Returning from the men’s, I see Florence’s glass is now empty, and she’s twirling a lock of her black hair around her finger. I slide back into the booth, and she leans towards me, our shoulders nearly touching. ‘You were thirsty after all,’ I say teasingly.
‘Always,’ she replies with a low husky chuckle. A swoony feeling and a strong desire to kiss her slide through me. My inner debate fires up again.
I really like her. Should I suggest coming back to mine? But we’ve only just met, it’s too soon.
My stomach muscles tense painfully with indecision, and it feels like I’ve eaten rocks.
Then I hear Florence’s voice saying, ‘Relax, Dr Rhodes.’ I glance at her, and she says, ‘There’s no need to stress.’
But she must be speaking really softly as I can’t see her lips moving. Still, it’s nice that she’s trying to put me at ease.
‘OK,’ I say, and she gives a small chuckle.
A warm glow—a bit like the whisky, but without the burning—spreads over my torso, and there’s a soft persistent pressure on my upper back, like fingers massaging my shoulder blades. But when I look down, her hands are in her lap. Weird. I close my eyes, not analysing for once and enjoying this sudden relaxed state. I usually operate on a medium to high level of anxiety, partly because of how I'mwired and partly due to a traumatic experience from a few years ago. Even after visiting my therapist, I can’t remember feeling so loose, so devil-may-care. Those two glasses of Scotch must really be kicking in.
Florence slips her hand onto my thigh underneath the table and lets it rest there lightly. I like that a lot. It suggests she’s interested too, and I’m all for women making the first move. Her mauve lips touch the edge of my ear, and I shiver involuntarily.
‘Sooooo do you want another water?’ she whispers. ‘Or do you want to come back to mine?’
Her hand moves higher towards my groin. ‘Definitely yours,’ I whisper back, not bothering to disguise my eagerness.
‘Excellent,’ she says, lightly nuzzling my earlobe. I stifle a moan as my cock stiffens. Florence giggles softly as if she knows exactly what’s happening in my jeans right now.
Hardly knowing what’s going on, except that I have a desperate need to be alone with her (and preferably without clothes), I rise and she hands me my coat, which I fold and place strategically over my crotch.
The barman gives me a wink and a thumbs up as we head downstairs, out of the bar, and into the cold night air, which slaps my cheeks hard; I start to think practically.This is really happening, Damian.You’re going to hers. You needa condom. Why thefuckdidn’t you bring a condom?
At this point, I don’t really care where she lives. She could stay in Fife, for all I care, as long as there’s a Sainsbury’s in the vicinity.
Florence loops her arm through mine as we head to the bus stop. ‘By the way’, she says, ‘in case you’re wondering, I live in the Old Town. There’s a Sainsbury’s down the road, and I don’t have a boyfriend.’
Chapter 4
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
Damian insists on popping to the supermarket beforehand, so I give him our Ramsay Garden address and instructions to knock on the black downstairs door when he arrives—notthe red one at the top of the stairs.
I almost told him that he didn’t need to buy condoms, that I can’t get pregnant, but I’m not supposed to know that he’s buying them.
It was cool, but a little disconcerting, to discover that I could hear his thoughts and project mine to him too at The Brief Encounter. Apparently, vampire mental powers improve with age, but I’ve never been able to use telepathy until tonight. And it’s odd that it occurred at the bar and not at my dentist appointment. Damian did have a couple of glasses of whisky, though. Perhaps it loosened his brain cells?
Anyway, it suits my purposes to have him turn up later as I need to check Sadie’s not lurking around like the funpolice. She’ll get all unholier-than-thou and remind me that I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile. But I’ve been doing that for decades, and I’m sick of it. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself a little? Besides, Sadie is a hypocrite—she gets lots of action on a regular basis from her thrall. It’s safe to say that after a century, our friendship is well out of its honeymoon phase.
Inserting my key in the lock, I gently ease open the front door. In the hallway, I shrug off my fur coat. I didn’t need to wear it for warmth, but Damian would have been overly curious as to why I was wearing a thin blouse in November.
Removing my boots, I zoom off to the lounge in my stockings. I tend to fly around the flat when I’m in a hurry as it’s faster than walking. And I want to create a candlelit ambiance in my lair for my rendezvous with Damian. The lounge is almost in total darkness, apart from the soft glow of city lights through the double bay windows. But with my night vision, I can see at a glance that it’s empty without needing to switch on the main light. Good, no Sadie on patrol; she must be in her room.
I’m about to glide back into the hallway when the black leather chair in the corner swings around slowly in a rather dramatic fashion, and I’m caught midhover. ‘Hello, witch,’ drawls Sadie in her smoky voice.
Shit, caught.I lower gently to the carpet and stand thereguiltily, like a schoolgirl called to the headmistress’s office.
Sadie crosses her Adidas-tracksuited legs and taps out a red-varnished staccato on the arm of the chair. Her matching red crop top rides up slightly to reveal a pierced belly button.
‘And where have you been, Miss Hughes?’
‘I had an appointment,’ I say sulkily. I turn to walk away but am gently pulled into the room, my body submitting to her will.Dammit, I hate it when she does that.
Sadie leans forward, the ends of her blonde bob swinging, and picks up a glass tumbler filled with liquid from the coffee table. She takes a sip and licks her lips. It swirls like alcohol. But from the luminescence and the scent, I know it isn’t.
