That cold shiver from the night before, in St. Cecilia’s, rocks my body, snapping my head back in that direction.
It’s not silver. It’s a light gray—the lightest gray irises I’ve ever seen. The brunette tilts her head, eyebrow raised, almost as if daring me.
I nearly stumble from the force of that stare.
A stare so cold, I feel dead. As if my soul has been brutally ripped from my body and I’m already six feet deep.
Blinking, I try to make sense of it.
Her stare is unwavering, but this time her expression’s a world away from what I saw before. The perusal she gives me is slow, lazy, and I’m instantly distracted by the rest of her.
A breath hisses through my teeth at how that tight dress leaves every curved bared. In the back of my mind, I recognize her, know who she is from the Google search, but the impact is brutal nonetheless.
She’s seemingly frozen in time amidst all the movement of the crowd in her shimmering, skin-tight dress, long hair cascading down her back.
When I meet her stare again, hunger has been replaced by something else.
Something darker.
Pure malice, the kind I haven’t seen even in all my years on the job.
Another blink, and there’s nothing but calmness—a serene, peaceful smile that fucks with my mind.
She’s standing by another set of open doors fifty-feet down, hands clasped primly in front of her.
Ruby’s next to her, already analyzing me way too hard.
Shit.
Still, I can’t resist throwing one last look over my shoulder, hoping to steal another peek at that body.
But the woman is gone, lost to the crowd.
Pushing her to the back of my mind, I head towards the two women waiting for me. We walk into a large sitting area together and the housekeeper motions to one of two crimson couches positioned before the fireplace. “I’ll be back shortly.” She exits.
Instead of heading to one of the couches, I pace to the fireplace and back a couple of times, trying to work the hum out of my blood.
My heart is racing.
My skin feels tight.
I can’t get that woman out of my mind.
Did I really see her expression change so many times? Or was it just a figment of my imagination? My mind superimposing what I wanted to see.
Impossible. Especially that last look. I’ve never met the younger Ms. Dubois before. There’s no reason for her to stare at me with that kind of hatred.
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About the Author
N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I.Lynn, and many others. At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything else.
Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the hopes of one day getting them under control.
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Silence Page 11