Darkside Sun by Jocelyn Adams Page A

places in me that had begun waking up lately. “You clean up all right, Plaid,” he said, humor rich in his voice.
    A frown tugged my face all askew. “If that’s your way of telling me I look nice, then it was pathetic.” Quickly, I added, “Not that I give a lily white crap what you think of me, anyway. And stop calling me that. I can’t believe you burned my favorite shirt.”
    “That shirt was hideous; get over it. Now, walk for me.” A flick of his fingers pointed me to the sofa huddle.
    “What? Why?” I could hardly walk in the stupid heels without sprawling butt-first on the floor. Graceful, I wasn’t, and it would only be worse with him watching.
    He came to me, circling around behind. My hair shifted across my back, making me shiver, before he returned to face me. Had he touched my hair? It wasn’t skin, so it probably wasn’t dangerous, but why would he do that? “The clothes no longer give you away as small-town. I want to make sure you can pull it off.”
    “You’re just full of insults, aren’t you?” I shook my head and ignored the warmth growing in my belly at the possibility of him wanting to touch me. “What is your problem with small towns? If you’re a big-city boy, and you’re representative of the attitude, then I’m damn glad of where I grew up.”
    Sipping his drink, he jerked his other hand toward the sofas again. “Walk.” How he could put so much punch and command in one word, I’d never know.
    I walked. Wobbled, whatever. I made it to the sofa without falling down. Yay, me. “Happy?” I whirled around to face him again.
    “Confidence, Plaid. That outfit needs confidence. Be bold, aggressive. Believe you belong in that dress. Make everyone believe it.” He licked his lips as he stared at me, and I almost moaned before I locked it in my throat. Idiocy. He did not want me that way; he probably just needed to break out his lip balm again.
    Bold and aggressive, yeah that was so me. Not. “What, are we going to strut our stuff in Milan or something?” I tossed up my hand, frustration a hot simmer in my gut. “Who gives a flying monkey butt how I walk?”
    “Impressions. Confidence is strength. You stink of fresh meat. You stink of weakness. I don’t want anyone you’ll meet tonight to think of you as weak.”
    I wasn’t weak, except for my knees when I was around him, but I didn’t bother arguing with him. I thought about why my strength mattered and couldn’t come up with a reason. “Why?”
    He gave me a come-hither finger. “Again. Head up, shoulders back. Make me shiver.”
    Why did he have to say it like that, all sexy? My insides melted like chocolate under a flame. Like I could ever make someone like him shiver, anyway, but I strutted my stuff again and again. By the time he’d finished with my walking lessons, my feet ached, and if I frowned any harder, my lips would fall clean off my face.
    “It’ll have to do,” he said from where he’d lounged back on one of the sofas, his second glass of whiskey empty. He didn’t seem convinced. That made two of us.
    Sophia arrived in an outfit identical to Asher’s, except hers was a charcoal gray instead of black, and her pinstripes were black. Not as shiny or flashy, but it still made a statement of “don’t mess with me.” She’d twisted her multi-toned hair up and stuck two black chopsticks crisscrossed to hold it in place. With her hair back and a bit of makeup to bring out her eyes, she went from pretty to beautiful.
    I frowned harder. My lips didn’t fall off. “Why are you two wearing those neat outfits and I’m stuck in this thing? I feel like I dressed for the prom to go to war.”
    “It’s time to go.” Asher rose to his feet and stretched, his little groans causing exquisite aches in my deep places. A grin curved his lips as if he’d read my mind and liked the effect he had on me. Yeah, right. “Have you secured the facility?” he asked Sophia.
    “All set.” She shifted foot to foot.