Sunset Beach Condos

April hadn’t planned to leave the hotel tonight. She’d spent the entire morning lounging in the cool air conditioning, flipping through channels with the sound off and forcing herself not to think of Nik, to no avail of course. The Florida heat stuck to the windows like grease, and the scent of saltwater seemed to leak through the hotel walls, till she couldn’t take it anymore. One day of stillness and she was already restless. Her body was wired, her mind too loud, so when the burner phone lit up with a text from a source she didn’t fully trust, she took it as a sign.

A boat at the marina. Something valuable. Untouched.

She didn’t like how vague it was, didn’t like how far it strayed from her usual territory, but she knew how to do her homework. Walking the dock in the daylight with a coffee in hand, she looked like any other tourist killing time near the water. Watching the way the marina security made its rounds, lazily, predictably, she took careful note of the camera placements. Three on the east pier, one half blind from salt build up. The one facing the dock entry didn’t quite reach the last three boats. There was her window.

Dressed in black that clung to her and hair twisted tight under a cap, she slipped into the shadows and padded toward the end of the pier. The air reeked of fish guts and motor oil, a nauseating cocktail of decay and diesel. The boat was older, small enough to be private but large enough to matter, its hull a dull white. The lock on the cabin door was laughable. Kneeling down she twisted a pick between her fingers with a half smirk and the bolt gave within ten seconds. No fight, no fuss. Sloppy work from whoever owned it. They clearly never expected a visit of her kind. She slipped inside. Instantly, the air shifted. Gone was the briny scent of the marina. In its place lingered something altogether much more stale. Sweat, cologne, something faintly musty, like dust that had clung to old leather and was that the faintest smell of a floral soap? Like salon shampoo. Ola Plex perhaps? Her eyes adjusted quickly in the dim space, scanning the corners carefully, her instincts sharpened. No blinking red lights. No soft mechanical hum of hidden cameras. Nothing. Still, she moved cautiously not trusting anything around her. Pulling open the small fridge, the suction of the seal breaking with a low hiss. Inside sat nothing but a jumbled mess of condiment packets, soy sauce, ketchup and mustard. No fresh food. No signs of recent use, but not entirely abandoned either. She shut it again with a soft thunk and then looked around. A narrow door caught her eye at the back of the cabin. Easing it open, she peered into what passed for the bedroom: a cramped, suffocating little nook with a built in bed with tangled sheets on top. No duffel bags, no shoes. Just a body imprint and clutter. She reached out instinctively and pressed her hand flat to the mattress. Ice cold. Good. No one had been here for at least a night.

Still, she hated this. The lack of planning, the absence of intel. It wasn’t how she operated. Usually, she knew every detail before she ever made a move, who owned the place, what alarm system they used, how long it took for the cops to respond, but tonight? She’d followed a shadow of a promise and walked right in. Reckless, she thought. Stupid. She was just about to pull back, maybe retreat and chalk it up to a bad tip, when something by the bed caught her eye. Down by the foot of the mattress, wedged between the base and the wall, were a few framed canvases leaning haphazardly against one another. She crouched down, fingers careful not to smudge or press too hard, and pulled the first one free. Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the low light, she recognized it. The blocky abstraction. The sharp edged geometry of unmistakable cubism. The muted but purposeful colors.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, not realizing the words were more than just thought before the air slipped between her lips. It was a Picasso. She didn’t know the title, didn’t need to. The style screamed it. She leaned in, narrowing her eyes, tracing the familiar slanted signature at the bottom. Her gut told her it could be real. Could. She lifted it gently, carried it to the bed, and laid it flat. Her phone was out a moment later to capture one shot of the front and one of the back.

