Because the Night

~Chapter Ten~

My head ached horribly as I tried to pry my eyes open. Only a small amount of light filtered through the thick blinds. Still, it was enough to send my eyelids forcibly back together to block it all out. Footsteps in the short hall caught my attention.

I pushed myself to a sitting position, regretting even the simple motion. I pressed my hand to my head. “Good heavens, that hurts.”

The voice alone helped alleviate some of the throbbing. “I have brought you a few simple remedies, ma petit amour.”

I forced my eyes to open minimally—just enough to confirm that the voice did, in fact, belong to the person I suspected. The man looked absolutely appetizing as he entered my room carrying a serving tray.

‘Wait a minute,’ my mind screamed. I glanced around my immediate area. My lamp. My bedside table. My bedspread. Even my sensible cotton shorts and matching camisole. “I do not recall getting home,” I said as he positioned the tray on my lap. “Nor do I recall inviting you to sleep over.” I squinted against the light and forced myself to meet his eyes. “I hope there isn’t anything else I’ve conveniently forgotten.”

Lisimba turned to the window, and with one graceful movement, pulled the heavy drapes over the top of the blinds, blocking out the horrible brightness. “You did not invite me to sleep over, Cecilia. You were not in any condition to invite anyone. I brought you home, and I changed your clothes. However,” his eyes swept over me, “there is nothing else to remember. I put you to bed with no expectations. I don’t believe you even opened your eyes after…” He paused, obviously trying to determine how to properly phrase my actions. “After succumbing to the effects of the alcohol.”

Images from the events of the prior night lambasted my brain at the mention of the effects of the alcohol. I blushed hotly. “What time is it,” I asked as I sipped the steaming coffee.

“Nearly noon,” he answered.

“Holy shit! Are you kidding me?” I screeched. I shoved the tray to the end of the bed, tossed the cover away and jumped from its warmth. My feet practically ran to the closet. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in? I’m supposed to be at work right now. I’m going to get fired.”

I started shoving aside one outfit after another as I scavenged for the ‘walk of shame’ suit. I harassed enough of my coworkers when they couldn’t make it to the office on time due to overindulgence; I knew they would be anxious for the opportunity to do the same. “Genevieve…”

“Already knows, ma chère.” His arms slid around me, stopping my frantic hunt. He hauled me against his chest. I heard him inhale the scent of my shampoo. “Genevieve called around half past eight. Since you were sleeping, I took the liberty of answering your phone. She calmed once I explained the situation. She sounded…unusually pleased, if I am completely honest with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “She would be.” I relaxed into his solid strength. “What did you tell her?”

“The truth.”

I laughed. “So, you told her that you gave me a mind-numbing orgasm in the middle of a packed dance floor, and my brain had short-circuited, knocking me incapable of simple functions?”

I felt his laughter rather than hearing it. “I believe I may have ignored the specific details regarding your incapacitation.” He nuzzled my neck. “My skin tingled instantly. “You are beautiful, Cecilia, and your passion makes you a goddess.”

The blood rushed from my brain, engulfing the skin anywhere he touched. I fought for coherent thought. “So if I did not invite you to stay, why are you still here?”

Regret tried to surface when his lips stopped their assault on my neck. He led me across the room and urged me to return to bed. “I could not leave without being certain you had not been overwhelmed with alcohol poisoning.” His hands gently tucked the cover around my legs. His grin turned mildly wicked. “Also, Melinda invited the twins back to my place. I preferred to risk your wrath than to listen to their sexual exploits throughout the night and morning.”

Where I had blushed before, I know I turned absolutely crimson. “I can’t believe I did that.”

He smiled. “Which do you not believe? The drinking, the orgasm, the voyeurism or the seductive dancing?”

I raised my eyebrows. “All of the above.”

“Melinda is a wild child, and she tends to be contagious. I imagine your neighbors may have a few behavioral inconsistencies to share by the time she has finished with them.”

It was my turn to grin. “I don’t know, Lisimba. I’ve had my suspicions about those two for a while.” I patted the bed beside me.

Eyebrows raised in response.

I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break. Now you’re going to play nice?”

“Last night you were not in complete control, Cecilia. Melinda…” He paused, contemplating his words. “Melinda has a way of manipulating those around her to do things from which they would normally shy. Not to mention she pumped you full of three bottles of wine and at least six shots of tequila.”

“Only two.” I winked. “I faked the others.”

His eyes softened. “Very good. Still, she has a way.”

I slid my hand to his cheek and rested my palm against the smooth, cool flesh. “As do you, Lisimba.” I smiled. “I find myself being brutally honest with you, even when my head tells me I should keep my mouth shut. It seems that all I have to do is hear your voice, see your eyes, or feel your presence, and all my secrets bubble to the surface.” I caught his gaze. “Last night was amazing. The fact that we have yet to involve the actual sex act only makes it even more so.”

I let my eyes absorb all of his features then. He looked very pale. Dark patches under his eyes accentuated the sallow tone. “Did you get any sleep,” I asked him, concerned.

“Worry not for me, ma chère. I can rest later.”

