The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Fourteen

Sherlock stared. Vivian was in his bedroom. The goose bumps multiplied, spreading a shivering path down his bare chest and abdomen. "What are you doing here?"

One brow quirked. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have let you know I was coming?" The acid in her tone could have descaled a steel beam.

So. Still hacked off about earlier then. He couldn't understand why. Surely, she comprehended his reasons for investigating her.

Stepping fully into the room, Vivian tossed his ball cap onto the bed. Sherlock vaguely recalled her dropping it when he'd pulled her to him in the electrical closet. It had slipped his mind until now. Something told him she hadn't come here just to return his hat though. Her French twist was back in place, lipstick repaired. Smooth and perfect, the red hue followed the cupid's bow of her mouth and along her full lower lip. Any trace of what had happened in the closet was gone. Realizing he was staring at her mouth, Sherlock snapped his gaze back up to hers. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

He was immediately wary. John had often moaned about hearing those four dreaded words from women over the years. The statement had never preceded anything good. "And what, you couldn't wait until I was dressed?"

"Nope," she said, aggressively popping the 'p.' "I really couldn't."

This was the fourth time he'd been less than fully clothed in her presence. The first had been when she'd accidentally barged into his room at Aria. The second was following their muddy brawl when she'd bandaged his bruised ribs. And the third instance was when he'd given her his shirt at the Victorian pool house. This time, however, if she'd arrived but a minute earlier, she would have gotten more than an eyeful of his chest. The thought left him feeling more than a little exposed. He reached for his shirt on the dresser, and her gaze blatantly raked over him.

"Don't worry. You have nothing that interests me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. She was parroting back at him what he'd once said to her at Brackenwood. If not for her reaction to him earlier today, he would have believed her indifference. Even now, he couldn't detect the lie. But what he couldn't understand was why she expected him to believe her. Realization dawned, and he set his shirt back down. She had no idea her eyes had betrayed her in the electrical closet. Sherlock barely repressed a chuckle. Oh yes. This was going to be fun.

He invaded her space like she'd invaded his room, and as expected, she didn't back down. Backing down was a physical impossibility for Vivian Walker, and it was a weakness he fully intended to exploit. He stopped just short of touching her. Her smirk faded, replaced by a frown. Expression calm, gaze steady, he merely watched her and waited. A minute passed. Her frown remained, but something flashed across her face. Uncertainty. Good.

Jasmine, sweet and heady, filled his nose. He'd noticed her perfume in the electrical closet, of course, but his awareness of it had quickly faded once she'd begun to exact her revenge. His sense of touch had predominated then, drowning out everything else. With the memory came a flicker of heat. Clenching his jaw, he did his best to extinguish it and refocused. He was supposed to be teaching Vivian a lesson, not reliving her retribution. Bending his head, he deliberately let his eyes drop to her mouth, pause there for a moment, then slowly move back up.

There. The black circles of her pupils expanded.

He smirked. "Liar. Your pupils just dilated. It's involuntary and very telling. It means I do in fact have something that interests you."

Vivian's mouth fell open. "What? No. That's not...I-I... " She sputtered a bit more, then pressed her lips together, cutting off the incoherent stream.