The other paintings were unfamiliar. Landscapes, figures, one haunting still life. She photographed them all and returned each to its original hiding spot. Then she rose, pulse thrumming now not from nerves, but something else: anticipation. She continued her sweep of the cabin. Drawers, compartments, under the seating cushions. All the while her fingertips stayed light, her steps careful. Nothing disturbed. Nothing broken. Then, near the helm, she found it: a cupboard so plain it almost didn’t register. Opening it up she found a box. Old, wooden, weatherworn, like something pulled from the bottom of a pirate movie set. A sigh escaped her. How gimmicky. The latch wasn’t locked, and the hinges gave with a protesting squeak as she opened it. Tangled chains, pendants, gemstones, some cracked, some dulled with age. Rubies, sapphires, diamonds and other precious stones glinting faintly. A mess of history and wealth. She lifted a few pieces, untwisting them carefully. Unlike with the art, there was no doubt in her mind this was real. This was valuable. She froze and glanced around as if expecting someone to leap out, cameras to descend, sirens to blare, but nothing happened.

“What the fuck is this place?” she muttered again and returned her attention to the treasure. She poured the contents of the box into a canvas bag she kept on her. Letting the weight of her recent loot settle before pulling an arm through the loops on the bag. She closed the box and closed the cupboard and took in a steadying breath. That was enough. She should leave. Now… But the pull was still there, that itch to take it all. To carry out every frame, every hidden thing in here and never look back. She made it to the door, the salty air hitting her hard as she opened it.

Then she hesitated. Her mind races in unison to her heartbeat till something won and she let out a sigh, soft and low. Turning back, she retraced her steps, and lifted the Picasso that was nudged in between the bed and the wall. It felt heavier now, maybe it was the weight of the risk or of the desire to have it. April left the boat and the marina, one bag’s worth of jewels and one framed Picasso richer.



April couldn’t help herself and she had to return. There was too much of a promise of more, too much temptation in the unknown and really, what else was she supposed to do here? Waiting around in her hotel room clearly did her no good. She might as well get some use out of her time in this humid, unrelenting corner of the world. This trip was always going to lose her money; she’d known that going in. She’d accepted it the moment she decided she needed to settle things with Nik. So the idea of making a little back while getting her blood pumping again? Honestly, it felt like the perfect excuse.

The boat had still been vacant when she returned, just as quiet, just as still, but this time, she was better informed. The other paintings were worth her time too. They’d quickly become her priority, but after that, a thought had rooted itself in her head, quiet at first, then louder, harder to ignore. There had to be more. Or, at the very least, she had to make sure there wasn’t. That curiosity had turned into another visit and tonight, she’d come out victorious again. More jewelry and more pieces that looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day in decades. Hidden in corners and drawers like secrets left behind. April found other things she couldn't explain, a bundle of white sage, a small velvet bag she thought would contain cut gemstones that instead turned out to be a collection of lesser known crystals. A particularly large ring had been lying in plain sight beside the forks and knives. It made no sense. None of it did. That boat couldn’t stay hidden forever. Someone owned that stuff. Someone had put those paintings there, stashed that jewelry. She didn’t know if they were dead, missing, or just stupid, but eventually, someone would come looking.

Now, the canvas bag swung from her shoulder with satisfying weight as she pushed open the door to the apartment building and slipped inside, making a direct line for the stairwell. The fewer minutes she spent here, the better. Her steps weren’t rushed, but they kept a steady rhythm, practical, precise. This place had turned out to be more than just a strategic place to keep tabs on Nik. It had become something useful. The perfect hideaway for that growing collection of treasures. She reached the first landing and took the corner sharply, fingers trailing along the railing. The stairwell echoed faintly with the sound of her blocky heels and the distant creak of a door swinging shut a few floors above. Lifting her cap off her head, she let the hair trapped underneath escape. Her fingers threaded through her curls, starting at the nape of her neck and raking forward, loosening the damp tangles absentmindedly as she kept ascending.

Red was a busy man. This may have seemed like a simple statement, but it was not. He was pulled in several directions at any given time, between his duties to the ocean, and his duties at his full time job. Up until recently, he also had a girlfriend, but he hadn’t seen her since they had horribly broken up. That still left him with hundreds of demands from his officers, his PR people, and the only person he actually feared, Asher. Piled with that, Red had a unique ability to hear everything going on under the sea. It was maddening at times, but it meant, as perfect a being as he was, on the rare occasion, he missed or, better put, neglected things.

One of those things was often his own possessions. He had so many that he didn’t really think about the value of having them, and at times, left them rather haphazardly around. Part of this was arrogance. He didn’t think anyone was brave or stupid enough to actually attempt to take anything off of him, other than one girl, and he had gone immediately into a work mode that he hadn’t even stopped to consider his boat in days, even stretching into weeks.

