When her head tipped back, the wind blew her hair across her face and seemed to pull her laugh from her throat before she even voiced it, stole it from her before she even realized that it was hers to give. She looked at him from between messy strands of blonde hair that shined gold in the afternoon sun. “Don’t tell me,” she drawled, leaning a hip against the metal rail that encased the roof of the building, “that you’re afraid of heights!”

His heart stuttered when her hip touched that rail and made it squeak in protest. “Valencia,” he pleaded, “Valencia, please stop. Come away from the edge.”

She merely looked at him over a bare shoulder, an expanse of skin that was smooth and tan. The smile that played along the curve of her lips was teasing, dangerous.

It was a challenge.

The wind billowed the skirt of her scarlet dress around her thighs, and with one hand she grasped the rusty rail before she leaned out over it, hair slipping from behind her shoulder to fall in front of her face. She looked away from him now, towards the bustling city below, and when she laughed the sound was infectious.

Under better conditions, he might have been tempted to crack a smile.

Instead, he took a step towards her only to falter and come to a jerking stop a yard or two away. He reached out a trembling hand, trying to ignore the sweat that broke across his brow and the chill that wracked its way down his spine. “C’mon, Val, it’s not funny.”

She popped one leg into the air, the red sole of her shoe making him think of gruesome things, of how it would look if she tipped over that railing and hit the concrete below at a velocity that would shatter every bone in her body and have blood seep from her in gallons.

“I,” she said, her voice very calm, almost flippant, “find it to be hilarious.” She brought both hands to the rail and leaned out further, the backs of her thighs playing peek-a-boo with the skirt of her dress but instead of desire rising within him, an acute horror constricted around his throat. He could see her flail, he could see her tip and fall and fall and fall and—

die.

In a sharp and sudden motion she set both feet firmly on the ground again with a resolute click of her heels. She straightened up, prim and proper, and smoothed the fabric of her dress with her hands, twirling around on her tiptoes to face him. Valencia canted her head to the side, gave him a thoughtful look with her green eyes that seemed at odds with the impish smile on her face, and brushed past him like nothing happened, catching his hand in hers and tugging him along the way.