Free Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) by Nola Sarina, Emily Faith

date her.
Bad news.
    “Gypsy is my twin sister. She’s a stunning woman. My dad always speculated I would never settle down, since male twins tend to hold women up to the standard set by their sisters. Gypsy is a high standard.”
    “You were close with your parents?” Aria asked, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.
    I forced myself to look away from her lips as she licked them clean. I wanted to kiss her. Holy fuck, did I want to taste those lips! My tongue would do the job better than hers, anyway. But we were eating, and it was way too fast, and she’d make all kinds of wrong assumptions if I did, like all women did in the movies. And she’d probably want to sleep with me, which would be even worse than dating me. I cleared my throat. “I was close with them, yes. They’ve been dead for almost seven years.”
    “The girls at the Teacup told me about that. Quite a high-profile accident, I hear. Sorry.”
    I nudged her with my elbow. “No reason for you to be sorry. Drink?”
    She nodded. I grabbed two root beers from the fridge and downed mine as Aria sipped hers. I let out a belch and watched her hide a giggle, then release a tiny, pathetic burp of her own.
    “Come on,” I extended my hand as she shivered again with the fresh chill of the soda. I led her to my bedroom and opened the recessed closet door, pulled out a black athletic shirt—the sleeveless kind—and handed it to her. “You can change in the bathroom. Your shirt is full of glass, so toss it in the tub and my housekeeper will take care of it tomorrow. I’ll be in the living room.”
    I excused myself as Aria held my shirt, hesitant and perplexed. I turned on the television and plopped down in my black leather sofa, kicking my heels up on the glass-topped coffee table before me. I heard the click of the bathroom door, the swoosh of water in the sink and then a long silence. I muted the TV and strained to hear. What was she doing in there?
    She emerged and walked over to me with her arms crossed over her breasts. I blinked, surprised to notice she was only in the undershirt and her panties. Then I realized the brilliant yellow confirmed my suspicions: her underwear matched her socks.
    “My pants were full of glass, too. I’ll sweep the bathroom.”
    My intelligence blanked for a moment, unable to muscle enough brain power to think of where I kept a broom while she stood there, the skin of her bare thighs just begging for my tongue. Goosebumps pricked up along her flesh, and a grin tugged at the corner of my mouth as I drank in the sight of Aria—stubborn, mysterious Aria—so exposed in my living room. I waved her concerns off and when I spoke, my voice was rough. “The housekeeper can take care of the glass.”
    She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.
    “You look good in those colors. Black and neon. I like it.”
    She smirked at me. “You wanted to know my name . . . ” It was not a question, so I just nodded.
    Aria turned around and grabbed the hem of my shirt with both of her hands. I couldn’t help but stare at her ass, my cock twitching against my khakis as I watched her flesh jiggle over the relaxed muscle. She shimmied as she worked the shirt up to her shoulders, revealing an elaborate tattoo in the middle of her back.
    It was an ornamental, bright blue flower. The stem wrapped along her spine, almost appearing to wind fully around her vertebrae, though I knew that was impossible. Little swoops of gray smoke played alongside the slender stem, springing out of a few narrow, green leaves and leading up to the tall, starburst-adorned flower head. It was like a column of blue fireworks, the petals showing many layers of depth and color shades, though the brightest blue was identical to the blue of Aria’s hair.
    “It’s a Hyacinth flower,” she explained. “Aria Hyacinthe. That’s my name.”
    I reached forward instinctively and traced my fingertips over the stem from the base of her tailbone up her spine. A shiver ran