Meeting a client for dinner had proven trickier than meeting the pope at
the Vatican. It was a quandary. Should she dress like she was going on a
date, or treat the whole thing like a regular day at the office? G\inny had
finally decided to go with her instincts and dress up. She wore a black
slipdress, black nylons and black heels. A tiny black evening bag, `condom
and credit card bag', as one of her more cynical friends called them,
completed her ensemble. Simple, understated - and short. Still, she frowned
at herself in her vanity mirror.
"You do not look like an architect. You look like a high-priced call girl."
Her frown inverted, becoming a satisfied smile.
"No. I look like a very confident architect who doesn't feel she has to sacrifice her femininity to perform as well as a man."
She picked up the ever-present briefcase and, with a confident nod to her reflection, left her apartment.
She had been going crazy since she got home from work. She had showered, shaved, and done her hair in the time it normally took her to get from the front door to her bathroom. She must have held up at least a dozen outfits in front of her full-length mirror before deciding what to wear. Then she tried on five more before settling on the black dress. She left early because she wasn't certain about finding the address of the restaurant. As she drove through the posh areas of England she began to realize she was in trouble. This was a residential area. Pulling to the side of the road, she got out her map, an absolute necessity for anyone who hadn't lived in Muggle England all their life, and tried to discern where she was and where she wanted to be. She had been so certain that the restaurant would be somewhere ritzy that she hadn't really concentrated on the exact address. Now she realized that she must have driven right past the place.
But she hadn't noticed anything even vaguely resembling a restaurant in that area. She decided to turn around and look again. After backtracking a bit, she pulled up in front of a rather small - for this area anyway - two- story house. The address hung in wrought-iron letters from the eaves of the porch. She thought there must be some mistake, but she figured she'd ring the bell and see if the owners had had this happen before. It was a chance, a slim one, but the only one she had at the moment. She didn't want to have to call Mr Malfoy to verify the address, not after she had decided to lay old problems at rest.
She'd look like a country bumpkin and, besides, he probably wouldn't be home. She definitely didn't want to have to admit to Mr. Abraham in the morning that she hadn't kept her appointment with the client because she couldn't find him.
The house was done in a Scandinavian motif, with little carved shutters on the windows and dark exposed beams supporting the eaves. Very quaint, and not at all English.
Ginny admired the beams as she pushed the button to summon the inhabitants.
The door was opened by a woman Ginny would have cast to play Mrs. Santa Claus in any Christmas movie-of-the-week. She was about 5 feet tall with gray hair pulled into a tight bun that perched on top of her head. She wore a black dress that almost reached her ankles, and a white bib apron over that. Her smile was warm and welcoming, her eyes twinkling, as she wiped her hands on her apron.
"You must be Miss Weasley." Her heavily-accented voice was as warm as her smile. "Please, come in. Excuse the flour, I was just putting the finishing touches on dessert. I have always felt that fresh-baked is best. Mr. Malfoy will be with you shortly."
She spoke as though they had known each other for years. Ginny was still getting over the shock of finding out that Mr. Malfoy had meant for them to meet at his house. She didn't know whether or not she should be apprehensive but Mr. Abraham's warning about not compromising her integrity kept ringing in her ears. Mrs. Claus' voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I don't think he actually expected you to be on time, dear. In the old country, a lady will always be fashionably late, you know." She threw her hands into the air in a gesture of distress that had Ginny ready to dive for cover.
"Oh, where are my manners?" She held out her still-slightly-floured palm. "I am Mrs. Schwartz, Mr. Malfoy's maid, cook and chief bottle washer."
Ginny obeyed the rules of etiquette and shook the maid's hand. She was still a bit nervous. Who was she fooling? She was so nervous she could shake a martini just by holding the glass in her hand. She had to fight the urge to jump and squeak when a bell sounded in the distance.
Mrs. Schwartz' smile turned apologetic. "The bell tolls for me, I'm afraid. While I check on dinner, please make yourself comfortable."
She saw Ginny safely through the door and closed it behind her, then scurried off into what Ginny assumed to be the kitchen. The smells coming from there boded well for dinner. Now if the butterflies in her stomach would cease their F-16 test runs and just fall asleep so she could enjoy it.
Wanting to keep her mind on something, anything!, other than the impending meeting with her first real client, Ginny decided to snoop a little. She placed her briefcase on the floor beside a big overstuffed sofa and walked to a glass display case that sat against one wall. Tiny glass figurines filled the case to overflowing. Ballerinas pirouetted, horses frolicked, flowers bloomed. Each piece was so intricate, so beautiful, with tiny flourishes of silver, gold and precious stones. Ginny had never been much for trinkets, `dust catchers' her father had called them, but these were different. They seemed almost alive.
"Do you like them?"
Ginny jumped and spun around so quickly, she almost lost her balance and toppled into the glass case. With a quick prayer of thanks for her good sense of balance, she wondered what on earth was the matter with her.
Hadn't she expected Mr Malfoy to show up? No, it wasn't just that he had snuck up on her, it was... That voice!, it came to her with sudden alarm, and no lack of tingling in various parts of her body. Could it be? Or had she been wishing so hard to hear it that this strange situation just naturally lent itself to her imagination running wild?
