Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) (8 page)

Lost in my body’s own symphony of sensation, I hardly notice the extent this kiss has deepened. Our bodies are pressed against each other as if we have melded into one. Dorian’s hand is knotted in my hair, firmly massaging my scalp, while the other is on my lower back, pulling me closer still. My own hands roam his soft, tousled black hair and broad hard shoulders. I know we must be making a spectacle of ourselves but we’re oblivious. At least I am. Tongues intertwined in a slow, seductive dance, exploring, tasting, teasing. It could go on forever and I still could not get enough of Dorian’s succulent flavor. He tastes refreshing and cool like an ice cold drink on a hot summer’s day. Yet the current our bodies emit is pure fire and heat. The mixture is intoxicating and addicting.

Approaching voices break our trance and we simultaneously pull away. I’m panting and flustered, looking up at Dorian in wonder. He looks oddly calm and collected, smug even, as if he knows he’s unraveled me. Shit, he knows he’s got me under his spell. But there’s no turning back now. I can’t even begin to walk away from him, not after what just transpired between us. He’s the only thing that even remotely makes sense right now. His presence these last few days has given me the comfort and happiness that I so desperately crave-that I so desperately
need
- to keep sane. Even if his only purpose in my life is to provide me with mind-numbing passion, I’d happily accept it with open arms.
And open legs.

“That was…. Interesting,” I say, breaking the tense silence between us.

“The stones are interesting,” he replies, licking his lips. He closes his eyes for a long moment, as if he’s savoring the memory of our mingled tongues. “You are absolutely delectable.”

Suddenly, a horrifying clap of thunder roars overhead and I notice that the skies are dangerously dark. Just seconds before we were basking in the warm sunlight without a cloud in the sky. I am baffled but I know we should find shelter to avoid getting drenched. A violent storm is approaching and lightning strikes in the Springs are a known threat.

“We should head back,” I remark as a bright flash of electricity lights the dark sky. A loud rumble quickly follows, indicating that the lightening is close. Dorian looks up and frowns at the heavens then nods, grasping my hand and ushering me back towards the parking lot. We make it back just as the torrential rain begins. 

“Did you want to go home? Or would you mind spending a little more time with me?” Dorian asks as he fires up the Mercedes. He looks devastatingly sexy, with his jet black hair slick and speckled with rain. I’m tempted to lean over and lick the raindrops from his face, expecting them to taste as sweet as his lips.

“I don’t mind,” is all I say. Inside I’m jumping for joy since I expected our date to end because of the weather. I use all my willpower to keep the goofy grin off my face.

“There’s a little place I want to take you,” he says. And with that we are back on the road.

Robin Thicke is still playing and he’s singing a smooth ballad about being dangerous. Though his words warn his lady love to stay away and to avoid falling in love, his sugary sweet melody doesn’t match his threat of imminent danger. It’s alluring and inviting. You don’t want to turn away; you want more and more no matter the risk. I recall Dorian’s account of the power of music and my brow furrows. He was onto something.

“Would you rather listen to something else?” Dorian asks suddenly and the song switches abruptly. It’s Coldplay’s “Paradise.”

“Well, no but you’ve already changed it,” I reply.

“Oh? I thought I saw a frown on your face. Maybe you took the song as a warning.” He flashes a devilishly sexy smile. I squirm against the leather upholstery.

A warning? Oh shit. Has he realized that being around me could be perilous to him? Of course. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve got a sadistic Warlock out for my blood and here I am, ready to spread my legs and do the forbidden dance with an innocent, though totally gorgeous and mysterious, man that I hardly know. Yes. That song was a warning. For him. 

“No, this song is fine. You can let it play.” I turn my head to look out the window at the beating rain, wishing it could wash away my shame. And my fear.

We pull up to a little bistro that could best be described as quaint. It’s beautifully decorated with fresh flower arrangements, magnificent framed artwork and several displays of wine. It’s a warm welcome from the relentless rainfall. Our friendly hostess smiles at us sweetly and leads us to a quiet table for two, noticeably separate from the other diners. I eye the display case of fresh-baked pastries and cakes on the way and my mouth instantly waters. I am famished and glad that Dorian thought to come here. I quickly open the menu once we’re seated and scan their selections.

“Hungry?” Dorian smiles, peering over his own menu. 

