Chapter 4
Edie
“Oh shit,” I mumble, eyes wide as Dorian stares back at me, a slow smile pulling up his lips.
He’s sitting in a room painted a deep Merlot that matches the glass of wine resting on his walnut desk. Muted lighting highlights the sharp cut of his jaw and the slant of his cheekbones, making him appear not only beautiful, but deadly too.
“Hello, Edie,” he says.
My eyes snap back to Dorian, to his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing more vine tattoos that are so realistic they look as though the thorns have punctured his skin. The screen flickers a little, and I find myself dragging in a shaky breath.
“Is this pre-recorded?” I whisper.
“No, this is an elaborate sext message,” Henrietta hisses, utterly delighted as her eyes widen and she claps her hands again like an overexcited six-year-old.
“Sexting would imply a sexual conversation via text messages. I like a more personal approach. I’m Dorian, by the way, and you are?”
We both gasp. This is absolutely not a recording.
Oh, hell no. This is not happening.
I shift myself out of the line of sight of the camera, and shake my head at Henrietta. “Turn it off,” I mouth.
“No,” Henrietta mouths back, poking me in the thigh under the table.
“Henrietta,” I whisper-hiss, but she completely ignores me, focusing on Dorian instead.
“Hello Dorian, my name’s Henrietta, but you can call me Hettie. I’m Edie’s best friend,” she says, a little too breathlessly for my liking.
Hettie? I glare at her and she throws me a helpless look, then leans further to her right, so she’s briefly out of shot of the camera and can safely mouth, “He’s delicious.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dorian says, his gaze slipping to hers. He leans forward in his seat, giving her his full attention before saying, “I was hoping to speak with Edie alone. Would you give us a moment?”
“Of course, absolutely,” Henrietta replies, pushing to her feet like she can’t get away quickly enough.
“Absolutely not,” I snap, suddenly aware that I am sitting in my very messy kitchen that still has boxes of my things stacked against the wall because I haven’t put them away yet, even though I moved into my new house over six months ago.
Not to mention the fact that my hair is dragged up onto the top of my head in a messy bun, and I’m wearing a Take That band tee that’s covered in pepperoni pizza stains.
“Edie, I just want five minutes of your time,” Dorian says in a way that has my heart thumping recklessly, and Henrietta backing out of the kitchen with a look on her face that’s caught between absolute delight and complete horror as she realises the same thing as me in that moment.
I am not dressed appropriately for this.
“Talk to him,” she encourages, before stepping into the sitting room and sliding the partitioning door shut.
“This is not happening,” I mumble under my breath as I reach for the laptop, my fingers curling around the lid, ready to slam it shut.
Dorian shifts forward in his seat. “Wait!”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end this conversation right now,” I say.
After Henrietta entered the code, I’d expected to see something about his nightclub, maybe even an invitation to an event. I had not expected a direct line to Dorian himself. I’ve been caught off guard, and I don’t like it. Plus, I’m tired and cranky, and really just want to go to bed.
“Because I’ve not stopped thinking about you. Please, don’t go,” Dorian says, the commanding cadence of his voice making way for, dare I say it, an edge of desperation.
“What?” I reply, my hand dropping as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m not used to this kind of attention, and I’m not sure I trust it either. In fact, I don’t. Not at all. Doesn’t stop me from waiting for his response, though. I guess sleep can wait.
“You heard what I said, Edie. I’m not going to repeat myself,” he replies, clearing his throat as though he is as surprised by his admission as I am.
“If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just given me your number, and not this,” I say, picking up the small card and waving it in the air. “Whatever this is.”
“Which is exactly why I left you my calling card.”
“Calling card? That’s a very old-fashioned phrase,” I say.
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of man,” he replies, taking a sip of his wine that seems to darken his lips a deep mulberry before he licks them clean.
For a moment, I’m mesmerised by the slow, sensual sweep of his tongue across his lips, and I can feel heat rising up my chest at the memory of that same tongue plundering my mouth a week ago.
I really don’t need to be reminded of how his kiss unlocked something within me.
Something vital, something passionate and all-consuming.
Something I haven’t felt in a very, very long time.
“So old-fashioned you use fluorescent ink to send secret messages,” I retort, shoving those thoughts away. “If we weren’t doing our nails this evening and I didn’t have my UV lamp switched on, we may never have seen what was hidden on this card.”
“But you did find what was hidden, and here we are.”
