IS MURDER ON HER LIPS? ...

HI, All,

Welcome to another installment from the Romantic Friday Writers. Yes, I know I am a bit late posting, but I did start to write this last night. LOL.

For today's challenge ... I Should Have Kissed You! Word count - 500

I hope you enjoy my entry. Don't forget to drop by the other RFW writers for their interpretations. You can find them here.

Have a great weekend everyone!

A darkened room lit by only one generic fixture illuminates a single smoke ring mingling with the hot, steamy, air.

Sweat trickles from his forehead, down his cheek, and lingers at the base of his neck, glistening next to an open crisp, white collar. His adam’s apple bobs as he attempts to swallow what little saliva coats his throat.

Ruby-red lips part and another smoke ring joins the former, disappearing into the haziness of the room. A milky-white hand with matching manicured nails flicks the ash from the end of a jeweled cigarette holder. A large brimmed hat shadows most of her face as she silently takes another drag.

Papers shuffle. A callused hand picks up a day-old cup of coffee. He drains the cup, licks his stubbled lips, and clears his throat. Under heavy brows his eyes dart from her long crossed legs toward her curved hips, full breast, and finally lock on her full, glossy mouth.

Standing, he steps over to the door to catch a non existent breeze. The once starched shirt clings to every muscle defining a broad chest, and powerful arms and shoulders. A weathered black leather belt cinches the soaked fabric around a narrow waist. His hand runs through thick dark hair as he clears his throat again and faces her.

“I’m waiting, Miss Donavan,” he says in a husky voice. “Where were you tonight between the hours of eight and midnight?”

She tilts her head. Moist lips shine from the harsh light, but remain silent. The wall clocks ticks and with each passing increases in volume. Yet, the silence of the room is deafening. 

“We found Charles Sinclair dead in his office. Murdered.” He took two steps toward her. “A letter-opener through his heart.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms. “You are, or should I say, were his secretary and the only person in contact with him today.” He looks down at her.

In an effortless movement, she opens her purse and takes out a silver case, not once making eye contact with him. She taps a thin butt into the holder, draws the cigarette to her, and ignites the lighter. A puff of smoke escapes, veiling her from his intense stare. 

A heavy hand slices through the cloudy air. “Miss Donavan. Your silence only adds to your guilt.” Beads of sweat shimmer on his brow as he takes another step toward her. The lines in his face soften. “I’d like to hear your side of the story ... please.” 

The shadows shift. A soft scent of lavender, tobacco, and sweat permeate the musty air.

Crouching down before her, drawing ever so close, he focuses on her perfect rose-petal lips. 

Her chest rises, straining the mother-of-pearl buttons of the skin-tight linen suit. A pink tongue glides across the soft curves of her plump lips. 

His eyes widen. 

Emerald eyes lock on his.

He moves in closer and her lips part.

“I murdered Charles Sinclair.”