of mushrooms, wine, and cream. Her cooking skills might be a bit rusty from disuse, but surely she could pull that off. She had cooked that meal hundreds of times.
The vivid colors and mind boggling selection of produce almost overwhelmed her. She wanted to pick up every piece of fruit just to feel it and smell it. She decided to buy a spiny looking pink dragon fruit just because it looked so strange and smelled so good. After picking up the mushrooms and a few fresh herbs, she decided she better move along or she would be here until closing time.
There was something comforting about the everyday ordinary task of choosing ingredients for a meal. As she strolled around, there were employees stationed at little carts or tables offering samples of food. She tried every single one of them. Half the time she didn't even know what she was eating but everything was delicious and she savored every tasty bite.
Farrah picked up a package of noodles that resembled fettucine pasta and tossed them in her basket. A strange excitement filled her belly. Was it apprehension? Paranoia? Was someone watching her?
Glancing around, she saw that the only people shopping this time of day were older folks, housewives, or mothers with their young children. No one paid any attention to her because they were too busy making their own choices. She was the only assassin here masquerading as a 'normal' person.
Her entire body felt light and tingly. She felt alive. Then she recognized the feeling: happiness. The mundane act of choosing food in anticipation of preparing a meal made her happy. She could not recall the last time she tasted the sweet nectar of a such a simple joy in life.
Farrah could barely wait for her date with Takami.
Is it a date?, she asked herself. If not, what is it? Dinner with a friend? A stranger? A man she hoped would be her lover?
Oh, my god, what the hell am I doing? Trying to forget Enji Todoroki. Trying to fill the void in your heart. Trying to make the pain stop, her helpful inner voice answered what should have been a strictly rhetorical question.
~\..'../~
At six o' clock, Farrah showered but did not bother with make up. She opted to lower her bun to the nape of her neck for a more casual look. Her attire consisted of an extremely plain, white cotton tube top mini dress.
She picked up her necklace and placed it against her chest. Staring at her reflection in the mirror as she brought the clasp together, her eyes centered on the teardrop pearl. The necklace was always the first thing she put on when getting ready for anything. But why?
Sighing, she did not clasp it and pulled it away from her neck to stow it back in the jewelry case. The old case was mostly bare of the royal blue velvet that had once covered the entire outside. It was the original box in which she had received the present from Enji. Putting the box in top drawer of the make up table, she decided perhaps it was time to try something else new in her life and put another part of her painful past behind.
After slathering on a bit of lip gloss with her pinky finger, she went to the kitchen to begin cooking for Keigo Takami.
She hummed as she chopped the mushrooms, sneaking sips of the Marsala wine. For quality control purposes, she told herself. She wanted everything to be perfect and taste great. What he thought of her or her cooking shouldn't matter - but it did. She wanted to impress him.
While filling the big pot with water for the pasta, she noticed the remote for the old school stero system in the living room on the kitchen counter. Setting the filled pot on the stove, she turned on some music. Allowing her giddiness to guide her, she swayed and spun and moved any way her body wanted to match the fast paced, upbeat classical music.
Takami arrived well before eight. He stood at sliding door on the balcony with his hand raised to rap on the glass. When he saw her in the kitchen, whirling around like a ballerina on her toes, he stopped and stared.
Farrah Calvin had a strange way of hypnotizing him from a distance. She had from the first time he saw her at the secluded inn.
He had seen her smile before, but never like she was presently. The grin was relaxed and almost rapturous. He wanted to poke her dimples and tell her how cute she looked. No. She wasn't cute. She was fucking gorgeous.
Farrah swayed back and forth, extending her arms to her sides, her elegant fingers reaching. Reaching for what? He wanted it to be him she outstretched her hands for.
Plie. Jete. An elegant spin on the toes of one foot with the toes of the other pointed at the inner knee of her base leg. She had to have taken lessons for years and years as a child. Maybe into her teenage years as well.
He continued to watch her for a few minutes longer. When he started to feel like a creepy voyeur, he decided he better knock. His knuckles hit the glass making a hollow thunking sound.
The little ballerina did not stop dancing. She could not hear him over the music.
Testing the door, pulling on the handle, it slid open a few inches so he let himself inside. Trying not to frighten her, he called out her name.
Farrah froze, eyes wide, body locked in mid sway. Her arms reached above her head in preparation for another plie, but she did not move a muscle. Even her lovely fingers stayed completely still. Gradually lowering her arms, she cleared her throat and allowed her eyes to return to their normal size.
"Takami, you're early," she said, pink color flooding her tanned cheeks to make them glow as if she had the beginning of a sunburn. "Do you have something against front doors?"
