Read Online Shadow WIngs (Skeleton Key) by Skeleton Key, JC Andrijeski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Skeleton Key, JC Andrijeski
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stare or his hands on her or both––when she glanced down his body a second time, she couldn’t help noticing the physical proof of that response. Flinching a little, she jerked her eyes back up to his face, flushing more.
“Do you mind if I use the shower now?” he said. “I’m still cold.”
His voice came out strangely gentle.
“No,” she blurted. Backing off him at once, she forced him to take his hands off her by creating distance between them. “No, no... of course not. I apologize, comrade. I will dispose of these old clothes.” Still fighting to steady her voice, she avoided his eyes as she jerked her chin towards the cabinet. “There are clean towels in there. Use whatever soap or shampoo you wish... take your time. As much as you want.”
“Thank you, Ilana.”
Him using her first name again made her blush harder, but she only nodded.
Gathering up the bad-smelling blanket and even worse-smelling pants, she retreated from the washroom without looking at him again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so flustered by proximity to a man, even a naked one.
But it wasn’t like she invited strange men into her shower on a regular basis––or ever, really––so maybe she didn’t really know herself when it came to such things.
Either way, she hadn’t missed much in her appraisal of him, no matter how much her mind wandered. Going over details of the naked body she’d glimpsed, even as she headed for the trash chute outside her front door, she found her face and ears flushing even hotter.
He really was built... quite well.
Of course, she had few men to compare that to, as far as personal experience. On the other hand, she’d seen a lot of her comrades naked in the military and during KGB operations, so she had perhaps more points of comparison than many women.
From what she had glimpsed, he was quite...
Well, quite beautiful all over. More physically intimidating than Uri had been for some reason, and not only due to his size. He was beautiful––a perfectly proportioned form defined by long muscles, broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscular legs.
She tried to shove the image aside as she dumped his clothes in the chute and closed it with a metal clang. When she got back inside her apartment, she tried to shove her embarrassment aside too, mainly by focusing on why she’d brought him here in the first place. Washing her face and hands in the sink from the filthy clothes, she put water and coffee grounds in her overused upright coffee pot and put it on the gas stove to boil.
Only then did she let out a sigh, feeling herself start to relax.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she pulled out one of the chairs around her kitchen table and sat.
She pulled over the stack of files she’d dumped there when they first entered. Waiting for the coffee to boil, she sorted through them, thumbing through each briefly to get an idea of the contents. She spread them out on the table one by one, in smaller, neater piles. By the time she had them all sorted according to importance and basic subject-matter, the coffee was ready. Mug in hand, she sat back at the table and began to read, starting with the police report on the murder scene itself.
Twenty or so minutes later, she was fully immersed.
That’s probably why she didn’t hear the bathroom door open.
She didn’t look up until he walked into the kitchen and stood at the edge of the room. When she did, he was glancing around her living room once more, his strangely striped hair wet and slicked back on his head. He looked beautiful that way too, yet strangely more normal. His face still held that silent calm of his though, as if part of his mind lived a thousand miles away.
She saw him focus on a few photographs hanging on the wall, most of them of her family. His eyes shifted next to the row of china animals that she’d been collecting since she was a child, then a picture of her from her military days, holding an automatic
“Do you mind if I use the shower now?” he said. “I’m still cold.”
His voice came out strangely gentle.
“No,” she blurted. Backing off him at once, she forced him to take his hands off her by creating distance between them. “No, no... of course not. I apologize, comrade. I will dispose of these old clothes.” Still fighting to steady her voice, she avoided his eyes as she jerked her chin towards the cabinet. “There are clean towels in there. Use whatever soap or shampoo you wish... take your time. As much as you want.”
“Thank you, Ilana.”
Him using her first name again made her blush harder, but she only nodded.
Gathering up the bad-smelling blanket and even worse-smelling pants, she retreated from the washroom without looking at him again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so flustered by proximity to a man, even a naked one.
But it wasn’t like she invited strange men into her shower on a regular basis––or ever, really––so maybe she didn’t really know herself when it came to such things.
Either way, she hadn’t missed much in her appraisal of him, no matter how much her mind wandered. Going over details of the naked body she’d glimpsed, even as she headed for the trash chute outside her front door, she found her face and ears flushing even hotter.
He really was built... quite well.
Of course, she had few men to compare that to, as far as personal experience. On the other hand, she’d seen a lot of her comrades naked in the military and during KGB operations, so she had perhaps more points of comparison than many women.
From what she had glimpsed, he was quite...
Well, quite beautiful all over. More physically intimidating than Uri had been for some reason, and not only due to his size. He was beautiful––a perfectly proportioned form defined by long muscles, broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscular legs.
She tried to shove the image aside as she dumped his clothes in the chute and closed it with a metal clang. When she got back inside her apartment, she tried to shove her embarrassment aside too, mainly by focusing on why she’d brought him here in the first place. Washing her face and hands in the sink from the filthy clothes, she put water and coffee grounds in her overused upright coffee pot and put it on the gas stove to boil.
Only then did she let out a sigh, feeling herself start to relax.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she pulled out one of the chairs around her kitchen table and sat.
She pulled over the stack of files she’d dumped there when they first entered. Waiting for the coffee to boil, she sorted through them, thumbing through each briefly to get an idea of the contents. She spread them out on the table one by one, in smaller, neater piles. By the time she had them all sorted according to importance and basic subject-matter, the coffee was ready. Mug in hand, she sat back at the table and began to read, starting with the police report on the murder scene itself.
Twenty or so minutes later, she was fully immersed.
That’s probably why she didn’t hear the bathroom door open.
She didn’t look up until he walked into the kitchen and stood at the edge of the room. When she did, he was glancing around her living room once more, his strangely striped hair wet and slicked back on his head. He looked beautiful that way too, yet strangely more normal. His face still held that silent calm of his though, as if part of his mind lived a thousand miles away.
She saw him focus on a few photographs hanging on the wall, most of them of her family. His eyes shifted next to the row of china animals that she’d been collecting since she was a child, then a picture of her from her military days, holding an automatic
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