Chapter Five
“Another young woman was found dead last night in what looks to be the latest victim in the Icepick Murder case. Twenty-one year old Casey Klein, a student at Colorado Technical University, was found brutally stabbed in her vehicle outside of her dormitory. No witnesses have come forward and the killer is still at large. If you have any information, please call the…,” the polished brunette anchorwoman reports from the small television in our kitchen. My parents and I listen intently, worry and disgust etched in our faces.
“It’s getting worse,” Donna mumbles from the stove, tending to her scrambled egg whites.
“I know,” Chris replies, solemnly.
“Can’t something be done? Innocent girls can’t keep dying!” Donna shrieks, nearly dropping the spatula.
I look up from my own breakfast. “What’s going on?” I can tell they know more about the situation than they’ve let on. Chris and Donna exchange a strained glance.
Chris sighs with reluctance and looks at me intently. “Gabi, honey, the girls’ deaths are no random act. They are being murdered by the Dark.” He gulps and waits for my reaction. This is the first time he’s admitted their existence to me.
“Why?” is all I can choke out.
My dad pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling. He looks to me with weary, apologetic eyes. “Because they are looking for you.”
My blood runs cold, everything around me completely muted. I’m numb. All sense of sight and sound has been stripped away from me. The rhythm of my rapidly pounding heartbeat resonates in my head. Just its steady drumming reminds me that I am still here, still breathing. Not drowning in my own wretched trepidation. Someone is after me and they’ve left a trail of tortured, mangled girls. Whoever is out there looking for me wants my blood. They want to do to me what they’ve done to these poor innocent girls. Maybe even more.
“Gabriella, do you understand what I’m saying?” Chris asks, raising his voice a bit to get my attention.
“Huh?” My brain has obviously turned to mush.
Donna sits down next to me and gently places her small hand on my shoulder. “They can’t find you. They can’t pick up your scent or sense what’s in you. I’ve made sure of that.” She tries to smile reassuringly, but it’s strained.
“How?” I croak.
Donna points to the wild berry smoothie sitting above my plate of cheese omelet and bacon. “The smoothies I make for you daily are a concoction of herbs that dull your scent. It’s harder for them to feel your power.” Reflexively, I reach over a take a large laborious swallow. I place the glass down with a shaky hand.
“So the smoothies keep whoever is out there from finding me but innocent girls will continue to die?” This doesn’t sit well with me at all. Dozens of women will be killed just so I can be saved? For what? How is my life any more important than theirs?
“It’s more complicated than that, sweetie. If we could, of course, we would do something. But it’s impossible to force complete strangers to ingest anything without telling them why and risk exposure. We would be slaughtered on the spot for that.” Donna pauses to let her words sink in so I understand the severity of the situation. They were sworn to secrecy to protect all of our lives. “Even if we did tell someone, no one would ever believe us. Our job is to protect you and that’s what we’re doing.”
I shake my head, trying to conjure my senses. This is all ludicrous. How can any of this be possible?
“Why are they being stabbed around the throat?” I ask, trying to bring some logic to the conversation.
“To make it appear to be a vampire attack,” Chris replies.
Oh, hell no! “Wait a minute!” I yelp incredulously. “Did you just say…? Vampires are real? You have got to be kidding me!” I don’t know whether to be frightened or hysterical. Or a mixture of both.
“Do you really want to know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
I mull it over for a beat before shaking my head vehemently. “No, I don’t.” Let’s limit these revelations of the existence of mythical creatures to once a year. “So the Dark have sent someone to kill me. Why?”
“You are the first of your kind,” my dad replies. He resumes eating his eggs as if we are discussing the weather. "No one knows what you’ll become once you ascend. You could have power that surpasses anything they could have ever imagined and annihilate all of them. At least that’s what many of the Light are hoping for, anyway.”
“Ascend? Like get my power? When? And how do they know I’ll even have any? I don’t feel like I do.” I look down at my now cold breakfast and pick up a piece of bacon to nibble. I don’t even taste it. I just have to keep myself busy before I have a nervous breakdown.