"Do you have something against clothes?" he retorted with a cocky smirk on his face.
"I'm wearing clothes," she hotly defended herself, the color on her cheeks darkening to a shade of red that matched his wings. She smoothed down the front of the short dress that barely reached her mid-thigh with a ridged stretched top encapsulating her braless breasts.
"You look quite nice I must say," he complimented her, walking toward her.
Farrah swiftly took in his appearance as he strode toward her with his loose limbed, self-assured strut. He was dressed in white t-shirt with red trim at the collar and around the bottom of the short sleeves. His light blue jeans were fashionably distressed at the knees and on the thighs. Those tight jeans made her feel a bit distressed and a tad warm all over.
"So do you," she replied with sincerity, her voice thick as if something clogged her throat.
He was wearing black leather biker boots. She found the boots an unusual choice considering his wings were so much faster than any motorcycle ever could be. A birdman whose favorite food is chicken. He is a walking dichotomy. She found his opposing likes and unusual choices amusing in their contrariety.
Keigo Takami looked so different in street clothes as opposed to his hero garb. She liked the way he looked in or out of his uniform. She could not help but ponder what he looked like without any clothes at all. Her smile extended with that thought, her dimples deepening.
"Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like a drink in the meantime?" Farrah asked, helping herself. She picked up the bottle of wine and drank straight from it.
"Just water, please," Takami politely requested. "I have to be at work in the morning. Being hungover wouldn't be a good look for a popular hero."
"I guess not," she murmured, going to the refrigerator to get them both a bottle of water.
"I have to be fresh and beautiful for my adoring public."
"Of course you do."
Takami leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes watching every swing of her hips as she approached him. He smiled at her appreciatively, his eyes rising to meet hers when she extended the frosty bottle to him.
"See something you like?" she inquired.
"Uh huh," he confirmed, twisting off the bottle top. "Your dancing was lovely. You could have been a professional ballerina."
"Not hardly," she scoffed, taking a long draw from her water bottle. "I was never even close to being good enough. Ballet was more than less a hobby, an escape, I indulged in to get lost and take my mind off of things. A physical release."
"A physical release," he repeated, one corner of his mouth sneaked upward in a naughty little grin.
Oh, god, she thought, finishing off her bottle of water and resisting the temptation to pour it over her face burning with humiliation. What the hell is it about this kid? Being near him turns me into a complete moron!
Takami lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. His eyes fluttered closed and he hummed in approval.
"Mmmm...something smells good."
Shit!, she wanted to scream after he made that sound like a long extended groan of pleasure. His eyes flickered open, his liquid gold irises locking onto her eyes.
"What ya cooking?" he inquired, walking into the kitchen.
"Uhm..." Suddenly she couldn't remember.
Farrah hurried to the stove, lifting the lid from the sauté pan for him to see the contents. A cloud of steam rose from the chicken in cream sauce she had left simmering to stay warm and tenderize.
Takami stood beside her, his chest pushing against her arm as he leaned forward to take a big whiff of the food.
"Chicken Marsala. I hope you like it. It was my father's favorite," she said.
"You're a woman of surprising talents, Farrah Calvin," he said, his fingers grasping her arm firmly but gently. He slowly turned her to face him. "I'm sure I'll love it."
Her insides quivered like gelatin during an earthquake. She is an assassin for God's sake. Plotting and committing a murder did not give her as much anxiety as this man.
"Hope you're hungry," she said, chuckling nervously.
"Starving," he returned giving her a ravenous look that had nothing to do with the food.
"Oh," she gasped when she felt his fingertips resting along her jaw.
"Can I kiss you?" he inquired, his eyes meandering down her lips.
"Do you always ask permission?"
His eyes lifted back to hers. "No. But with you, I feel like I should. Can I kiss you?" he repeated.
She could not tell if his fingers were trembling or if it was her body shaking. Her lips parted for her to speak, but it was if her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her dry mouth. She closed her mouth and swallowed to free her tongue and dislodge the lump in her throat.
"Yes...please," she implored him, her lips quivering as his inched closer.
"You don't have to beg," he whispered.
The high pitched beep of the timer startled them causing them to jump apart. Amid blushes and quick glimpses, they chuckled in their mutual embarrassment.
Farrah pressed the button on the stove to turn off the ear splitting sound.
"Dinner's ready," she announced.
"Should we eat on the balcony?" he suggested. "It's a beautiful night."
Yes, it most certainly is a beautiful night.
"Sure," she agreed and picked up a plate to begin serving the food.
