Read Fire Nectar 2 for Free Online

yes. But I am not ‘just’ flattering you. I’m saying the truth. You can hear it in my voice, yes? Trust your instincts. It will serve you, far more than any other sense you own, I can promise you.”
    She nodded and smiled shyly at him. “I was just thinking the same thing!”
    “Were you? Well, you’re a beautiful woman with a beautiful smile and a voice that makes me forget that ring, don’t doubt me. So let’s stop talking and get to business before I steal you from him. We don’t want that, do we?” He beckoned her to lean in as he reached forward to move a stray hair from her forehead. Her knees weakened to the extreme.
    “No…we don’t want that,” she said half-heartedly, typing into the computer to distract her quickening heart.
    His elbow lay casually on the counter between them. “No name tag?” He was enjoying himself; it was only half a game. He enjoyed making women happy. It came naturally to him and it felt good to see them smile. There was also a certain power to it. One of the benefits of self-mastery is the confidence and knowledge of self that comes with it. Ludovico and William had taught him well.
    The ticket agent answered from beneath her eyelashes. “I forgot my name tag at home. My name is Marion.”
    He looked at her in surprise, eyes narrowing. “Pardon?” She could not have said that name. He must have heard her wrong. She must have said Mary or Melody or Ryan. “What did you say?”
    “Marion. I know… it’s not a common name. It’s French, after my father’s mother,” she continued on, having gone too far down the path of fantasy to see the change in him. His expression traveled from horror to shock, and then to forced composure as he fiercely shoved away the feeling of foreboding. It’s merely a coincidence, he told himself. But damn if it wasn’t poor timing. “She was French. Which makes me part French as well. But I’ve never been. Not yet, anyway. You sound like you have an accent. Is it French? I was thinking it was, but it’s so faint, I couldn’t be sure.”
    Joshua put the antique satchel back on his shoulder and shoved his hands back into his jeans, all flirtatiousness gone immediately. “My accent is French, yes. May I have one ticket to Los Angeles for tomorrow night? The first one you have after 8pm. Thank you… Marion.” The distaste with which he said the word could not be hidden; it had acid attached to it.
    Her smile twisted to forced and confused as she nodded and busied herself, hesitantly typing into her computer, wondering what she’d done wrong. She didn’t want him to go, and wondered at the coldness in his voice, hopefully wishing it was from a desire to distance himself from a married woman, to avoid the dangerous path her charms might lead him down. Although she’d never admit it, she secretly hoped he might suggest a rendezvous in the bathroom the was just steps away from them. It was a ‘family restroom’ so it had one large stall and a lock on the door. She loved her husband and never thought such things! Blushing the color of a plum, she focused on reading his passport.
    “Joshua Cohen. Oh, you’re Jewish! Well, that makes sense now. No wonder why I’m so… why you’re so… um, appealing. My husband is Jewish, too. I have a weakness for men like you, I guess. But he’s Russian. I didn’t know there were Jewish people in France!” As soon as the words slipped carelessly out of her lips, she wished desperately she could take them back.
    “Yes, we live everywhere.”
    She hastily handed the passport and ticket to his waiting hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She blinked and held his eyes, trying to understand. “Something about you makes me a little googly.”
    “I understand…Marion. Something about you makes me feel the same. Goodnight.” He didn’t add the caveat that it was her name and not her smile, nor her deliciously racing heart, that caused this feeling in him.
    Marion. Why