Ian first slipped off his ring, then his leather gloves. Feeling the slight
cool air brush against his heated hands. He dropped the gloves on the floor
along with the ring on top. Sara continued to pace the elevator, muttering
under her breath, not once taking notice of Ian. He then shrugged off the
offending overcoat, with a sigh of relief, rolling his shoulders, grateful
to get rid of the added weight.
The sound of an odd thump made Sara turn around. Ian had uncharacteristically dropped the overcoat to the floor covering his gloves and ring. Sara stared wide eyed as she watched him push off his thin sweater over his head, revealing not only another layer of black silk that had clung to his sweat coated body but also his arms and hands.
Ian knew Sara was watching him undress. She had stopped from her pacing after he had dropped his coat. He refused to look up, too afraid what would be reflected in those emerald eyes probably disgust and revulsion. The thought gave him a pause to continue undressing. Maybe he should stop and leave the shirt on. But the welcoming feeling of the air brushing against his heated skin was too much temptation to stop now. Ian took an unsteady breath and continued, he reached for the top buttons of his silk shirt with shaky hands, and one by one tugged at the buttons.
Sara couldn't help but stare at his arms and hands. This had been the most she had seen of Nottingham and from the look of his diligent hands there was a promise of more to come. His powerful, muscular arms flexed slightly with each movement of his long, lean fingers as it gingerly unbuttoned each button. To her surprise with every loose button of his shirt Sara held her breath in anticipation. She was finally going to see more of Nottingham, who from the beginning, hid behind layers of black clothes. The only part of him she would see had been his face. But his dark beard covered even a part of his facial features.
Inadvertently Sara began wondering how Ian's beard would it feel like grazed against her skin. 'Would it feel as smooth and silky as it looks?' Sara blinked back the sinful thought. 'Get your head out of the gutter, Pezzini!' She lightly admonishes herself for letting her mind drift into the unknown. Without a second thought Sara began fanning profusely with both hands. Inferno may have been an understatement. It was until the silk garment hung loosely open did she see another layer of black material. Clearing her throat Sara began to speak.
"Uh…Nottingham just what the hell do you…think you're.. You're…?" Sara tried to sound abrasive but ended up sounding like a broken record. He had finally taken off the silken obstruction. Unlike the overcoat as it made a distinct rustling sound as it hit the floor, the garment freely flowed and made a slight whisper as it rested atop the rest of his clothes. With a heavy sigh of relief Ian let his body relax against the feel of air engulfing his upper body, letting the sweat cool off against his heated skin.
Ian stood in his corner satisfied he had chosen to wear his tank top. It had been revealing enough for him to be comfortable in the warm elevator car but it still concealed the many scars that covered most of his back, chest, and torso. Ian spied a glance, from his bowed head, to Sara. To his surprise she stood there blatantly staring at him, lips slightly parted. The fearful thought that repulsion ran through her eyes was now replaced with something he couldn't place. He had seen that look before, from Irons. Irons had that same look he had every time he would look at Elizabeth in her glass tomb. Irons had that look even with Sara. Desire, lust, and longing. Ian's hope was short lived, the look in her eyes now was one he knew well: anger.
Abash and angered by her boldness, Sara turned her back to him, arms crossed at her chest. She had been awe-struck, frozen in place when he finally took of his shirt. Leaving him in a tight tank top that clings to his body. Sweat or no sweat the material was made to hug every curve of his muscled chest and torso. Closing her eyes she could still see every detail of his upper body; his wide broad shoulders.
The black material had covered the rest but she could see the curves of his hard chest, lines of rock hard abs, and his slim waist. The material of his tank top and the faint light only seemed to boost to the mystery of his chiseled features. To Sara's surprise, though the lighting was bad, she was able to see his slightly tanned skin, not the pale color of a man deprived from the sun or worst hidden behind layers of clothes that did him no justice.
Opening her eyes she took a quick glance over her shoulder and stared at his submissive form, head bowed, and arms behind his back. She had always hated that, but now with him half dressed it only enhanced the sinewy muscles of his entire upper body, flexing as he strained to keep his body still. The faint red light gleaming off the sheen of sweat that covered his arms and shoulders. Working out at the gym, she was no stranger to guys who constantly work on their bodies. She admitted there were slight few that caught her attention, but Nottingham was different. Sara was reluctant to tear her gaze from this hidden Adonis. The walls began to surround her heart and her famous defense mechanism finally kicked in.
She had to remind herself that man, was nothing more then a trained assassin, a killer associated and employed by an amoral bastard. She had to remind herself that she had stopped him from almost killing her partner, Jake. He had refused to help her at the Rialto, which only cost Danny's life. This was a man who stalked her everyday; refuses to help when it came to the blade. Who only brought trouble and death whenever he was around? A man who has been reported to catch bullets with his hands but was unable to save her lover, Conchobar. A man she needed to hate because she was too afraid that if she let him in he would leave her too. If he didn't leave on his own accord, then he would sooner or later be taken away by death. She did not need Ian Nottingham.
