Hard Rain (Rogue, #1)

by Irma Venter

I run my hand over my jaw and wish I had shaved this morning. I need a haircut as well; my hair is curling on my neck.

Finally her black Doc Martens reach us and come to a halt. “I can’t believe you actually thought they’d start on time,” she teases.

You know more about it than about any other emotion, yet you also know less. And if it’s honest and raw and not premeditated, it always catches you off guard.

But the truth doesn’t always need a voice. Sometimes it waits where you left it, without anyone having to acknowledge it. Quietly and indisputably. And, above all, patiently.

She draws a breath and kisses me again. Harder this time. I’m wise enough to know it’s the end, and the beginning, of everything.

The walls are decorated with an array of African masks and wildlife photographs from National Geographic.