With a blush, she realized he was waiting for her to answer his question. What had he asked? Oh, yeah. Her answer was little more than a whisper. "They're beautiful."
He dipped his chin in a nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you. Perhaps I'll make one for you someday."
This must be the elusive Mr. Malfoy. Who seemed. familiar? Yet different. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, one long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand resting on the banister. He stood easily six-foot tall, maybe six-two. A navy blue jacket, tailored to accent his broad shoulders and slim waist to perfection covered a maroon turtleneck. She found herself wishing the jacket were not buttoned so she could see more of what she was certain would be a very memorable chest. Matching blue pants molded to his hard thighs, and the shiny toes of highly polished black boots peaked from beneath them. His fashion sense left nothing to be desired.
His straight hair was surprisingly long, reaching several inches below his collar. It was pulled into a fashionable queue at his nape. The most startling thing about him was his very close-cropped beard. He wore it only on his chin, leaving the sides of his face clean-shaven. Though the rest of his hair, was a strange combination of gold and silver, his beard was snow white. It gave him a look of great wisdom. And great mystery.
As she stared, he descended the final two steps and made his way across the room to stand in front of her. He moved so fluidly he seemed almost to glide across the floor rather than walk. Ginny had once seen a martial arts demonstration where the experts had walked like that, big predatory cats seeking their next meal.
Embarrassing as it was, Ginny found herself just staring, at a loss for words. It wasn't that the man was drop-dead gorgeous. He was, but that wasn't why she couldn't find her tongue. It was his eyes. In their nearly silver depths, she felt as though she glimpsed eternity - past, present and future. It was fascinating and, at the same time, rather saddening. This man had seen more than any man should ever have to see.
He blinked slowly, jarring Ginny out of her stupor and bringing a furious blush to her cheeks as she dropped her eyes to find that he had extended his hand to her.
"I'm Draco Malfoy"
Recovering her smarting aplomb, she quickly reached out to practice her firm, business handshake.
"Ginny Weasley."
His warm fingers closed around hers and slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he raised her hand to his lips. The brush of his lips across the back of her hand was as light as the whisper of a butterfly's wings. Shivers shot down her spine and she hoped she didn't look as blown-away as she felt. He straightened, releasing her hand, and smiled. His teeth were frosty-white perfect.
"May I offer you a drink?"
Ginny started to nod but she knew actual words, not just her name, were in order at this point. Time to take the plunge and see if her voice would completely desert her in the face of such inexplicable inner turmoil.
"Yes, please."
Not bad, at least she'd managed the proper pitch and volume.
He waved a hand toward the sofa as he strode to the wet bar that stood in one corner of the room. "Please sit down, Miss Weasley. We have a lot to discuss."
And she thought Mr. Abraham had an authoritative manner. Even though Mr. Malfoy had worded it as a request, there was no doubt in her mind that she had been ordered to take a seat. For one rebellious minute she considered saying she'd rather stand. How dare this man treat her like a servant! Then she remembered that this was not a date, it was a business meeting, one she really wanted, needed, to go well. Annoying the client right out of the shoot didn't seem like the best move. And, after all, she was kind-of his servant, at least she was going to perform a service, one service!, for him. She returned his smile, though with a lack of sincerity, and rather ungraciously planted herself on the sofa.
He spoke as he poured Dom Perignon into two champagne flutes, the tilt of his head and raised eyebrow suggesting humor. "Are the accommodations not to your liking? If you would prefer, we may adjourn to my office."
The familiarity of his voice was causing the butterflies already in residence in her stomach to mutate into pterodactyls. She was so nervous they had to stand in line just to get in. Could Malfoy be her mysterious rescuer? The best way to find out would be to come right out and ask him, but if she were wrong, she would be embarrassed to the core, besides looking like a lovestruck teenager. And what if he were the one? Wouldn't he have said something by now? He could have been bluffing. Maybe he couldn't see a thing in the dark of that stairwell. But wouldn't he recognize her voice? `Hah, look at him,' she thought, `He probably rescues damsels in distress for a hobby. Doubtful he remembers their names, let alone their voices.' She realized that he was once again waiting for an answer. Now if she could just remember the question. What the heck was this man doing to her?! She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and imagined herself seated at a conference table. That helped. A little.
"The accommodations are fine, Mr. Malfoy."
That sounded good, polite, not too aggressive. Deep breath. She was doing fine. He seemed to appear before her, offering one of the flutes. She needed to keep a close eye on this guy. He moved so quietly he could be on top of you before you had time to think. The fantasy she had envisioned in the stairwell of lying beneath her rescuer, their bodies joined, suddenly flashed in her mind. Only this time the phantom had a face - Mr Malfoy's face. She jumped and whispered, "Stop that!"
Her host raised an eyebrow in question, one corner of his beautiful mouth following suit. Ginny could feel a blush start in the center of her chest and work its way to the far ends of her body. She accepted the wine, took a sip, a big sip, then tentatively smiled up at him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. This is the first one-on-one meeting I've had with a client and I'm afraid I'm not handling it very well. I expected a restaurant, not that your house isn't beautiful, it just hadn't occurred to me that a client might want to meet at his house. I feel terribly overdressed, or maybe underdressed, and..."