Plates in one hand and wine glasses full of water in the other, the two of them went to the balcony. Farrah flipped the switch on the wall. Blue and orange flames shot up among the lava rocks in the outdoor firepit giving them a low and romantic light to dine by. She took her seat beside him on the black rattan couch.
"How much longer will you be in Japan?" Takami asked her.
"I don't know," she answered truthfully.
After returning from the grocery store, Farrah had received a text informing her the suite had been paid up through the weekend. Her orders at the moment were to relax and wait for further instructions.
"Farrah, I know what you do and - "
"Please," she said, placing her hand over his that rested on his knee. "Let's not talk about what we do. Let's pretend you're not a pro hero, and I'm not an assassin. We're just two people having a nice dinner together. Okay?"
"Okay," he agreed. He shoved a large piece of the chicken in his mouth, his eyes widening. "Oh, my god this is so good."
"I'm glad you like it. There's plenty more if you want it."
"What kind of books do you like to read?" he inquired around another mouthful of chicken.
"I'll read pretty much anything. My absolute favorite are the cheesy romance novels," she confessed garnering a laugh from him. "What?"
"Romance novels? Are you serious?" he questioned her not believing it.
"Yes!" she exclaimed defensively drinking some of her water. "Enemies to lovers. One person from the wrong side of the tracks. Forbidden love. The whole ill fated lovers trope. I love all the stupid romantic possibilities. Even grown women love a good happily ever after story."
"Yeah," he murmured, reaching over to push a lose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm sure they do."
"There's something about the idea of unlikely lovers who somehow find a way to be together against all odds that just gets me right here," she said, patting her chest over her heart. "We both know things don't work out that way in real life. Reality sucks that way."
Takami gave her a sympathetic smile, pitying but not demeaning in his struggle to understand the depths of her pain. He knew something heart rending and terrible had gone on between her and Enji Todoroki.
"I have no idea what it feels like to have my heart broken," he admitted.
"I hope you never have to," she rejoined unable to conjure up a smile, even an insincere one, to be polite. "We should eat. It's getting cold."
Although she had no appetite, Farrah forced herself to eat at least half of her serving. The rest she pushed around the plate and spread out to make it appear she had eaten more than she really had.
"Are you going to eat that?" Takami asked her when he polished off his food.
"I'm done. There's more on the stove. It's still warm. Go get that," she said as he reached for her plate.
"Nah," he said, picking up her plate to set it in front of him. "It's too good to waste a bit of it."
"But the rest is - "
"Don't worry," he cut her off. "I plan to eat that too."
"Wow, you have a big appetite."
"And you're a great cook." He chewed and swallowed with another forkful of food poised at his mouth. Casting her a sidelong glimpse, he asked, "Would you consider cooking for me again?"
"I might," she coyly responded.
"What if I stayed for breakfast?" he asked, placing the fork on the empty plate and pushing it away. His fingertips touched her shoulder and drifted down her arm raising goosebumps int their wake. "I'm in no big hurry to leave such lovely company."
"If you stay for breakfast," she began, her eyes meeting his in the muted light from the flames of the gas firepit. "Then we will be ordering room service because I will be too tired to cook."
"You think?" That arrogant, self-assured smirk tilted his lips.
"If you're as good as you seem to think you are, then yeah."
Farrah inclined her body as if she meant to kiss him but avoided his seeking lips by leaning to the side to grab their plates from the table and swiftly stand to her feet in one flowing movement. She bit her lower lip to stifle her giggle when she heard his indignant huff when she walked away.
"Come on. I need a little help. These dishes aren't going to do themselves. Grab the glasses, please," she requested, looking back over her shoulder at him before walked through the door they had left open.
As she had asked, Takami picked up their water glasses and followed her into the kitchen to assist with dish duty. He spotted the still half full wine glass on the kitchen island and picked it up to place it beside the sink as well. While she filled the basin with hot, soapy water, he continued to collect the rest of the used cooking dishes and implements. He polished off the leftover food while she washed the plates.
"You do have quite an appetite," Farrah remarked when placed the empty saute pan beside the sink to be washed although it nearly shone. He had all but licked it clean.
"You have no idea," he returned, touching her bare shoulder blade, his raised bushy eyebrows hinting heavily at a sexy double entendre.
She chortled to her chagrin when he stepped around her to pick up the towel to begin drying the dishes she placed on the wooden drying rack. She directed him where to put everything up as she continued to scrub and clean to finish the pots and pans.
Once again, Farrah was struck with that sensation of heartwarming nostalgia from performing a boring chore most people hated. But it was so satisfying to do ordinary things most people did everyday. Having a handsome assistant made it even more appealing. She almost felt like a normal person for the first time in a very long time.
"What about this?" Takami said, bringing her attention to the wineglass.