“When you turn 21. There is no doubt that you’ll be powerful, considering who your parents were,” says Donna. The reminder of my wicked Warlock bio dad causes a shiver to run down my spine. “However, no one knows what type of magic you’ll have.”
“You mean no one knows if I’ll be good or evil,” I whisper.
“We know you’re anything but evil, sweetie. And you could very well put an end to all of the fighting. Your mother, Natalia, had hoped for that. She wanted there to be peace among the Light and the Dark and wanted you to be that bridge. But it had never been done before. Ever. People fear what they don’t understand.” Donna places her hand over mine in reassurance.
“But does anyone even have a clue what I’ll become? What if I’m some crazed psychopath or something? Can’t I just opt out of this ascension?”
“It doesn’t work that way, honey. You are what you are. And that is a very special, very unique young woman,” says Donna. For someone who has no idea what will happen in another 12 months, she’s oddly optimistic. That’s even if I make it to my 21st birthday being that there’s someone trying to kill me. Oh yeah, that.
“For now, just focus on keeping yourself safe and out of harm’s way,” adds my dad as if he can read my anxiety. “The herbs will work on concealing your identity. Just be smart and no risky behavior, okay, Kiddo?”
“Right,” I reply flatly. Demented Warlock out to kill me. No big deal. They must be pretty damn confident in Donna’s concoction. “I’ve gotta get ready for work.”
I rise and walk over to the trash to scrape my leftover food, and then place my dish into the sink. Once I’ve retreated to my room, I mindlessly get my clothes ready for work, deciding on soft cowl-neck cream sweater, fitted jeans, and brown riding boots. It’s dressier than my usual jeans and t-shirt work attire but I need a pick me up after the news of my potential attacker. I put in some stud earrings and leave my long tresses down in soft waves. I smile at myself in the mirror and think I feel pretty. Not that I think I’m ugly. Just not very glamorous, especially next to Morgan. Morgan! I pick up my cell phone and call her, knowing she’ll be agitated with my brief text last night. Did I even get a chance to send it?
Shoot, her voicemail. “Hey, Morg, sorry bout last night. Crazy shit. But I do have something quite interesting to report!” Not only do my cheeks heat at the thought of Dorian, but my heart instantly beats into overtime. “Heading to work now. Call me later?”
I grab my purse and my favorite brown leather jacket just in case it’s cold after I get off. Before stepping outside, I check to make sure there’s no one out there waiting for me. It’s a beautiful day, the warm sunlight kissing my cheeks with Vitamin D. I smile up at the sky and my trepidation instantly vanishes. One of the perks of Colorado’s high altitude is the sun always feels closer and brighter. There’s a chill in the air but I’m comfortable in my light sweater. I pop in my favorite John Mayer cd and blast it all the way to Chapel Hills mall. It’s going to be a good day, I can feel it. I’ve at least earned it.
No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get motivated at work. I want to be out enjoying this beautiful Saturday just like everyone else, not wasting away selling overpriced denim to bratty teenagers with Daddy’s credit card. As I’m retrieving about 10 articles of clothing that some pesky kid has tried on and left in the dressing room, I feel my cell vibrate in my back pocket, indicating a text message. I begin to rehang the apparel on their appropriate racks then pull out my phone once I’m masked by the shroud of the jeans display. I suspect it’s Morgan but to my surprise it’s Dorian. My heart beats furiously and my breathing becomes ragged as if I’ve just run the length of the entire mall complex.
Dorian, 1:17 P.M.
-I want to see you.
God, it’s amazing the feelings this man can evoke with just a sentence. I think about delaying my response in an attempt to not seem too eager, but to hell with playing coy.
-I’m working :(
There. If he really wants to see me, maybe he’ll suggest meeting up later after work like the night before. At least that’s what I’m hoping.
“Hey, Gabi, there you are!”
Holy shit! My disturbingly cheerful supervisor pops up out of nowhere and scares the crap out of me, causing me to drop my phone and the pair of jeans draped over my arm. “Oh my God, Felicia, you scared me!” I clutch my chest in a cheesy soap opera fashion and scramble to pick up my phone and the jeans. “What’s up?”