He sat on the other end of the sofa, not crowding her, but still too close for her liking since just being in the same room as this man made it far too easy for her to forget her train of thought and find herself on the 5:02 to Intimate Fantasyland. When he turned to face her, his knee brushed hers. Her imagination was beginning to make her long for a lobotomy because that tiny contact sent something resembling a jolt of electricity zinging through her. He waved his palm in front of her.
"I feel that your discomfort is my fault. I should have made the details of this meeting more clear to Mr. Abraham. Please, let me explain." He sipped his wine, his lips leaving a fleeting impression on the crystal, then set the flute on the coffee table. Ginny took another sip and put her glass next to his, grateful to rescue the beautiful crystal from the deathgrip of her sweaty palm. "I travel a great deal. I have had several bad experiences in restaurants - bottled water can be difficult to acquire, pleasantly spiced food is a rarity, even ice can become a hidden assassin." He shrugged. "Therefore, I avoid restaurants whenever possible. Mrs. Schwartz is an excellent cook and I can eat without fear of retribution from the food. Unfortunately, it did not occur to me that you might feel less than comfortable meeting a client, especially a male client, in such an intimate setting. I assure you, business is the only thing on my mind...at the moment."
Though said in a very businesslike tone, Ginny could have sworn there was more to that `at the moment' than met the ear, but she chalked it up to her imagination, which seemed to have gone into overdrive the moment he had walked into the room.
His explanation for his choice of meeting locations was perfectly logical. After her trip to Europe, where she had learned the true meaning of gastronomic distress, she could sympathize with his plight. Her smile genuine this time, she held out her hand to him.
"Do you think we could just start again? I'm Ginny Weasley."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Weasley."
He started to kiss the back of her hand; then, with a sardonic grin, changed his mind and gave it one brisk, businesslike shake. "I am Draco Malfoy. I would prefer it if you would call me Draco."
Ginny reacted internally to the break in contact as her fingers slipped from his grasp with something akin to disappointment. Had she wanted him to kiss her hand again?
"Please, call me Ginny."
"Ginny."
His eyes caught and held hers like a spider's web capturing a butterfly. She had the feeling of drowning; no, of being engulfed in some wonderful, warm liquid that filled her so full of life that she felt like exploding. She knew with absolute clarity that she could not break the spell. She would bask in his wonderful chocolate gaze until he looked away, or Hell froze over, whichever came first.
He leaned closer to her, his warm palm sliding over her shoulder to grasp the back of her neck. His hot, champagne-scented breath brushed her cheek. She luxuriated in warm chocolate caressing every part of her body. She was lost.
How easy it would be to take her now. She is beautiful, her smile casting warmth into a cold heart. Listen! Her pulse speeds with her excitement. She craves the darkness. She wants you inside of her, piercing her, devouring her. So easy. No! Not this woman!
Draco stood, breaking the spell, and Ginny felt as if someone had thrown ice water in her face. She started to lean back against the sofa then thought better of it and reached for her champagne. A deep swallow of the cool liquid made her feel a little better. She felt as though she had just been rescued again, but she wasn't sure from what or by whom.
Draco placed her briefcase on the coffee table that fronted the sofa, retrieved his wine from the table and sat in the chair next to the sofa. "I assume you will need that for our meeting. I would prefer to conclude our business before dinner, if you don't mind. I find I enjoy my meal more if there is no unfinished business to disturb digestion."
Ginny murmured, "Thank you," and forced her mind back into business mode. She opened the briefcase and took out a legal pad and pen. The fuzzy warmth that had seemed to engulf her just seconds before lingered at the edge of her mind, not enough to be distracting, but enough to let her know that she wanted that feeling again. Whatever it was that had held her for those few moments, she was certain it would be extremely addictive.
Giving her head a little shake, Ginny told herself she was being foolish. It had been an almost-kiss, something Mr Malfoy had thought better of before completing it. She had had those before. But, somehow, this one had been different. `He's a client,' she chastised herself, `you shouldn't be thinking about kissing him anyway. Thank goodness he had the good sense to keep things on a business level. Now try following his example, why don't you?'
"Can you give me an idea of your specific desires for this project, Mr. Malfoy? Do you want a split-level, traditional, pillared? How many bedrooms?"
He seemed a little distracted. Then he looked directly at her, his gaze fierce, but not like before. This was less personal, more...angry? She wasn't sure.
"I leave it completely in your hands, Ginny. Build me a home, one that comes from your heart just for me." His voice softened, his eyes turning sad for a second. "I have been too long without a home." The fire returned. "I chose you because I knew it would be within you. You can give me a home!"
Ginny was slightly taken aback by the vehemence of his proclamation. Her voice was pitched higher than she would have liked. "You don't have any specifications? A budget?"
His white-bearded chin slashed the air like a silvery dagger as he shook his head once. "Money is no object," his tone was bitter, "I have plenty of Galleons. My only specification is that you must design it and personally oversee that your design is followed to the letter. Do I have your word?"
The air between them seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his question. Ginny took a deep breath. She had the feeling that she was making this decision about more than a job.
"Yes, Draco, I will design the house myself and supervise everything."