“Starved,” I say sheepishly. And not just for food. “So what’s good here?”

“I’ve only been here once and everything I had was fantastic. Do you like seafood?” Dorian puts down his menu and folds his hands on the table in front of him. 

“I love it,” I reply. 

“Good. Their mussels and clams are excellent,” he remarks.

Just as I’ve decided what to order, our server approaches us, a tall, thin brunette with a bright smile, a notable change from our waitress from the sports bar. She is pretty in a girl next door kind of way and has kind eyes. 

“Bonjour, mademoiselle, monsieur,” she greets each of us with a bow of her head. Dorian returns her friendly acknowledgment and answers back in flawless French. I fail at hiding my shock after the waitress leaves.

“Whoa. You speak French?” I ask, clearly impressed. 

Dorian answers with a sheepish half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes. Among other languages.” 

I note his nonchalance with a raised eyebrow and a shrug of my own. We make small talk until our server returns with glasses of wine and a large bottle of sparkling water. I take a swig of the cool, crisp rose wine and an involuntary ‘
Mmmm
’ escapes my lips.

Seeing as it is still pretty early in the day, I opt for a Muffeletta sandwich while Dorian orders a Nicoise salad. The waitress smiles at us both and leaves to put in our food orders, returning moments later with a large platter of clams and mussels in a white wine sauce. They look and smell amazing. Dorian must’ve ordered these in his perfect French along with the wine. 

“Dig in,” he offers and he scoops a few shells onto each of our plates. 

He was right; the seafood is exceptional. We lose ourselves in the delicious shellfish and giggle as sauce dribbles down our chins. It’s remarkable how down to earth and easygoing Dorian is. Though I am taken aback by his startling good looks, he has a way of making me feel totally at ease with him, something I’ve only experienced with Jared. I feel this inner draw to him, as if I can tell him anything. Like I can already trust him wholeheartedly.

“So what do you plan to do after you receive your degree in May?” Dorian asks.

“Really, I have no idea,” I reply, finishing the last mussel on my appetizer plate.

“No plans to head to a 4 year university to get your Bachelor’s?”

“That would be the most logical thing but I really don’t have the desire to. Then again, I definitely don’t want to be a sales clerk for much longer.” I put my napkin down and sigh. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.”

“Really? What’s your major?” he asks.

My mouth twists into an uncomfortable grimace. “Undecided.”
About just about everything, that is.

“Well, what are you passionate about?” Hmmm, good question.

“Honestly?” I give him a fake smile to mask my shame. “Nothing. I’ve never been great at anything in school. Never was a cheerleader or even an athlete. The only thing I really excelled at was martial arts but that was some years ago.” Dorian looks at me quizzically. “Oh yeah, I was known for being a bit of a bad ass,” I snicker, nervously. 

My rough and tumble ways are probably a direct opposite, if not insult, to Dorian’s cool and polished demeanor. Even with his bad boy good looks, I can tell he comes from a refined background. Might as well lay all the cards on the table now.

“You? Really?” He eyes assess the length of my body, causing me to squirm. 

“Yeah,” I shrug sheepishly. “I never was one of those girls that wanted to be a princess or a ballerina. A while ago, I really wanted to enlist in the Marine Corps. Then ultimately, try to join the CIA. But it was just a crazy dream.” I chuckle nervously, shaking my head at my absurdity. 

“It’s just…I never wanted to be some dainty damsel in distress. I never wanted to be rescued. I've never been
that
girl. I wanted to be the one kickin’ ass and taking names. I wanted to be the hero, you know.” I can’t believe I’m divulging such an outlandish idea to him but something about Dorian puts me oddly at ease. Like I’ve known him for years. I had never told anyone my career goals, not even Jared. 

Dorian licks his lips before they spread into a sexy half smile. “I can understand that. Pretty damn sexy if you ask me.” Our server suddenly appears to collect our dirty dishes and hurriedly rushes away, no doubt feeling the sexual static between us. I take a long sip of wine to wash down my anxiety. I’m thankful when Dorian signals to our server for a refill.

“Well, that was a long time ago. I promise I’m a good girl now,” I say, giving him my best naughty smirk.

