She worked her red painted lower lip with her teeth as her brilliant gray eyes took in the book before her. She hadn't noticed him walk in, engrossed in the words on the page. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She ran her hand through her glossy black hair carelessly.
"What are you reading?" He asked softly. She started, her eyes widening in surprise. He swallowed hard when her lips turned up into a smile. She held up the book, displaying the cover for him to see.
"'The Yage Letters'. You have a lot of Ginsberg." She remarked, her eyes cutting to the bookshelf in his living room.
"I'm a fan." He said with a slow nod, watching her manicured nails as she ran her fingers through her hair again, pushing it out of her face. "I'm glad you took my advice."
"So am I." She said with a grin. She tilted her head down and rose from the bar stool gracefully. She smoothed the skirt of her knee length polka dotted dress carefully. Her dress matched her lipstick.
"Emily isn't home yet?" He asked, even though he knew the answer.
"No. Logan ate well tonight. He passed right out at eight." She said with a smile.
"That's good. What did you make?" He asked.
"Chicken Marsala. The leftovers are in the fridge and I ran the dishwasher." She informed him.
"Thank you Holly. I'm glad he's got you to cook him something healthy. Em doesn't cook much." He told her as she returned the book to the shelf.
"I can't imagine not cooking in such a beautiful kitchen!" She exclaimed.
"Emily doesn't cook or clean. The help can do that." The sarcasm was almost difficult to pick out in his voice, but she noticed. She lay a small hand on his forearm and smiled in an almost pitying way.
"I love to cook. It's really no trouble." She told him softly. He inhaled sharply, irritated with himself for speaking about his wife in such a way.
She smelled like cinnamon.
Her lips were parted, her silver eyes wide, as she looked up at him.
"Thank you." He rasped, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly, he was afraid she could hear it. She was still touching his arm, her black nails a sharp contrast to his crisp white dress shirt. She took the tiniest of steps forward.
"It's no trouble at all." She whispered.
She was so close. He could just lean over and capture those red lips. Would she taste like cinnamon?
"I should call you a cab." He said firmly, stepping back. She blinked in surprise, but collected herself quickly.
"That's okay. It's only a few blocks, and it's such a beautiful night." She said, sending him a bright smile.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
"Absolutely. Have a good night Adam." She replied.
"The same to you." He walked her to the door and she waved at him cheerfully. He waved once before shutting the door.
He leaned against the door and exhaled loudly. He needed to call his wife.
