She knows even before she digs her phone out of the deep recesses of her bag that the message is from Victor and he is going to be late, again. She purses her lips with a mixture of irritation and affection for her best friend and resigns herself to waiting for him. With the bottle of wine and two glasses, bought just minutes before clutched in her hands her bright blue eyes scan the gloomy room to find an empty table but the only one available is closer to the bar than she'd like although away from the crush of bodies and noise near the door. Vanessa Ives has always felt more comfortable in the darkest corners and recesses with her back firmly against a wall. She can't believe how many people have succumbed to the lure of alcohol so early in the week but she can hardly talk. When Victor had phoned her earlier to suggest meeting for a drink, she'd jumped at the offer, not just to see him which was always a pleasure, and over the last few months had been more infrequent than she liked, but also to attempt to deaden her senses in the soporific haze of a few glasses of wine. Her senses, always finely honed had, over the last few days been even more sensitive than usual. She felt as if something was scratching around the edges of her consciousness for a couple of days now, something strangely familiar but with a hint of danger that caused her teeth to ache and her stomach to swoop with a hint of desire at unexplained times. As she sits at the small table depositing the bottle and glasses on the scarred surface she feels it again like a breath stirring on the back of her neck, a delicious but slightly terrifying secret waiting to be discovered. She quickly pushes the feeling away putting it down to tiredness and her exasperation at Victor's obvious tardiness and decides when he appears to have a firm word with him about friendship and what it really means. She pours the wine, her anticipation of the mellow taste enhanced by the glug as it exits the narrow neck of the bottle and swirls into the glass. The colour is the deep velvety red of cardinal roses and the scent of wood smoke and dark fruits drifts into the air. She takes a mouthful closing her eyes as the smoothness caresses her tongue coating her taste buds in rich flavour. She is a creature of pleasure and it shows on her strangely beautiful face as she savours that first taste, feeling it warming through her body which begins to relax. She opens her eyes and with disinterest sweeps her gaze along the bar. The usual familiar groups are there a mix of students and staff from the University. On entering the bar she nodded her acknowledgment to a few familiar faces but avoided engaging those acquaintances in conversation, she is not a social animal preferring the company of her few close friends and herself. And when the mood takes her she knows the places to go to engage with the likeminded who ask no questions and provide for a night the release she needs when the darkness threatens to engulf her. She is just about to open and read Victor's text to ascertain how long she will need to wait when she notices just to her right sitting at the bar with his back to her an unfamiliar and yet strangely not unknown presence. Although seated and hunched with his elbows on the wood she can see he is tall, over six feet by her reckoning. His hair a rich mid brown is cut to his chin and she can see the scruff of hair on his cheeks a promise of a hint of beard, although not a full one. He is dressed in a charcoal grey chunky knit jumper which buttons up on the shoulder, dark jeans and boots which although of good quality have seen better days. There is something about him that makes her look longer than would be considered by most appropriate. It is as if she knows him although she has never laid eyes on him before. She notices under his jumper his shoulders are broad, powerful and taper to a narrow waist and hips. She notes the strength in his buttocks and long legs and she finds herself wondering what he would look like naked, what kind of a lover he would be. Would his hands be soft or rough with a hint of callouses? She feels the heat rise in her face and a stab of pure lust lance through her belly and shifts in her seat tearing a ragged breath into her lungs that suddenly feel as if there is not enough air in the room. She is about to look away back to the safety of her phone and Victor's message when she finds herself staring into a pair of the brightest brown eyes she's ever seen, he has turned under her scrutiny. For a long moment she's mesmerised by them, the deepness, the secrets that she aches to unlock, the hurt that lurks in their very depths. He seems to look into her very soul and know her. A dark note of fear stirs deep within her – he is dangerous but confusingly she also feels; at first she can't fathom the feeling but then in comes in a flash - safe. She jumps as her phone begins to vibrate and tears her eyes away from his to the screen to see Victor's name flashing across it. She lifts the phone to her ear.
