Living in Shadow (Living In…) by Jackie Ashenden

leaning back and shifting in his seat as he slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. She tried not to notice the way his hips moved as he did so, the cotton of his T-shirt lifting enough to reveal a strip of smooth, brown skin.
    Her fingertips itched, wanting to touch, but she looked away instead, holding tight to her wineglass as she approached him. Pity there wasn’t another chair, only the other end of the couch.
    “Well, this is very cozy,” she said dryly, putting her glass down on the table and sitting down, trying to keep a good amount of space between them. “Are you sure you couldn’t have chosen a spot more out of the way?”
    “I wanted privacy.” He watched her intently, like a predator. Like a man who’d made a decision and was going to go ahead with it, no matter the cost.
    Eleanor couldn’t hold his gaze, looking away under the pretext of smoothing down her skirt then reaching for her wine, swallowing a mouthful to steady herself. It felt like he was different than before. Even more intent, if that was possible. Focused on her to a degree that unsettled her at the same time as it…
    Makes you wet?
    She shivered, swallowing more wine, the alcohol sharp in her mouth. Trying to relax, she leaned back against the couch, only to feel the brush of his fingertips between her shoulder blades. Goose bumps rose, a prickle of heat sweeping through her.
    “Lucien,” she said.
    His black eyes met hers. “I told you I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”
    “Talking first, you said. Or…” God, how she hated the small quaver in her voice, “…didn’t you mean it?”
    “I meant it. But my hand stays there.”
    Another shiver went through her. She desperately wanted to hold his stare, challenge him, but every instinct she possessed told her to look away. She fought it, keeping her gaze on his.
    Somehow their dynamic had changed. Somehow he’d taken charge in a way he hadn’t before. And she was responding to him the way she’d once responded to Piers…
    “No,” Luc said softly, his hand suddenly pressing against her back, the warmth of his palm oddly reassuring through the silk of her blouse. “You’re going into your head again, Eleanor. I can see it. We’re only going to talk, that’s all we’re doing. Understand?”
    Hating herself for her weakness, she gave in to her instinct and looked away again, taking another mouthful of wine. “So,” she said, striving to keep her voice level, “you’re apparently not a spoiled private-school brat after all, despite what your records say.”
    “No, I’m not.” The hand at her back didn’t move, the warmth soaking into her. He moved his thumb, stroking her spine and she found herself catching her breath. “I mean, I was born in New Zealand, but my mother was from the Ivory Coast and I spent most of my childhood in Africa.”
    Well, that explained his coloring and the faint French lilt of his accent. “Most of your childhood?”
    “I came back here when I was seventeen.” There was the minutest of pauses. “After my parents were killed in some political unrest.”
    Eleanor put down her wine, forgetting her unease as something curled up inside her chest. “Oh hell, I didn’t realize.”
    “Of course you didn’t. It’s not like that’s on my academic record.” His voice betrayed nothing. “Anyway, it’s been years. I came back here to live with my paternal grandparents. They’ve got money and sent me to King’s to get a decent education.”
    It wasn’t the whole story, she sensed that immediately. There was more there, but something told her not to push. There was a darkness in his eyes, the kind of darkness she’d seen in the eyes of people who’d experienced trauma or loss. The kind of darkness she’d seen once in Kahu’s eyes.
    Even in your own.
    She gave a minute shake of her head, not wanting that thought there either. “What was it like?” she asked carefully. “In Africa?”
    “It was different. Interesting. What