He didn’t really give much thought to the boat since he had been here. At least until one day when he was making a very rare appearance at his home. He moved his way up the stairs, nut had barely got into the hall when he smelt something he considered very strange. He smelt…himself. He stopped, and blinked in confusion as he ran through his memory and tried to think of why his smell would be behind one of these doors, but nothing came to mind that he could think of. That left him even more confused as he followed his own scent to the first door. He listened closely to any movement behind the door, but hear nothing. Not even a heart beat. He looked around the hall, and again listened for movement, but everything was minimal. He very easily broke into the apartment, and closed the door behind him as he stepped in.

He walked slowly through the apartment, memorizing the scent of the one who lived here. A girl. Young. Human. Curious now, he went into her bathroom, and seeing a few drops of water still in the bathtub, moved his hand over them. The three drops rose to his command, and painted him a picture of the woman who lived here, but that still didn’t explain why he smelled himself here. He left the tiny bathroom, and looked carefully everywhere until he found the stash she had been building. “Well, what do we have here?”

He recognized all of the pieces, but since there was no hide nor hair of the person who lived here, and he lived right down the hall, he decided to leave the pieces for now. Perhaps it was stupid, since they could be sold, but it was more of an intrigue than anything else. Who was stupid enough to steal from him? This, he wanted to know.

—————

He thought about it for the next few days, as he worked and came home more than usual. He knew it was coming from his boat, and checked the cameras to see if he could see her. She was smart enough to avoid the cameras, and he could admire that. He liked intelligence, but the question he had now was why. Why this stuff? Priceless, sure but he wondered if it was more.

He only was able to spend a few minutes thinking about it that day, as he wound up slammed and in interviews and interrogations that afternoon. After gruelling paperwork, he was finally able to go home. He couldn’t wait to be out of this shirt, and it was about his only thought as he got home and flew up the stairs. He ripped it off the second he entered his apartment, and felt so much better as he slipped on blue jeans, and a regular black shirt. It was tight on him, and showed defined muscle. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, ruffling it up a little. His eyes, through his glasses, were a dull blue, hiding the well of power within him. Putting his boots back on, he moved out of his apartment and started back down.

He saw another girl in the hallway, and at first, didn’t think anything weird about her. The sack she carried looked a little heavy, but that was about it. It wasn’t until he snuffed the air that he smelt the thing he had been smelling everywhere lately. Himself. He paused only a few steps from her, looking at her. This was the girl? This tiny compared to him girl was the one behind all his missing stuff? Impossible.

Red decided to play it cool for the moment, rather than give into his natural instinct to rip her apart for simply daring, his eyes moving over the sack before he looked at the girl’s face. “Well, Jesus that looks heavy.” He commented, raising one perfect eyebrow, even though his eyes were unreadable. “Would you like a hand in getting it up? I just came from up there.”

At first, he was just a sound above her, steady footsteps moving down the stairwell like anyone else in the building. Nothing worth noticing. April had been focused on her own rhythm, thoughts flickering like static as she pounded herself in the head for her recklessness, while mentally weighing the contents of the tote, but then… the movement in front of her stopped.

She didn’t look up. Not right away, cause she didn’t need to. The stillness alone was enough. That kind of pause didn’t come from hesitation, it came from attention. It sent a ripple down her spine, forcing her to focus. Her instincts stirred, quiet but alert. Something had shifted and now she felt eyes on her. The presence hit her like a pressure change in the air. Dense. Solid. Heavy. Massive. He hadn’t spoken yet, hadn’t moved again, but she could feel his size like a shadow stretching toward her. Her body picked up on it before her brain even named it.

Still, she kept climbing, unbothered, not a hitch in her step. Two more stairs and then his voice dropped into the space between them, the tone feeling casual. Attention was something she adored, but at the proper, right moments and this wasn’t one. Her foot paused mid step as he offered to carry the bag for her. The words were simple enough, friendly and even helpful, but her system had already flicked to high alert. April lifted her head and turned just enough to get a proper look at the man standing a step above her.

And holy shit, he was huge.