He nodded and stood, offering his hand. "Then our business is at an end. Shall we dine?"
Ginny quickly replaced the legal pad in her briefcase, then placed her hand in his. She expected his palm to be warm and she wasn't disappointed. What she hadn't expected, although by now she should have, was the instant electricity that came from his touch. He lifted gently, pulling her to her feet. The wine must have been stronger than she thought because suddenly her high heels seemed to be three feet tall. She stumbled slightly while trying to adjust to the height. Draco quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his solid body to steady her. Her arms seemed to slip around his waist of their own accord. For the breath of a second, she felt his arms tighten around her in a near rib-crushing embrace, then he raised his hands to her shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could look down into her eyes, his breath fanning her cheek as he spoke.
"Are you all right?"
Ginny blushed to her toes. The flush came from the fact that she wasn't completely certain she had stumbled solely from the wine. Could she have subconsciously wanted him to take her into his arms so much that she had arranged it? That was so deceptive! But it had worked!
"I'm fine."
She was breathless, her lips actually tingling in anticipation of his kiss. She dropped her head back slightly, to see him better she told herself, but she knew it was really an invitation. One he decided not to R.S.V.P. His nostrils flared and he pushed her firmly to arms' length.
"Perhaps you need sustenance to counter the effects of the wine."
He stepped away from her and around the end of the sofa. With a sweep of his hand he motioned for her to pass in front of him. Hiding her disappointment, she complied. He placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her into the dining room.
Where the living room had been furnished in `quaint and homey', this room was all sparse luxury. A mahogany table, no bigger than six feet in diameter, stood in the middle of the room. The chairs - there were only two - had deep red cushions on the seats and backs, the one on the back embroidered in black with a coat of arms: a rose in full bloom above turbulent waves.
A fireplace in one wall cast its soft glow into the room. A crystal chandelier holding at least thirty candles hung above the table, softly lighting the table. Four-candle candelabra stood in each corner of the room to chase away any shadows that might escape the chandelier and fireplace.
The table was set with china so fine you could see the candlelight through it. The silverware shone with the dull glow of real silver. Fine crystal, identical to the flutes, completed the picture. Draco guided her to a chair, which he pulled from beneath the table, waited for her to be seated, then effortlessly slid it, and her, back up to the table. He took the seat to the left of hers, a chair that was half again as large as the one in which she sat. It resembled a throne, and he took his place there as if he had been born to it.
Ginny gave a nervous giggle.
"If you looked up `intimate dinner for two' in Webster's I think you'd find this room. It's beautiful." Draco smiled, his eyes alight. "I'm glad you like it. I admit I have a weakness for the finer things in life."
"Is it all authentic?"
One corner of his mouth rose in a sneer of contempt. "At the risk of sounding like a snob, I hate replicas." His mouth relaxed into a sensuous smile. "I am comfortable with antiques, perhaps because I am one."
His deep chuckle vibrated the air, sending a shiver though Ginny. The fire at his back bathed him in a reddish glow, almost as if he were a living, breathing candle. She knew she was a moth being drawn to that flame. Should she fight to keep from being consumed by his fire? What would it feel like to bask in that warmth, to let him burn within her body as he was currently burning her mind? A half memory flitted across her consciousness, chocolate heat all around her, inside her. She shivered.
"Are you cold, Ginny?"
"Not at all."
Her desire-glazed eyes and the airy, sex siren voice in which she spoke were almost his undoing. His smile faded, his eyes narrowing as he caught the scent of her passion.
She is waiting, hot and ready for the seduction only you can give. Take her now!
He started to rise from the table just as Mrs. Schwartz entered with a large tray in her hands. Shaking his head to clear away the last remnants of the rabid lust that had almost overwhelmed him, he chastised himself. This dinner had not been one of his better ideas. The temptation was too great, his body far too desirous of the lovely lady before him. He gave an imperceptible nod to Mrs. Schwartz as she placed filled salad plates on top of the dinner plates before each of them. She placed a small turntable with several different salad dressings on the table between them, then turned to him.
"Mr. Malfoy, there was a call for you from a Mr. Dylan. Since you left instructions not to be disturbed, I insisted that he leave a message. He said it was most urgent that he reach you before 10 this evening."
Draco nodded with a slow blink of dismissal. He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist and frowned. "I hope you will forgive me, Miss Parker, but I must make this call. Please enjoy your dinner. This may take a while and I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."
Stepping around his chair, he came closer to her side. Ginny had to turn in her chair to look up at him, a move that made her dress ride high enough on her thigh to make him take a deep breath. He pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of her.
"This is a number at which I can be reached anytime. Please do not hesitate to call should you...need...anything." Pushing his control to its limit, he took her hand from where it rested on the arm of her chair and brought it to his lips. The heat of life coursed through the veins of her tiny hand. She smelled clean, a perfume wafting from her skin that took him a minute to place. When his sensitive nose made the identification - baby lotion - his loins tightened to the bursting point. Gritting his teeth, he returned her hand to the chair and straightened.
"Once again, forgive me for cutting short our dinner."
Ginny smiled up at him. "Of course. But I really wouldn't mind waiting."
He shook is head.
