Adduné - the Vampire's Game (37 page)

He shifted his weight while smoothing back his hair – it was truly his glory – both in texture and color. His hair seemed to reinforce the entire premise of what she found so appealing about him. Its length was extreme – falling easily over and down one shoulder. It was far too long to be fashionable, yet Miranda didn’t find it disturbing at all. It seemed a reflection of his persona. Perhaps his impeccable grooming made it palatable. She wondered what he’d looked like when his hair was not trapped by the single black ribbon tied at the nape of his neck. More than that, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it.

“
Then I’ll leave you to your private thoughts,” he said, bowing his head to take his leave. It was the last thing Miranda wanted him to do. She chided herself for giving him the cold shoulder. She wasn’t ready to throw him back into the lake of women that would give their right arms for even a miniscule bit of his attention.

“
Don’t be silly. It is a social event. If I had really wanted to be alone there are always caves. Are their caves in Ohio? I didn’t see any flying in,” she giggled.

“
I think there are always caves. They hide what nocturnal sins we pretend not to see.”

He was trying to appear elusive and dodgy. She doubted he believed a word of what he had just professed. However, having him espouse even sullen prose was a chance for Miranda to note the radiant whiteness of his teeth. She wondered if that was their natural color or whether they were porcelain veneers.

She decided to ignore his attempt at appearing high-risk and moody. Her snap judgment told her he wasn’t. She also quickly deduced he was no intellectual either. If he had been either, he wouldn’t need to prove it and that’s what he seemed to be trying to do. Why he felt it necessary to have Miranda think he was, she didn’t know. It would be the height of insanity to think it was insecurity.

She supposed that what was more disturbing to her was that he showed such obvious disdain for what was readily available – and by available, Miranda meant women. She was betting on the fact he hadn’t talked to any of the women at the event – even though they would trip over their strappy stilettos to do so. Miranda was gathering her haunches under her. Her confidence was streaming back into her as bees saturated with pollen returning to their hive. She pushed her shoulders back and eyed him. She may be available, but not to him – not yet. She had been weaned on the knowledge not to trust things coming too fast or too easily. Miranda was determined not to be another pair of designer shoes placed under his bed. He would at least know her name.

She crossed her arms. She decided to leave the burden of making polite conversation up to him. She returned her gaze to the egg in question to try to ascertain authenticity. She wished she could have a little closer inspection, but there would be time enough after the exhibit. She could arrange for it to happen before that, but why? She’d still need an expert on hand.

“
I see the card says that it is a replica of a Fabergé. I’d say the card is wrong.”

She glanced up at him. The red had spread to just under his eyes. The streak of color added more prominence to his already haughtily high cheekbones. He lowered his head moving it upward. The irises of his eyes mixed with the color like paint on a pallet. They took on an odd shade of violet.

“
Would you? Are you very experienced recognizing such treasures?”

“
Quite. I have a discerning eye for beauty in all forms.”

“
And you are?”

“
Peter.”

He licked his lips and began walking around the boundary established by the clear glass. Miranda’s pulse was flushed out as a rabbit hiding in the underbrush. She felt it beating against the areas of her body where the skin is thinly stretched – her wrists, her temples, her throat.

“
Peter what?” she asked in a hushed tone. He rounded the first corner taking his time in making the journey. It brought to mind the subject of sex. Was he maddeningly slow in that also? Or did he use it as a device to heighten pleasure?

“
Just Peter.”

He rounded the second corner, narrowing the gap between them. He was even taller than she suspected – he seemed to tower over her, but then everyone was the same height in bed. She knew her hips would fit squarely against his. She looked down and noted his tight thighs and slim waistline. He was in peak physical condition. She wondered if he ran.

“
It’s a week for men with one name,” she conceded, not willing to be sucked under.

He stopped just before her.

“
Does that mean you’ve met another?”

“
Don’t sound so surprised,” she fired off, somewhat annoyed with his question. A strong offensive is always an effective defense. She wouldn’t succumb to this man’s lethal charm.

“
I can assure you that I didn’t mean it that way Ms. …?”

“
Miranda.”

He cocked an eyebrow. She couldn’t resist.

“
Just
Miranda,” she added with more than a touch of sarcasm.

He smiled appreciative of the dry humor. Miranda reconsidered her negative opinion of him. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as she thought. Extreme good looks sometimes cause others to judge possessors of such beauty too harshly. Miranda was willing to allow that she’d done this. Maybe she shouldn’t concentrate on fighting him and concentrate instead on fighting herself.

“
Miranda is a very lovely name.”

“
Thank you,” Miranda replied finding the doorway to her heart opening just a tiny bit more in response to the compliment. She thought about the heart in the casing to her right. She wondered if her heart were shining as brightly. He was trying. She’d meet him halfway.

“
What brings you here tonight?” she said, taking a small swallow of champagne.

“
I assume the same reason as you. I’ve come to see the collection.”

“
And now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?”

“
I think it’s one of the finest collections I’ve ever seen. Although it should be.” He stopped and scratched at his chin. “You were quite right in choosing the Lagerfeld. It’s stunning on you.”

Miranda moved another inch into Peter’s camp. Not too many men attending this affair would have been able to recognize her dress’s designer. Then there was the compliment tossed to her dear deceased father. Miranda swelled with pride at the flattery given to her father’s eye. Everyone knew her belated father’s reputation, but it was nice to hear the praise. She felt her guard drop.

“
Thank you.”

