The Spark

Chapter Two- When it Rains

Liliya

"Tell me about you, Liliya."

Those words snapped me back to reality and I looked away. Detective Emerson had undoubtedly seen too much in the few seconds I'd left my guard down, and there was no way continuing to hold his gaze was a good idea. Those dark chocolate eyes may have fooled me for a second, but I knew better than to trust a cop.

"Shouldn't we be discussing what happened tonight, Detective?" I replied after a moment of collecting myself. Too much was on my mind to get distracted by real conversation, even if it was with a sandy-haired, rock-bodied man like the detective. There was too much at stake to be careless. That, and he still had that damn shiny police badge sitting on top of his jacket.

"Weston," the detective said out of nowhere, and I found myself glancing back to him. His gaze wasn't as intense as it had been a moment ago, just before he asked me to tell him about myself, but it was still inviting. Too inviting. If I'd known calling the cops would have me all hot and bothered over someone who I used to despise the idea of, I might have just risked the trouble and fled the scene.

"Weston?" It took me a second too long to realize that he was telling me his name.

"Call me Weston," he told me with a nod. "Detective Emerson seems a bit too formal, considering we just saw each other half naked."

Despite everything, I felt the corner of my lip turn up, and I blinked up at him teasingly.

"Well, that does seem to break the ice, doesn't it?" I laughed. "Then just call me Liliya. It's only fair if I'm going to call you Weston." That, and it was the only truthful part of my name that I'd given. Smithton was just the name on my fake ID.

"Indeed; though," he trailed off thoughtfully, "I didn't mind hearing you call me Detective like that."

And just like that, I was completely relaxed again, professionalism and mafia history be damned. So what if he was a cop? That didn't mean I couldn't flirt a little. I'd be gone as soon as this ordeal was over with anyway.

I wonder how Lyov is doing...

"So you were at the bus stop..." Weston prompted. I nodded slowly.

"I was." And I began to recount my story, leaving out only the part where I told the man he could leave on his own or in a stretcher. That might sound a little too... I don't know. Mafia daughter-like? Trained killer-esque? Femme Fatale in disguise?

When I finished my story, Weston looked very impressed. I guess most of his police calls probably didn't end with the victim shooting out the assailant's knees.

"You're something else, aren't you?" he asked, and I had to look away. I wasn't the blushing type, but the way he looked at me made me feel something... different. Like he was impressed by what I did, and not expectant of me to do more. And like I did something right. I wasn't used to it, and it caught me off guard.

"You have no idea," I muttered, and I heard Weston chuckle across from me. He opened his mouth to say something in response, but the waiter brought our food then, and all other thoughts were lost.

"I hope you're hungry." Weston was already picking up his fork, and I saw what he meant; the amount of food on my plate was ridiculous, and it all looked amazing.

"Damn," I gasped. "This is the best thing I've seen all day." And then, without hesitation, I added with a lip bite, "Almost."

Weston's eyes flicked to mine and I saw a different kind of hunger flash behind those deep brown orbs. Why the hell I was even entertaining such thoughts was a mystery to me, but I couldn't seem to help myself with him. Maybe it was the touch of forbidden that made him so alluring, or maybe it was the controlled way he held himself that stood out in my chaotic life. Either way, I was finding myself way more attracted than necessary to the detective sitting in my booth. And I wasn't nearly as alarmed by this fact than I should have been, considering I'd been imagining the two of us in a private hotel room since I'd seen him shirtless.