“Oops! Sorry!” she smiles. This bitch is way too perky. It’s like she’s hooked up to a caffeine IV. “Hey, I am so, so, so sorry to do this but I’ve got to start cutting back a little on shifts. I think something is going on with the company but we’ll just keep that hush, hush!” She winks over exaggeratedly. “Would you be too upset if I let you go home early today?” She gives her best puppy dog look and even goes as far as jutting her bottom lip out. Gag.
“Sure!” Now it’s my turn to be cheery. Has wishful thinking finally paid off?
“Awesome! You’re the best, Gabi! And I promise it won’t just be you feeling the cutback on hours. It’ll be spread out, myself included.” She’s doing that damn sad face again but I don’t even care enough to be annoyed.
“No problem, send me home anytime,” I cheese like a lunatic. Her chirpy disposition must be rubbing off on me. That and the fact that my plans for the day have just took a turn for the better. I hurriedly fold the jeans and shove them on their reserved shelf and head back to the stockroom, vigorously texting on the way.
To Dorian, 1:28 P.M.
-Plans just changed. I’m off :)
Geez, I’ve got to quit with these damn emoticons. I get a reply just seconds later and am nearly jumping with glee. Dorian has got me wide open and I haven’t even known him a mere 48 hours.
-I’m at Starbucks. Come see me.
Though it’s a demand, and I don’t take kindly to demands from any man, I am only too eager to race down to the coffee shop in record time. I stop at our employee restroom to finger comb my hair and reapply my lipgloss before grabbing my things and waving goodbye to my coworkers without a second glance. So long, Suckas!
As I approach Starbucks, I slow my pace and take a few deep breaths, trying to get my head in a more level, nonchalant space. But no matter how cool I try to appear, it all evaporates as soon as I see him sitting at the very same table we sat at the day before. I pause for a beat and have to consciously remind myself how to walk. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I shakily approach the table and just stare. The man is simply gorgeous, clothed in a black V-neck t-shirt, jeans and a black leather jacket. He gazes back at me in a sultry, lustful way. I can’t tell if he’s laying on the sex or if that’s his usual look but I’m buying it. All of it.
“So we meet again,” he smiles crookedly. His ice blue eyes flash momentarily and my knees almost buckle underneath me. He waves toward the opposite seat. “Please, sit.”
I do as I’m told, again, with controlled movements, careful not to seem too compliant. That’s when I allow myself to tear my eyes away from him long enough to notice that he has two disposable coffee cups in front of him. He pushes one towards me.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says.
I take a tiny sip of the steaming liquid and let it quench my parched mouth. It’s a cinnamon latte, my favorite! How did he know? “Thank you,” is all I can choke out in surprise.
“So it seems we have the whole day to enjoy each other. What shall we do?” He takes a sip of his own drink and looks up at me seductively through his thick eyelashes. They are ridiculously long and lush, giving any Covergirl model a run for her money. Contrasted with his unbelievably light eyes, the combination is downright dazzling.
“Hmmm,” I ponder. Then I have an idea that will score me some alone time with him and offer an opportunity for us to enjoy the sunshine. “Ever been to Garden of the Gods?”
“Can’t say that I have. But I’m always up for an adventure.” Dorian cocks his head to one side as if he’s contemplating something. The gesture makes him look incredibly sexy.
“Well, I don’t know about an adventure but it is one of my favorite places,” I smile sheepishly.
Revealing a personal detail about me, especially something as intimate as one of my favorite hideaways, makes me feel bashful, childlike even. I really do care about his opinion of me. It’s more than just the physical attraction; I want him to know me.
“Then I’m sure it will soon be one of my favorites as well.” Dorian then stands, grabs both our coffee cups and I follow suit. “Come on. I’ll drive,” he winks.
The ride in the sleek, black Mercedes is invigorating and I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I’m enjoying it, having never been much of a car enthusiast. Dorian is an impeccable driver and he makes it seem so effortless. We cruise down Academy Boulevard, Robin Thicke crooning sweet, soothing melodies from the state of the art sound system. He’s singing about being all tied up and urging his lover to rescue him, pleading his need for her. It’s provocative and I instantly find myself swaying to the beat. I glance over at Dorian to find him smirking at my little performance.
