Here’s a little number from a scene I’d written. It’s not finished yet, but it was inspired by the Sherlock episode Scandal in Belgravia. *wink*
**Warning: Explicit language and possibly offensive material…possibly. Just warning you.**
Then he saw her. Her auburn hair hung loose over her shoulders, grazing the cream silk shirt she wore. The secretary skirt did nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the long expanse of leg topped off with fuck me heels. She scanned the dining room.
He quickly lifted the newspaper, hiding his face. As he lowered it a bit, he saw her get a plate of eggs, a slice or two of bacon, some fruit and a cup of tea. He watched as she sat and ate alone in the corner. Her eyes took in everything. He shifted in his seat. He hoped to God she didn’t recognize him.
Once she’d finished her tea, she deposited her dishes in the receptacle and made her way to the ladies room.
William seized the opportunity and moved to another seat in the dining area. He opened his paper, pretending to read, when he heard the distinct click of heels on tile.
“You’re not being very discreet, darling,” she whispered in his ear.
He should have been prepared for her words.
“You haven’t turned the page for the last half hour.”
“Excuse me?” he said, deliberately turning the page and refusing to look at her. She stood behind his chair. Damn. He should have stayed by the window.
“You’ve been staring at the same page for over half an hour,” she said with a chuckle. It brushed across his sensitive earlobe. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Her skin smelled of lemons and jojoba oil.
“I heard you,” he said, clearing his throat. “What do you want?”
“I’m not the one pretending to read the paper.” Her breath brushed against his skin, feathering the delicate hairs on the base of his neck. “Yesterday’s paper, nonetheless.”
He folded the paper and plopped it onto the seat next to him, agitated he’d make such a trivial mistake. She shouldn’t have even been able to recognize him, the disguise had been perfectly planned down to the last detail. There was no reason to fret about it now. He knew better than to underestimate her.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked, forgoing all pretenses.
“Come along, darling,” she said. The words echoed soft in his ear as she moved away taking her scent and her delicious heat with her.
He turned in time to see her disappear around the corner. With a sigh, he stood and followed just moments behind. A small office sat with the door open. He glanced inside and found her perched on the edge of the desk, her legs crossed, tapping a solitary fingernail on the wooden surface. He entered the room, closing the door behind him and sliding the deadbolt home.
A wicked smile revealed her even white teeth. He wanted to bite her, eat her up, and show her what it meant to be devoured piece by piece until your soul is exposed and bleeding. Instead, he stood with three feet between them and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Well.” He waited.
She leaned forward, allowing her shirt to bunch in the front, exposing just enough of her cleavage to pull his gaze downward for a split second. When he met her eyes again, they were sparkling with amusement.
“You missed me.”
His hand absently reached for his collar, tugging at it.
She slipped from the desk and took a step closer to him, her heels matching their heights. He met her, eye to eye, refusing to be swayed by the chemical reaction heating his blood.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing, darling.” Her words caressed his lips. The hot cinnamon of the gum she recently chewed lingered on her breath. She traced her fingertip along his collar. “A priest now, are you?”
“You know I’m not.”
Her finger trailed along his black button down shirt, and she pressed her palm to his heart. “Can I make my confessions, Father?”
He focused on his mission, the one thing he had to do. Her touch drove his mind into overdrive, her words blurring his thoughts.
Her green eyes blazed with unspoken desires. Today wasn’t going how he’d anticipated. Maybe dressing as a priest had been a bit of stretch, but he thought perhaps she’d overlook him, push the image of a passive priest reading the paper to the back of her mind. No, she’d locked on him like a heat seeking missile on a volcano. Fuck.
Comments and thoughts welcome. Thanks for stopping by! 🙂