Sara came out of the bathroom as if summoned by his thoughts. She had
touched up her lipstick and put on a short silver chain with a green stone
pendant that nestled just above her cleavage. Swinging from her ears were
tastefully faux rhinestone and glass chandelier earrings.
Ian burned to replace them with the real diamonds and emeralds she deserved, but was careful to keep such thoughts from his face. Instead, he held out his arm for her to take. Sara smiled at his gentlemanly gesture, but neatly avoided it in the form of a detour for her coat.
"It doesn't exactly go, does it?" Sara asked as she hefted the jacket, looking at the contrast between black leather and green satin. Making a face, Pez shrugged into the coat. The leather creaked slightly as she walked to the door.
"You look lovely. I shall be the envy of every man there." To Ian the biker jacket and fancy dress seemed indicative of the nature of the woman next to him, vulnerable heart under a tough exterior.
He knew Sara was afraid of losing anyone else she cared about. Nottingham had waged an uphill battle just convincing her to take a chance on him. Without the guiding hand of Fate, in the guise of a static-laden phone call, he would still be quite firmly on the outside.
The fight for her heart he was going to continue to wage one day at a time, lest the enormity of the struggle overwhelm them both. Ian had to remember not to push her to acknowledge his feelings, the love he felt for her made her uncomfortable. He knew it was her fear, and her belief that anyone she cared about was doomed to die, but her previous rejections had hurt him.
Ian didn't know if he could take it again, not once she had begun to open up to him, so things were going to go slow and easy. No matter what. Sara was not going to be able to pull him into a whirlwind relationship, only to dump him when he started to get to close. He'd seen it before, and he wasn't going to fall into the trap. He wanted more than temporary access to Sara's body, he wanted to be part of her heart and soul.
"You're awfully quiet," Sara teased, tugging on his arm. They had made it all the way to the doors of the apartment building in silence, which she found odd. Most first dates the guy couldn't shut up, babbling on and on in an effort to impress her. The quiet was actually nice, it was wonderful to be with someone self assured enough to just be with her, but she wanted to get to know Nottingham better.
"Just thinking about this evening. I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed one of Mr. Iron's limousines. I have a great many skills, but finding a parking space in downtown New York is not one of them," Ian quirked his mouth upward depreciatingly.
"Mine either. It's good to be a cop. I just park the Buell wherever I want." Sara chuckled. There were more bennies than free coffee at Starbucks for being an officer of the law, and those parking permits were the best of the bunch.
Nottingham held the door open for Sara. She stepped carefully on her black high heels out into the bitter cold; mid-February in NYC was still very much winter. There were dirty pockets of snow on the ground, and ice slicked the concrete, waiting to trip the unwary. The building super was too tightfisted to salt, and too lazy to scrape, so gaining entry to the building was always an adventure. In these shoes it could be more than adventure, it could be a medical mishap.
If Sara didn't hate the idea of taking care of a yard, she'd volunteer for one of those 'Officer Next Door' programs and buy a house of her own. The program made the housing pretty cheap, at least for New York. She cast a sideways glance at her dark shadow. Wonder where he'd hang out to watch me then? No conveniently flat rooftops or fire escapes on single-family dwellings.
Nottingham crooked an elbow, and this time Sara took it. She was grateful for Ian's arm as they walked across slippery concrete. With his assistance, she made it to the vehicle without incident. The limousine was the stretch version, a long silvery-grey testament to wealth and privilege. Sara had never ridden in one, but she'd heard about all the luxuries built into them, and she was looking forward to seeing what was really inside.
Ian sat back with a grin, watching Sara push every single button she could find. Her behavior was very similar to that of a child unleashed in a candy store. Nottingham had been afraid that the car ride might have turned out to be awkward. It looked like he had nothing to worry about; Sara was enchantingly captivated by the interior of their transport.
In a way Ian was relieved, for there had been no uncomfortable silences, but he was a little put out that Sara could ignore his closeness so entirely. He found her presence completely distracting. It was exceedingly difficult for him to turn his attention to anything besides the way she smiled, the light touches she bestowed without thought, or the flash of thigh as she leaned forward to play with the control panel yet again.
Nottingham knew he had to get a grip; they would be much closer than this while dancing. Sara would not be impressed if he trod on her feet because he wasn't paying attention to the steps. At least he had a rudimentary knowledge of the dance. Many of Mr. Irons formal entertainments, while in Argentina on business a few years ago, had showcased the dance.
The Tango had captured Ian's attention in a way that no other organized dance form had ever managed. One evening he had learned about the history of the dance from one of the performers as she waited backstage. She had been all to willing to tell him it's origins and development, as proud of the dance as she was her people.
Ian couldn't help but wonder how much Sara really knew about the Tango. It was passionate, yes. It was also aggressive. In fact, the dance had originated as a form of sexual dueling between a prostitute and her potential partner or pimp. Nottingham wondered if he should mention that little fact, but decided not to. He would rather not risk offending her before they even got out of the vehicle, for she was bound to take the information negatively.
A/N: Cindy, see more chapters! You will get to see them dance. I promise. Heh. Sparky, how do you like the Ian perspective? Sorry I made you wait so long for this sequel. Thelma- Pinky and the Brain were my favorites from Animaniacs. I was glad when they got their own show. (and I'm in my thirties. Proof that you really DON'T have to grow up) I think we can all agree it was 'that good a lapdance' LOL. SciFiGirl- Hoping you are enjoying these next few chapters. OhThoseEyes- I hope I haven't kept you waiting to long for a new chapter. I had Imbolc festivities this week, which slowed me down some.