“Like the music?” he asks when I catch his gaze behind the dark lenses of his designer shades.
“I do. So you listen to a lot of music like this?” Perfect time to squeeze out some information.
“My tastes are eclectic. I listen to whatever moves me,” he responds.
“Humph. Me too, I guess,” I reflect. I do like to mix it up a bit.
“The power that a musician holds is truly fascinating. To touch the masses, relaying their pain, anger, joy, lust… through song…,” he stares ahead lost in his own train of thought. I look intently at him, hanging on to his every word. He seems so passionate, so full of conviction. “The true artist is one who can evoke those raw emotions in their audience, bring them to their knees, and convey their message to them in a foreign tongue. Or without words at all. That type of power is immeasurable.”
I’m totally consumed by Dorian’s outpouring of emotion. It’s so unexpected and unbelievably alluring. Like maybe there is more behind the incredible looks and sex appeal. As if he can sense my suspicions, he turns to flash me a heart-stopping smile.
“Seems like you know a bit about the music business,” I comment, desperately trying to recover from the sight of it.
“A little,” he smirks, and we go back to enjoying the tunes and sensual static of our close proximity.
When we arrive at the park of bizarre red rock formations, I feel a surge of energy. I’m excited even though I’ve been a dozen times. The possibility of spending time with Dorian and sharing this place with him is exhilarating and part of me really wants to impress him. We walk down to the first display of rock and marvel at nature’s splendor.
I take a moment to reflect on all I’ve learned since my birthday, just a meager 2 days ago. What if the red boulders weren’t fashioned this way simply by nature? What if this was the work of a supernatural being? What if the rocks were erected as a result of an intense battle between opposing forces?
“Weird, huh?” I turn to Dorian to gauge his reaction.
“Peculiar, yes, but beautiful.” He grins down at me and I notice he’s removed his shades, giving me full access to his magnificent irises, safeguarded by long, black lashes. I blush and hurriedly turn away to hide the flush of my cheeks.
We walk through the park in content silence, stopping every so often to admire the red sandstone. It totally boggles me how I can be so comfortable with Dorian, a complete contradiction to my usual distrusting nature. Being in his presence feels oddly right, as if we were somehow meant to be in this moment together.
“So you like to come here. Why?” he asks after a while.
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I guess I’ve always enjoyed being outdoors if the weather is nice, of course. And I find the stones to be intriguing. Like, how on Earth did they end up like that? An act of God? Or something else entirely that we could never imagine? Nature is fascinating that way.” I look up and Dorian is studying me intently. Being that he’s at least 5 inches taller than my five feet four inch frame, I tilt my head upwards to meet his gaze.
“I find you fascinating,” he breathes. An unnamed emotion washes over his face and his expression is unreadable. It’s as if he’s trying to relay something to me but is unsure if he should.
“Sorry to disappoint you but like I told you before, I am far from it,” I reply. My eyes drop to the ground, my own words wounding me because it’s true. “I’ve never been fascinating or interesting. I am so unbelievably ordinary, it’s a surprise that you haven’t gotten bored with me yet.” I pick up my head and mask my discontent with a rueful smile. No need to let my pessimism ruin the mood.
We stroll upon one of my favorite sandstone formations. “Kissing camels,” I say when we stop to admire it. The red rocks have created the impression of two camels facing each other engaged in a charming lip-lock. The sight makes me grin involuntarily. When I look to Dorian to gauge his reaction, he is looking down at me, much closer than I anticipate. I am momentarily startled at his close proximity, and can feel an intense heat surge through my veins at the prospect of contact.
Dorian looks at me with hooded eyes and licks his lips. The sight of the pinkness of his tongue spikes my breathing and my own lips part reflexively from the excitement. As if I have given him some carnal signal, he slowly, deliberately bends his head down and places his soft, full lips on mine. They are strong and dominating yet as supple and light as satin. My mouth parts wider, welcoming his tongue to explore further. The sensation from his touch is electric and the familiar tingling that I experienced on our first encounter returns with a vengeance. From the pout of my lips down my neck, through my breasts and down in my belly, it’s spreading like wildfire. It meets its desired destination with ferocity and my pleasure counters the inexplicable prickling with its own throbbing. I’ve never felt anything like this; it’s simply amazing. It can only be best described as when hot and cold collide. Fire and ice.
