Elemental Reverse Harem Quartet (part 1: Earth)

Chapter 5

Who was she calling a virgin?

Malka Selby

For some reason, when he stood up to leave, my eyes worked all the way down his body, and I hummed my approval—audibly hummed.

"Hmm." Yummy. "This smoothie tastes good, by the way. Excellent choice. Thanks." I said, trying to cover up the fact that I'd been purring. I didn't understand what had come over me. I wouldn't mind him coming over me, truth be told. That happened once, with those guys the night before, and suddenly I could barely think about anything else.

"My pleasure, Malka. I hope to see more of you again soon."

I'd like that too. To see a lot more of you, of course.

I tried to drag my thoughts back from my mental art gallery of scantily clad men.

It wasn't as if he could detect that my panties were much damper now than when I entered the bar.

He couldn't possibly read my mind. And yet, I couldn't help imagining he'd given me a knowing wink.

The temptation to turn and watch him leave proved irresistible. I might have glanced over my shoulder, no more than three times, to check him out.

Nice arse.

There goes a man who should have a bright neon warning sign over his head saying cute guy alert. He had everything: the charm, the looks, and even his own business. He was just about my age, easy on the eye, and easy to talk to.

However, he had a strange turn of phrase. He spoke like a crumbly, old grandparent, not a guy of my age. Perhaps that reflected our different backgrounds. I was English, and he originated from Romania. It made little sense, though; I was the one who'd been brought up among wealthy girls in a stuffy, old-fashioned boarding school, and him? I assume he'd grown up around here, on the ethnically diverse streets of twenty-first-century East London.

Living on the same street as my house, no less.

Go figure. As he would say, what are the chances?

If he lived at the end of the road, where he said, I'd run into him again, even if I had to arrange for it to happen—accidentally on purpose. And if he didn't live there? If he was lying, it was just as well I didn't go off into the night with him.

The sort of strangers who talk to you in juice bars will surely be all right. I imagined bad boys hung out where there were drugs and alcohol, not wheat-grass and coconut milk. There was nothing about Varu that seemed dangerous, apart from his all too good looks, his perfect complexion, and spiky black hair adding to his charming confidence.

I could do with a friend or two like him.

Some hot, charming, young guys to show me the night-life and a good time. After all, we wouldn't live forever, and there were so many men and so little time.

At twenty-one, almost, I ought to get out more. Why not pick up a guy who hangs out at a place serving smoothies? At least he should have a healthy attitude toward life and women.

Much as Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome was a very pleasant and much-needed distraction to the issue of knife-wielding maniacs on the streets, death by stab wounds, and worse, I didn't have the time to dwell on him or any of the earlier disconcerting incidents of the day. I had a house to visit and my inheritance to check upon.

The berry juice proved the perfect pick-me-up energy boost and just what I needed before making my way to the house of my childhood.

I remembered it though I hadn't been back since the night they arrested my mother. I was curious to see how much had changed. I'd lived there until the age of seven, when I had a brief spell in foster care before being sent to boarding school paid for by my family's wealth. Even though I didn't know my father—he died before I was born—and my mother was in prison, my family estate could still afford a privileged education.