“Pity,” he retorts, his eyes flashing arctic blue. “That could’ve been fun. But I’m sure you’ve still got some bad girl in you. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He leans in closer and I can almost feel the coolness of his breath. I hold my own breath in expectation. 

“Excusez-moi,” the polite waitress nervously interrupts with our meals. She sets them in front of us and asks if there is anything else we need. Dorian and I both answer with a shake of our heads and she scampers towards her other patrons.

I look down at my huge sandwich and my eyes grow wide. There’s no way I’ll be able to finish this. Dorian’s perfectly dressed salad seems more practical. “Please tell me you’ll take half of this,” I chuckle. It looks as if our orders have gotten switched around.

Noting the irony, Dorian snickers and says, “I’ll tell you what. Only if you share some of this with me.”

“Deal!” I reply and begin to portion him more than half of the mountain of delicate meats, cheeses and olive salad.

We enjoy our meal with easy chatter and chuckles, enjoying the delicious cuisine and refreshing wine. I find myself giggling at every joke and hanging onto every word that passes Dorian’s lips, which are pretty damn hard to take my eyes off of. I imagine tasting those lips again, nibbling them, feeling them against my skin, between my thighs…

“I hope you’ve left room for dessert,” Dorian remarks breaking me from my sinful thoughts. 

“Dessert?!” I exclaim. “I can hardly breathe!”

“Oh come on, this place is actually best known for their desserts. Award-winning, I hear.” Right on cue our server scoops up our empty plates and places a dessert menu on the table. I can see why they’re known for their sweets; it’s as long as their regular menu.

We agree to go with the Fresh Fruit Tart, as long as I promise to try the Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake with him another time. It gives me hope and warms my heart that there could actually be a future for us. Then the looming remembrance of my murderous stalker rips that hope in two. The thought causes me to shiver and I give him a sorrowful tight-lipped grin. He looks at me with a question in his eyes but before he can ask me what’s wrong, our server returns with our dessert. The bright berries and flaky butter pastry look like a page out of Food & Wine magazine. 

“We won’t need this,” Dorian says to our waitress, handing her one of the two small forks she brought with the tart. She looks puzzled and a bit embarrassed, as do I, but takes the fork and scurries away, leaving behind a pregnant pause.

Dorian takes the remaining fork and cuts into the tart, scooping up a bit of crust, custard and a fresh raspberry. He holds it in front of my lips, his eyes urging me to take a taste. I open my mouth slowly and Dorian eases the fork inside, sliding the creamy treat onto my tongue. I close my eyes as I savor the sweet silky custard, the rich crumbly crust, and the tartness of the berry. It’s divine. I open my eyes to meet Dorian’s smoldering hooded gaze. I lick my lips in response and smile slyly.

“Ok, your turn,” I say, taking the fork from him. I ration a small portion and slowly, deliberately feed Dorian the bite. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, his stare intensifying as he gently chews. It’s enough to make me ache below and I secretly wish it was me he was consuming.

We continue on this way for the remainder of the tart and a glass of dessert wine when the familiar sound of a cell phone vibration interrupts us. It’s Dorian’s. He looks at the number, frowns and hits Ignore, stuffing the phone back into his jacket pocket. It makes me uneasy though I know I have no right to ask him who it is and why he didn’t answer. 

Dorian’s demeanor shifts instantly and darkness creeps onto his face. The lighthearted, tender moments that we shared today are a distant memory. It’s as if I am looking at a stranger. The man who pressed his soft lips against mine in an impassioned, frenzied lip-lock is no longer present. The hidden darkness displayed on his caller ID has taken him away from me.

“Well, I better get home. It’s getting late,” I say after an uncomfortable beat. That’s right, better to end things on my terms before he dismisses me. My cold, guarded front is back with the intrusion of his.

“Yeah, that’s probably best,” he mutters and signals the waitress for the check. 

When I offer to pay for my share, he waves me off without a word and pulls out his wallet. I sit in silence, fingering a loose thread on my sweater. Suddenly, I feel a warm finger on my chin gently pull my face up. Dorian is leaning over the table and his eyes connect with mine. He smiles kindly and I notice that he looks older, solemn. Remorse washes over him and I instantly soften. Once he notices that I’ve relaxed a bit, he exhales with relief. He then stands to his feet and holds his hand out to help me up. I oblige, and we make our way out into the cool evening air, hand in hand.