"What do you want?" Hermione barked at him the moment she opened the again.

His eyes glacial eyes widened slightly when he caught the sight of her dishabille, but he quickly recovered.

"I'm looking for a Miss Granger. Have you seen her?" His cocky grin was back.

"May I ask, who is looking for her?" Hermione played along, shivering. Their last encounter left her so fragile that she could barely get out of bed. His presence was a virus, and she was flirting with danger again, willing to risk another infection.

He leaned into the small opening. "An admirer." The way he said it made it sound like a threat and Hermione hated that a sinister part of her liked it.

"There must be a great misunderstanding then, because this Miss Granger has no admirers, only rogues and scoundrels come to her door."

Unmoved by her insult, he persisted, "But this one wishes to atone and explain." He held up a bouquet of roses. Red roses, like the ones he sent her earlier this week. "He brought a few very thirsty friends."

Damn that man!

Why was she letting him get under her skin?

She imagined inviting him in, listening to his florid soliloquy on why he treated her like a whore, and then she'd take that bouquet of his … and whack him on the head with it. How she'd love to see the look on his face when he'll realize she's not some obedient dog that he can train. But she also knew that there was little chance of this happening.

Ending their game, she kept her eyes firmly on the flowers as she spoke, "I'm not sure that's wise, sir. You said we had nothing more to discuss."

"The flowers are dying, Miss Granger. You'd best fetch them a vase."

Nice trick. Did he think she was that gullible? She was born at night, just not last night. Hermione saw right through his not-so-clever ploy.

"They were dying from the moment their stems were cut, so I don't think they care if they wither in your hands or in a vase," she said as steadily as she could.

"You are cruel, Miss Granger. You don't think they're suffering?"

"They're just flowers, Mr. Malfoy."

"If you deny them water, you should put them out of their misery." He raised his hand to one of the flowers and plucked one petal from it, letting it float down on her side of the door.

Then he ripped off another, and another, before decapitating the poor stem and crushing the petals in his fist, leaving the poor thing completely stripped. His mutilation was blasphemous. It was just a flower, but it was hers and it was beautiful. It deserved to be admired not discarded like rubbish.

"Stop!" she cried out when he reached for another stem. "I'll put them in water."

Closing the door, she unlocked the chain and threw the door open, inviting him in. He stepped forward, bringing his toxic scent with him. Her senses started to reel as she remembered the moment she noticed it that very first time in the conference room. But she quickly caught herself. Hermione was not going to be so weak this time. She caught the loose thread and tied it up before he could unravel her more. He stalked closer to her and planted the bouquet into the fold of her arms. She took it into the kitchen and filled the vase with water before stuffing the surviving flowers in and fluffing them out. Staring at red blossoms she wondered why they were associated with romance. She didn't feel romanced by Lucius Malfoy. She felt manipulated and controlled.

His footsteps on the kitchen tiles told her he followed her in.

"So what's next, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, staring at the roses to disguise her nerves. "If my memory serves me correctly, you said it's best that we try to forget each other."

"I did say that. But I've been wrong before."

Hermione turned to look at him. That's it? He could just change his mind and expect her to act grateful for it?

He closed the space between them and reached out to brush off a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. She ducked and stepped out of the way. He lowered his hand.

Despite giving him that impression, Hermione wasn't afraid of him. More like afraid of what his touch might do. She wasn't going to give in to him. She shivered and then coughed several times, turning her face away from him.

He scowled. "Are you ill?"

"No."

Lucius moved closer, backing her against the refrigerator. There was no way to evade him now.

"Have you a fever? Chills?" he asked, his eyes scanning her body.

She hated when people pulled the GP routine.

"No, I'm fine," she said.

"You're shivering."

"Because I'm standing in the kitchen talking to you instead of getting dressed."

Still scowling, he backed off. "There's a draft in this room. You should get dressed. I'll wait."