"Oh, I'm not letting that go to waste," she said, picking it up to take a sip. Turning to face him, she smiled. "I don't have to worry about disappointing my fan club."
"Hmmm," he hummed, leaning back against the island in the middle of the kitchen behind him. His eyes followed hers as she looked him over carefully. "See something you like?"
"I do," she replied without hesitation, sitting the glass down by the sink. She moved toward him, raising her hands up but stopped short of touching him, almost coming nose to nose with him. "Can I touch them?"
"Excuse me?"
Her question surprised him. Then he realized she was referring to her wings when her fingertips curled and brushed the edges of the outer feathers.
"You can touch anything you want," he answered, his mouth dropping into a sideways grin.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" She straightened her fingers to pull them away from the feathers.
He shrugged. "Go ahead. I don't mind at all."
Takami watched her face while her fingers gingerly stroked the top of his wings. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she sucked in a sharp breath.
"They're so soft," she whispered, skimming the outer edges of his wings with her hands.
"But I can make them hard."
She did that funny little giggle/snort thing which made him simper at her in return. "I bet."
"No, seriously," he said, plucking one of them out.
"Hey, no!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hand but it was too late.
"Don't worry. It will grow back. Watch."
Takami held the feather up in front of her face, making it stiff and hard as steel with a razor sharp edge. It was sharper and more deadly than any knife in this kitchen. Turning around he jammed the feather into the wooden cutting board like a chef's knife.
"Wow," she gasped. "They were so soft when I touched them but you can transform them into a weapon?"
"I can also use them to hold or move objects. Even people," he said, resting his hands on her hips as she stood in front of him, her eyes transfixed by the feather knife. "I bet I can find a way to move you."
Takami pushed her lightly making her take several steps backward. Their eyes locked when her arms automatically went to his shoulders, holding onto him should she lose her balance and fall. He had no intention of pushing her down though. Besides, he would have been there to catch her. He just wanted her arms around him. Mission accomplished.
"Takami," she whispered.
"Keigo," he prompted her to call him by his first name.
"Are you sure? Are we that close yet?" she asked, dropping her arms from around him and leaning on the counter behind her.
"We can be," he offered, easing toward her as if she were skittish creature he might frighten away if he moved too fast.
"Are you volunteering to be that guy?" she asked, lifting her hand and running her fingers through his hair that appeared thick and coarse but was actually as fine and fluffy as the down on a baby bird.
He smiled at her, a little unsure of what exactly she was referring to. "What guy?"
"Oh, you know," she sighed, allowing her eyes to glide away from his to study the red square earring in his earlobe. "The guy who will help me bury my sorrows and work out my anger issues." Her fingers glided down the sides of his neck to rest on his shoulders as her eyes found his once more. "The one who will help heal my broken heart."
Sarcasm tainted her words when she spoke them. Takami could not ignore the bitter tone, yet he would not let it deter him.
"Oh, that guy," he rejoined in an exaggerated "aha" moment. His sly, flirtatious smile slowly stretched his lips. "Yeah. I'll be that guy."
Farrah appeared hurt and disappointed. She exhaled, but smiled that sad smile of hers. She avoided his gaze by studying her fingers as they toyed with locks of his windblown hair on either side of his head.
"Keigo, rebound relationships never end well. Everyone gets hurts just little more than they were before it started. You really don't want to get involved with me," she warned him, attempting to pull away.
However, his hands resting on her hips moved up to her waist. His long fingers almost completely encompassed her narrow middle. He stepped closer to her, pushing her back into the counter and leaving her no room for escape. His eyes shifted down to her lips then back up to hers. Moving his head forward, he paused within a hair's breadth of kissing her.
"You're already involved with me whether you want to admit it or not. You invited me here. I accepted because I wanted to see you. You cooked me dinner. It was amazing."
His hand rested on her chest, his fingertips pressing where the teardrop pearl pendant usually lay when she wore it. Her breath caught in her chest as if trapped in her lungs under his hand. Farrah's body trembled against his, but he remained still and steadfast, his belly pressing into hers.
"You're not wearing his necklace. Why?"
She opened her mouth to speak, to offer some sarcastic retort or perhaps a flat out hateful remark. Instead, a strangled squeak came out causing her to instantly clamp her lips closed while a pretty pink blush covered his face. Her eyelashes lowered to her cheek to veil her eyes from him.
"All of that has to mean something, Farrah," he said, ducking his head lower than hers to invade her line of sight.
Her eyes hopped back and forth between his which gazed into hers, firmly but kindly requesting an answer.
"It means..." She allowed her words to trail off because her tongue felt thick and heavy, her saliva the consistency of glue.