Lost in my body’s own symphony of sensation, I hardly notice the extent this kiss has deepened. Our bodies are pressed against each other as if we have melded into one. Dorian’s hand is knotted in my hair, firmly massaging my scalp, while the other is on my lower back, pulling me closer still. My own hands roam his soft, tousled black hair and broad hard shoulders. I know we must be making a spectacle of ourselves but we’re oblivious. At least I am. Tongues intertwined in a slow, seductive dance, exploring, tasting, teasing. It could go on forever and I still could not get enough of Dorian’s succulent flavor. He tastes refreshing and cool like an ice cold drink on a hot summer’s day. Yet the current our bodies emit is pure fire and heat. The mixture is intoxicating and addicting.
Approaching voices break our trance and we simultaneously pull away. I’m panting and flustered, looking up at Dorian in wonder. He looks oddly calm and collected, smug even, as if he knows he’s unraveled me. Shit, he knows he’s got me under his spell. But there’s no turning back now. I can’t even begin to walk away from him, not after what just transpired between us. He’s the only thing that even remotely makes sense right now. His presence these last few days has given me the comfort and happiness that I so desperately crave-that I so desperately need- to keep sane. Even if his only purpose in my life is to provide me with mind-numbing passion, I’d happily accept it with open arms. And open legs.
“That was…. Interesting,” I say, breaking the tense silence between us.
“The stones are interesting,” he replies, licking his lips. He closes his eyes for a long moment, as if he’s savoring the memory of our mingled tongues. “You are absolutely delectable.”
Suddenly, a horrifying clap of thunder roars overhead and I notice that the skies are dangerously dark. Just seconds before we were basking in the warm sunlight without a cloud in the sky. I am baffled but I know we should find shelter to avoid getting drenched. A violent storm is approaching and lightning strikes in the Springs are a known threat.
“We should head back,” I remark as a bright flash of electricity lights the dark sky. A loud rumble quickly follows, indicating that the lightening is close. Dorian looks up and frowns at the heavens then nods, grasping my hand and ushering me back towards the parking lot. We make it back just as the torrential rain begins.
“Did you want to go home? Or would you mind spending a little more time with me?” Dorian asks as he fires up the Mercedes. He looks devastatingly sexy, with his jet black hair slick and speckled with rain. I’m tempted to lean over and lick the raindrops from his face, expecting them to taste as sweet as his lips.
“I don’t mind,” is all I say. Inside I’m jumping for joy since I expected our date to end because of the weather. I use all my willpower to keep the goofy grin off my face.
“There’s a little place I want to take you,” he says. And with that we are back on the road.
Robin Thicke is still playing and he’s singing a smooth ballad about being dangerous. Though his words warn his lady love to stay away and to avoid falling in love, his sugary sweet melody doesn’t match his threat of imminent danger. It’s alluring and inviting. You don’t want to turn away; you want more and more no matter the risk. I recall Dorian’s account of the power of music and my brow furrows. He was onto something.
“Would you rather listen to something else?” Dorian asks suddenly and the song switches abruptly. It’s Coldplay’s “Paradise.”
“Well, no but you’ve already changed it,” I reply.
“Oh? I thought I saw a frown on your face. Maybe you took the song as a warning.” He flashes a devilishly sexy smile. I squirm against the leather upholstery.
A warning? Oh shit. Has he realized that being around me could be perilous to him? Of course. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve got a sadistic Warlock out for my blood and here I am, ready to spread my legs and do the forbidden dance with an innocent, though totally gorgeous and mysterious, man that I hardly know. Yes. That song was a warning. For him.
“No, this song is fine. You can let it play.” I turn my head to look out the window at the beating rain, wishing it could wash away my shame. And my fear.