"Victor what's going on? Where the hell are you, this was your idea to meet." She knows she sounds agitated but it is more to do with her reaction to the stranger at the bar who she can feel is still looking at her than to her friend's seeming abandonment.
"Ness, I am so sorry but I'm not going to be able to make it. It's Lily. She's having; well you know what's she's like. I can't leave her, please understand." She can hear the slight tinge of desperation in his voice and knows that any questions or a tirade would be unwelcome. She would have to save them and her advice for another time.
"It's fine. Don't worry. Is there anything I can do?"
"No, no. I'll call you tomorrow. I promise." His relief is palpable and the phone goes dead just as she hears something being smashed in the background.
"Shit." She mummers the expletive under her breath and glances at the almost full bottle of wine in front of her. She grabs her barely touched glass and brings it to her lips. It is then she realises that she is not alone, someone else is close by and she looks up to find the familiar stranger standing just slightly closer than convention normally warrants, his warm brown eyes seeming to caress over the curves and edges of her face and form. His hand is extended and she immediately and without thought places hers into it feeling it encased in warmth and slight roughness.
"Professor Ives. I know you don't know me but we have a mutual friend who pointed you out to me the other day and I've wanted to make your acquaintance ever since. My name is Ethan Chandler, I'm here on a sabbatical from the University of New Mexico. I understand from your conversation that your friend has become otherwise engaged and I was hoping you'd allow me to join you for the night?"
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He'd noticed her that very first day still hazy with jet lag barely coping and finding the unfamiliar city stressful with its strict customs and banal rules. The jolt of recognition on laying his eyes on her that first time had not been the shock it should have been. Somehow she was so familiar – his soul knew her. He would have noticed her anyway, her ethereal beauty - her skin pale as cream, her hair with the iridescent sheen of a starlings wing and those blue eyes that seemed to know everything, that would see through any lie. She seemed almost of another time, her clothes styled with an echo to a century past – waist line cinched so tight it almost looked corseted. Although not tiny in height she was delicately made and would appear more so next to his bulk. She was not his usual type if he truly had one. He'd frequently chosen the easy all American beauty, blonde and tanned, long legged with porn star breasts, a bright smile and manner. A girl that didn't challenge him, uncomplicated, fun; a foil for his darkness. Women had always fallen for his easy charm, his roguish good looks and his lithe physic as had members of his own sex and he'd never fought that side of his sexuality – he'd played that field too – desire was a game he indulged in, revelled in, chasing new experiences and acceptance. She was everything he'd always avoided, too knowing, too immersed in mystery and intrigue, too dark, yet one glimpse of her and every one of his defences had come crashing to the ground. Frederick Lyle, the plump and dreadfully camp Professor of Ancient History who'd been assigned as his aide knew her of course, Frederick knew everyone and he'd quizzed him carefully just to gain enough information so that he could instigate a meeting without the formality of an introduction – this was hardly the 1890's. Fredrick has waxed lyrical about the exquisite Ms. Ives, her beauty, her intelligence, her mystery but he had recognised something else in the man's tone the slight hum of fear – and that intrigued him. He had to meet her. And so that is why he was here sitting at this slightly dismal bar on a Monday night nursing a Jack Daniels because he'd been told she would be there to meet a friend. He knew the moment she'd entered the room. It was almost as if the atmosphere changed. He'd watched her surreptitiously through slightly hooded eyes. Her hair was down, an artful tangle of raven curls. Her jacket, which looked like it was made of black velvet was tight fitted to her torso highlighting the curve of her breasts and slender waist in juxtaposition to the wide, dark red skirt that fell in generous folds to mid-calf. The sheen of silver gleamed at her throat, wrists and fingers. Her outward appearance spoke of control and modesty but this was only an exoskeleton of conventionality that she'd built and like his it was a façade. He recognised in her the soul of a hunter, a ruthless predator, a killer ready to strike ruthlessly, without question or regard to protect her and hers. She was the scorpion to his wolf. She was dangerous, but so was he and the beast caged inside him howled to possess her and protect her. He'd heard the quiet conversation unfolding behind him and knew from only her side that she was now alone. Which is how he now found himself standing next to her, holding her fragile hand which she'd given to him so naturally. For a moment he had to fight the urge to pull her to her feet and crush his mouth to hers to taste her wildness and he knew that she wouldn't fight it that somehow she was as affected by him as he is by her.
