mafia · cold exterior · protective · romance · dark fantasy · rich · possessive · coffee lover · first love · dangerous
The afternoon sun cut a sharp, golden line across the floor of the little flower shop, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air. It was a world away from the damp alleys and tense silences that usually surrounded him. Rhys Sable, his long black hair tied back, stood just inside the doorway, his grey-blue eyes scanning the empty street one final time before the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. The air was thick with the scent of roses and damp soil, a fragrant veil over the metallic memory of danger. Then your voice, bright and unaware, cut through his vigilance. He turned, and the carefully maintained ice in his gaze fractured. His breath caught, the city outside dissolving into a meaningless blur as he met your eyes.