THE CURE
D.L. Webb
Text copyright © 2010 by Densie Webb
Cover design by James Webb http://jumpsuit.tv
Cover photograph used with permission by Lisa Brockmeier
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Acknowledgements
To my dear friend Danna Lynn Walker, who pushed me to the edge, convinced me it wasn’t that far down and motivated me to take the leap. To Jenny Bent, who gave me my first encouraging feedback and unwittingly planted the seed of tenacity. To Mary Kilpatrick, my friend, official reader and probably my biggest fan. To Deb Smith, who encouraged me to self-publish. To Amanda Casey, who said it was “hot.” To my friend Susan Male Smith, who took time out of her busy life to read an early draft and cheer me on along the way. And to my talented brother, Jim Webb, who, in exchange for a Grande Americano at Starbucks, designed the awesome cover for me. Thanks, James.
Prologue
His behavior tonight defied explanation. Still, I had almost forgiven him and begged him to stay. It wasn’t normal, this obsessive need I had for him. But it would end tonight, right here, right now. Cold turkey. I had envisioned any number of possible outcomes that first night he had looked at me, taking my breath away in the process, but tonight’s disturbing turn of events had not been one of them. Only moments before I had forced him to leave, slamming the door behind him, severing the connection I was certain I couldn’t live without. It was an emotional amputation, without benefit of anesthetic.
Sobbing uncontrollably, I managed to put one foot in front of the other in the direction of the bathroom to splash cold water on my face in an effort to wash away the shock. I needed to focus, to make some sense out of what had just happened. The icy cold yanked me back from the edge. I stared blankly at myself in the bathroom mirror at my red, swollen eyes, my runny nose, my bruised lips... and my neck. Unsure of my own reflection, I leaned in for a closer look.
Vincent—from the Latin “vincere” meaning to conquer.
Contents
Chapter 1: Fate is a funny thing, except when it’s not
Chapter 2: Persistent blue-eyed suitors bearing flowers
Chapter 3: A walk in the park it’s not
Chapter 4: Unjustified jealousy and unhappy best friends
Chapter 5: Alone at last: Be careful what you wish for
Chapter 6: Going uptown: Blue-eyed messengers and penthouse apartments
Chapter 7: Morning-after revelations
Chapter 8: Unpleasant bedtime stories
Chapter 9: When passion ignites: the point of no return
Chapter 10: Fatal attraction, vampire style
Chapter 11: Vincent’s path for the future
Chapter 12: Going it alone and the peter principle
Chapter 13: Crossing over to the dark side
Chapter 14: Vincent’s reality check
Chapter 1: Fate is a funny thing, except when it’s not
“Nicole, get up! For the hundredth time, you’re going to be late!”
Natalie’s voice reverberated in the room, bouncing off the brightly painted, but stubbornly claustrophobic four walls. Like the overwhelming majority of apartments in New York, ours was cracker-box small and spectacularly overpriced, but functional. Two closet-sized bedrooms, one 1950s-style bathroom with faded pink tile and a room that barely passed as a working kitchen and could fit one person, assuming they weren’t too “broad in the beam” as my mother used to say. Not that we used the kitchen much, except for the single drawer that housed the menus and phone numbers for every takeout restaurant within a 10-block radius.
The tenor of her voice was now slowly being processed by my fuzzy brain and registering like a cross between an annoying swarm of gnats and an alarm with no snooze button.
Friends since we were in middle school, Natalie had always been there for me and, I would like to think, I for her. She was the sole voice of reason during the insanity I experienced after my parents died; she supported me when I called off my engagement to David a week before the wedding; she stood by me when I lost my job, and she nursed me back to health when I had come down with the flu the winter before. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. Yes, it was something like a marriage, without the sex and without the petty grievances and slights that infiltrate most long-term intimate relationships. Nicole and Natalie. Even our names fit together. And in a curious coincidence, we had a complete set of matching initials. Nicole Lee Rogé and Natalie Lynn Randall. We were fated to be connected in some way. I was just glad we were best friends and co-life conspirators.
Still, invisible boundaries had been drawn over the years, and we respected them. I figured it would stay that way, until one of us found that ever-elusive soul mate, when we would renegotiate our longstanding, if unspoken, agreement and redefine our personal boundaries.
“This is the last warning, Nicole. I swear. I’ve got to go soon.”
I finally managed to convince myself, with the aid of Natalie’s nagging, that today’s interview was far more important than a few extra minutes of sleep, dragged myself out of bed and hit the shower. As I stepped out, soaking wet, I glanced at myself in the mirror. I’d never really been happy with my looks. Too much like my father. It worked for him. Not so much for me. It wasn’t that I considered myself unattractive; I had heard my share of pick-up lines. But, I’d always had that nagging desire to turn heads, the way Natalie did.
I shook off my negative self-examination and grabbed a towel. If I was going to make it through this interview, I needed to be shoring up my self-confidence, not being self-critical. It was a red letter day for me. My interview was for the position of senior editor at New York Life. As a writer and editor, it was my dream job and today was my shot at achieving that dream.
I could hear Natalie opening the front door. “Nicole, don’t forget your keys. You always forget your keys!” she yelled, as she ran to catch the elevator. I heard the door slam shut and lock behind her.
