(Highest Ranking #76 in Romance)
Chiara is a journalist. A good one. For the world to know that, all she needs is a scoop. Her instincts tell her that the Riders of Tyr have a few stories to offer to the public and she decides to expose them. Will h...
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Chiara
As I walk out the kitchen, I pause to take him all in. He is here, in my living room. He has his back on me and looks at the files I have pinned on the wall. He follows some of the red ribbons I have and leans to read.
"I... I am having wine," I tell him. "Would you care for some?"
He turns and his hair follows his move so gracefully I fell as if I am watching it in slow motion. Then he walks to me and I take one sharp breath in. God, he hypnotizes me each time he moves.
"Not that big of a wine man," it's amazing how graciously he sits on my carpet, on knee bent to his chest and his elbow resting on it.
"Sort of got that," I smile and leave the plates on the table. "Would you like to try?"
All he does is shrug so I bring back two glasses for wine and a bottle Mum has just sent me. I have already poured into a decanter some time before so it's ready for drinking. He watches me closely and with an inquisitive look on his face.
"It's a new wine, it needs to breathe," I explain.
He simply nods and takes his glass. I watch him as he takes a small sip out of pure curiosity and swallows it immediately. I shouldn't bother, I know. I invited him up for dinner because it was the polite thing to do and I should be eager to have it finished as soon as possible, right? Who am I kidding right now? I shake my head.
"No, not like that," I say softly. "Smell the wine first," I put my nose in the glass and let its aromas fill me. "Then you take a sip and keep it in your mouth, let the flavors sink in your taste buds," I do exactly that.
He eyes me seriously and then he does as instructed with timid moves that could have made him look comical but we've already established that it is impossible for him to look anything but breathtaking. He takes a sip and closes his eyes.
"Fruity with a bit of raspberry and licorice," he says and then opens his eyes. "This is your mother's wine."
I gasp. He...He remembers. I wasn't expecting that. I am not prepared for that but then again, this man keeps ambushing me constantly.
"The taste of your life," he murmurs softly looking at the glass.
Ohgodohgodohgod, I panic and almost choke on my wine for the second time and he is again the reason why. That soft voice, the intimate sharing of that part of my life, the fact, he remembers.
"Let's eat," before I eat you.
We have our dinner in silence for a while but it is always like that with him. He pulls me under a soft blanket of cozy silence and for a hyperactive mouth like me, it is a nice interval, a pause, a serenity I need. I have missed that and I only felt it for a couple of days.
I look up to him and I smile as I glance at his plate. Thank god, I made a ton of chili, enough to feed that giant man that fills my living room. When his plate is empty, he gets up and goes to the kitchen without even asking and I shiver at this casual gesture.