We pull up to a little bistro that could best be described as quaint. It’s beautifully decorated with fresh flower arrangements, magnificent framed artwork and several displays of wine. It’s a warm welcome from the relentless rainfall. Our friendly hostess smiles at us sweetly and leads us to a quiet table for two, noticeably separate from the other diners. I eye the display case of fresh-baked pastries and cakes on the way and my mouth instantly waters. I am famished and glad that Dorian thought to come here. I quickly open the menu once we’re seated and scan their selections.
“Hungry?” Dorian smiles, peering over his own menu.
“Starved,” I say sheepishly. And not just for food. “So what’s good here?”
“I’ve only been here once and everything I had was fantastic. Do you like seafood?” Dorian puts down his menu and folds his hands on the table in front of him.
“I love it,” I reply.
“Good. Their mussels and clams are excellent,” he remarks.
Just as I’ve decided what to order, our server approaches us, a tall, thin brunette with a bright smile, a notable change from our waitress from the sports bar. She is pretty in a girl next door kind of way and has kind eyes.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle, monsieur,” she greets each of us with a bow of her head. Dorian returns her friendly acknowledgment and answers back in flawless French. I fail at hiding my shock after the waitress leaves.
“Whoa. You speak French?” I ask, clearly impressed.
Dorian answers with a sheepish half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes. Among other languages.”
I note his nonchalance with a raised eyebrow and a shrug of my own. We make small talk until our server returns with glasses of wine and a large bottle of sparkling water. I take a swig of the cool, crisp rose wine and an involuntary ‘Mmmm’ escapes my lips.
Seeing as it is still pretty early in the day, I opt for a Muffeletta sandwich while Dorian orders a Nicoise salad. The waitress smiles at us both and leaves to put in our food orders, returning moments later with a large platter of clams and mussels in a white wine sauce. They look and smell amazing. Dorian must’ve ordered these in his perfect French along with the wine.
“Dig in,” he offers and he scoops a few shells onto each of our plates.
He was right; the seafood is exceptional. We lose ourselves in the delicious shellfish and giggle as sauce dribbles down our chins. It’s remarkable how down to earth and easygoing Dorian is. Though I am taken aback by his startling good looks, he has a way of making me feel totally at ease with him, something I’ve only experienced with Jared. I feel this inner draw to him, as if I can tell him anything. Like I can already trust him wholeheartedly.
“So what do you plan to do after you receive your degree in May?” Dorian asks.
“Really, I have no idea,” I reply, finishing the last mussel on my appetizer plate.
“No plans to head to a 4 year university to get your Bachelor’s?”
“That would be the most logical thing but I really don’t have the desire to. Then again, I definitely don’t want to be a sales clerk for much longer.” I put my napkin down and sigh. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.”
“Really? What’s your major?” he asks.
My mouth twists into an uncomfortable grimace. “Undecided.” About just about everything, that is.
“Well, what are you passionate about?” Hmmm, good question.
“Honestly?” I give him a fake smile to mask my shame. “Nothing. I’ve never been great at anything in school. Never was a cheerleader or even an athlete. The only thing I really excelled at was martial arts but that was some years ago.” Dorian looks at me quizzically. “Oh yeah, I was known for being a bit of a bad ass,” I snicker, nervously.
My rough and tumble ways are probably a direct opposite, if not insult, to Dorian’s cool and polished demeanor. Even with his bad boy good looks, I can tell he comes from a refined background. Might as well lay all the cards on the table now.
“You? Really?” He eyes assess the length of my body, causing me to squirm.
“Yeah,” I shrug sheepishly. “I never was one of those girls that wanted to be a princess or a ballerina. A while ago, I really wanted to enlist in the Marine Corps. Then ultimately, try to join the CIA. But it was just a crazy dream.” I chuckle nervously, shaking my head at my absurdity.
“It’s just…I never wanted to be some dainty damsel in distress. I never wanted to be rescued. I've never been that girl. I wanted to be the one kickin’ ass and taking names. I wanted to be the hero, you know.” I can’t believe I’m divulging such an outlandish idea to him but something about Dorian puts me oddly at ease. Like I’ve known him for years. I had never told anyone my career goals, not even Jared.