How many times had I called Natalie to meet me after work to let me in the apartment? I’d lost count long ago. It was a habit of mine to walk out the door leaving the keys in plain sight and have the door lock behind me. It had become a running joke between us. But we often used my forgetfulness as an excuse to meet at Shakespeare’s, our favorite neighborhood bar, grab a drink and chat about our days, evaluate our lives, and predict our futures, all the while checking out the crowd. Usually, it was a lot of unfamiliar faces, sometimes neighbors we knew by sight, but not by name and occasionally a good-looking guy we would speculate about—gay, straight, taken? Though neither one of us was desperately looking, we were both open to the possibility of finding the perfect match or at least a good-looking temporary diversion.
I got dressed in my new “interview outfit,” put on my make-up and did a final check in the mirror. I nodded at myself in approval. As I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, the phone rang. It was the editor-in-chief’s assistant, calling to tell me there had been an editorial emergency and asking if we could reschedule for 4:00 that same day. I hung up the phone, deflated. I had been prepared, psyched. I had my interview face on. But now I had almost a full day ahead of me until the late-afternoon appointment—plenty of time for me to steep in my carefully concocted anxiety stew. I tried to convince myself it was for the better. Maybe the delay would trigger a positive cascade of events, like the time I was late for lunch with Natalie and I met Alec on the Number 96 crosstown bus. We dated for six months after that, before he took that job in London. Sometimes fate steps in and rearranges everything.
At the appropriate hour, I managed, yet again, to pull the professional version of myself together for the once-in-a-lifetime interview. A second mirror check and I was out the door. As it slammed shut behind me, I cursed under my breath and stomped my foot. Shit! I had forgotten the keys again! I’d just have to beg Natalie to meet me for the umpteenth time at Shakespeare’s. She probably was expecting to hear from me anyway. The timing was actually better. Natalie would be getting off work just about the time my interview was over. I texted her and begged forgiveness.
Lft keys again. Sorry! Meet at Skprs at 6? I’m buying!
She answered almost immediately.
Not surprised. CU there.
The offices were amazing. The interview was amazing. It seemed to be a perfect fit for me and I was hoping against hope I would get the job. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out on unemployment and savings. I left the office with a firm commitment for a follow-up interview the next morning. With high hopes that things were about to change for the better, I walked to the train station on 53rd and Lexington Ave and made my way uptown to meet Natalie.
As he entered, he scanned the crowded bar. He could see there were plenty of available women tonight. There would be no problem; he would have his pick. What was that gauche expression he had heard? Like shooting fish in a barrel? Altogether tasteless, but appropriate. He glanced over at the bartender. The same one for the last couple of years. He waved in his direction and the bartender gave him an admiring nod back. He was thirsty, but not for what the bartender was offering and not so much that he could not wait. Boredom and loneliness were what had jettisoned him from his apartment tonight, though it was unlikely tonight was going to offer anything new or unusually exciting. Year, after year, after year of the same routine. It was not that he didn’t enjoy the company of women. He did. Very much. But, something was always missing. He was not naïve. He had no expectations of finding the selfless love of Romeo and Juliet or the obsessive passion of Heathcliff and Catherine. But, there had to be more than this. He allowed himself, just for a moment, to think of his wife. To remember. But he pushed it to the back of his mind. He always did. Even after all this time, it was too painful. For now, for tonight, he would settle for any woman he found relatively attractive. A warm body to stave off the loneliness that seemed to grow exponentially with each passing decade.
It was always effortless. He knew women found him attractive. He could see it in their eyes, in their furtive glances, in the way they leaned in toward him, blushing; the way their lips never quite met. It gave him an unnecessary advantage. If he saw something he liked, he wasted little time with flirtation rituals. His friend, Nicholas, who often came with him, joked he had the shortest time on record from, “Hello, my name is Vincent Duval,” to “Would you like to accompany me to my apartment?” The answer was almost always an enthusiastic “yes.” He seldom found it necessary to draw on the other methods of persuasion he had at his disposal. As detached as he was, he had one hard and fast rule in his dog-eared playbook: Never intentionally hurt anyone. He always made certain the women he encountered left his company physically unharmed, with their sensitive egos intact and their memories of him nonexistent. No harm, no foul, no future.
As he made his way to the far end of the bar—the perfect perch from which to observe the comings and goings of the female clientele—he was certain tonight would be no different than any of the other countless nights that had come before this and would inevitably follow. He settled in to make his choice.
I opened the heavy wood and brass doors of Shakespeare’s and the familiar smell of beer, perfume and stale peanuts hit me. I saw Natalie sitting on a stool at the bar, an empty spot next to her, except for her suitcase-sized purse that was acting as a “reserved” sign. I was sure she had had to stand her ground to save the seat for me. The place was full. She flashed a smile and flagged me down, motioning for me to hurry up. She was about to burst to get the 411 on my day and find out if I was now gainfully employed. I waved back, walked over and took my assigned seat.
“So? How’d it go? Details, please.”
“Okay, it’s not a done deal. I’ve got a follow-up interview tomorrow morning, but it went really well. I think I actually might have the job!”
“That’s awesome!” she said as she reached out and hugged me. She clapped her hands together like a child opening a birthday present and waved to the bartender for two glasses of champagne.
“Natalie, please. I don’t want to jinx it. Let’s wait to toast my success when, and if, it’s official.”
“Oh, don’t be such a party pooper. Let’s just say we’re marking the 100th time you forgot your keys!”
The bartender, a nice looking guy whom I had watched over the last couple of years raise flirting with female customers to an art form, brought two flutes of champagne, each with a strawberry floating on top.
“Enjoy, ladies!”