Hermione wanted to argue with him, but knew that she'd be more comfortable dealing with him with as much clothes on as possible. Stalking off to her bedroom, she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and used a charm to dry off her hair.

Out of politeness, she offered him tea and he accepted. "Well?" she asked him as soon as she poured their cups and took a seat at the table. "Why are you here? And how did you even know where I live?"

He took a long sip, then set his cup aside. "I have my ways, and you're not that difficult to find. You didn't come to work for several days."

She folded her arms over her chest. "That's none of your business. Don't act like you suddenly care."

Hermione knew it wasn't concern for her well-being that caused him to materialize on her stoop. Oh, no. With him, there was always a strategy. Always a gambit.

"I came to talk to you about what happened. That's why I came here tonight."

Hermione nearly spilled her tea and steadied her cup.

"I never meant for it to happen the way it did. Believe me, that wasn't at all the reason why I initially contacted you." His fingers toyed with the handle of his cup. "But it did happen and, although it's not a custom of mine, I want to apologize. You said no gift can make up for certain things, so apology is the most I can offer you in this situation."

"Then why did you bring me flowers?"

His frosty eyes bore right into hers. "You said that you liked them." He leaned closer. "I was too selfish to think clearly about my actions beforehand. I acted impulsively. I didn't mean to … make you weep like that. I thought you enjoyed it. When I realized my mistake, it was already too late."

"I did enjoy it. What I didn't enjoy was being kicked out afterwards. You used me and then just … left. Like I was nothing, just something to assuage your needs. I know you've been eavesdropping on me, so you probably know that it's been a long time for me, but contrary to your beliefs, I'm not so desperate for sex to just do it with anyone. I liked the way you made me feel and I was attracted to you, so I did. I didn't think you'd treat me like a parasite afterwards."

He shook his head. "We had a misunderstanding then. I thought you cried because you regret it. Here I was trying to atone for one horrific act, while committing a much more heinous one."

"Wait, you thought I was crying because of … Oh. That's not why … I didn't cry because of regret. I was ashamed and confused." Her voice quavered as she explained, "I liked what you did to me, but I felt like I wasn't supposed to. I mean I'm not the kind of witch to just show up uninvited and then just let someone have their way with me. But I liked it because it was you. I liked the way you spoke to me and how you made me feel during. But it all felt wrong because it's not me. Then when you said it was all a mistake, it felt like it was an irrefutable proof of my degradation."

Pushing his tea aside, he closed the space between them.

"There is nothing wrong with liking what we did. I'm glad you liked it. I did too. In fact, I liked it so much that I'm in danger of becoming an addict."

Her head was spinning. She felt strange vein of relief and disappointment. Did he come here with his flowers and apologies to take more from her? To just keep feeding his addiction until he was cured of it?

"So that's why you're here? To feed your habit?"

His eyes flashed. "No. I told you why I came here. Now that I know we had a minor miscommunication, I do have a proposition for you, but there are some things we'll need to talk about first."

An excited thrill traveled down her body, dissipating with an electric tingle between her thighs. Hermione wasn't certain what to say next. Conflicted, she wasn't sure if she was even ready to forgive him yet. He hurt her, but not because he wanted to use her; he only acted the way he did was because he thought she was crying in regret. But at the same time she couldn't let him sink his claws into her. She was afraid of who she would become if she stayed around him for an extended period. During one encounter, she was transformed into a creature controlled by her primal senses. She let him tell her what to do and, in a haunting way, liked it … was it a weakness? Why did she like something that should be degrading to her?

Lucius raised her chin up. "Have dinner with me."

Confusion flooded her. "Why? And I can't. My friends are stopping by later."

Cocking his head, he asked, "Not now. Tomorrow. And why what?"

"Why dinner? You don't have to ingratiate your way into my knickers again. You obviously know how to get what you want without taking me anywhere," Hermione acidly remarked. "Why waste your time with me?"

"Why do you think I'm wasting time? It's not how I see it. And I'm not some youngster after an easy shag. What I want is a little more … complex."