Her eyes tracked up the height of him, from heavy boots to strong legs, broad chest, that tight black shirt pulling over his shoulders like it was hanging on for dear life. She had to crane her neck to take in his face and even then, her gaze almost comically had to keep climbing. He was still a step higher than her, but even on level ground, he’d be towering. A wall of a man. All dense muscle and then that unreadable expression.

Her face stayed soft and unchanged to look as unthreatened as possible. If anything, her smile flickered like she was intrigued by the sheer size of him, which one could say, she was. She would rather put on a show of being absolutely, blue eyed charmed by this specimen of a man than what the truth held; that April was on high alert.

“Sure thing,” she said with a light, easy tone, all charm and effortless confidence accompanied by a sweet smile. Without missing a beat, she slid the bag off her shoulder. Her movements were smooth and deliberate and carried no signs of strain or nerves. In one fluid motion, her fingers slipped the cap she’d just been wearing into the top of the bag, nestling it on top to block the view of anything glittering inside. Sleight of hand disguised as absentminded logic. Why not put the hat in as well, to not carry it alone awkwardly? All while her body language suggested trust, maybe even flirtation. No, definite flirtation.

The moment it left her hand, she turned her back to him as she started climbing again; deliberate, unguarded, almost inviting. Confidence in every inch of her posture. Her hand curled loosely around the railing as she resumed climbing, but this time, her hips swayed a little more freely with each step. A purposeful arc in her spine pushed her butt out ever so slightly, offering a distraction that was far more compelling than whatever might be hiding in that bag. If his eyes wandered, better they lingered on her curves than on precious stones, silver and gold.

“It’s very kind of you,” she added with a bright and breezy tone, her voice just shy of ditzy. Grateful, a little scattered, sweet as syrup.
“I always do this, I swear. I get all excited and convince myself I can carry everything on my own. Arms full, bag slipping and still I’m thinking, ‘Oh, I’ve got room for just one more thing.’” She laughed softly, like she was letting him in on a private joke, her words spilling into a ramble as her curls bounced with her steps.

“My eyes always want more than I can handle, I guess. Same at a buffet, I’m absolutely criminal, honestly. I’ll load up a whole plate with everything I can reach and then be full after a bite. Isn’t that ridiculous?” With perfect timing, she turned her head as she said it, the blonde curls catching the low hallway light, tumbling around her face as she glanced back at him with a bright, slightly breathless smile. The motion was fluid, artful. Distracting, hopefully yes, but also calculated.

She needed to see if he was following her or poking his nose into things where it didn’t belong.

“Do you live here or are you just visiting?” She added quickly, tossing the question into the air like she was actually interested. Her tone stayed casual. The kind of rhythm that was meant to lul people into letting their guard down. It was just polite, just chattering. Not a trap, not a test. To anyone not looking closely, she was just a pretty girl with too much to carry and a big smile, but every word, every sway of her hips, every toss of her hair, it was all a dance of distraction.

One of the most wonderful parts of being what he was is that Red had the senses of a bloodhound on steroids. Even as he paused in his movements, he heard every breath, stutter and beat of her heart as clear as the sunrise. He saw every small movement, every hesitation. He made no indication he knew, or sensed anything out of the ordinary. He only watched as he asked his question, and her reaction to his question. It surprised him when she fluidly took the bag off her shoulder, but he recognized the distraction tactic by letting her hair fall and bounce as she hid the cap.

Placing the cap over the items did nothing to hide them from him. Sure, he couldn’t physically see them now, but he could smell them, and when he grabbed the bag to swing it over his shoulder, he felt the items react in some way. He swung it over his shoulder, honestly a little impressed that she was able to carry it even this far. There had to be at least 100 pounds of stuff in here, and some of it was rather clunky. His dull blue eyes watched as she moved back up the stairs, easier now without the weight of it all against her.

As she walked back up the stairs, Red turned to follow her. He would admit that he did at least check her out. He was still a guy, and a hot blooded one at that, but that wasn’t his pressing issue. His pressing issue had much more to do with the fact he was carrying his own stuff than it was about physicality. He also listened to her body as she rambled, which said a lot more to him than anything that actually came from her mouth. That didn’t mean he didn’t hear every word she spoke, however.

