Devils Roses 01 - Cursed

I hungered for something that wasn’t on the menu. I wanted him to touch me. I envisioned him pulling his shirt off and then mine. Then his warm skin would be next to mine. I imagined him soft and smooth but hard under his skin. I blushed, nearly fanning myself and smiled at the woman at the counter.
    She smiled at Aleksander. “Why hello there, see anything you like?”
    I wanted to shout up and down, ‘I do, I do.’
    Aleksander never took his eyes off of me. “Whatever the lady is having.”
    I smiled, at him and spoke to her, “Soy latté and a lemon tart, please.”
    “ Lemon for you, as well?”
    He nodded and handed the cash to her, but his eyes were locked on me.
    We looked like Bambi and Faline, twitterpated, unable to be around normal people, at least I did. The eye lock was frightening.
    I sat down at the table he guided me to and watched him get our coffees and tarts. Lemon tart was normally my favorite treat, but I could barely taste it. I listened to him talk in a way that seemed nervous. I noticed the other women in the room were watching him, as intently as I was.
    “ So, why are you visiting here?”
    He smiled. “Maybe, this is where I'm from.”
    I shook my head. “No way. You’re not from here, so start talking.”
    He nodded. “You’re right, I’m not from here.” He laughed and bit into his tart. “I am here for work. Just a couple weeks.”
    He started to chew. I had never noticed anyone eat before, except Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven, but this was better. His cheeks and jaw muscles flexed, while his lips glistened with the movement.
    I was entranced until the words sunk in. “What—a few weeks? Then where?”
    “ Back home.” he shrugged.
    “ Where is home?”
    “ It’s far away from here. God, this soymilk is disgusting.” He grimaced making me laugh. It seemed like he was relaxing, if only a little.
    “ It’s an acquired taste. Start with chocolate, it’s easier that way.” Sipping my coffee was hard because my heart was panicking. He had a few weeks and that was it. I needed to know more about him.
    “ Where are you staying, Aleksander?” I wondered if he liked Aleks better.
    “ I am staying with the family I’m here helping. When my work with them is over, I will be on my way, unfortunately.”
    I frowned, confused. “Are you like a social worker?”
    He nodded. “Exactly, like a social worker. I can’t talk about it though—it’s confidential and I take that very seriously.” Again the stern nature was back. He was better at putting up walls, than I was.
    I noticed for the first time he was wearing a beige shirt with a cross on it. “Are you a Christian?”
    He laughed. “I don’t think of it like that. I try not to classify religion that way. I believe in God but maybe not church. The cross on my shirt is mine to bear, that’s the meaning of the shirt.”
    I smiled. “I like it. That’s a smart idea. Instead of assuming God and Jesus will save you and you can sin and say sorry for your crimes. This way your crimes are yours and yours alone.”
    He lifted his mug up and drank, making a face that made me burst into laughter. I noticed the women in the café were also laughing at his face. I was getting a bit creeped out by the attention he was getting. “Is it always like this?”
    He looked around. “What?”
    “ The women are staring at you. They look like they might attack at any second.”
    He smirked his sexy smile at me. “Fresh meat in a small town gets noticed. I could have three arms; to these women all I am is new. How do you feel about the boys in this small town? Do you judge them by the girls they’ve already dated?”
    I grimaced. “You have no idea.” I stuffed the last of my tart into my mouth and sucked back my latte. “Let’s go.”
    He stood as I did and walked ahead to get the door for me. I loved that about gentlemen. When we were outside again, I nudged against him. “What are you reading?”
    He laughed but his eyes bore down on me. “You.”
    I sucked my next breath in as my eyes widened. It scared me how intensely I liked him, after half an hour.
    He nudged me back. “I am reading Bram Stokers Dracula, in Romanian.”
    I sighed. “How many languages do you speak?”
    He shook his head. “Too many to count.”
    I had felt proud until he had said that. “I only speak four. But I’m working on my fifth right now.”
    “ I’m surprised the CIA hasn’t scooped you up yet, you’d be a good spy.”
    “