"Then what do you want?"

"Have dinner with me and I'll tell you."

Hermione despised herself for wanting to, for not having the power to turn him away. She was never so enslaved by any wizard like this before. This wasn't normal … or healthy.

"Yes." The word left her mouth without passing through her brain. There was a fatalistic inevitability in all this. It didn't matter what happened or what was supposed to happen. It didn't matter that he pushed her away and then tracked her down. It only felt oddly right that sooner or later their lives should be entwined somehow. She couldn't go back to the way she was before he made love to her. It's like with one act, he'd set in motion some sort of metamorphosis in her, only Hermione needed him to complete the transformation. She couldn't complete it without him.

"That's a good girl." He rose from his seat. "Tell your friends not to overstay. You'll need a proper rest for tomorrow."

He's leaving? She felt a violent stirring of disappointment in her muscles.

"You're not staying a bit longer?" she asked. So many questions were still unanswered and … she wasn't ready for him to leave.

Smirking, he helped her out of her seat and stood over her very close. "No, I don't want to keep you. Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. The Samovar Room. If you'll change your mind, I won't bother you again." Hermione nodded, standing perfectly still as he lay a light kiss to her cheek.

Giving her arm a light squeeze, he turned and walked out, letting himself out.

The skin of her cheek still tingled long after he was gone.

Hermione fidgeted with her coat as she waited in the restaurant's lobby, scanning the tables and the bar area for any sign of Lucius. She trembled in her heels when she thought that he might be standing her up. Or perhaps he forgot. Each possibility seemed more humiliating than the next. She clenched her jaw as she looked at the clock. He was five minutes late.

"You changed your hair," said a voice behind her.

She shuddered when she felt his hands wrap around her collar to help her out of the coat.

Self-consciously, she touched her straightened locks. "Do you like it?"

His breath bristled her ear, "I like you either way."

She felt her face turn as red as her dress. Again, she shivered as his hand slid down the small of her back.

"Come. Our table is waiting."

Hermione felt ill at ease walking in front of him. She made a mad decision of foregoing all unmentionables this evening because the silk of her dress made every pair of knickers starkly visible and the back of the dress was too low for any brassieres. As she walked to their table, the breeze up her dress made her painfully aware of her lower half. What if he could tell she was sans underwear?

They sat a private booth with a replica of Karl Briullov's painting hanging over it. The Horsewoman … that was the name of it. She stared at the subject in the painting: a well-dressed noblewoman atop the black stallion. Atop the rearing horse, she looked calm and collected, absolutely unfazed by the actions of her steed. When Lucius chose to sit next to her instead of across, Hermione wished she could feel as calm as the rider in the painting.

"Unique, isn't it?" Lucius asked as he fastidiously straightened the flatware.

"I've never been here before. It's very nice," she commented, feeling a bit staggered by the elegant decor.

He perused his menu for a nanosecond before snapping it shut. "I want you to know that you are free to leave at any time. I don't want you to feel as though you're obligated to stay for any reason," he said.

Her body visibly tensed when she felt his palm on her thigh.

"Relax," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Save your nerves for when I tell you the truth."

"The truth?" she squeaked out.

With his other hand, he touched the base of her neck. His touch singed her skin.

"About what I want from you. About what I want to do to you." The hand on her thigh inched up in subtle increments. "About every salacious fantasy you've inspired."

Hermione shut her eyes, struggling to breath evenly as his hand glided higher still.

"Mr. Malfoy, please. We're in public." Her voice was strained and hoarse.

His dark smirk resurfaced. "We're not doing anything untoward. We're just two friends having a quiet dinner. Besides, this restaurant is renowned for its discretion." He nodded to his left. "That Italian Ambassador, for example, is here with a witch who's not his wife. You hardly have to worry about us causing a scandal."

"Still … I'm not good with public displays of—"

"Pleasure?" he supplied, casually draping his napkin across his lap.

She couldn't answer him. It was as though her vocal cords were severed.