He smiled politely when she turned to look back at him. He had seen the art of seduction since the dawn of time, and although he didn’t lose his focus, he did study her face for a moment before she turned back. He continued to follow her, the weight of the bag was nothing to him, as she asked him an actual question. “I live here, sometimes.” Technically, that was true. Red spent more time away from the apartment than in it, at least until he had discovered her little secret.

“I work a lot, so I don’t have much time here.” Purposely, he didn’t reveal what he did for a living, because that would have ruined his little surprise. His badge was in his pocket though, easily accessible at any time. He could see that when she moved, she moved with direction and purpose. The purpose was to distract him, and while it may have worked on the simply male part of his brain, it did not work for his senses. Even if he was utterly distracted, he had hooked into her heartbeat now, and the water that made up her body was doing an awful lot of talking.

When they reached the third floor, he ‘adjusted’ the bag to distribute the weight as he waited to be pointed in the direction this bag was going. He could feel that moment of reveal fast approaching, and he couldn’t wait for it. Still, he kept himself calm and cool, or as calm and cool as he ever got. Killing her would be easy, too easy for him to do and get away with. Plus he wanted to know how she pulled this off. On that thought, he adjusted the bag once more before asking; “What in the world do you have in here anyways?”

The polite smile he offered caught her a little off guard. April had expected a glance, quick, unpolished and poorly disguised. The kind most men offered when caught between temptation and politeness. She’d timed it perfectly too, that subtle sway, the deliberate tilt of her hips as she ascended, but no. If his eyes had drifted, they’d snapped back with impressive speed. Maybe he had better reflexes than most. Or maybe that smile was just a mask, an automatic setting from someone used to playing polite. He worked with people, she could tell. He knew how to perform. Customer service? God, no. Look at him. That beast. Still, she kept the pace until they reached the third floor, her steps unbroken as she reached into the slim front pocket of her fitted black attire to retrieve a single key. No keychain, no flash, no identity. Just one cold piece of metal. Impersonal and so obviously temporary. It hadn’t been upgraded to the bundle of keys most people had gathered.

“Sometimes?” she echoed, the word laced with curiosity just before he elaborated further. He was talking. Good. That was what she wanted. If his mouth was busy, maybe his brain would slow down. He’d be left outside the door to the apartment, confused and empty handed, wondering what the hell had just happened while she disappeared behind a locked door with a bag full of things that didn’t concern him.At least, that was how it was supposed to go. But he still had the bag and the way he carried it, almost like a cartoon burglar caricature who put it higher on his shoulder than she liked. It made the handoff awkward. She never intended to stand there and hold out her hand like some expectant schoolgirl waiting for a lunchbox, but still, this position wasn’t ideal.

“Ah, working so much you don’t even have time to get home,” she said lightly, keeping up the ramble, already steering him toward her door, the closest door to the stairwell.

“Hope you’ve got a comfortable bed in your office or at least a good neck pillow.” She reached the door without pause, already slotting the key into the lock and unlocking it with a casual flick of her wrist. She needed a quick exit once she had the bag again and if she needed to, she wasn’t above slamming the door in someone’s face.

Then came his question, innocent enough, but annoying in its timing. April prepared a smile and shifted in her place, placing herself between the now unlocked door and him, blocking herself in while inviting something else entirely. Her gaze lifted, meeting his and she leaned in, not dramatically, nor aggressively, just enough to press gently into the edge of his personal space.

“Heavy stuff,” she replied, her tone lightly teasing, her smile sweet with just a hint of something else that could be interpreted as a dare. It wasn’t her best line, she knew that, but the real move came a second later. She rose to her tiptoes with fluid grace, their proximity shrinking even more. Her gaze stayed fixed on him, sought his eyes behind those glasses. Her own blue eyes all wide eyed allure and dangerous softness. Her fingers, delicate and practiced, reached subtly up toward the canvas bag and closed around the fabric near his hands. The reflex she counted on was simple: someone else reaching for the thing you’re holding? You let go. Humans were polite like that. Her hands tugged ever so slightly, just enough pressure to suggest transfer, not struggle.