Dorian licks his lips before they spread into a sexy half smile. “I can understand that. Pretty damn sexy if you ask me.” Our server suddenly appears to collect our dirty dishes and hurriedly rushes away, no doubt feeling the sexual static between us. I take a long sip of wine to wash down my anxiety. I’m thankful when Dorian signals to our server for a refill.
“Well, that was a long time ago. I promise I’m a good girl now,” I say, giving him my best naughty smirk.
“Pity,” he retorts, his eyes flashing arctic blue. “That could’ve been fun. But I’m sure you’ve still got some bad girl in you. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He leans in closer and I can almost feel the coolness of his breath. I hold my own breath in expectation.
“Excusez-moi,” the polite waitress nervously interrupts with our meals. She sets them in front of us and asks if there is anything else we need. Dorian and I both answer with a shake of our heads and she scampers towards her other patrons.
I look down at my huge sandwich and my eyes grow wide. There’s no way I’ll be able to finish this. Dorian’s perfectly dressed salad seems more practical. “Please tell me you’ll take half of this,” I chuckle. It looks as if our orders have gotten switched around.
Noting the irony, Dorian snickers and says, “I’ll tell you what. Only if you share some of this with me.”
“Deal!” I reply and begin to portion him more than half of the mountain of delicate meats, cheeses and olive salad.
We enjoy our meal with easy chatter and chuckles, enjoying the delicious cuisine and refreshing wine. I find myself giggling at every joke and hanging onto every word that passes Dorian’s lips, which are pretty damn hard to take my eyes off of. I imagine tasting those lips again, nibbling them, feeling them against my skin, between my thighs…
“I hope you’ve left room for dessert,” Dorian remarks breaking me from my sinful thoughts.
“Dessert?!” I exclaim. “I can hardly breathe!”
“Oh come on, this place is actually best known for their desserts. Award-winning, I hear.” Right on cue our server scoops up our empty plates and places a dessert menu on the table. I can see why they’re known for their sweets; it’s as long as their regular menu.
We agree to go with the Fresh Fruit Tart, as long as I promise to try the Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake with him another time. It gives me hope and warms my heart that there could actually be a future for us. Then the looming remembrance of my murderous stalker rips that hope in two. The thought causes me to shiver and I give him a sorrowful tight-lipped grin. He looks at me with a question in his eyes but before he can ask me what’s wrong, our server returns with our dessert. The bright berries and flaky butter pastry look like a page out of Food & Wine magazine.
“We won’t need this,” Dorian says to our waitress, handing her one of the two small forks she brought with the tart. She looks puzzled and a bit embarrassed, as do I, but takes the fork and scurries away, leaving behind a pregnant pause.
Dorian takes the remaining fork and cuts into the tart, scooping up a bit of crust, custard and a fresh raspberry. He holds it in front of my lips, his eyes urging me to take a taste. I open my mouth slowly and Dorian eases the fork inside, sliding the creamy treat onto my tongue. I close my eyes as I savor the sweet silky custard, the rich crumbly crust, and the tartness of the berry. It’s divine. I open my eyes to meet Dorian’s smoldering hooded gaze. I lick my lips in response and smile slyly.
“Ok, your turn,” I say, taking the fork from him. I ration a small portion and slowly, deliberately feed Dorian the bite. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, his stare intensifying as he gently chews. It’s enough to make me ache below and I secretly wish it was me he was consuming.
We continue on this way for the remainder of the tart and a glass of dessert wine when the familiar sound of a cell phone vibration interrupts us. It’s Dorian’s. He looks at the number, frowns and hits Ignore, stuffing the phone back into his jacket pocket. It makes me uneasy though I know I have no right to ask him who it is and why he didn’t answer.
Dorian’s demeanor shifts instantly and darkness creeps onto his face. The lighthearted, tender moments that we shared today are a distant memory. It’s as if I am looking at a stranger. The man who pressed his soft lips against mine in an impassioned, frenzied lip-lock is no longer present. The hidden darkness displayed on his caller ID has taken him away from me.
“Well, I better get home. It’s getting late,” I say after an uncomfortable beat. That’s right, better to end things on my terms before he dismisses me. My cold, guarded front is back with the intrusion of his.