"Frederick." A ghost of a smile flickered over her lush lips. "Sit down Mr. Chandler. May I offer you some wine?"
"Actually Professor it's Dr. I've not yet aspired to your dizzy heights of academia. But let's dispense with formality Vanessa? And yes, I'd love some wine."
Still grasping her hand he sits, hooking his foot round the chair so he can drag it closer to her, he needs to be as close as possible.
"Ethan," She seems to roll his name around in her mouth to taste it and he thrills to hear it, the way she seems to enjoy saying it. "From the Hebrew meaning strong and yes there is a strength in you Dr Chandler. Strength and darkness and quite an amount of pain I'd guess. Your touch tells me that as do your eyes. But these are things that can be whispered of later. Ethan, lend me my hand so I can pour the wine safely as I'm apt to spill it if I have to resort to my left and that would be a shame as it is a good year. I will return it straight to you if you so desire."
He laughs at this but then before letting go brings the palm to his mouth and presses a kiss to its very centre. The gesture seems suddenly more shockingly intimate than the kiss he'd just imagined bestowing on her and he watches as her eyes widen slightly.
"Christ, I'm sorry….."
But she only smiles, pressing her finger tips to his lips and then bringing her hand up to the side of his head to smooth down the side of his face lingering against his cheek and jaw.
"Don't apologise for acting on your desires. I appreciate your honesty and I take no offense in it. I have always admired people who risk rejection with so little regard to their hearts."
He watches as she pours him a generous measure of the ruby liquid almost an exact match of the skirt she is wearing and accepts it gratefully with a small smile that she returns. He then feels the touch of her cool skin against his other hand and takes it again caressing the delicate digits cautious at how near the fine skin the bones are. He has the overarching desire to feed her to watch her consume food that he has bought and prepared for her to nourish and nurture her. At first he thought it was just lust, a deep sexual attraction that drew him so inexorably towards her; he certainly desires her but he now recognises it as more than this; an overwhelming desire to possess her mind and soul as well as her body, to see that smile and the way it warms those cool blue eyes when she looks at him as the first and last thing that he sees every day. He slowly lifts the glass to his mouth relishing the dark oaky taste of the wine without breaking his gaze on her, her eyes, her mouth, the shadows that grace the hollows of that too thin face. She too drinks and seems to enjoy his eyes upon her.
"So are you going to tell me?"
He is confused for a moment - he can't remember her asking a question but he's been concentrating so hard on the play of light on her face and the way that her hand feels in his that maybe he'd missed it.
"Tell you what?" He hopes he sounds casual but his response doesn't seem to faze her.
"How this is going to play out between us?" She pauses for a moment and then continues. "I want you tonight - either in my bed or yours - that makes little odds. If it wouldn't rock the entire University faculty and end with our arrest I'd take you right now on this table. I will not apologise for being forward because I believe that you are a man who like me appreciates total honestly. It's clear you feel same and that you have been drawn here tonight maybe not with the precise intention to get me into bed but you know as do I it is inevitable – in this we are slaves to another force and why should be deny ourselves the pleasure. We can, if you wish follow societies conventions; dinner, a film, romantic walks before we give in, in the accepted amount of time to our basest desires. Ethan there is something between us more than just lust to be satisfied in a quick tumble. I don't understand it but somehow it as if I have been waiting for you all my life and now you're here I need to be as close to you as I can and never let you go. I'm not wrong am I?"
She'd sounded so assured throughout that whole speech until the end when her eyes had clouded with doubt and her voice dropped to a whisper for just a moment. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard and yet it made perfect sense. There was no verbal answer he can give her and so he leans forward tangling her hair through his fingers and pulls her towards him, gently brushing his nose against hers before pressing onto her beautiful mouth the first of a forever of kisses.
She stands, her eyes glowing, a smile of dark joy on her lips and leads him out into the cold night.