“Thank you for the help,” she said, voice dipped lower now, velvet soft as a result of their closeness. Her breath brushed the air between them, the space charged and intimate. Still not touching, but close. Close enough to invite distraction. Close enough to pull thoughts away from logic. Close enough to slip through.

The bag should’ve been hers again by now. It would’ve been, if he were any other man.

It amused Red to see that very small flash of disappointment that her flirtation tactics hadn’t worked against him in the way she had thought. Oh, he had looked, but he wasn’t as easily swayed as regular men, because he wasn’t a regular man. As they walked up, Red took in every detail of her. The way she walked, the way she swayed, and the way she unconsciously shifted the way she walked when she realized it wasn’t working. He noted the way her eyes shifted, the way her hair bounced, the subtle way she smiled as she spoke, everything.

He already knew where he was headed, but he followed her anyways, listening to her voice and memorizing that as well, but more curiously, he looked at the key she pulled out. It was simple, and minimalistic enough to tell him that she didn’t live here full time. That meant she either came here for someone or something, and that made him even more interested in exactly what she was doing. He looked down at her as they moved into the floor. “I don’t mind. I rather enjoy my job, and they were nice enough to throw a couch in the corner.” He said this nonchalantly, and even added a small smile for effect.

His height then came into advantage as they stopped infront of the door. She unlocked it in a very quick movement, and then turned to face him as he asked his question, while adjusting the bag, using the weight and feel to guess what she might’ve taken from him. It stalled her enough that he was able to look into her eyes, his gaze intense even behind the glasses. She then moved just slightly closer to him to answer the question, a response that made his lips twitch. He kept his eyes on hers as she reached into his personal space, and started to reach for the bag.

Had she voiced her thought, she would have been right. A normal human would have handed her the bag without thought. Red, however, was not normal, nor a human. His grip didn’t budge, but as she introduced herself into his space, he wasn’t quite as focused as he wanted to be. He wasn’t exactly sure what happened in that second, but he looked into her eyes, and found himself pausing. It was such an interesting feeling, and he opened his mouth to say something, but her small tug had shifted the bag itself rather than his grip, and it served to bring him back to the moment.

“You’re welcome.” He said just as quietly. He considered how to play this. He could give her the bag, and let her hang herself. Now that he knew who she was, he could let her go, and watch her to figure out himself how she was pulling it off. She was human, which meant it was unlikely she had any idea who she was fucking with, and it made his brain turn and wonder. The items were not of an every day value, and while finding a seller wouldn’t be difficult, he wondered if she even knew what it was she was stealing. He had a thought in his head. He could easily just keep the bag, but he wanted to play it off a little as if he had just “forgotten” to give it back, because she was too distracted by what he said next. “Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself.” He shifted a little and looked down into her eyes, closer to her than expected, and her scent drifting through his senses. This didn’t stop his brain, but it did make him delay in conversation, trying to see how far he could push before she either got mad, or he worked out the plan he was forming. “I’m Red. Who are you?”

The resistance caught her off guard. Fingers still curled around the edge of the canvas, April gave that subtle tug, but the fabric didn’t shift. His grip didn’t loosen. It remained firm, unmoved, almost casual in its refusal to give, as it hadn’t registered her attempt to get him to let go. A pulse of confusion rippled through her first. Then irritation and beneath that; fear. Why hadn’t he let go?

Her mind scrambled for a new approach. Something more effective. She’d have to push harder, cut through his defenses, get beneath the surface and make him slip. The quietness in his voice when he said ‘you’re welcome’ was enough to make her snap out of it, it dulled her heated emotions and made her focus racer sharp on his face for the moment. She studied it closely, watching for cracks, any flicker of reaction, anything she could use. But all she found was a softness that confused her more than the resistance had. He looked calm, not cold or blank, just present. Thoughts spun behind those unreadable eyes, thoughts she couldn’t track them. That wasn’t good. She didn’t need him thinking. Thinking men were dangerous. She needed him thoughtless, mindlessly distracted and rid of all logic so she could just slip by, enter the apartment and close the door behind her.

