Chapter 4

The sight of her made his heart hammer what seemed like a million beats all at once; a crescendo of sound-like sensations that crashed over him again and again. Wesker was overwhelmed The tall, slinky, seductive creature that was before him; this vision of perfection; could not be here to honor a dinner arrangement with him! No, she was an angel, and he had done the impossible, and died. Claire was simply ravishing.

"You look lovely." His voice was a low purr, silken and warm. Wesker ran his eyes over her body, starting at her feet and moving his way up to linger on her face. Claire's pale violet-tinged eyes seemed almost to glass over; as if she were melting in place. Her full, pink lips parted in surprise ever so slightly. A dark blush bruised her cheeks, and yet, she did the same to him; eyes roving in hunger over his muscular form. Her gaze lingered at his belt line.

Delicious.

As soon as I opened the door, his smell assaulted me. One whiff, and it was over. Every millimeter of my body was on fire, tingling and alive; almost as if I were electrified. I wanted him. And what a picture he cut.

Sitting at the left side of a circular mahogany table, feet crossed in front of him comfortably. His words sent tingles all up and down my spine, and I could feel his eyes on me; the blush creeping steadily up to my cheeks. Embarrassed, I assessed him in the same manner, tit for tat. Black slacks, a black overcoat over a red vest and white undershirt; with a matching red tie. His cuff links, I noticed, looked like they might have a small diamond in the center of them; the light from the fireplace behind him made them glint at me briefly. His posture was relaxed, natural, but then he was standing up, striding towards me.

In three steps he was upon me, taking my hand, kissing my cheek, and guiding me to my seat. The high backed chair was pulled out for me, and only when I motioned politely that I was comfortable, did he release my hand and sit opposite me.

"I am glad you decided to join me." Wesker stated, looking sincerely pleased. He was looking at me as if I were his universe; and I didn't quite know whether to be deeply flattered or scared. I felt relaxed and tense all at the same time; as contradicted as much in my body as I was in my mind. It took me a moment to realize that I was beginning to quiver as if I were violently cold. He fluidly stood up, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it upon my shoulders loosely. I took it without hesitation.

Mistake. A brand new wave of his scent encompassed me, making me lightheaded and a bit giddy; as if I had way too much wine. I felt hot all over, but still, I shook as if the coldest of breezes were blowing against my bare skin.

"I'm glad too." I replied weakly. Something was gnawing at the back of my mind, but in my current fog, the information eluded me. Like something had just clicked to the "on" position in my brain, the puzzle pieces falling together.

Wesker pored us each a glass of red wine, expensive, judging by the bottle. I took mine gratefully, bringing my nose over top of the glass, sniffing. My brother had taught me that; smell the wine, especially if someone else serves you. If you have what he called a "careful" nose; a slight bitter smell, or sickly sweet one can mean that you're being drugged. However, most people did this before drinking wine; the consummate wine drinker did this to test what is called the "bouquet". Reputedly, it enhanced the wine drinking experience.

Of course, those people also spit the wine out after tasting it. That I did not do. Once I had deemed it safe, I took a healthy swallow. I wanted a cigarette.

"Do you have a smoke, Wesker?" I asked sheepishly, setting my glass down.

"I do not, Miss Redfield. You did, however, have a half of a pack in your purse. You may have that; I have them here." Wesker gestured to a table against the wall behind me, and my denim purse was sitting next to a desk lamp. "The desk drawer beneath it has an ashtray. Make yourself comfortable, we have a few more minutes before dinner is ready."

"Why are you keeping me here really?" I asked as I sat back down with my smokes and the engraved silver ashtray. I met his gaze icily, trying my best to be stoic. Crossing my legs over the side of the chair, and languidly smoking a cigarette, I waited for his answer.

"I require an heir, dear heart." Wesker's voice was low and quiet. My head reeled violently as his words hit me. "I have something important coming up in the coming months. Something that if it goes well, I can retire. If it doesn't, well," he paused, waving his hand absently in the air. "If things don't go in my favor, which is unlikely but still probable, then who will carry on my name? My mimetic legacy shall be gone forever. Unless I have an heir."

My heart slammed against my ribcage in a frenzied flutter, and I tensed, readying myself for an attack. An heir? A child? He was unfit; psychotic! A baby at the mercy of a monster....I shuddered, suddenly cold.

"No." I whispered darkly, scrambling to my feet. This wouldn't happen.

"Claire, be reasonable." I backed away from the table, heading deeper into his room; if there was no exit where I'd been before, there must be one here.

"No no no no no no no...." I shook my head violently in negation, almost hysterical. He was on his feet in an instant, stalking me patiently. I bumped into something solid, and that was all it took for him to be on me. I skidded back onto the flat surface of a table, crying out when my elbow caught the corner sharply. I was slid further back, my pained yelp unheeded by Wesker. He was kissing me roughly, covering my body with his own. His hands clenched onto either side of my face, until finally I yielded.