I tilted the glass to take a sip and I let my eyes wander as I surveyed the place for the first time since I sat down. The usual mix of Upper West Siders. Some good looking guys, some likely aspiring actors, some losers, some weirdos. And of course, the female competition.
“See anyone interesting?” I asked Natalie.
“Nah, already checked out the situation before you came in.”
I turned to look down at the other end of the bar, behind Natalie and I almost choked on my champagne. She had missed this one. Either that or she needed new contact lenses.
The first thing I noticed, besides the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous and way out of my league, were his almost translucent grey-blue eyes. They were startling. He could have walked out of the pages of New York Life, except that most of the male models filling those pages were outdoorsy and tanned. He certainly had the killer good looks and the body, but his skin was fair and smooth as porcelain, in stark contrast to his mane of unruly pitch-black hair. The only imperfection on his face I could see was a small scar above his right eyebrow. He was a delicious mix of delicate and dangerous.
As I took in the scenery, the realization hit me. This exquisite creature was looking at... me? I wanted to blink and do a double take, but I couldn’t stop staring. (Was my mouth hanging open?) I looked down to break the stare, trying to act as casual as I could possibly manage under the circumstances. And I did what any intelligent woman would do in that situation. I began brushing imaginary peanut crumbs off my lap. I was sure my diversionary tactic was hopelessly obvious. When I finally worked up the nerve, and I assumed he had gotten bored and looked away, I glanced back up. He was still looking in my direction. Could he be trying to get my attention?
Whoa! I needed a reality check. I was riding too high from the day’s events. I was embarrassed I had allowed myself to even think such a thing was possible. In my dreams, yes; in my next life, maybe, but not in this life. No way.
As I turned back to the bar to spill the beans to Natalie on what had just transpired, so we could both have a good laugh at my expense, I couldn’t resist glancing over at him one last time. He was still looking in my direction. Half-panicked, I reached out and grabbed Natalie’s arm.
“Natalie, do you see what I see?” I said, trying to talk inconspicuously out of the corner of my mouth and failing miserably. “Don’t stare. But check out the blue eyes over there.”
She discreetly peered over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about, turned back around to face me, her eyes almost popping out of her head, as she mouthed “Oh my God!”
I felt like we were fourteen again and Scott Williamson had just asked me to the movies. Natalie and I were holding onto each other’s arms, our 14-year-old selves about to squeal and jump up and down in unison. Somehow, we managed to restrain ourselves and act our age. This was kind of fun. I was actually glad I had forgotten my keys and we were together acting like a couple of love-struck adolescents drooling over the captain of the football team.
There she was. Standing no more than 30 feet away. He had always known it was possible, but he did not expect it to feel quite like this. After an initial wave of euphoria, he was gripped by a sense of panic and disbelief. Their being together for more than just a brief encounter would be going against the laws of nature, like forcing oil and water to somehow blend together. But, he could do little about it now. This was a very crowded, public place. And she was not alone. Anyway, what was it exactly he intended to do? This was uncharted territory.
He would have to take it slowly and choose his words carefully, so as not to scare her away. For the first time, he was unsure of how to proceed. He had no desire to make her forget. He wanted her to remember everything. She was looking at him as he began to make his way to her end of the bar. Was it lust or thirst driving his actions? He knew only that he had to have her. He would worry about the practical aspects of their unconventional pairing, like how he was going to be with her without killing her, later.
Was he walking in my direction? Crap! It was more fun from a distance. I was never any good at this sort of thing. It was like stage fright. Even under the best of circumstances, I would blush, my hands would shake, my brain would disengage from my mouth and I would babble. I was sure I would fare even worse with this achingly attractive man now walking toward me. Maybe Natalie could take over. She was so much better at this flirting thing.
As he came closer, I realized he was graceful as well as gorgeous. I half expected the paparazzi to jump out and make a scene over his appearance. Instead, he simply walked up to me and, with all the confidence you would expect from someone with a face like that, he said, “May I buy you a drink?”
His smooth, deep voice was a perfect match for his chiseled face. And those eyes, those incredible eyes, were framed with impossibly long lashes. I was ready to bear his children.
Before I had a chance to respond, he somehow managed to effortlessly wedge himself between Natalie and me at the crowded bar and she was left peering around his elbow. Now that he was so close, I could smell his cologne. I’d never been a fan of men wearing cologne. They always seemed to wear too much or it smelled too sweet. If you were in a position to get close enough, au naturel was usually the most alluring. But he smelled amazing; the scent was strangely erotic. I was more than a tad tempted to simply bury my nose in his chest and start sniffing him like a dog.
“Well, I’m here with a friend,” I said, in answer to his offer of a drink, and I nodded in Natalie’s direction. She gave her trademarked flirty wave. I was certain it was the end of the run for me, as she said, “Hi, I’m Natalie and this is Nicole.”
From the expression on his face, I was afraid he had come to the conclusion that I looked better from a distance. That Natalie would have been the better choice. But, he just smiled and, without taking his eyes off of me, said, “Well, Nicole, I would like to buy Natalie a drink too, if I may.”
He reached out and took my hand. I felt an immediate buzz, a vibration, something like putting your hand on an idling engine, only more rapid and intense. While his hand was incredibly cold, it seemed to put out a sexual energy that made even this casual contact feel unexpectedly intimate. As he leaned over to kiss the back of my hand, I heard him say, “My name is Vincent Duval.”
I’m not sure what confused me more, his odd attempt at old-fashioned gallantry or the startling electric-like buzz I felt when his lips made contact with my skin. The gesture was way too old world for my taste, but I actually found it a bit disarming and well... surprisingly sexy. It had had its intended effect.
