Tomb Raider: The Legacy

Chapter 8: Bones

He'd been focused on the newspaper for a while, carefully reading the morning news - all plagued by the Monstrum crimes - when he noticed the woman moving around his bike, parked outside the cafe.

Not that it surprised him. Women loved his bike - it attracted them like flies, at least a considerable number of them. It had always been a great resource for flirting - among other of his personal qualities which, because of who he was and what he'd lived, he'd never had too much time or interest in developing.

Through the curtains that covered the stained-glass window of the café, he could barely see the woman's face - a tall, slender, and beautifully shaped woman, wrapped in tight jeans and a matching jacket. She had splendid long brown hair, braided in a ponytail that reached almost the end of her back. She moved with grace, like a feline, like a shoal in the sea.

Well, maybe her face was ugly, though that wouldn't decrease her merit at all.

The woman didn't dwell too much on admiring the vehicle, but instead suddenly pushed open the door and entered the café. At that moment, the phone rang and Pierre, that stupid bartender, approached to answer without paying more attention to the newcomer.

But the customer did pay attention. In fact, he was stunned.

He knew her. Who couldn't possibly know her? She was so famous he couldn't understand how that idiot at the bar hadn't realized. Forcing himself to look down, the man sitting at the corner table pretended to read the newspaper with interest, but over his eyelashes he carefully studied the woman.

She was even more impressive in person, if possible. Tall, slender, graceful as a gazelle, with that adorable body and doll face, so inconsistent with her lifestyle. Of course, that sticky poster circulating for years among the Legion's comrades did her little justice.

And then she turned and walked over. She came up to him in a straight line, taking three large but elegant strides to stand beside him, who had completely lowered his eyes to the newspaper again. What the hell...?

"Excuse me." She said. Her voice was clear, sounding, slightly singing, immensely feminine. "And excuse you too. Do you know a Louis Bouchard?" She had asked without hesitation, with a slightly pedantic - well, aristocratic tone in her case. He had no choice but to look up and stare at her.

And if possible, she was even more impressive up close. God, she was ravishing. And that was while being pale, looking tired and even having dark shadows under her eyes. But even so, her straight and noble nose, her thin eyebrows, one arched in a slight sarcastic expression, her large, deep and expressive eyes of hazelnut colour, and those thick, reddish lips he was already wishing to kiss – rather to bite - without wanting it, or maybe yes, wanting it after all.

And her womanly scent.

He realized he'd been staring at her for a while without uttering a word, and then his voice came out hoarse and monotonous, muffled, with the first thing that came to his puzzled head. "I'm a stranger round here."

She, who had leaned slightly toward him, clearly invading his personal space - not that it bothered him at all, he could smell her better, and God, she smelled so good - even resting her hand on the table, next to his, straightened suddenly like an obelisk and looked at him as if he was a curious insect.

"Don't let me distract you from your paper." She said with a certain sneer, and then she turned her back on him, her braid swaying to the rhythm of her graceful twist, and walked away in the direction of the counter.

Unable to avoid it, his eyes followed her firm buttocks - holstered inside her jeans - after the soft, stirring swaying of her hips, after the incredible elegance with which she moved away from him. The saliva dried in his mouth. Rarely had he enjoyed himself so much at seeing a woman moving away from him.