Then came his next words, his little introduction. How rude of him. It nearly made her roll her eyes right there. The heat of annoyance returned, simmering beneath her cool exterior. Oh, fuck off. She didn’t need his name. Didn’t want it. Didn’t care. Of course, he thought he was clever. Thought he was charming. Probably thought she was batting her lashes and bending over just because she liked the attention. Her expression, however, let none of her inner thoughts slip. A smile curled onto her lips, revealing the barest peek of white teeth. Her eyes stayed wide, soft, endlessly inviting, crafted perfection in their unspoken innocence.

Then he said it. Red.

Like hell it was. No one was actually named Red. Not unless they were trying to sound mysterious, or hide something. In a place like this, with a man like that? Definitely an alias. Her mind spun. Drug runner? Ex-military? Something worse? Or was he just posturing, trying to impress her with such a name?

God, get me out of here.

Still, her body didn’t show any of that internal unraveling. She tilted her head slightly, the practiced motion sending one loose curl tumbling forward as her smile widened. The kind of smile that was flirtatious by design.

“Red, like the color,” she said with a playful hint of teasing. If he’d used the name before, he’d heard the line. If he hadn’t, he damn well should have expected it. Closing the remaining space between them, she leaned in fully now, her body brushing up against his. Not forceful, not obvious, just a casual little accident, the kind that left perfume and presence lingering on each other. Her posture said trust, interest, intimacy.

“I’m April,” she added smoothly, “like the month.” She decided to beat him to it and say the line everyone did when they heard her name. Only had she just said it when absolute horror struck her. The words left her lips just as dread dropped into her stomach. What name had she used on the lease? What passport had used? Had it been April? It better have been. Fuck, how could she not remember something that basic right now? She always remembered. She always kept track, but here, everything seemed to slip. This trip was messing her up. That terrified her. Still smiling and still poised, she forced the panic to stay buried. Her hand had remained where it was, fingers curled around the edge of the bag the whole time. With the smallest shift, she let her palm drift up and over his hand that held the fabric of the bag in his clenched fist. Her touch was smooth and careful, but deliberately gentle. Fingertips glided across the back of his hand, brushing over his knuckles, coaxing. It was soft and enticing; a suggestion to open up, not a demand.

If that didn’t work, she’d need something more drastic. Something that would jolt him enough to finally let go.

It continued to serve as amusement as he watched the flecks in her eyes react in panic before her brain kicked into logic. She was trying to find any way she could to get the bag away from him so that she could escape behind the door. He knew the moment he handed it over, that’s what would happen, and he just wasn’t quite ready for that. This, at the moment, was more fun than he had had in a minute.

After his name, she made her expression unreadable, but her eyes never stopped. He could see that he was starting to irritate her, and decided just how far to push her before he let her go. Or, seemed to let her go. Hooked into her scent now, he could track her to the end of the Earth, if he wanted too. His body didn’t move as she closed the space between them, but as he looked down at her, he found the strangest urge to move his hand over her hips. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the thought seemed to plant briefly where he wasn’t sure he could find it again.

As he stood there, she gave him her name. An eyebrow rose slightly as she continued with her small quip. His head tilted lightly, purposely letting his body press very gently against hers as she was him. In a quiet voice, he said; “I was more thinking, like Eostre, the rather beautiful goddess of dawn and spring.” But he did commit the name to memory, as he entirely intended to check into it. “It is very nice to meet you, April.”

Although he appeared to be teasing, he was also reading her. He wanted to calculate the likelihood that she would run, but then thought that…perhaps a chase could be fun. He made the decision to give her back the bag, but waited long enough that he would lightly linger in her thoughts. He made sure of it, as he silently communicated with the water that made up her system. However, he did nothing else as he felt her hand move over his. He knew what her intention was, and he tilted his head, as if he had only just realized.

“Oh, I apologize.” There was zero sincerity in this, but his accent covered that with its hilt. He watched closely as he slipped the heavy bag off his shoulder. He expected she would bolt the moment she could, which was why he very specifically kept talking, making a nearly irritating show of handing the bag back, while still keeping one strong hand on it. “Here you go. If you ever find yourself in need with…heavy stuff again, I live just down the hall. And my door is open anytime.” Was that a threat? A flirtation? A mix of both? Truly, it was impossible to tell.