"It might be hours. I'll dine after." A secret, slightly evil grin curved his lips. "Good evening, Ginny." He dipped his head, more of a bow, really, turned and quickly exited the dining room.
Though it was complete nonsense and Ginny knew it, she would have sworn the room grew colder the minute he was gone.
"You do not look like an architect. You look like a high-priced call girl."
Her frown inverted, becoming a satisfied smile.
"No. I look like a very confident architect who doesn't feel she has to sacrifice her femininity to perform as well as a man."
She picked up the ever-present briefcase and, with a confident nod to her reflection, left her apartment.
She had been going crazy since she got home from work. She had showered, shaved, and done her hair in the time it normally took her to get from the front door to her bathroom. She must have held up at least a dozen outfits in front of her full-length mirror before deciding what to wear. Then she tried on five more before settling on the black dress. She left early because she wasn't certain about finding the address of the restaurant. As she drove through the posh areas of England she began to realize she was in trouble. This was a residential area. Pulling to the side of the road, she got out her map, an absolute necessity for anyone who hadn't lived in Muggle England all their life, and tried to discern where she was and where she wanted to be. She had been so certain that the restaurant would be somewhere ritzy that she hadn't really concentrated on the exact address. Now she realized that she must have driven right past the place.
But she hadn't noticed anything even vaguely resembling a restaurant in that area. She decided to turn around and look again. After backtracking a bit, she pulled up in front of a rather small - for this area anyway - two- story house. The address hung in wrought-iron letters from the eaves of the porch. She thought there must be some mistake, but she figured she'd ring the bell and see if the owners had had this happen before. It was a chance, a slim one, but the only one she had at the moment. She didn't want to have to call Mr Malfoy to verify the address, not after she had decided to lay old problems at rest.
She'd look like a country bumpkin and, besides, he probably wouldn't be home. She definitely didn't want to have to admit to Mr. Abraham in the morning that she hadn't kept her appointment with the client because she couldn't find him.
The house was done in a Scandinavian motif, with little carved shutters on the windows and dark exposed beams supporting the eaves. Very quaint, and not at all English.
Ginny admired the beams as she pushed the button to summon the inhabitants.
The door was opened by a woman Ginny would have cast to play Mrs. Santa Claus in any Christmas movie-of-the-week. She was about 5 feet tall with gray hair pulled into a tight bun that perched on top of her head. She wore a black dress that almost reached her ankles, and a white bib apron over that. Her smile was warm and welcoming, her eyes twinkling, as she wiped her hands on her apron.
"You must be Miss Weasley." Her heavily-accented voice was as warm as her smile. "Please, come in. Excuse the flour, I was just putting the finishing touches on dessert. I have always felt that fresh-baked is best. Mr. Malfoy will be with you shortly."
She spoke as though they had known each other for years. Ginny was still getting over the shock of finding out that Mr. Malfoy had meant for them to meet at his house. She didn't know whether or not she should be apprehensive but Mr. Abraham's warning about not compromising her integrity kept ringing in her ears. Mrs. Claus' voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I don't think he actually expected you to be on time, dear. In the old country, a lady will always be fashionably late, you know." She threw her hands into the air in a gesture of distress that had Ginny ready to dive for cover.
"Oh, where are my manners?" She held out her still-slightly-floured palm. "I am Mrs. Schwartz, Mr. Malfoy's maid, cook and chief bottle washer."
Ginny obeyed the rules of etiquette and shook the maid's hand. She was still a bit nervous. Who was she fooling? She was so nervous she could shake a martini just by holding the glass in her hand. She had to fight the urge to jump and squeak when a bell sounded in the distance.
Mrs. Schwartz' smile turned apologetic. "The bell tolls for me, I'm afraid. While I check on dinner, please make yourself comfortable."
She saw Ginny safely through the door and closed it behind her, then scurried off into what Ginny assumed to be the kitchen. The smells coming from there boded well for dinner. Now if the butterflies in her stomach would cease their F-16 test runs and just fall asleep so she could enjoy it.
Wanting to keep her mind on something, anything!, other than the impending meeting with her first real client, Ginny decided to snoop a little. She placed her briefcase on the floor beside a big overstuffed sofa and walked to a glass display case that sat against one wall. Tiny glass figurines filled the case to overflowing. Ballerinas pirouetted, horses frolicked, flowers bloomed. Each piece was so intricate, so beautiful, with tiny flourishes of silver, gold and precious stones. Ginny had never been much for trinkets, `dust catchers' her father had called them, but these were different. They seemed almost alive.
"Do you like them?"
Ginny jumped and spun around so quickly, she almost lost her balance and toppled into the glass case. With a quick prayer of thanks for her good sense of balance, she wondered what on earth was the matter with her.
Hadn't she expected Mr Malfoy to show up? No, it wasn't just that he had snuck up on her, it was... That voice!, it came to her with sudden alarm, and no lack of tingling in various parts of her body. Could it be? Or had she been wishing so hard to hear it that this strange situation just naturally lent itself to her imagination running wild?
With a blush, she realized he was waiting for her to answer his question. What had he asked? Oh, yeah. Her answer was little more than a whisper. "They're beautiful."
He dipped his chin in a nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you. Perhaps I'll make one for you someday."