“No,” I urged. “You can rest now.” I tugged him further onto the bed then forced him to lay back. “You need not stand guard o’er the fair maiden at all times, gallant knight.”

His body relaxed under my ministrations much quicker than his mind. I watched the tension leave the various muscle groups as I gently stroked his hair away from his face. Just when I thought he was finally asleep, he grabbed my wrist. His eyes flew open; they burned bright red, much like Melinda’s had at the restaurant.

“Who will protect the fair maiden from me,” he spoke. His voice quaked with his desire.

My heart pounded in my chest. I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip held like concrete. I could not stop the fear from cascading over me. Then, just as quickly, I remembered. I spoke calmly to him.

“Lisimba, no one needs to protect me from you. You would never take by force that which is better when freely given.” I bent over and placed a gentle kiss to his lips. When I leaned away, his features had calmed. His eyes returned to the deep chocolate.

“Sleep, Lisimba. At least take a small nap. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He smiled. “Of course, you will. It’s your flat.” With that, he rolled over, tucking his head against my waist, and swiftly fell asleep.

“Smart ass,” I grumbled.

***

I waited until I was certain he rested before I pried myself loose and crawled from the bed. I had a lot on my mind, and Gen was fond of telling me that when I think that hard, everyone in the room can hear the wheels turn. Lisimba looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. I didn’t want my thinking time to wake him.

I swept the clothes from my exercise bike and started peddling.

He was right in regard to Melinda having a way with pushing people outside of their comfort zone. I think he expected me to scream and cry and blame everyone under the sun for my outrageous behavior last night. The problem with that was that no matter what, in the end, I was a realist. No one could have forced me to behave that way. I was also a closet hedonist with a few wild fantasies. Melinda was little more than a catalyst.

I realized with certainty that my impression about her was likely the most accurate it could ever get. She did feed off of the emotions of those around her. She fed off their passions.

I chuckled. “She has to feed off something; she apparently doesn’t eat.” I stopped so abruptly that my feet slid from the pedals. The hard plastic scraped the back of my leg.

“Neither of them ate a damned thing,” I spoke aloud. “Nor did they drink anything.” I played over all the images I could muster. The only time I could actually recall seeing anything at all cross their lips was the shared tuber.

I shook my head and peeked through the open door to the sleeping figure on my bed. He was undeniably the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Yet, he spoke very much like an English Lord from an historic romance novel.

I crinkled my forehead. I knew he’d spent several years in England. I had worked with Brits, and even those trying to seduce me never spoke like he did. I shook my head and started peddling again. “Not possible. Simply humanly impossible.”

Still, my brain kept crunching the numbers. England, ten years. Scotland, three years. Belgium, four years. Cairo, seven years. Australia, three years. France, twelve years. Hong Kong, six years. Argentina, seven years. Germany, eight years. Peru, five years. Tokyo, nine years. I got off the bike and paced the room, adding the numbers over and over again. I kept replaying the conversation in my head. Fluent in nine or ten languages. Passable in three or four more. How long do you study to become fluent in nine languages?

“It’s just not possible.”

I glanced down at my clothes and determined they were acceptable. I hadn’t read a paper in days. I needed to distract my brain. I slid my feet into my sandals, peeked at Lisimba again and slipped quietly into the hall.

There are numerous benefits to living in the big city, I thought as I walked next door. I bought a large caramel vanilla latte, a paper, and a blueberry scone, and I only had to go twenty feet from my apartment complex. The scone disappeared before I reached the elevator; being around Lisimba created a dramatic increase in my appetite. I relished the sweetened espresso as it danced across my taste buds.

Back at the apartment, I tossed the paper on the kitchen table and washed the few dishes in the sink. I scrubbed the surfaces. My hair fell in my face. I could smell cigarette smoke from the club, so I went to the bathroom and took a leisurely shower. I took the time to brush my hair until it was dry before I realized that I was actually nervous. It was such a novelty feeling that I didn’t recognize it right away.

My dates normally ended at the door to a cab. I’d never had a boyfriend serious enough that he ended up at my apartment. Here I was, puttering around, trying to find things to do while a man slept in my bed.

I chuckled, downed what was left of my now-cold latte and flipped the paper open. I indulged in my second favorite pass time—making fun of headlines.

“Mortuary robbed—victims all deceased. Gee, who else will they rob at a mortuary? Hmm…Candidate promises no new taxes. Yeah, because that’s believable. Murder victims identified.—That could be interesting.” My eyes skimmed the page.

Police have partial identifications on two homeless murder victims. These cases were previously thought to be unrelated. However, preliminary DNA results place both victims, plus an unknown third assailant, at the scene of four sexual assaults. Descriptions link the men to three additional open cases. While DNA has linked the men to the cases, their actual identities remain unknown. Police urge anyone with information to please come forward.

I huffed. “Well, if that isn’t screwed up.” I glanced at the photos accompanying the article. For once, I wasn’t in the middle of taking a drink, and I didn’t have to worry about choking on my coffee.

I recognized those faces.

’The criminals will be handled without need of your testimony.’ His words echoed in my head.

I swallowed hard. “I’m dating a murderer.”

***