He tilted his head. "You might find my offer tonight outrageous. Shocking, even. You may not want to see me again afterwards, and that's fine. Your word will be final and I won't pursue you further."

Hermione fought back another shiver as she recalled how angry she'd been with him the night before and how he unilaterally decided to show up on her doorstep, not giving her any say in the matter. Yet by the time he left, she wished he wouldn't.

She opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate when the waiter interrupted them. He greeted Lucius amicably. It was clear that the enigmatic wizard was a regular here.

"We'll start with the caviar sampler and a seventy nine reserve to start, followed by a five course menu."

The waiter nodded approvingly. "Very good, sir."

"A bit excessive, isn't?" Hermione asked him when the waiter disappeared.

"It's an authentic Russian restaurant, Miss Granger. The servings are not enormous."

Before Hermione could say anything else, the waiter returned carrying a silver tray laden with small dishes, crystal flutes, and a bottle of champagne. He poured a small about for Lucius, who promptly set the glass before Hermione. She took a small sip. Bubbles of champagne tickled her nose and danced smoothly down the back of her throat. Unsurprisingly, it was the best kind she'd ever tasted.

Lucius flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you approve?" he asked.

Hermione was about to answer in affirmative when she nearly chocked as his fingertips swept along the skin of her thigh again.

The waiter panicked. "Is something the matter with it, ma'am?"

She emphatically shook her head, her eyes watering.

"Oh, no. She definitely likes it," Lucius told him as his hand continued to caress her. "It is, however, her first visit to the Samovar Room and she is not familiar with some of the items on the menu. If you would explain them to her?"

Oh, no! He wouldn't! He wouldn't dare!

"Of course, sir." The waiter grinned as he began to recite the elaborate meal.

Lucius's hand moved higher to the edge of her dress. Feeling blood rush to her head, Hermione made a stalwart effort to keep her legs together while feigning paying attention to their waiter's words, but only caught small snippets. Her eyes fastened on each crystal caviar dish as the waiter pointed it out. Beluga. Oscietra. Sevruga. Keta. That one was red. Red like the roses. Red like the word of her deliverance. Pike. The pale yellow.

She had smother a gasp as Lucius's hand crept underneath the dress. Any moment he would know … any moment he would discover what was missing from her outfit. He would assume her choice reflected her wishes for tonight. Finally, the waiter stopped and so did Lucius.

"Do you have any more questions, ma'am?"

"No. Thank you. It all sounds delicious," Hermione replied to the oblivious waiter. Once more he nodded and disappeared, leaving them completely alone.

Hermione's heart was still rattling in her chest as Lucius slid his palm very slowly down to her knee and released her. With that same hand, he raised his flute and studied the effervescent golden liquid.

"This vintage is your age, I believe." He didn't wait for her answer. "I never cared much for such young variety before. Too simple. The taste is too sweet initially, but quickly erodes and becomes too bitter. But the seventy-nine was a rare year. It has a deeper, long-lasting flavor. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Fresh and light. Perfect." His eyes locked with hers. Hermione swore they could cut through diamonds. "I developed quite a craving for it lately." He touched his glass to hers. "Your health." He sipped, not breaking his gaze.

He gestured towards the caviar dishes, and handed her the crystal spoon. "The only way to eat it is alone."

She looked at the little assortment between them. "Doesn't look like it'll be enough for two people."

"It's best consumed in small amounts. After a taste, one usually knows what one likes and whether they want more of it. I know I do. Do you?"

"Do I what?" she asked, squirming under his gaze.

"Do you know what you like, Hermione Granger?"

She felt her cheeks flush crimson. He stared at her until she felt compelled to nod.

"Good girl." He lifted his spoon, scooping up the red caviar, and brought it to her lips. "Have you ever tried this one?"

She shook her head.

"Taste."

Instinctively, she opened her mouth and rolled the beads on her tongue before swallowing and reflectively reached with her own spoon for more.

"You like it."