As if on cue, Natalie mumbled something about being tired and that she was about to go home anyway and she handed me the keys. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful or horrified at the prospect of flying solo. As she prepared to make her exit, he focused his charm in her direction. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Natalie. I hope to see you again,” and he turned his attentions back to me. Natalie gave me a “go-figure” shrug behind his back, giggled and walked toward the door.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember hearing your last name,” he said.
“Rogé. Nicole Rogé.”
One eyebrow shot up and he said, “Rogé is very French.”
Several generations back,” I said, as I suddenly remembered—I was supposed to receive some genealogy materials from the Family History Library in Utah today. I was finally following through on my promise to my mother to pick up the lost trail on her great-great grandmother.
While my mother had been a dedicated genealogy detective, I failed to inherit her zeal. She had spent hours upon hours tracing our family history and creating an elaborate family tree. A scroll, really, that she would unravel on the floor and passionately retell the tales of our ancestors. She was enthralled by it all. I had tried, but it just didn’t grab me. Her last request had been specific: Trace her great-great grandmother, whose trail had gone cold somewhere in the early 1800s. The only breadcrumbs my mother had left me were a photo, a birth certificate, a few letters, a journal from my missing ancestor’s daughter and a handful of legal documents... all in French. It meant a lot of time, energy and translation of French to English, but I was determined to fulfill my promise to her.
“So, Nicole, do you live in the neighborhood? I have no recollection of seeing you before.”
I hadn’t seen him either. I knew I wouldn’t have forgotten an encounter with this gorgeous male specimen. He looked more European than American but, when he spoke, it reminded me of an English or Australian actor rather stiffly mimicking an American accent. The pitch was perfect, but the American cadence was off somehow.
“Natalie and I share a place on 93rd, between West End and Riverside. It’s small, but it’s a great location and Natalie and I have been friends since we were kids, so we get along well together.”
“What brought the two of you here tonight?”
Was he asking me if I had come here looking for some action?
“Well, a couple of things, actually. I locked my keys inside the apartment before I left, something I’ve been known to do before, and this is our usual meeting spot when Natalie has to let me in. Plus, I had a job interview today that went really well, and we were sort of celebrating in advance. I don’t want to count my chickens just yet, but I think I might get offered the job.”
Count my chickens? I was babbling. I had better start controlling my urge to say the first thing that popped into my head.
“Well, congratulations in advance. To your new job.” And he lifted his glass of wine and winked at me. Oh God. Only jerks and men who were oozing self-confidence, whether or not it was justified, had the chutzpah to wink at women they just met.
“Thanks,” I said, as if I hadn’t noticed. “Fingers crossed!”
As the night played out, I found myself talking way too much. I almost forgot how nervous I was and how blue his eyes were. He was either easily entertained or an excellent actor, because he seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. He didn’t seem to be nodding to be polite and he certainly wasn’t talking a lot about himself, something I’d long since come to expect from most of the men I’d met.
In fact, over the course of the evening, I found out very little about him, other than he lived north of 93rd street, he ran a business from home and he had an intoxicating effect on women, at least on this woman.
As we talked, his hand would occasionally brush up against mine and I would feel that same disconcerting electrical charge. But the most intense moment of all came when I stepped down from my bar stool to retrieve a glove I had dropped on the floor. Someone at the bar bumped me from behind as I stood up and I lurched forward. I was pushed up against Vincent for just a second or two, but my reaction was instantaneous. I was embarrassed beyond words. Did he see the expression on my face? Did it give away what I had felt, right there in front of all these people? It wasn’t a sensation I was accustomed to experiencing in a crowded room. I decided it would be best if I kept my distance, at least in public.
When I thought to check the time, it was 12:30. Someone had pushed the fast-forward button on the evening. It was late and I had to go back in the morning for my follow-up interview and, hopefully, a job offer. I reluctantly stood up and began gathering my things.
“Well, Vincent, it was really nice to meet you, and thank you for the drink, but I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to get up in the morning for my interview and I don’t want to look like I stayed up until past midnight hanging out with strange men in a bar.” I laughed a little too loudly and he smiled back. Geez, he should bottle that smile and sell it by the shot.
He stood up, leaned down close and whispered in my ear, “Nicole, as far as I can tell, it was only one man and am I really that strange?”
Was he trying to seduce me? He didn’t have to try very hard. His being so close only intensified the effect he was already having on me. I felt like I needed to step back and catch my breath. At the same time, I had this nearly uncontrollable urge to throw myself at him, wrap my arms around his neck, let my fingers get lost in that hair, and start making out with him right there in the bar. I had embarrassed myself again with my own thoughts. He straightened up and looked at me and I could feel myself blushing. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He smiled at me again. Was he laughing at me? I was totally flustered.
“Let me walk you home.”
“No, I’m fine. Really.”
“I know you probably feel quite comfortable walking home at night in your own neighborhood, but it is late and because you are with me tonight, I feel obligated to make sure you return home safely.”
“You’re with me...” The words made my heart beat even faster.
As we turned to leave the bar, he placed his hand in the small of my back and I felt that same zap I had earlier when he touched my hand. Must be some weird sort of static electricity; it was the only explanation, though a woefully inadequate one. I never considered static electricity a turn on.
He opened the door for me and the cold caught me off guard. As we turned the corner on 93rd Street, the wind whipped around coming straight off the Hudson River from the other side of Riverside Park. My teeth were chattering, as my scarf began dancing around my head.