“Yes, here we are,” I agree, reaching for my own glass of wine and gulping back a rather generous mouthful before asking, “What are we doing here exactly?”
“We’re talking, Edie.”
“But I’m a mess,” I blurt out, waving my hand vaguely in front of me.
“You’re beautiful,” he replies instantly.
“You really are sexting me.”
“If you give me your number, I’d be happy to sext you tomorrow. Right now, I’m enjoying this view and this conversation. Will you allow me that pleasure, Edie?”
“Aren’t you the type of man who takes rather than asks?” I reply, swallowing another generous gulp of wine, not enjoying the fact Dorian is making me squirm in my seat like some horny teenager. I’m a forty-four-year-old woman, I should be impervious to such temptation.
“Usually, yes.”
“So why not now?”
“Well, for one, you have all the power here. You could end this conversation in an instant.”
“I could, you’re right,” I say, my hand hovering above the laptop, ready to slam it down.
“And two, I’d rather you come to me willingly,” he continues, a softness in his tone that makes me pause.
“Is that so?” My hand drops and I frown.
“The truth is, I am indeed a man who can take whatever he wants without any consequences. I’m feared, reviled, and worshiped by many. I could kidnap you and no one would dare try to stop me.”
“I think I prefer the idea of sexting,” I muse, ignoring the not-so-subtle threat, mainly because whilst I believe he could do exactly what he says, I don’t actually think he would. “At least then we’d both get something out of it. I could even use my clit stimulator to speed things up on my end.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits back. “You really aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“Perhaps,” he shrugs.
“Honestly, I’m more concerned with the fact you’re attracted to a woman who’s sitting braless in a t-shirt covered in her dinner. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.”
Dorian’s eyes flare with heat and he snaps his arm out, dragging his screen closer. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Edie, don’t make me come over there,” he growls.
“You don’t know where I live,” I reply, quite enjoying the way he’s getting all angry at my defiance. I kind of like pushing his buttons. It makes me feel powerful, and I haven’t felt powerful in a long time.
“I know where you live,” he retorts, a wicked smile pulling up his lips as mine slips from my face.
“You do not. You’re just trying to scare me into showing you my tits.”
“I don’t want to scare you into doing anything. Which, believe me, is as surprising to me as it is my second, Logan.”
“You’re second? You mean the guy with the piercing blue eyes who looked at me like I was a stray dog he wanted to kick?”
“He looked at you like what?” Dorian snaps.
I’m not sure if it’s the glint of something murderous in his eyes or the sharpness of his attention, like a whip cracking across bare skin, but for a moment, I glimpse the hint of a monster.
Oddly, I’m not afraid, though a little voice inside warns me that I should be.
I wave my hand in the air, hoping to scatter the tension.
“I’m sure he meant nothing by it. So you are a gangster, then?”
“Something like that.”
Not an admission, but close enough. Right at that moment I hear Henrietta squealing, and I realise she’s been eavesdropping this whole time. I’m going to kill her.
“Noted,” I reply. “Now, getting back to my tits. I already told you they’re small, hardly worth the attention.”
“Oh, believe me, they deserve my attention,” Dorian says, the tightness around his eyes easing a little now that we’re back to our sexting, or flirting, or whatever this is. “In fact, I think—”
“But,” I interject, glaring at Henrietta who has slid open the door and is flashing me her tits whilst simultaneously waving her arm at the laptop, indicating for me to do the same, “A hacker could be recording our conversation and before you know it I’m fired from my job as a primary school teacher because somehow I’ve gone viral for flashing my tits on that social media app all the kids are using these days. ”
“This connection is safe. No one is watching.”
“Henrietta is,” I mutter, and she just giggles.
“Henrietta, can you hear me?” Dorian says, his voice doing that weird drop, like he’s swallowed some gravel and somehow turned them into diamonds.
It’s sexy as hell, and I’m not at all surprised Henrietta’s attention is immediately focussed on him, or rather the back of the laptop given her position.
“Yes,” she instantly replies, her hands dropping to her sides and her t-shirt falling back into place.
“Could you come where I can see you?” he asks, and she immediately steps back into the kitchen, rounds the table and stands behind me. “Hello again, Hettie.”
“Hello,” she replies, absolutely riveted as he crooks his finger and motions for her to get closer.
She grips the back of my chair, crouching slightly so she can peer over my shoulder.