Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I laughed. “I imagine not.”
The next morning, I found Ava examining a sequined gown, her focus giving her a soft glow in the dimly lit costume room. I approached quietly, a feather boa in hand, and as I reached her, I draped it gently around her neck. My fingers brushed her skin, lingering just a moment too long as I adjusted the fabric. Her sharp intake of breath was audible, and she turned to look at me, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something darker, more inviting. "It suits you," I said, my voice low, feeling the electric charge that moment sparked between us. “I had fun last night, thank you for joining me.”
She nodded, eyes flickering anywhere but me before she slipped away, exiting the tent so quickly only the soft scent of her strawberry shampoo remained. I walked on slow strides to the animal enclosure, where the sun cast long shadows across the ground. Ava was trailing along with me as I talked about the specifics of feeding the giraffes, when we reached the pens we paused shoulder to shoulder. I liked standing so unusually close to her. As she reached out to offer a carrot, I placed my hands over hers, guiding them. My chest pressed lightly against her back, and I could feel the tension ripple through her. "Gentle," I whispered, my breath stirring the hair at the nape of her neck, my words as much about the moment as they were about feeding the towering animal before us.
Each of these encounters wove a complex tapestry of attraction and professionalism, blurring lines I had once observed with strict adherence. With Ava, it was different. The thrill of the circus, the danger of our growing closeness—it was a potent mix that threatened to overwhelm my usual control. As I stood behind her at the enclosure, feeling her lean back ever so slightly into me, I realized how much I wanted to push those boundaries further, to explore the undeniable chemistry that sizzled in the air between us. But even as I indulged in these moments, part of me remained acutely aware of the risks. Ava was here under professional pretenses, and her investigation into the circus’s workings hung over us like a specter. Each step closer we took, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was leading us toward something real and lasting, or if it was merely the setup for a fall neither of us could afford. As I watched her laugh, throwing her head back against the golden hour light that turned her hair into a halo, I knew, regardless of the danger, that I was too far gone to step back now.
Evening soon descended like a soft cloak over the circus, muting the daytime clamor into subdued whispers. I watched as inside her caravan, Ava paced, a seeming tempest of confusion and desire roiling within her. I watched from a discreet distance, unseen, my presence cloaked by the shadows. The soft light spilling from her windows painted her silhouette against the thin curtains—every movement betraying her turmoil. She paused, her hands hovering over an envelope—the one I knew contained evidence that could threaten the very fabric of my world. Then her gaze shifted to a photograph of us captured earlier by another performer, laughing, a rare moment of unguarded joy captured forever. The stark contrast between the document and our image seemed to slice through her, her body sagging into a chair as if the weight of something unspoken was too much to bear.
I left my hiding spot near Ava’s caravan because I couldn't stay hidden any longer, not with the stakes so high. As the circus roared back to life for the evening performance a while later, I found Ava backstage, her face a mask of professionalism, but her eyes—those deep wells of emotion—gave her away. I reached out, my hand closing firmly around her arm, and drew her away from the prying eyes of the other performers.
“Ava,” I began, my voice low, every word measured yet heavy with emotion. “I’ve heard whispers about your...investigations. We need to talk.” My gaze held hers, searching for an anchor in the storm I saw brewing behind her eyes.
The space between us was charged with a potent mix of tension and desire. “Dante, I—” she started, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.
“Please, just tell me the truth,” I implored, my hold on her arm loosening, turning into a plea rather than a restraint.
Under the bleachers, away from the thunderous applause for the night’s show, I acted on impulse. I pulled her into the shadows and kissed her, a move born of frustration and a deep, undeniable yearning. The kiss was reckless, a mingling of challenge and plea, as if I could meld our conflicts and confusions into something sweet and less daunting. When I finally pulled away, her breathless expression mirrored my wild mix of emotions—this wasn't just about attraction anymore, it was about everything we stood to lose or gain. And so I left her standing like that, my emotions too big to carry at this moment.