Opening my mouth, I sucked in his tongue, seeking to dominate this situation. It didn't matter anymore that he was using me as an incubator for his demon seed; I just wanted him, maybe more than I'd ever wanted anything before. I was tired of fighting the all-consuming fire that was Albert Wesker. I opened my legs so that he was pressed between my thighs; the hard bulge in his pants pressing on my sex, grinding into me roughly. I moaned around his tongue, clawing at his vest in a clumsy attempt of removing it.

My whole body was trembling for him, and wherever his hands touched on my body, it left a white hot burning sensation. Wesker shrugged out of his vest, and as soon as he swooped back in to catch my lips in a kiss again, I began to unknot his tie effortlessly. As soon as I had slid that from around his wide, muscular shoulders, I began to work my fingers under his shirt's buttons, unfastening them with trembling fingers.

I bit into his lip lightly as my fingers ran along his smooth chest, over the hard plains of his stomach. He was a Greek god; Apollo incarnate. His eyes bore into mine, and he ran his knuckles lightly over my ribcage, bringing his hand up to cup one of my breasts gently. The nipple beneath the thin silk fabric drew taut, and I groaned at the lightning-bolt of pleasure that ran down to my sex from the contact.

A faint knock at the door echoed through the room, and Wesker growled deep in his throat. He kissed me again passionately, and looked me in the eyes pleadingly.

"Claire, I....feel.....for you. I haven't had such emotions or sensations assault me since I was as you are; maybe not even then. I don't want you to think that this is me forcing your hand; I don't want this to feel wrong for you. I want you to need this as much as I do, dear heart. Please; consider your feelings; emotional and physical before you hastily throw away something special." His words were like a slap in the face.

Wesker had feelings for me? He pulled himself off the table, and then helped me to my feet. I swayed, my legs feeling like Jello, and he pulled me close to him, ushering me to my seat at the table. Another knock arose, this one a bit more sharp than the last one. Wesker's brow pulled down, annoyance flickering across his square jaw before he could hide it. He swung the door wide, not caring about his disheveled appearance, and grabbed the cart from the poor man in the hallway. How did he get in through there? I wondered...I hadn't seen anything that could have been an entrance, let alone a decent exit. It must be hidden. I stored that information away for future use.

"Sir." The young man saluted; he wore a camouflage uniform. Wesker saluted him back, and dismissed the poor young man by slamming the door in his face.

"I took the liberty of ordering for us both; roast and potatoes with red eye gravy and green beans. Your file says that it is one of your favorites." Wesker's voice still had that edge to it; as if he was pained in some way.

"Yes, it is, thank you." I said coldly. His forehead creased at that, and he served us both wordlessly. We ate in silence, and when I was full, I dabbed my mouth daintily with the cloth napkin. I lit another cigarette, and finished that, too, in silence. The fire crackled noisily, a clock ticked steadily, and I became uncomfortable in the wooden seat.

She fidgeted restlessly in her seat across from him, and stamped out her cigarette almost angrily. This wasn't how he'd imagined this night going.

"Claire, I wanted to ask you something." he hesitated, and when she nodded to acknowledge that her attention was on him, he continued. "Do you know why your brother despises me so, and I him?"

"You were a turn-coat traitor. Plain and simple." Claire's ice gray eyes mocked him.

"Well, that cinched the deal, really. It began before that, actually. Over Jill." Wesker was amused to see her brows knit together in thought.

"Jill? You and her?" Claire was honestly curious.

"Well, no; but I had a bit of a thing for her. Christopher saw that, he knew. And talk about about a monkey wrench in the works. Your brother didn't even want her like that, but had deemed me, his superior officer, unworthy. Can't say I blame him, knowing now what I didn't then. I wasn't always a heartless bastard." Claire chuckled, the tension she had been visibly plagued with disappearing.

"I can see that. Chris always told me he thought of her as his kid sister; it helped him to be objective, he always would say." Claire sighed wistfully. "I haven't even called him in over a month. I'm such a bad sister."

"Not bad, Claire, just busy." Wesker took her hand in his own, squeezing her digits lightly. She pulled her hand away as if I'd stung her. A dull heavy thud echoed in my chest. "Why do you hate me, Claire?"

Claire patted his hand, and replied, "I don't hate you, Wesker. I really don't. And that's the problem." Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding.

"So you want me? Just as bad as I want you?" She nodded, blushing again beautifully. He stood, and offered her his hand.

"Can I have this dance?" At the word, 'dance', Beethoven's 7th symphony came poring out of hidden speakers, it's haunting melody weaving in beautiful patterns with the crackling and pops coming from the fireplace. Wesker's hand was extended, palm up; waiting for her answer.