Preview
Added 2019-06-13 20:59:59 +0000 UTC
Lightning flared overhead, brightening the storm clouds that darkened the perpetually overcast British skies. The roar followed close on its heels, earsplitting, physical, pounding down on the world like a hammer blow. A moment later, raindrops the size of knives were slashing into the cobblestone pavement, almost sounding like glass breaking. Jane pulled Darcy to safety under an awning overlooking the staircase, and they huddled together for safety as the rain poured down. Not violent or scary—neither of them could fear the weather after getting to know Thor—but with a roughness, a brute strength that seemed somehow overbearing, watching the streets being covered in showers. Visibility was almost nill, a curtain of water cutting off Jane and Darcy in their own private world.
“My boyfriend’s back,” Jane giggled, then launched into song. “My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble…”
She had a good singing voice when she wasn’t trying to wrap her tongue around Highlander talk. Lightning cracked as she slurred the lyrics, bathing Jane’s face in acrid blue light, but even that destructive harshness couldn’t denigrate her face. Her features were all sloping lines, gentle softness, curving youth—Darcy thought of some guy with a feather pen practicing calligraphy. That was Jane’s face, all smooth and supple, elegant in its fineness, with those piercing eyes finishing and exceeding the picture. All the delicacy in her features went out the window when her eyes got a hold of you. Then you saw how she was intense enough to be dating a war god.
Trouble. Being in trouble. Like the dame walking into a gumshoe’s office in a noir movie. Like a teenager who’d gotten knocked up running with the wrong crowd. Like being in love with your best friend, who’s straight and dating someone else and still looks so beautiful that it should be a crime. People shouldn’t be allowed to be that beautiful. Gods and Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn, they can be, but not Jane.
