"May I come in, Miss Bristow, or do you want me to just stand here and
freeze to death?" Sark said in a mock-formal tone.
"Go ahead. . ." Sydney growled, already starting to close the door in his face. Sark put a hand in to stop her.
"If you don't mind, Miss Bristow, I believe Francie is waiting for me," he said, stepping in. Walking straight to the kitchen as if he owned the place, he proceeded to open up the most expensive bottle of champagne they had and pour a glass.
"Would you like a glass of Dom Perignon, Miss Bristow?" He is odious, Sydney thought.
Sydney ignored the question. "Francie won't be meeting you tonight. There was fire at the restaurant." her voice sounded strained. Leave. . . Leave. . .
"Oh really, what a pity. . ." Sark said offhandedly, "Guess it will just be you and me tonight." He stared straight at her with his icy blue eyes.
Sydney marched over to Sark, snatched away his champagne fluke in mid- sip and snarled, "No, it won't. . ." Walking over and opening the door, she said "You will be leaving now. And," she finished, with icy undertones, "If you ever come back, I will personally put you in an early grave, regardless of Sloane's favoritism towards you. Do you understand??"
Sark was silent as he pretended not to notice the fiery glare of hatred Sydney was giving him, as he casually sauntered over to the door. Looking straight at Sydney, he delicately took her hand off the door and closed it, shutting himself inside once more.
"Do I detect a smidgen of disapproval in your voice Miss Bristow?" Sark asked mockingly, smiling his cocky smile.
"Go to hell; And leave Francie alone." Sydney said, ignoring his baiting. For all his polite speech and Formal Aires, he really was the lowest scum on the face of the Earth. Except perhaps Sloane, Sydney amended.
Stretching out on the couch, Sark was making it clear he was going to stay awhile. "Give me one good reason why I should do as you say, Miss Bristow." He continued to smirk at her, inviting her to continue. He's loving this, Sydney thought. I could kill him. . .
"You're just using Francie to your own advantage!" Sydney exploded. She'd had enough of his polite mocking. "You knew it would get a rise out of me, so you went ahead and butted in on my personal life! If there's anything that you should understand, Sark, it's the need to keep one's professional and personal life separate in this business. But then again, I doubt you have any friends."
That remark seemed to get to Sark. He stood to face Sydney head-on, a slightly angered look on his face. He looked down for a moment before again maintaining his casual, apathetic expression. Then he began walking towards her as he spoke some well-chosen words.
"Oh, and you did such a good job of separating those with your late fiancé, didn't you Miss Bristow? Or with your reporter friend, Tippin, when he was kidnapped. . ."
"By you, you Bastard!" Sydney snapped. Don't play into his hands Sydney. . .
Sark kept advancing, his voice cutting into her. "The only reason your angry is because Francie is your last tie to normalcy-you don't give a damn about her welfare. And you're accusing me of using her!" Sark laughed. "The only one using Francie is you, Miss Bristow. The same way you used Tippin, and the same way you used your fiancé Danny."
This conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Sydney shut her eyes tight, trying in vain to block out his words.
"None of them knew you-the only reason you keep friends like Francie around is to try and maintain a façade of normalcy and family." Her eyes squeezed tighter. Block him out Sydney. . . Block him out. . .
"But you are anything but normal, Sydney Bristow, and you certainly don't have a family. Your mother considered you to be a useless side effect of her job, and your father views you as one of his many mistakes in marrying Irina Derevco." Sydney's eyes flew open as she met with Sark's pale, cornflower eyes looking right at her.
He had stopped short just inches from her, all but spitting his last words in her face. "You think that you and I are so different, Miss Bristow, but in truth, you are just as malicious and alone as I am."
Sydney couldn't find words to speak. She was trapped in her own insecurities, those which Sark had so clearly illustrated to her.
Sark only hesitated a moment, staring into her eyes with total control, before he closed the small remaining gap between them and kissed her hard on the mouth.
"Go ahead. . ." Sydney growled, already starting to close the door in his face. Sark put a hand in to stop her.
"If you don't mind, Miss Bristow, I believe Francie is waiting for me," he said, stepping in. Walking straight to the kitchen as if he owned the place, he proceeded to open up the most expensive bottle of champagne they had and pour a glass.
"Would you like a glass of Dom Perignon, Miss Bristow?" He is odious, Sydney thought.
Sydney ignored the question. "Francie won't be meeting you tonight. There was fire at the restaurant." her voice sounded strained. Leave. . . Leave. . .
"Oh really, what a pity. . ." Sark said offhandedly, "Guess it will just be you and me tonight." He stared straight at her with his icy blue eyes.
Sydney marched over to Sark, snatched away his champagne fluke in mid- sip and snarled, "No, it won't. . ." Walking over and opening the door, she said "You will be leaving now. And," she finished, with icy undertones, "If you ever come back, I will personally put you in an early grave, regardless of Sloane's favoritism towards you. Do you understand??"
Sark was silent as he pretended not to notice the fiery glare of hatred Sydney was giving him, as he casually sauntered over to the door. Looking straight at Sydney, he delicately took her hand off the door and closed it, shutting himself inside once more.
"Do I detect a smidgen of disapproval in your voice Miss Bristow?" Sark asked mockingly, smiling his cocky smile.
"Go to hell; And leave Francie alone." Sydney said, ignoring his baiting. For all his polite speech and Formal Aires, he really was the lowest scum on the face of the Earth. Except perhaps Sloane, Sydney amended.
Stretching out on the couch, Sark was making it clear he was going to stay awhile. "Give me one good reason why I should do as you say, Miss Bristow." He continued to smirk at her, inviting her to continue. He's loving this, Sydney thought. I could kill him. . .
"You're just using Francie to your own advantage!" Sydney exploded. She'd had enough of his polite mocking. "You knew it would get a rise out of me, so you went ahead and butted in on my personal life! If there's anything that you should understand, Sark, it's the need to keep one's professional and personal life separate in this business. But then again, I doubt you have any friends."
That remark seemed to get to Sark. He stood to face Sydney head-on, a slightly angered look on his face. He looked down for a moment before again maintaining his casual, apathetic expression. Then he began walking towards her as he spoke some well-chosen words.
"Oh, and you did such a good job of separating those with your late fiancé, didn't you Miss Bristow? Or with your reporter friend, Tippin, when he was kidnapped. . ."
"By you, you Bastard!" Sydney snapped. Don't play into his hands Sydney. . .
Sark kept advancing, his voice cutting into her. "The only reason your angry is because Francie is your last tie to normalcy-you don't give a damn about her welfare. And you're accusing me of using her!" Sark laughed. "The only one using Francie is you, Miss Bristow. The same way you used Tippin, and the same way you used your fiancé Danny."
This conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Sydney shut her eyes tight, trying in vain to block out his words.
"None of them knew you-the only reason you keep friends like Francie around is to try and maintain a façade of normalcy and family." Her eyes squeezed tighter. Block him out Sydney. . . Block him out. . .
"But you are anything but normal, Sydney Bristow, and you certainly don't have a family. Your mother considered you to be a useless side effect of her job, and your father views you as one of his many mistakes in marrying Irina Derevco." Sydney's eyes flew open as she met with Sark's pale, cornflower eyes looking right at her.
He had stopped short just inches from her, all but spitting his last words in her face. "You think that you and I are so different, Miss Bristow, but in truth, you are just as malicious and alone as I am."
Sydney couldn't find words to speak. She was trapped in her own insecurities, those which Sark had so clearly illustrated to her.
Sark only hesitated a moment, staring into her eyes with total control, before he closed the small remaining gap between them and kissed her hard on the mouth.