This must be the elusive Mr. Malfoy. Who seemed. familiar? Yet different. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, one long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand resting on the banister. He stood easily six-foot tall, maybe six-two. A navy blue jacket, tailored to accent his broad shoulders and slim waist to perfection covered a maroon turtleneck. She found herself wishing the jacket were not buttoned so she could see more of what she was certain would be a very memorable chest. Matching blue pants molded to his hard thighs, and the shiny toes of highly polished black boots peaked from beneath them. His fashion sense left nothing to be desired.
His straight hair was surprisingly long, reaching several inches below his collar. It was pulled into a fashionable queue at his nape. The most startling thing about him was his very close-cropped beard. He wore it only on his chin, leaving the sides of his face clean-shaven. Though the rest of his hair, was a strange combination of gold and silver, his beard was snow white. It gave him a look of great wisdom. And great mystery.
As she stared, he descended the final two steps and made his way across the room to stand in front of her. He moved so fluidly he seemed almost to glide across the floor rather than walk. Ginny had once seen a martial arts demonstration where the experts had walked like that, big predatory cats seeking their next meal.
Embarrassing as it was, Ginny found herself just staring, at a loss for words. It wasn't that the man was drop-dead gorgeous. He was, but that wasn't why she couldn't find her tongue. It was his eyes. In their nearly silver depths, she felt as though she glimpsed eternity - past, present and future. It was fascinating and, at the same time, rather saddening. This man had seen more than any man should ever have to see.
He blinked slowly, jarring Ginny out of her stupor and bringing a furious blush to her cheeks as she dropped her eyes to find that he had extended his hand to her.
"I'm Draco Malfoy"
Recovering her smarting aplomb, she quickly reached out to practice her firm, business handshake.
"Ginny Weasley."
His warm fingers closed around hers and slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he raised her hand to his lips. The brush of his lips across the back of her hand was as light as the whisper of a butterfly's wings. Shivers shot down her spine and she hoped she didn't look as blown-away as she felt. He straightened, releasing her hand, and smiled. His teeth were frosty-white perfect.
"May I offer you a drink?"
Ginny started to nod but she knew actual words, not just her name, were in order at this point. Time to take the plunge and see if her voice would completely desert her in the face of such inexplicable inner turmoil.
"Yes, please."
Not bad, at least she'd managed the proper pitch and volume.
He waved a hand toward the sofa as he strode to the wet bar that stood in one corner of the room. "Please sit down, Miss Weasley. We have a lot to discuss."
And she thought Mr. Abraham had an authoritative manner. Even though Mr. Malfoy had worded it as a request, there was no doubt in her mind that she had been ordered to take a seat. For one rebellious minute she considered saying she'd rather stand. How dare this man treat her like a servant! Then she remembered that this was not a date, it was a business meeting, one she really wanted, needed, to go well. Annoying the client right out of the shoot didn't seem like the best move. And, after all, she was kind-of his servant, at least she was going to perform a service, one service!, for him. She returned his smile, though with a lack of sincerity, and rather ungraciously planted herself on the sofa.
He spoke as he poured Dom Perignon into two champagne flutes, the tilt of his head and raised eyebrow suggesting humor. "Are the accommodations not to your liking? If you would prefer, we may adjourn to my office."
The familiarity of his voice was causing the butterflies already in residence in her stomach to mutate into pterodactyls. She was so nervous they had to stand in line just to get in. Could Malfoy be her mysterious rescuer? The best way to find out would be to come right out and ask him, but if she were wrong, she would be embarrassed to the core, besides looking like a lovestruck teenager. And what if he were the one? Wouldn't he have said something by now? He could have been bluffing. Maybe he couldn't see a thing in the dark of that stairwell. But wouldn't he recognize her voice? `Hah, look at him,' she thought, `He probably rescues damsels in distress for a hobby. Doubtful he remembers their names, let alone their voices.' She realized that he was once again waiting for an answer. Now if she could just remember the question. What the heck was this man doing to her?! She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and imagined herself seated at a conference table. That helped. A little.
"The accommodations are fine, Mr. Malfoy."
That sounded good, polite, not too aggressive. Deep breath. She was doing fine. He seemed to appear before her, offering one of the flutes. She needed to keep a close eye on this guy. He moved so quietly he could be on top of you before you had time to think. The fantasy she had envisioned in the stairwell of lying beneath her rescuer, their bodies joined, suddenly flashed in her mind. Only this time the phantom had a face - Mr Malfoy's face. She jumped and whispered, "Stop that!"
Her host raised an eyebrow in question, one corner of his beautiful mouth following suit. Ginny could feel a blush start in the center of her chest and work its way to the far ends of her body. She accepted the wine, took a sip, a big sip, then tentatively smiled up at him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. This is the first one-on-one meeting I've had with a client and I'm afraid I'm not handling it very well. I expected a restaurant, not that your house isn't beautiful, it just hadn't occurred to me that a client might want to meet at his house. I feel terribly overdressed, or maybe underdressed, and..."