“Have you ever noticed how incredibly cold that wind is when you turn the corner here? It kills me every time!”
“Really?” he said, sounding surprised. “I have never noticed.”
Despite the freezing temperatures, the block and a half walk to my building seemed all too brief. The night was about to end.
“Well, thanks for walking me home, Vincent, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
“I feel better, knowing you have returned home safely,” he said. Without so much as a pause, he continued, “Nicole, may I see you again?”
While I was taken aback by the formality of his request, the fact that he was asking to see me again surprised me even more. I handed him my card with my home and cell numbers on it and I muttered something incoherent about how I looked forward to his call. As he had done earlier in the evening, he took my hand, bent over and kissed it. It didn’t seem quite as odd to me the second time, but I kept thinking, what is this, Gone With the Wind?
This time, however, he looked up at me before pulling his lips away and winked. It was a knowing gesture, as if he were aware of the sensation I was experiencing. It was disconcerting. I felt exposed. I hoped he couldn’t somehow read my rather unladylike thoughts about him as well.
He made no move to kiss me and I was relieved. I was afraid I might keel over, based on my response to any physical contact with him thus far. He simply said he had enjoyed my company and looked forward to seeing me again and said goodnight.
No doubt about it. This guy was a heartbreak just waiting to happen.
I watched him walk away before I dug out the keys to the front door. He looked just as jaw-droppingly handsome from behind. Well, that was certainly different. One for the books I’d say. I couldn’t wait to tell Natalie.
Chapter 2: Persistent blue-eyed suitors bearing flowers
Meeting Nicole was Vincent’s fate. An event set in motion when her ancestors had come to this country generations before, and then sealed when he and Nicholas left Europe, destined for New York, long before she was born. They emigrated when the situation on the continent had become dangerous. It was not a good time to be different in any way, and their rather unique differences were more likely than ever to draw unwanted attention. It was 1940. World War II was raging. Concentration camps dotted the landscape and were increasing in number, even as extermination rituals became more efficient. While they would have survived the beatings, the forced labor, the bullets, even the gas chambers, the ovens would have done them in. So, they carefully planned their departure and set sails for the States.
The trans-Atlantic journey by ship had seemed interminable. It had been difficult to satisfy their hunger, to quench their impossible-to-ignore thirst. They kept to themselves as much as possible in a desperate attempt to go undetected. Not that they had a right to complain. They had heard of others like themselves who were discovered and destroyed by frightened, angry passengers while at sea. They were among the lucky ones; they made it to Ellis Island along with tens of thousands of other immigrants desperate for a safer place to call home. By the time they landed, they could think of little else but quenching their thirst. They soon discovered it was easier than they could have imagined on this densely populated island.
In the decades that followed, they worked hard, invested wisely and succeeded in carving out a comfortable niche for themselves in New York. At least that is what Vincent told himself on the days when it felt more like a deep rut carved out of smooth stone, providing no way for him to claw his way out. Nicole could change that, but only if his powers, developed, honed and perfected over the last two centuries, somehow could be carefully controlled in her presence.
Last night had been relatively easy. He had intentionally kept physical contact between them to a minimum. But, it was not realistic to think either of them could keep that up indefinitely. The attraction was too strong.
Natalie was an antsy early bird the next morning—up way before her usual waking hour, dressed and dying to know what dirty deeds had taken place the night before with the gorgeous blue-eyed stranger. She came into my room without hesitation.
“Wake up, wake up, it’s time to get up in the mooorrrning!” She was singing off-key to a tune only she could hear playing in her own head.
“Oh, Natalie, please,” I groaned. She was, once again, acting as my alarm clock.
“You are out of your freakin’ mind if you think I’m going to lose this opportunity to hear all the juicy details about last night before I leave for work. I’ll make you coffee if you get up now and fill me in. Come on, come on, get up!”
“Coffee first, then talk,” I croaked.
I sat up, forcing my eyes to focus. I was exhausted. I had been so wired the night before, I hadn’t slept well and when I did manage to doze off, I kept having vivid dreams about Vincent and his blue eyes. Some of them were incredibly erotic and disturbingly intense. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I could smell the coffee.
I sat up and my feet hit the floor. The shock of the cold, hardwood brought me to the next level of consciousness. I slipped my frozen feet into my favorite fuzzy slippers and dragged myself into the living room, where our combo kitchen/coffee table was crammed up against the wall next to the window that was our only link to the outside world. Natalie served me coffee and an expectant smile. “Okay, I’ll give you time to take two sips and then... talk!”
“Well, we talked. A lot. Or, I should say, I talked. He was an incredible listener. He kept asking me questions, instead of talking much about himself. And I couldn’t help but stare at him all night. I mean, really, Natalie, did you get a good look at him? I seriously considered ripping off my clothes and straddling him right there in the bar.”
We both cracked up at the mental image of me having such an uncharacteristic lapse in self-restraint and in public, no less.
“Okay. So, so, so.... how was he? Was he as good as he looks?”
“I have no idea. He didn’t even kiss me goodnight.”
She looked so disappointed, I almost wished I had made something up. But, I wasn’t about to tell her about the shocking effects of his touch, much less the body-bumping incident. That, I figured, was best kept under wraps for now. I was unsure what to make of it myself.
“So that’s it? You talked and then you came home?”
I knew an eye roll was coming with this one.
“Well, he actually did the same hand-kissing thing, only this time he added a wink to the routine.”