She nodded, smiling, then her face fell. "Mr. Malfoy, as much as I'm enjoying our little dance here, I really need to know why you invited me here tonight."

He lowered his spoon. "I have an offer for you."

"What kind of offer?"

Without hesitation, he evenly answered, "I've been offered a diplomatic post in Rome, and I'd like you to accompany me."

Hermione gawked at him, unsure she'd heard him right. "I don't think I heard you correctly."

His tone remained dark and deliberate. "Come with me to Rome next month and stay with me for the duration of my appointment there. I'll take care of all your arrangements. You won't have a thing to worry about other than how to arrange your daily activities."

He smoothly took a sip of champagne as Hermione continued to gape at him.

She formed her words carefully, trying not to reveal how absurd and ludicrous she found the whole proposal. "You want me to live with you in another country?"

"I do," he solemnly replied.

"Are you asking me to be your mistress?" she dropped her voice at the last word.

He smirked again. She couldn't believe he found this amusing. Was he only teasing her again?

"I think you have a very good idea of what my intentions are, but it's not simply about sex with me. I'm not looking to purchase your affections. If you do choose to accompany me, I'll be the one taking charge of essential affairs, not using it as leverage to chain you to my bed post. Unless, of course, you request it."

She pursed her lips as she leaned back to look him over. "Our main and most prolonged interaction this week has been purely sexual. Now you're asking me to come live with you in a foreign country, and you expect me to believe it's not about sex?"

He scooped a morsel of gray caviar into his mouth. "Not to sound eccentric, but even sex is not entirely about sex for me. I like control aspect of it. It is more orgasmic than the act itself. If you choose to come with me, it'll be on my terms." Lucius stared so hard at her, Hermione felt herself begin to burn under his gaze again. "If you agree, you will give up certain freedoms, but you will always have a choice to walk away without fear of retribution. Do you understand?"

Attempting to cross her legs under the table, Hermione hit her knee. She shut her eyes against the pain and bit her lip to keep from crying out loud. The proposition was insane. She should be indignant, or scandalized that he should even say so out loud, but she wasn't. She was intrigued. With Lucius Malfoy, the proper boundaries of social interaction didn't seem to exist. They vanished completely now and Hermione found herself entranced more than anything else. The austerity with which he spoke was unnerving, but it was also … sexy. The whole offer had a perverse, seductive madness to it.

The air was thick between them. Hermione felt the chill of his eyes, cold enough to burn, igniting each nerve in her body as she contemplated what to say next. The waiter arrived with the first course of traditional Russian borsch. He laid out the bowls and cleared off the superfluous dishes of our caviar and went away without a word, sensing he must have interrupted something important. His interruption was enough to jolt Hermione out of her twisted musings. This couldn't be real.

"No, I don't understand." She blew lightly on her beetroot soup. "You expect me to give up my whole life to follow you around the globe? It makes no sense. Why would you even pick me? We are strangers to each other."

His manner was contemptuous as he spoke, "My reasons for choosing you are irrelevant. What matters is whether or not you want to explore our connection further. You said you know what you want. You've had a taste, now you have to decide if you want to make it your main diet."

She blinked. "It's not that simple. You expect me to just drop my job, my life here and just go off into the sunset with you where you'll take care of all my needs. Things like that don't happen. There are always strings. There is always a price to be paid."

"If you want to continue working, I'm not going to stop you. You can get transferred to a post in Rome, or I can request you to be part of my staff. I don't expect you to be locked in the tower. You can spend your days as you choose. I'll hardly be around until evening, so your time is your own; you can fill it as you like as long as you keep me informed of your whereabouts and return promptly by four each day. As to your other concerns, I don't expect you to be a slave to my needs. We will not share a bedroom. You'll have your own quarters."

"So not a mistress you seek then, only a prisoner," Hermione quipped.