He sat on the other end of the sofa, not crowding her, but still too close for her liking since just being in the same room as this man made it far too easy for her to forget her train of thought and find herself on the 5:02 to Intimate Fantasyland. When he turned to face her, his knee brushed hers. Her imagination was beginning to make her long for a lobotomy because that tiny contact sent something resembling a jolt of electricity zinging through her. He waved his palm in front of her.
"I feel that your discomfort is my fault. I should have made the details of this meeting more clear to Mr. Abraham. Please, let me explain." He sipped his wine, his lips leaving a fleeting impression on the crystal, then set the flute on the coffee table. Ginny took another sip and put her glass next to his, grateful to rescue the beautiful crystal from the deathgrip of her sweaty palm. "I travel a great deal. I have had several bad experiences in restaurants - bottled water can be difficult to acquire, pleasantly spiced food is a rarity, even ice can become a hidden assassin." He shrugged. "Therefore, I avoid restaurants whenever possible. Mrs. Schwartz is an excellent cook and I can eat without fear of retribution from the food. Unfortunately, it did not occur to me that you might feel less than comfortable meeting a client, especially a male client, in such an intimate setting. I assure you, business is the only thing on my mind...at the moment."
Though said in a very businesslike tone, Ginny could have sworn there was more to that `at the moment' than met the ear, but she chalked it up to her imagination, which seemed to have gone into overdrive the moment he had walked into the room.
His explanation for his choice of meeting locations was perfectly logical. After her trip to Europe, where she had learned the true meaning of gastronomic distress, she could sympathize with his plight. Her smile genuine this time, she held out her hand to him.
"Do you think we could just start again? I'm Ginny Weasley."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Weasley."
He started to kiss the back of her hand; then, with a sardonic grin, changed his mind and gave it one brisk, businesslike shake. "I am Draco Malfoy. I would prefer it if you would call me Draco."
Ginny reacted internally to the break in contact as her fingers slipped from his grasp with something akin to disappointment. Had she wanted him to kiss her hand again?
"Please, call me Ginny."
"Ginny."
His eyes caught and held hers like a spider's web capturing a butterfly. She had the feeling of drowning; no, of being engulfed in some wonderful, warm liquid that filled her so full of life that she felt like exploding. She knew with absolute clarity that she could not break the spell. She would bask in his wonderful chocolate gaze until he looked away, or Hell froze over, whichever came first.
He leaned closer to her, his warm palm sliding over her shoulder to grasp the back of her neck. His hot, champagne-scented breath brushed her cheek. She luxuriated in warm chocolate caressing every part of her body. She was lost.
How easy it would be to take her now. She is beautiful, her smile casting warmth into a cold heart. Listen! Her pulse speeds with her excitement. She craves the darkness. She wants you inside of her, piercing her, devouring her. So easy. No! Not this woman!
Draco stood, breaking the spell, and Ginny felt as if someone had thrown ice water in her face. She started to lean back against the sofa then thought better of it and reached for her champagne. A deep swallow of the cool liquid made her feel a little better. She felt as though she had just been rescued again, but she wasn't sure from what or by whom.
Draco placed her briefcase on the coffee table that fronted the sofa, retrieved his wine from the table and sat in the chair next to the sofa. "I assume you will need that for our meeting. I would prefer to conclude our business before dinner, if you don't mind. I find I enjoy my meal more if there is no unfinished business to disturb digestion."
Ginny murmured, "Thank you," and forced her mind back into business mode. She opened the briefcase and took out a legal pad and pen. The fuzzy warmth that had seemed to engulf her just seconds before lingered at the edge of her mind, not enough to be distracting, but enough to let her know that she wanted that feeling again. Whatever it was that had held her for those few moments, she was certain it would be extremely addictive.
Giving her head a little shake, Ginny told herself she was being foolish. It had been an almost-kiss, something Mr Malfoy had thought better of before completing it. She had had those before. But, somehow, this one had been different. `He's a client,' she chastised herself, `you shouldn't be thinking about kissing him anyway. Thank goodness he had the good sense to keep things on a business level. Now try following his example, why don't you?'
"Can you give me an idea of your specific desires for this project, Mr. Malfoy? Do you want a split-level, traditional, pillared? How many bedrooms?"
He seemed a little distracted. Then he looked directly at her, his gaze fierce, but not like before. This was less personal, more...angry? She wasn't sure.
"I leave it completely in your hands, Ginny. Build me a home, one that comes from your heart just for me." His voice softened, his eyes turning sad for a second. "I have been too long without a home." The fire returned. "I chose you because I knew it would be within you. You can give me a home!"
Ginny was slightly taken aback by the vehemence of his proclamation. Her voice was pitched higher than she would have liked. "You don't have any specifications? A budget?"
His white-bearded chin slashed the air like a silvery dagger as he shook his head once. "Money is no object," his tone was bitter, "I have plenty of Galleons. My only specification is that you must design it and personally oversee that your design is followed to the letter. Do I have your word?"
The air between them seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his question. Ginny took a deep breath. She had the feeling that she was making this decision about more than a job.
"Yes, Draco, I will design the house myself and supervise everything."
He nodded and stood, offering his hand. "Then our business is at an end. Shall we dine?"