She didn’t disappoint. There it was. The full eye roll.
“Are you serious? What does he think this is, Gone With the Wind??
“Right? That’s exactly what I was thinking. But, it sort of works for him.”
“Okay. Whatever. Anything else to report? Are you going to see him again?”
“I think so. Maybe. I don’t know. He actually asked if he could see me again, like he was asking my permission or something. He was so... polite. He took my number, but seriously, Natalie, don’t you think he’s a little out my league?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re always underestimating yourself. Anyway, he’s either a good guy or a jerk. That’s what matters. And if he calls you, you’ll find out which one soon enough.”
As usual, Natalie had cut to the chase. Gorgeous would only get him so far. But I was certainly hoping I would have the opportunity to find out just how far it would get him. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. What in the world had made him zero in on me? There were plenty of other women in the bar, including Natalie. I honestly didn’t get it.
“So, what time is your follow-up interview today?”
“It’s at 10. I hope it’s not postponed again. I just want to know if I have a new job or not!”
“Okay, well, you better start getting ready. It looks like it’s going to rain and you know how crowded the subway gets when it rains. Be sure and call or text me and let me know the outcome.”
“Okay. Promise.”
Natalie left for work and I was left alone with my thoughts. About today’s interview. About Vincent’s electrifying touch. About last night’s dreams. A shower would snap me out of it and help me refocus for my upcoming meeting. I showered, got dressed and, with keys in hand, I left for interview #2 at New York Life.
Natalie’s weather forecast had been right on target. I managed to get to the subway relatively dry and squeeze myself, along with my umbrella, onto the first train that arrived at the station. I made it to the magazine offices on time, but I ended up in a holding pattern in the reception area, waiting for the editor-in-chief to see me. Almost half an hour passed before I was “summoned.”
I knew where the office was from the day before, so I entered the brightly lit hallway, walked to the door with the plaque that said “Editor-in-Chief: Patricia Whitney” and knocked. She was waiting behind her desk with a warm smile and a hearty handshake. That was a good sign. She didn’t waste any time.
“Good to see you again, Nicole. So sorry for the delay. Well, I want to get straight to the point. I’ve spoken with the editorial staff and we’ve gone over your clips and your references and the decision is unanimous. We’d like to offer you the position of Senior Editor here at New York Life.”
“That’s wonderful news!” I stood up and shook her perfectly manicured hand again. “Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry.”
“Okay. Great. We’d like to see you here Monday morning, say around 8:00, for an editorial meeting to get you up to speed. After that, your assistant will show you your office, help you get settled in and give you a tour of the place. If you’ll just drop by the Human Resources office and fill out some forms on your way out, I guess that’s it for today.” She was obviously on a tight schedule.
“Thank you again and I guess I’ll see you Monday morning at 8!” I was on a roll. Between the previous night’s unexpected flirtatious encounter and today’s job offer, I felt like I was on my A game. I walked out of the office, stopped by the HR office, filled out the forms and headed toward the elevator. As soon as I reached the lobby, I called Natalie. She was working at home, so I knew I wouldn’t be interrupting any meetings.
“Hey, Nat, guess what?”
“You got the job?”
“You are talking to the new Senior Editor at New York Life!” I held the phone away from my ear to distance myself from her ear-piercing squeal.
“See, I told you the champagne wasn’t premature.” And, she nonchalantly added, “Oh, and by the way, ol’ blue eyes called.”
I was stunned.
“Nicole, you there?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m just shocked he called so soon. What did he say?”
“He asked if you were here and I said you had gone to an interview and would be home about 1:00.”
“I’ve got to stop at the cleaners and the market. What time is it now?”
“Nicole, relax. He gave me his cell number for you to call him back.”
I was happy. Plain and simple. The thought of having the opportunity to stand close to him again was actually making me woozy. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t get home fast enough. I made an express stop at the cleaners and the market on the way home, traversed Broadway in record time and rounded the corner on 93rd. The wind and rain were forcing me to hold my umbrella as a shield in front of my face. As I got closer to the building, I lifted the umbrella over my head and, standing at my door was the last thing I expected to see—my breathtaking, blue-eyed stranger from the night before. My first thought? How did I look? Not exactly how I would like to have looked the next time he saw me, schlepping laundry and groceries with my nose dripping from the cold and probably more than a little wet and disheveled from the walk home. He spotted me from under his umbrella and he broke out in a smile. It was just as devastating as the night before. As I got even closer, I realized he had something in his hand. It was... flowers?
“Hello, Nicole. I understand congratulations are in order.”
I was so stunned to see him standing there, that for a second, I had no idea what he was talking about. I must have had a clueless look on my face.
“I called and Natalie told me you got the job. I thought I would stop by to offer congratulations and give you a small good luck token.”
He was congratulating me on my new job. He must have thought I was an idiot. I set my bags down near the front door and he handed me an exquisite flower. The petals were a dark crimson, almost chocolate in color and the pale, lime-green leaves were like delicate streamers flowing out from the bottom.
“It’s a black orchid,” he said. “It’s beautiful and quite rare and it made me think of you.”
Did he get his lines from a Harlequin romance novel? Still, I could get used to this. And, the weirdest part of all was he seemed so sincere, I couldn’t help but take it all in and be flattered beyond belief, especially when I felt like I should have been the one giving him flowers just for calling me back.
“Vincent, that was so sweet of you to go to so much trouble. You’ve made my day even better. Would you like to come up?” I was thinking, was the place a wreck? Was Natalie in her underwear?