Ian burned to replace them with the real diamonds and emeralds she deserved, but was careful to keep such thoughts from his face. Instead, he held out his arm for her to take. Sara smiled at his gentlemanly gesture, but neatly avoided it in the form of a detour for her coat.
"It doesn't exactly go, does it?" Sara asked as she hefted the jacket, looking at the contrast between black leather and green satin. Making a face, Pez shrugged into the coat. The leather creaked slightly as she walked to the door.
"You look lovely. I shall be the envy of every man there." To Ian the biker jacket and fancy dress seemed indicative of the nature of the woman next to him, vulnerable heart under a tough exterior.
He knew Sara was afraid of losing anyone else she cared about. Nottingham had waged an uphill battle just convincing her to take a chance on him. Without the guiding hand of Fate, in the guise of a static-laden phone call, he would still be quite firmly on the outside.
The fight for her heart he was going to continue to wage one day at a time, lest the enormity of the struggle overwhelm them both. Ian had to remember not to push her to acknowledge his feelings, the love he felt for her made her uncomfortable. He knew it was her fear, and her belief that anyone she cared about was doomed to die, but her previous rejections had hurt him.
Ian didn't know if he could take it again, not once she had begun to open up to him, so things were going to go slow and easy. No matter what. Sara was not going to be able to pull him into a whirlwind relationship, only to dump him when he started to get to close. He'd seen it before, and he wasn't going to fall into the trap. He wanted more than temporary access to Sara's body, he wanted to be part of her heart and soul.
"You're awfully quiet," Sara teased, tugging on his arm. They had made it all the way to the doors of the apartment building in silence, which she found odd. Most first dates the guy couldn't shut up, babbling on and on in an effort to impress her. The quiet was actually nice, it was wonderful to be with someone self assured enough to just be with her, but she wanted to get to know Nottingham better.
"Just thinking about this evening. I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed one of Mr. Iron's limousines. I have a great many skills, but finding a parking space in downtown New York is not one of them," Ian quirked his mouth upward depreciatingly.
"Mine either. It's good to be a cop. I just park the Buell wherever I want." Sara chuckled. There were more bennies than free coffee at Starbucks for being an officer of the law, and those parking permits were the best of the bunch.
Nottingham held the door open for Sara. She stepped carefully on her black high heels out into the bitter cold; mid-February in NYC was still very much winter. There were dirty pockets of snow on the ground, and ice slicked the concrete, waiting to trip the unwary. The building super was too tightfisted to salt, and too lazy to scrape, so gaining entry to the building was always an adventure. In these shoes it could be more than adventure, it could be a medical mishap.
If Sara didn't hate the idea of taking care of a yard, she'd volunteer for one of those 'Officer Next Door' programs and buy a house of her own. The program made the housing pretty cheap, at least for New York. She cast a sideways glance at her dark shadow. Wonder where he'd hang out to watch me then? No conveniently flat rooftops or fire escapes on single-family dwellings.
Nottingham crooked an elbow, and this time Sara took it. She was grateful for Ian's arm as they walked across slippery concrete. With his assistance, she made it to the vehicle without incident. The limousine was the stretch version, a long silvery-grey testament to wealth and privilege. Sara had never ridden in one, but she'd heard about all the luxuries built into them, and she was looking forward to seeing what was really inside.
Ian sat back with a grin, watching Sara push every single button she could find. Her behavior was very similar to that of a child unleashed in a candy store. Nottingham had been afraid that the car ride might have turned out to be awkward. It looked like he had nothing to worry about; Sara was enchantingly captivated by the interior of their transport.
In a way Ian was relieved, for there had been no uncomfortable silences, but he was a little put out that Sara could ignore his closeness so entirely. He found her presence completely distracting. It was exceedingly difficult for him to turn his attention to anything besides the way she smiled, the light touches she bestowed without thought, or the flash of thigh as she leaned forward to play with the control panel yet again.
Nottingham knew he had to get a grip; they would be much closer than this while dancing. Sara would not be impressed if he trod on her feet because he wasn't paying attention to the steps. At least he had a rudimentary knowledge of the dance. Many of Mr. Irons formal entertainments, while in Argentina on business a few years ago, had showcased the dance.
The Tango had captured Ian's attention in a way that no other organized dance form had ever managed. One evening he had learned about the history of the dance from one of the performers as she waited backstage. She had been all to willing to tell him it's origins and development, as proud of the dance as she was her people.
Ian couldn't help but wonder how much Sara really knew about the Tango. It was passionate, yes. It was also aggressive. In fact, the dance had originated as a form of sexual dueling between a prostitute and her potential partner or pimp. Nottingham wondered if he should mention that little fact, but decided not to. He would rather not risk offending her before they even got out of the vehicle, for she was bound to take the information negatively.
A/N: Cindy, see more chapters! You will get to see them dance. I promise. Heh. Sparky, how do you like the Ian perspective? Sorry I made you wait so long for this sequel. Thelma- Pinky and the Brain were my favorites from Animaniacs. I was glad when they got their own show. (and I'm in my thirties. Proof that you really DON'T have to grow up) I think we can all agree it was 'that good a lapdance' LOL. SciFiGirl- Hoping you are enjoying these next few chapters. OhThoseEyes- I hope I haven't kept you waiting to long for a new chapter. I had Imbolc festivities this week, which slowed me down some.