“
For what?”

“
For the compliment you gave to me and to Arthur Perry.”

Since he didn’t seem to recognize her, there was no use in revealing who she was. Jake! She suddenly remembered Jake. She needed to be on her way. She didn’t trust herself to be around
Just Pet
er anymore. She was yielding to his lethally handsome looks and weird animal magnetism. The music swirled as the quartet changed from Mozart to Verdi.

“
Ah, The Four Seasons. It’s always been one of my favorites.”

So he knew music as well.

“
Yes, it’s lovely.”

Peter fell strangely silent.

“
What is it?”

“
You. I was just thinking something, but … never mind …”

“
Now you have to tell me,” she replied coyly. She wondered if he was flirting with her. He said he had an eye for beauty in all forms. Was that a hint that she hadn’t gotten the first-time round? Was it a compliment meant for her? It would be too absurd meeting someone like this, but stranger things have happened.

“
No, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.” Peter ran his tongue over his front teeth. It was a provocative move. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“
Of course. I asked, didn’t I?” Miranda affirmed. She really did want to know. Her guard was down as she waited for him to present her with a nice compliment as others present a box of candy.

Peter took a step towards her. He raised her face up by pressing his finger under her chin. She gazed longingly up into his eyes – smiling sweetly. His hand felt good against her. She hoped she would get to sample more of it before she left Fairfield. His skin was a little cool, but then the air conditioning in the museum seemed to be on full blast. He seemed to have succumbed to the frigid air. She knew something that could remedy that.

He let go of her chin and took a lock of her hair between his fingers. He pressed it back, lovingly touching the back of her head. He tilted her head towards him, and then loosened his tender hold. He leaned down, Miranda smelled the sweetness of his breath on her face as he whispered into her ear. He lowered his voice as if what he had to say was meant only for her. She half-closed her eyes, ready to receive his praise.

“
I was thinking that it’s a shame your eyes are brown and not blue. You just missed being beautiful.”

It took a moment for the insult to register. When it did, it felt as if she’d been hit solidly in the jaw. He stood back smiling – scrutinizing her for the damage done. He was enjoying every wretched second.

She fell back on her heels thinking that there must be some mistake in what she heard or what he’d said, but there wasn’t. One look into his face told her that. He seemed so very pleased – so very pleased indeed.

“
What?”

The word came out of an expulsion of air as her hand gripped her stomach. She felt as if she were going to be sick. She blinked as an animal kept in darkness and released in bright daylight.

“
And,” he said casually and bitterly – as an afterthought, “I gave no compliment to Arthur Perry. He was a thief. The compliment was directed at me for these are my treasures – my possessions!”

Miranda half-heard what was said. She couldn’t concentrate fully for her mind was still parsing the insult. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, but then hearing her opinion hadn’t been his purpose. Before Miranda could do anything more than capitulate to the poison darts shot into her and her father, he pivoted, showing Miranda his back. He indignantly stormed away in a whirlwind of black velvet and arsenic. He was acting as if it were he that had been wronged. He exited the room, leaving Miranda to recover on her own. His heels tapped out a stoic disregard on the marble floor in the hallway – decreasing in sound as he stomped away.

She stood unsuredly – not knowing what to think about what had just occurred. She looked about seeing a few guests engrossed in studying other displays. None had been aware of what had taken place. Miranda was grateful for that at least. She placed a hand on her stomach feeling breathless and light-headed. She feared she would faint – or cry. She wouldn’t allow either to happen. She took a few shallow breaths and ran to the lip of the room – watching the very cruel, very handsome dilettante make his way into the adjacent room. He slowed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Miranda was entangled in his web. The smug grin and proud swagger were smartly in place. His voracious propensity for cruelty left her to wonder what had made him so piteously unkind. She could take no more.

She grabbed her dress raising the hem off the ground and ran. She made her way past him, hearing his soft laughter ring out in her ears. Her silver heels clicked against the veined squares of tiles while groups of joyful attendees slowed her progress. She wended her way through them and then into the main hall. She needed to recuperate. She frantically searched for the door. When she found it, she disappeared into the ladies room.

Two blue paisley couches were against the wall. Miranda picked one of them and collapsed onto it for a moment, listening to see if any other guests were in the adjoining room. There were. There were several sharp flushes, followed by the sound of faucets and running water. She clutched her purse to her and returned the smile of a woman who paused for a moment to repair her lipstick and then be on her way. Miranda waited for the others. She pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the mirrored wall. She set her purse down on the long metal counter. She ran a small, rhinestoned comb through her long hair. Two more women emerged and looked admiringly at Miranda. She nodded her head, acknowledging their presence. It seemed to be enough for them. They only lingered long enough to check their appearance. They left, still tittering in quiet voices about family life in Fairfield.

It seemed to be quiet. There were no ambient noises. Miranda went into the other room and found all the stalls were empty. She was alone. She rejoined her purse and dropped her hands to the counter, leaning her upper body on it – her weight supported by her slender arms. She couldn’t hold back her raw emotion any longer. The bitter tears began to slide down her cheeks reddened with the embarrassment of humiliation. Her thoughts were a jumble of emotion, but her emotions were overshadowed by just one predominant thought – how had he known? That was the hard part for Miranda to understand. Not only had she been unforgivably and unnecessarily insulted, but the skewering had been accomplished in the only way that could have really hurt her. The stranger she had just met had unerringly touched on her secret – her Achilles Heel. How the hell had he known? How?