The sound of an odd thump made Sara turn around. Ian had uncharacteristically dropped the overcoat to the floor covering his gloves and ring. Sara stared wide eyed as she watched him push off his thin sweater over his head, revealing not only another layer of black silk that had clung to his sweat coated body but also his arms and hands.
Ian knew Sara was watching him undress. She had stopped from her pacing after he had dropped his coat. He refused to look up, too afraid what would be reflected in those emerald eyes probably disgust and revulsion. The thought gave him a pause to continue undressing. Maybe he should stop and leave the shirt on. But the welcoming feeling of the air brushing against his heated skin was too much temptation to stop now. Ian took an unsteady breath and continued, he reached for the top buttons of his silk shirt with shaky hands, and one by one tugged at the buttons.
Sara couldn't help but stare at his arms and hands. This had been the most she had seen of Nottingham and from the look of his diligent hands there was a promise of more to come. His powerful, muscular arms flexed slightly with each movement of his long, lean fingers as it gingerly unbuttoned each button. To her surprise with every loose button of his shirt Sara held her breath in anticipation. She was finally going to see more of Nottingham, who from the beginning, hid behind layers of black clothes. The only part of him she would see had been his face. But his dark beard covered even a part of his facial features.
Inadvertently Sara began wondering how Ian's beard would it feel like grazed against her skin. 'Would it feel as smooth and silky as it looks?' Sara blinked back the sinful thought. 'Get your head out of the gutter, Pezzini!' She lightly admonishes herself for letting her mind drift into the unknown. Without a second thought Sara began fanning profusely with both hands. Inferno may have been an understatement. It was until the silk garment hung loosely open did she see another layer of black material. Clearing her throat Sara began to speak.
"Uh…Nottingham just what the hell do you…think you're.. You're…?" Sara tried to sound abrasive but ended up sounding like a broken record. He had finally taken off the silken obstruction. Unlike the overcoat as it made a distinct rustling sound as it hit the floor, the garment freely flowed and made a slight whisper as it rested atop the rest of his clothes. With a heavy sigh of relief Ian let his body relax against the feel of air engulfing his upper body, letting the sweat cool off against his heated skin.
Ian stood in his corner satisfied he had chosen to wear his tank top. It had been revealing enough for him to be comfortable in the warm elevator car but it still concealed the many scars that covered most of his back, chest, and torso. Ian spied a glance, from his bowed head, to Sara. To his surprise she stood there blatantly staring at him, lips slightly parted. The fearful thought that repulsion ran through her eyes was now replaced with something he couldn't place. He had seen that look before, from Irons. Irons had that same look he had every time he would look at Elizabeth in her glass tomb. Irons had that look even with Sara. Desire, lust, and longing. Ian's hope was short lived, the look in her eyes now was one he knew well: anger.
Abash and angered by her boldness, Sara turned her back to him, arms crossed at her chest. She had been awe-struck, frozen in place when he finally took of his shirt. Leaving him in a tight tank top that clings to his body. Sweat or no sweat the material was made to hug every curve of his muscled chest and torso. Closing her eyes she could still see every detail of his upper body; his wide broad shoulders.
The black material had covered the rest but she could see the curves of his hard chest, lines of rock hard abs, and his slim waist. The material of his tank top and the faint light only seemed to boost to the mystery of his chiseled features. To Sara's surprise, though the lighting was bad, she was able to see his slightly tanned skin, not the pale color of a man deprived from the sun or worst hidden behind layers of clothes that did him no justice.
Opening her eyes she took a quick glance over her shoulder and stared at his submissive form, head bowed, and arms behind his back. She had always hated that, but now with him half dressed it only enhanced the sinewy muscles of his entire upper body, flexing as he strained to keep his body still. The faint red light gleaming off the sheen of sweat that covered his arms and shoulders. Working out at the gym, she was no stranger to guys who constantly work on their bodies. She admitted there were slight few that caught her attention, but Nottingham was different. Sara was reluctant to tear her gaze from this hidden Adonis. The walls began to surround her heart and her famous defense mechanism finally kicked in.
She had to remind herself that man, was nothing more then a trained assassin, a killer associated and employed by an amoral bastard. She had to remind herself that she had stopped him from almost killing her partner, Jake. He had refused to help her at the Rialto, which only cost Danny's life. This was a man who stalked her everyday; refuses to help when it came to the blade. Who only brought trouble and death whenever he was around? A man who has been reported to catch bullets with his hands but was unable to save her lover, Conchobar. A man she needed to hate because she was too afraid that if she let him in he would leave her too. If he didn't leave on his own accord, then he would sooner or later be taken away by death. She did not need Ian Nottingham.