S1 E7 – A Budding Romance

Part 1 of 2

"Who was THAT!" Camille growls as she comes out of the night club just in time to see a sleek hussy wriggling off of Richard's shoulders and sauntering away. Richard is flushed and looks like a man caught out. Just as her fingers curl up into fists of death and she is about to launch herself after the woman, he chutters, "It was some lunatic wanting to give me a cheap plastic string of flowers to wear! Honestly, do I look like the type of man who could be wooed by cheap plastic…" his voice peters out.

She frowns at him, her jealous rage cooling somewhat by his troubled look, "No," she allows, "you don't. I'm sorry you were accosted. I should have known better than to leave you alone out here. You're too much a nice man, you need guarding."

He comes out of his temporary fugue and grumbles, "I wouldn't need guarding if people would just keep their hands to themselves. I don't like being touched. Especially by strange women."

"Of course, you don't," she agrees and holds out her hand and waits.

His eyes are once more drawn to the large, luxuriant, exotic, looking almost good enough to eat and most definitely NOT a cheap plastic flower behind Camille's ear. It is part of the reason he'd needed fresh air and fled to an outside table to regain his equilibrium that she had shaken so unexpectedly. He doesn't hesitate, his hand wafts up to slip into hers.

She leads him back into the maelstrom, her hand so silky smooth, so strong and fine-boned. The feel of her hand against his palm renders him helpless to resist the thought of that fiery bloom caressing his skin, somewhere away from the crowds, somewhere with just the two of them where the only thundering beat will be his own heart.

Minutes later, back at their table, as he tries to avoid going deaf, he continues to drink in the sight of her. When he hears the discordant note, her hand on his shoulder is so hot, so welcome, so intimate, that he shrugs away the off-note. Her firm svelte body leans against his back and sends cold shivers down his spine. Now his pulse and the music are keeping time. He is just wondering if he dares think to ask for a dance later on when…

Shocked realization hits him like a bucket of ice water and his libido is reined in with a painful jerk. Oh, damn! A body! Here? NOW?! Just when I might actually get some feminine attention at long last! NOOOO! Oh, why do the gods hate me so much?

As for her, her helpless jealousy is barely under control. That floozy, trying to seduce him with shoddy corner-store junk when she herself had searched high and low all afternoon for just the right flower to wear tonight. It had to convey her message with no misunderstanding… and she thinks she picked the perfect bloom... but he hasn't seemed to notice.

She's glad now she brought her fan. At first it was due to the heat of the venue, so many bodies packed into one room, the bright lights, the loud music. She hadn't needed it outside but when she threaded her way back through the crowd with his hand in hers, feeling so firm and trusting and alive, so MALE, she needed the fan to try and keep her temperature down from 'jump him, jump him' to merely volcanic.

She wants to be alone with this man, just two bodies packed tightly together under dim lights, rocking shadows, dancing slow to the music of their hearts! She leans into his back, doesn't hear the missed note, and then all her day-dreamy dreams go up in smoke as… A MURDER? Mon Dieu, I'm cursed! But she follows his lead and performs her professional duty, same as him, neither one realizing how disappointed they both are.

DS Bordey arms are tightly crossed, almost like she's trying to hold in an explosion. Her lips are pressed firmly and her hands grasp her biceps with force. Yes, this is a woman under pressure and the reason for this is standing right beside her being all detectivey when he SHOULD be all 'we're almost on a date'!

It has started out with such promise! Dwayne guilting Richard into attending the concert was unexpected… but Richard agreeing to come had been a bombshell! She'd spent absolute hours on her hair and makeup, her clothes and shoes. Oddly enough, it was her hair adornment that had caused the most fret. Flower? No flower? Flower? Yes, flower! Then, what sort of flower, something demure and hinting at possible acceptance of male attention? No, definitely not! She went with the biggest exotic flamboyant flower she could find that wouldn't slow her down if any male attention came her way.

And some attention HAD come her way, hadn't it? Granted, it was low-key and easy to miss but the solid warm presence of his hand in hers as she led him back into the venue had sent shiver up her spine just the same. She was touching him and he was letting her! Oh, this boded well for later in the evening! Now, if only she can get him out on the dance floor…

But no. Her bad luck with men reared its ugly head and now they had a murder! There was a very public corpse and the man she wants to be alone with is standing beside her. Her arms are tightly crossed because she IS trying to hold in an explosion… an explosion of frustrated desire! And him? He's being all detectivey, like he welcomes the interruption of his own seduction.

"Strange, the way he's laid out, isn't it?" he opines, gazing up at the dead man. Not as strange as the way I'd like to lay YOU out, she fumes, saying nothing. He continues as if her pique doesn't register, "With his arms folded. At rest. In repose."

He expects a response and rightly so, so she rallies and mutters, "You don't do that unless you have a connection with someone. Whoever did this must have known him, cared about him…" She can't resist. She turns to look right at him, "… maybe even loved him." She levels a deadly stare right between those green eyes but he totally misses it.

Or does he? He turns away from her and mutters, "They have a funny way of showing it."

She blinks. Is he talking to me? Or is he oblivious? What is he thinking?

End – part 1