The very first time Quinten saw her moving towards him, he was smitten. It was the totality of her that turned the best of his intentions to ash and the words in his mouth to incoherent mumbles. It was the glowing golden hue of her skin, smooth and unblemished. The startling green eyes that saw far more than it should. The feminine curves that ached to be touched and stroked. The dark hair that gleamed like the smoothest space-black shielding.
She walked towards him, and Quinten swore he saw the eddies of air shift as she moved through them, changing the chaotic swirls in the bar to ripples that mirrored her own sensuality. He felt the heart beating in his chest—a frenzied, excited tattoo—never taking his gaze from her as she walked towards him. Her full lips curved into a smile, dredging a response from him.
Kiel. Kiel Souiad. She came closer, past the groups in the crowded bar, her walk confident and alluring. She was a dozen steps away. Then a handful. His arms almost opened to enfold her gently, but he exerted iron-control instead. He twisted the smile on his face to an understanding, half-amused approbation. And watched as his vision strolled into the arms of the young man standing next to him, Faks Somen.
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