“Yeah, that’s probably best,” he mutters and signals the waitress for the check.
When I offer to pay for my share, he waves me off without a word and pulls out his wallet. I sit in silence, fingering a loose thread on my sweater. Suddenly, I feel a warm finger on my chin gently pull my face up. Dorian is leaning over the table and his eyes connect with mine. He smiles kindly and I notice that he looks older, solemn. Remorse washes over him and I instantly soften. Once he notices that I’ve relaxed a bit, he exhales with relief. He then stands to his feet and holds his hand out to help me up. I oblige, and we make our way out into the cool evening air, hand in hand.
“I have to go out of town,” Dorian says somberly as we make our way back up to the northern part of town. When I don’t ask him where or why, he continues. “A family issue. I’d love to see you when I return. Do you have any plans for Friday?” There’s an apology in his voice. For what?
I think to make him sweat a little and don’t answer right away. “Ummm, I don’t think I have anything planned.” Who am I kidding? Of course, I’m free! I can’t even pretend to be a tease. “Sure. I think I can swing that.”
I look over and notice Dorian smirking in the shroud of darkness as he pulls up next to my car in the employee lot. There are many cars scattered around, being that it is only early evening. It seems wrong to call it a night so early on a Saturday, but Dorian seems urgent to get home.
“Where do you live, Dorian?”
“I’m staying at The Broadmoor for now,” he says a bit embarrassed. I nod my head, wondering why he’d feel embarrassed about staying at the most posh, luxurious hotel in town. Could he be one of those rebellious trust fund kids, ashamed of their inherited wealth? “Have you ever stayed there?”
“Can’t say I have. But I’ve heard it’s pretty swanky. That’s over by Cheyenne Mountain, right?”
“Yes, it is. And you? Where do you live?” he asks.
I think about my next answer carefully. “With my parents still. But Morgan and I are planning to get an apartment this summer.” No use in giving away too much information. As much as I want to, can I trust Dorian? With more than just my body, that is.
Dorian leans closer and my heartbeat quickens. “Thank you, Gabriella, for a wonderful evening,” he breathes. I reflexively inch closer to him.
“Anytime,” I smirk. I wish I could come up with something clever or sexy, but I go with the truth.
We sit staring at each other as our desire heats the small contained space. Dorian moves in a bit more and I gladly match his distance. We are so close, our breath mingling between open, inviting lips. Dorian nuzzles the bridge of his nose against mine and the contact is electric. I giggle at the gesture and he swiftly swallows it with his mouth, igniting the fire down between my thighs. I moan submissively and surrender to his curious tongue. Dorian relishes the admission; it only encourages him to deepen the kiss, cradling my face in his large hands and grabbing a handful of my tresses. I’m completely lost in him and want him to take this kiss further still. I want him. I’ve known this man for all of 10 minutes and I already want to feel him inside of me. And if his kiss is any indication of his sexual ability, I won’t be disappointed.
The aggravating double Ding! from my cell phone intrudes on our intimacy and I curse it under my breath. Dorian and I gaze at each other, still high on each other’s flavor and craving more. But the moment has passed; the magic has dissipated and we are back in the here and now.
“I better go,” I say, wishing Dorian would beg me not to. He looks slightly dismayed but doesn’t respond so I gather my coat and purse.
“Friday,” he says as I reach for the door handle.
“Friday,” I smile. I open the door and swing my legs out of the car as gracefully as I can. I turn to Dorian just before I rise. “Dorian, what is your last name?” The question has been gnawing at me all day. It’s only right; I have locked lips with him twice already. Score one for college sluts!
Dorian looks at me, his expression searching yet somewhat tortured as if he would really rather not tell me. Resignation washes over him.
“Skotos,” he replies, accenting the word in a foreign tongue. It sounds European; Greek maybe. That would explain Dorian’s exotic good looks.
“Well, goodnight Dorian Skotos,” I say, careful to pronounce it correctly, and with that I gently close the car door and make my way to mine. Dorian waits until I am safely inside my Honda before pulling off. I quickly start it up and pull away before risking a repeat of the night before.