“No. Thank you. I really must go, but I was hoping, if you didn’t have plans tonight, I could take you out to dinner to celebrate?”
“No plans.”
“May I can come by at 8:00?”
“Sure. That sounds great!” I hoped I didn’t sound too eager. I was having a hard time containing my enthusiasm.
“Okay, so I will see you at 8:00. Oh, and perhaps you should change into some dry clothes before tonight.” He gave me a teasing grin and started to walk away.
I looked down. I was absolutely soaked and my shoes were making squishing noises as I walked. But he hadn’t seemed to mind my waterlogged look. I turned and went inside with the cleaning, the groceries and my orchid and got off the elevator on our floor. I had too much stuff in my hands to dig for the keys, so I kicked the door of the apartment.
“Natalie! Open up. My hands are full!”
She opened the door and reached out to help me with the bags, when she spotted the flower.
“Ooohhh, nice! Where’d that come from?”
“If you can believe it, Vincent was waiting outside in the rain to give it to me. He said it was for good luck with my new job.”
“Boy, he doesn’t waste any time, does he? What is it, a black orchid?”
“How did you know?”
“Oh, you remember in college I took that weird floral horticulture class as an elective? I think that’s the only thing I remember from it. They’re very expensive, you know.”
“I kind of figured that.”
“It’s the national flower of Belize,” she recited. “Oh, and I vaguely remember there being some sort of mythology about black orchids and vampires.”
“What in the world made him do this? He just met me.” I honestly wanted to know.
“Looks to me like he’s smitten,” Natalie said with an impish grin. I half expected her to break into a rendition of “Vincent and Nicole sittin’ in a tree...”
Maybe she was right. I was positively giddy.
It was almost 2:00. Six more hours until Vincent would show up at my door again. I talked Natalie’s ear off for more than an hour about the possibilities of the evening that lay ahead of me, until she finally begged off. Before I retreated to my room, I went into the kitchen to get the crystal vase my mother had left me. It was a family heirloom, handed down from my MIA great-great-great grandmother. Her initials were engraved on the bottom in beautiful script. A. G. I filled it with water and placed the single black orchid in it, carried it with me to my room and left Natalie to her laptop and her deadlines.
I set the vase on my desk, lay down on the bed and stared at it while I let my mind wander. It represented a world of possibilities. Dinner? A first kiss? Another date? A relationship? I was getting ahead of myself as usual. Natalie always said I had a tendency to overthink everything. Too many possibilities and I had the urge to create a contingency plan for each and every one.
Vincent showed up promptly at 8 and buzzed. I could add punctuality to the items on my list of pros (no cons so far, unless I counted the hand-kissing). Natalie wished me luck, gave me the thumbs up and said she would be anxiously awaiting a full report. I rushed down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. As I turned the corner from the staircase, I saw him through the glass door. He looked so happy to see me. Something about this whole thing seemed a bit off to me, no matter what Natalie said about him being smitten. It definitely fell into the too-good-to-be-true category. I opened the door and the amazing scent of his cologne was the first thing to greet me.
“Good evening, Nicole. You look lovely tonight... and very dry,” he grinned. “And I must say, you smell wonderful.”
I had decided against perfume.
“I thought we would stay in the neighborhood,” he said. “If you are not too cold, we can walk over to Broadway and 89th. There is a lovely wine bar there that also serves dinner.”
“That sounds great.”
We talked as we walked the few blocks to the restaurant and I was grateful he wasn’t coming too close or reaching out to hold my hand. The lack of physical contact was allowing me to carry on a coherent conversation. As I had discovered the night before at Shakespeare’s, he had a subtle sense of humor buried underneath all that formality and I found myself relaxed and laughing.
We arrived at the restaurant and he opened the door and stepped back to let me in. Again, no physical contact. And, again, I was relieved. We were seated right away and the waiter came over and handed us menus. I was starving. For the better part of the afternoon, I had been too nervous to eat, but now that I had relaxed a bit, my stomach was beginning to rumble. Vincent wasn’t even looking at the menu.
“Do you already know what you want?” I asked.
“I am not going to order anything. I attended a meeting with clients this afternoon and they insisted on eating. It was impossible to say no. So, I ate late and I have no appetite. I may just have a glass of wine. They have an impressive selection here. But you go ahead and eat, really.”
Well, I wasn’t going to eat if he wasn’t. I would be so incredibly self-conscious eating in front of him, while he just sat there. But, I decided a glass of wine on an empty stomach would probably do me in. I didn’t really like either option.
“Any suggestions?”
I understand the grilled prawns and risotto is excellent.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He ordered my meal and two glasses of wine and we settled in for the evening.
“Vincent, you never mentioned what it is you do. All I know is you work from home.”
“My work is rather boring. Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
Was he serious? After he had listened to me drone on about my life, my apartment, my job interview? Anyway, I found everything he said fascinating. The challenge was to look at him and concentrate on what he was saying at the same time.
“Of course I’m interested.”
“Well, I run an import/export business. Mainly flowers, especially rare flowers. That is how I was able to get the black orchid for you. They are not easy to come by, even in the city.”
“Ah... I feel very lucky. It really is beautiful. I put it in a crystal vase on my desk in my room. I enjoyed just looking at it today.”
“So, you were pleased?” He looked at me and his gaze was so deep, so penetrating, I felt as if he were trying to transmit some unspoken message. Was he expecting me to respond in some way? I wasn’t sure what the proper response would be. I simply nodded and tried to keep the conversation going.