Ginny quickly replaced the legal pad in her briefcase, then placed her hand in his. She expected his palm to be warm and she wasn't disappointed. What she hadn't expected, although by now she should have, was the instant electricity that came from his touch. He lifted gently, pulling her to her feet. The wine must have been stronger than she thought because suddenly her high heels seemed to be three feet tall. She stumbled slightly while trying to adjust to the height. Draco quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his solid body to steady her. Her arms seemed to slip around his waist of their own accord. For the breath of a second, she felt his arms tighten around her in a near rib-crushing embrace, then he raised his hands to her shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could look down into her eyes, his breath fanning her cheek as he spoke.
"Are you all right?"
Ginny blushed to her toes. The flush came from the fact that she wasn't completely certain she had stumbled solely from the wine. Could she have subconsciously wanted him to take her into his arms so much that she had arranged it? That was so deceptive! But it had worked!
"I'm fine."
She was breathless, her lips actually tingling in anticipation of his kiss. She dropped her head back slightly, to see him better she told herself, but she knew it was really an invitation. One he decided not to R.S.V.P. His nostrils flared and he pushed her firmly to arms' length.
"Perhaps you need sustenance to counter the effects of the wine."
He stepped away from her and around the end of the sofa. With a sweep of his hand he motioned for her to pass in front of him. Hiding her disappointment, she complied. He placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her into the dining room.
Where the living room had been furnished in `quaint and homey', this room was all sparse luxury. A mahogany table, no bigger than six feet in diameter, stood in the middle of the room. The chairs - there were only two - had deep red cushions on the seats and backs, the one on the back embroidered in black with a coat of arms: a rose in full bloom above turbulent waves.
A fireplace in one wall cast its soft glow into the room. A crystal chandelier holding at least thirty candles hung above the table, softly lighting the table. Four-candle candelabra stood in each corner of the room to chase away any shadows that might escape the chandelier and fireplace.
The table was set with china so fine you could see the candlelight through it. The silverware shone with the dull glow of real silver. Fine crystal, identical to the flutes, completed the picture. Draco guided her to a chair, which he pulled from beneath the table, waited for her to be seated, then effortlessly slid it, and her, back up to the table. He took the seat to the left of hers, a chair that was half again as large as the one in which she sat. It resembled a throne, and he took his place there as if he had been born to it.
Ginny gave a nervous giggle.
"If you looked up `intimate dinner for two' in Webster's I think you'd find this room. It's beautiful." Draco smiled, his eyes alight. "I'm glad you like it. I admit I have a weakness for the finer things in life."
"Is it all authentic?"
One corner of his mouth rose in a sneer of contempt. "At the risk of sounding like a snob, I hate replicas." His mouth relaxed into a sensuous smile. "I am comfortable with antiques, perhaps because I am one."
His deep chuckle vibrated the air, sending a shiver though Ginny. The fire at his back bathed him in a reddish glow, almost as if he were a living, breathing candle. She knew she was a moth being drawn to that flame. Should she fight to keep from being consumed by his fire? What would it feel like to bask in that warmth, to let him burn within her body as he was currently burning her mind? A half memory flitted across her consciousness, chocolate heat all around her, inside her. She shivered.
"Are you cold, Ginny?"
"Not at all."
Her desire-glazed eyes and the airy, sex siren voice in which she spoke were almost his undoing. His smile faded, his eyes narrowing as he caught the scent of her passion.
She is waiting, hot and ready for the seduction only you can give. Take her now!
He started to rise from the table just as Mrs. Schwartz entered with a large tray in her hands. Shaking his head to clear away the last remnants of the rabid lust that had almost overwhelmed him, he chastised himself. This dinner had not been one of his better ideas. The temptation was too great, his body far too desirous of the lovely lady before him. He gave an imperceptible nod to Mrs. Schwartz as she placed filled salad plates on top of the dinner plates before each of them. She placed a small turntable with several different salad dressings on the table between them, then turned to him.
"Mr. Malfoy, there was a call for you from a Mr. Dylan. Since you left instructions not to be disturbed, I insisted that he leave a message. He said it was most urgent that he reach you before 10 this evening."
Draco nodded with a slow blink of dismissal. He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist and frowned. "I hope you will forgive me, Miss Parker, but I must make this call. Please enjoy your dinner. This may take a while and I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."
Stepping around his chair, he came closer to her side. Ginny had to turn in her chair to look up at him, a move that made her dress ride high enough on her thigh to make him take a deep breath. He pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of her.
"This is a number at which I can be reached anytime. Please do not hesitate to call should you...need...anything." Pushing his control to its limit, he took her hand from where it rested on the arm of her chair and brought it to his lips. The heat of life coursed through the veins of her tiny hand. She smelled clean, a perfume wafting from her skin that took him a minute to place. When his sensitive nose made the identification - baby lotion - his loins tightened to the bursting point. Gritting his teeth, he returned her hand to the chair and straightened.
"Once again, forgive me for cutting short our dinner."
Ginny smiled up at him. "Of course. But I really wouldn't mind waiting."
He shook is head.
"It might be hours. I'll dine after." A secret, slightly evil grin curved his lips. "Good evening, Ginny." He dipped his head, more of a bow, really, turned and quickly exited the dining room.
Though it was complete nonsense and Ginny knew it, she would have sworn the room grew colder the minute he was gone.