"Here," Takami said, picking her glass of wine from the side of the sink.
Farrah opened her mouth slightly as he brought the glass to her lips pressing the rim to her bottom lip. She swallowed after he tilted up the glass to pour the wine into her mouth to wet her throat and bolster her courage.
"Thank you," she said when he pulled the glass away.
Her eyes studied those three little rows of blond hair on his chin when he turned his head and leaned forward to put the glass down. She inhaled to fill her oxygen starved lungs which also inundated her nostrils with his scent.
The only way she could describe his aroma is how she believed the sky would smell; like sunshine and rain - light, clean, and crisp. His scent made her feel warm yet brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin.
"Tell me what it means, Farrah. Please," Keigo implored her sweetly, his eyes softening and his eyelids drooping.
"I want to let go of my past...all of it," she added so he would know she meant more than Enji Todoroki.
His lips pressed squarely to hers for a brief, chaste peck. Backing away from her so she could see his entire face not just those mesmerizing amber eyes, he smiled at her, combing his fingers down through the sides of her hair to tug lightly on the flipped up ends.
"Then let me give you something new to hold onto in the present," he suggested, putting his arms around her and pulling her forward to kiss her.
Farrah closed her eyes as she sank into his arms, his lips meeting hers. Although tender, the kiss was more insistent this time, eliciting a response from her. Her arms encircled his small waist when her lips pushed back, kissing him in return.
Her arms tightened around him in an embrace while his lips delicately brushed over hers. He kissed one corner, then the other, before resting his lips gently in the middle with a featherlight, almost ticklish pressure.
Her arms constricted around him once more. She liked hugging him. He fit so nicely in her arms and against her body. Her lips vibrated against his when she moaned with pleasure as he continued to kiss her with a tenderness she had never experienced. His kiss was so gentle - just like all of his touches.
Takami lifted his mouth from hers, placing an affectionate peck in the middle of her forehead.
"Now, I'm going to leave," he whispered as if to break the news to her gently.
"Leave?" she repeated, thoroughly confused.
"You're not ready yet."
Keigo withdrew his arms from around her and backed away from her slowly. He pivoted on the heel of his boot to walk toward the glass door.
He's really leaving? What the hell?!, her fevered and muddled mind screamed.
"Always leave them wanting more, sweetheart," he said, giving her a wink as he pushed open the door. He did not leave though.
Insufferable little shit, she thought but kept her mouth shut. Keigo Takami had an annoying tendency to be unpredictable and say the unexpected. Contrary and contradictive, she never knew would he would say or do next.
"I seem to remember you saying something about breakfast," he said, turning his head to look at her without moving his body.
In that moment, he reminded her of an owl, a sky cat, a silent and efficient predator. However, she was not worried. He had more to fear from her. She had a tendency to be an emotional wrecking ball, destroying herself and others in her path. Apparently, he was emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on that.
Actually, he was the one who had mentioned breakfast, but she did not feel like now is the time split hairs. He had flirtatiously said something in the context of eating the meal after staying the night and having sex with her.
All night long? Farrah shivered with excitement at the thought. That was a threat many men made but few could make good on.
"What about breakfast?" she asked coolly wanting him to expound on what exactly he was referring to about the morning meal.
"Well, I'm glad you asked. I'd be happy to come back for breakfast. What time should I be here?"
Actually, she had not asked him to come back, but if he wanted to take the question as an invitation so be it. She certainly was not going to tell him not to come back to see her even if her pride was screaming for her to do it. He was the one who said to leave them wanting more after all while proceeding to go to the door to actually leave.
Leaning against the couch, keeping her composure and indifferent facial expression, Farrah waited an uncomfortably long time before saying anything else.
"Six?"
"Bright and early huh? Anxious to see me again?" He flashed his toothy, official hero grin as if she were one of his giggling fangirls.
"You said you have to go to work right? I wouldn't want you to be late and get into trouble."
"Ah, I wouldn't be in trouble," he said, literally waving away her misgiving. "I'm an early bird anyway so six is good." His smile shifted into an arrogant smirk. "It's a date."
A date? She questioned herself again if she was dating this attractive young hero. No way. He's a kid. Simply preposterous.
Without any further ado, he stepped outside, took a running leap to clear the waist high banister like a hurdle and flew away into the night.
"Ugh," she groaned, walking around the end of the couch to plop down on the seat. Then she began to laugh like a woman who had been separated from her last shred of sanity. "Oh, my God...what have I gotten myself into?"
But whatever her situation is, or would become, with that infuriating and incomprehensible tease, it seemed like a pretty good thing.