Meet Me by Dawn (By Dawn series book 1) ✓

Chapter 13

Edited.

I stood in silence, watching as he lifted a glass of red to his mouth. His sleeves were rolled up while he appeared to work on the meal for the night: steaks and salad. It smelled of rosemary and butter. The kitchen was spacious, with black finish countertops and dark wooden cupboards and drawers. A big island stood in the center, and a paper-wrapped bouquet of colorful flowers lay on the counter.

He didn't turn around; the music was so loud he probably didn't hear us enter the house. I hesitated to speak or do anything; his presence was too overwhelming, too certain of itself. Gathering my resolve after standing there like a bloody idiot staring at his back, I finally tried. "Hello." He didn't seem to hear it. Taking a step further I reached the kitchen island, I tried again, "hello." The song reached it's peak, growing louder. Palming the counter, letting my hand slide over the slick wood I moved closer, hoping to catch his attention. At, last he turned his head, and grey silver eyes met mine, the most beautiful man I had ever laid my eyes on looked at me as if he saw a ghost.

A loud shattering.

Red wine bled over the floor.

"Oh, shit," I gasped, and held his probing stare at me. His gaze slowly made its way down my body to the mess at our feet. Without a word, I moved to clean up the mess, feeling the weight of his gaze upon me. "I'm sorry," I said, on my knees before him picking up the shattered pieces stained with wine.

"Leave it, you'll cut yourself," he said in a low, dark voice unlike any I had heard before. I glanced up at him, again struck by his intense gaze, no hint of a smile on his mouth. Like a stupid fool I didn't move, I just stared back at him with sharp glass in my hands. "Emilia," he said my name, and I looked up again. "You will cut yourself." My eyes traveled down his imposing frame, ending with the bulge on his pants. Was he hard? Meeting his gaze once more. He cleared his throat, and I instinctively stepped back. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from him, his assessing me. With his hands in his pockets, he seemed to tower over me, and I felt like an ant compared to him. The guys I grew up with at the institution wasn't built like this. He was shaved clean, black hair neatly combed to the side. He looked like some mafia member from Italy in the 1970s. There was something old about him, in the way he held himself. Eyes so grey they looked like rainy clouds, and his mouth, that was a different story. The most handsome man I had ever laid my eyes on. The picture I had found online didn't do him any justice, and it didn't come close to reality, at all.

This was Henry Salvatore.

I might had fallen in love at first sight and almost forgotten who I came here with, Atticus.

"You are bleeding." He looked at my hand, which I now noticed was cut. All I could focus on, however, was the man who was now hunched down before me, cleaning up the wine and glass I had made him drop. Silence drummed in my ears as I stood frozen and watched, until he finished and gestured for me to walk out of the kitchen. I realized I was breathing heavily and took one slow breath. My cheeks heated. I wanted to slap myself in the face to make my body calm down.

Get it together, Emilia. It is just a man.

"Bathroom to the right," he said, walking right behind me. I let him lead me through two open double doors, into a big dining room with an oval table and chairs for ten table. I hoped they hadn't invited many people over. We walked into a dark hallway and inside a bathroom, alone with him.

Fuck this shit.

He was silent as I watched him open the cabinet and began to take out supplies. The bathroom was simple and clean, it was most likely the guest bathroom. It had a toilet, which he had placed me on the lid. Dark marble floors continued seamlessly up the walls. He was still kind of hard; the bulge on his pants was visible, or it was just that big. I noticed him looking at me and where my eyes went, my cheeks instantly heated. Get it together. He wetted a cloth and reached for my hand, and as his touch ignited a fiery sensation in my body, he said, "I'm Henry Salvatore." I stared at his perfectly sculpted bronzed hands. "Emilia?" he asked. I looked straight up into those grey eyes again, my stomach churning. "Don't you speak?" His tone was harsher now. I frowned, staring at our joined hands as he patted away the blood. I swallowed.