He flicked his napkin at the corners of his mouth. "Wrong again. You'll have your wand and you'll be free to leave at any time. There will be no magic to keep you with me. If for any reason you'll choose to terminate our agreement, you'll be able to go on your merry way in an instant."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So hypothetically speaking, if I agreed to join you and then I decided to change my mind after one week, I could just go? Without you expecting any compensation from me?"

"Certainly," he coolly replied. "Each of us will carry on our separate ways."

She sipped at her soup while mulling over the questions in her head. "And how long would I stay with you? Hypothetically."

"As long as you want." He sat aside his empty bowl.

Hermione had barely made a dent in hers. Her appetite fled her since he dropped this proposal into her lap.

Chewing on her lip, she asked him her next question, "Have you done this before? You sound as though it's not the first time you're proposing this sort of … arrangement."

"Of course," he answered without skipping a beat. "It may sound cliché, but I'm a divorced and busy man. I lead a more nomadic lifestyle than I did in my previous years; therefore, I have neither time nor patience for traditional relationships. Professional courtesans don't interest me either. This is what works and what suits my tastes best. I know they don't appeal to many witches like you, but I had to ask. If you choose to decline, I'll perfectly understand."

She wondered how many, but then shook her head at the irrelevance of her concerns. It didn't matter how many. He was asking her now and she was tempted. Was it right? Hermione knew she wasn't in love with him. He was complicated, but intriguing. And if their past two encounters are anything to go by, Lucius Malfoy was definitely the best lover shel ever had. It would be a nice change from celibacy. And Rome! She could escape the numbing cold wetness to live the Mediterranean dream. If she ever wanted to get out of the capital, there were so many attractive options, like Tuscany. It was her cherished dream to see Florence and then just drive into the countryside with its famed cypresses and rolling hills of vineyards and olive groves. She'd been planning on a holiday like that forever, but dreaded doing it alone. From the pages of travel brochures those types of places were meant to be shared experiences, and she never met anyone with whom she could share something so life-altering.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," Hermione said at last. "It's just that if you made that happen, I'd feel indebted to you. There has to be some expectations aside from letting you control certain aspect of my life and occasionally sharing your bed."

"Like I said, I like the aspect of control … in everything. You like obeying me. Until you like it no more, it is what it is." He leveled his eyes at her and Hermione shriveled under their ferocity.

"I can't quit my job," she shakily told him, borsch forgotten in her bowl.

"The Ministry will get along just fine without you. However, as I've said, we can submit a transfer request. They won't refuse you. If they will, you can easily join my staff and we can customize a position that suits your talents and preferences." He leaned back in his seat. "What else holds you back?"

"Or you could make an excuse and leave right now and we'll speak no more on the subject," Lucius needled her.

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I can't decide without you answering some questions. I asked before and you brushed it off, but I still need to know why you picked me. I don't get it. You've had me, and it only cost you some flowers and a couple of presents. The thrill of the chase must be over, so why do this with me? There are probably tons of witches who would love to be in my place."

He was silent for a long time before choosing to answer, "Tons of witches who are not you. You have the qualities I prize, which are hard to find. I'd be a fool to let you slip away. You were not what I was looking for, but you turned out to be exactly what I need."

Hermione's eyes must have doubled in size. "But how? I am nothing special."

His eyes flashed darkly. "You are wrong."

The waiter appeared again an cleared their plates, setting down a course of baltic herring, boiled potatoes and onion dressing. Her stomach in summersaults, she stared at the appetizing composition on her plate. She needed to have this confusion resolved before she could eat. She knew that her frustrations with him, however emphatic and justified, were worthless. She wanted to cross the Rubicon and see what lay on the other side.

"I will do this," Hermione said, knowing she'll never have another wild opportunity like this again. "But I have one condition."

Alea iacta est.

One more chapter after this (seriously, I didn't realize it was this long!)

Thank you all so much for your interest and lovely comments. And thanks to loveleebee for submitting a request for those two to have another adventure only 30,000 feet above ground. I'm totally on it and they will be joining the Mile High Club very soon :D

Hugs,

Lana