“Natalie says she’s heard of some sort of mythology surrounding black orchids and vampires. Do you know anything about that? I love tales of the paranormal.”
“No. Sorry. Tales of the supernatural are of no interest to me.” Did he look tense? Angry? Disgusted? Great. Now he thinks I’m a sci-fi geek. I figured I’d better quickly change the subject, if I hadn’t already blown it.
“You said you live farther north. Where exactly is your apartment?”
He seemed relieved to have the subject shift from flowers... from black orchids and vampires, anyway.
“I live on Riverside and 115th. I have lived there for several years and it feels like home.”
“Do you have a view of the river?”
“Yes. I have an amazing view. You should come up and see it sometime.”
It sounded like an invitation, but he didn’t follow up with any specifics.
Aside from my paranormal faux paus, the evening was nearly perfect. He was fascinating company. He had traveled around the world, it seemed, and it sounded like he had read more books than I even had on my “wish list” to read. Despite his devastating good looks and his impressive life resume, he somehow came across as self-deprecating and rather humble. It was a curious and incredibly appealing mix.
Once, during the evening, he surprised me when he reached out and held my hand, interlocking our fingers. While the gesture was unexpected, I was more prepared this time for the buzz and the sensation that followed and I just accepted it for what it was, whatever that might be. But, he was looking at me like... he wanted me? It was, of course, flattering beyond belief, but at the same time it was unfathomable to me that I could have such an effect on this undeniably desirable man and I easily convinced myself I must be misreading his signals.
The evening had gone well thus far. Nicole seemed relaxed, happy, laughing at his jokes. Vincent had opened up to her as much as was possible. He told her about some of the countries he had lived in, but was careful not to mention them all or say when. He told her he had lived in his apartment for several years, just not how many years. He was careful not to reveal too much about himself. That was the problem with trying to establish relationships. The older he became, the more difficult it was to keep timelines straight in casual conversations. It would be normal for a 28-year old to comment on life before cell phones; it would not be normal to comment on life before phones, something he had firsthand knowledge of.
He looked at her from across the table. She was animated, talking with her hands. He found it endearing the way she used her hands to express herself. But, every move she made was followed by the slightest flutter of air saturated with the scent of her floating in his direction. It was clouding his thoughts, making it difficult to control his impulses. He ran a quick self-check. At that moment, lust was the frontrunner, leaving his thirst behind in the dust. But he knew the two could easily and without forewarning blur into one uncontrollable hunger.
It was almost midnight. I thought we had occupied the table long enough and that we were going to run out of conversation soon. He seemed to sense what I was thinking and asked if I was ready to go. We walked out onto the sidewalk and the rain from earlier in the day had morphed into snow flurries that were just beginning to swirl around in the gusty breeze.
As I had noticed the night before, the cold didn’t seem to bother him in the least and I was relieved when he offered me the cab option. I didn’t want my teeth to be chattering, on the off chance he was going to kiss me goodnight. Broadway was busy and he was able to quickly hail a cab and we climbed in. I had almost completely relaxed over the course of the evening, but as we pulled up in front of my building, I could feel myself tensing up in anticipation. We would soon be saying goodnight. Was he going to kiss me? On the lips this time? This certainly wasn’t a case of “never been kissed.” It was that I’d never been kissed by this particular man, who seemed to have a singularly disturbing effect on me that had me worried. I wasn’t sure what to expect from him or from myself.
If Vincent had been less experienced, the evening surely would have already ended in disaster. The pull he felt was like a gravitational force; fighting it was exhausting and, he feared, in the end, futile. Still, he had acquired some degree of self-control over the years. But, he could not be sure if it was enough to leave her untouched, unharmed and walk away. Could he find it within himself to say no, to go against his very nature?
She was experiencing her own powerful attraction to him, different from the run-of-the-mill desire he usually sensed in women. He was sure of it. He could hear her heart beat faster whenever he came near. He could see the blood rush to her face when he made eye contact. And he was certain she could feel that kinetic connection that at any moment was about to push him over the edge. This unsure feeling of how to proceed was uncomfortable, unfamiliar— and humiliating. He was accustomed to being very much in control, especially around women.
The cab was turning onto her street. He was about to be put to the test.
We stopped in front of my building and I got out of the cab as Vincent stayed behind to pay the driver. I decided not to linger. It would wreak of desperation. As I headed for the door, already sensing a missed opportunity and wondering if it would ever present itself again, he quickly caught up with me and grabbed me from behind. Without hesitation and in a single, seamless move he turned me around, pulled me in tightly and he kissed me.
I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t analyzing. I was just reacting. It was just as intense as I had expected, as I had feared, as I had experienced in my dreams. And the unexpected nature of his sudden display of passion only amplified the impact. The scent he was wearing seemed even more potent, as was the effect it was having on me. I let out a muffled sound, a cross between a squeak and a moan. Was that me? I half expected him to pull away and laugh. But he wasn’t laughing. Instead, my lack of self-control had the opposite effect and he drew me even closer. His mouth on mine was eager, almost hungry and surprisingly unrestrained for a first kiss. I reached around to the back of his head and grabbed his hair to keep him close. Together, we stumbled back against the brick wall of the building. He seemed to effortlessly lift me off the ground and he was rubbing his body against mine, holding me in place. I could barely breathe. I wasn’t thinking straight. The only coherent thought running through my head was that we were outside, in full view of anyone who might walk by, and that maybe we should take this upstairs.