Seithe (11 page)

"I broke up with Brian."

"Oh honey! I'm so sorry."

I shrug and examine her richly deep green Hendrik Vermeulen suit. He's one of our finest couturier's who's dressed everyone who's anyone. Finally I meet her emerald eyes. Why do I suddenly feel so bloody tearful?

Swivelling, I replace the glass jug back under the percolator.

"Go home."

"Don't be daft."

"Just go home. Take the week off. It's quiet now anyway. I'll survive while you get your life back on track. You have to grieve or I'll have a snivelling wreck serving tea at my board meetings."

I watch her chestnut bob flow gracefully away from her heart shaped face as she stares at me with her, *you don't have a choice* expression.

I nod. "Thanks."

"It's coming out of your compassionate leave, so tell your family no one can die anytime soon."

I laugh at her attempt at a joke. "Yes ma'am."

She reaches and gives my hand a squeeze before releasing me to dump the coffee down the sink.

The drive home is no fun at all. The rain has turned into a gale of a north-easter, throwing water around in a blurry tantrum. Casting gloomy shadows over everything the grey clouds seem unmoved by the harsh gusts buffeting my blue Polo. Which reminds me, I need new wiper blades. And if this wind turns another umbrella inside out, I am going to be very angry with the Valkyries commanding this storm.

*

Back in my black hipster jeans at home, I have no idea what to do with myself. I don't feel like painting. The weather is dismal, so going outdoors is out of the question too. I've just got dry again, but the cloying humidity clings uncomfortably. Inclement Cape weather, you either love it or hate it. I usually love it, but today it's giving me cabin fever.

Although nothing beats the damp smell of recent rain, bringing to life that unique earthy aroma of soil and plants on every breeze. It's also the kind of weather which makes you crave a hot body to snuggle up with. A tall, toned, sexy hot body which probably wouldn't even fit under my duvet it owns such long legs. A melancholic sigh rivals the whistling wind.

I push my knitted shirt sleeve up and examine the wrist thoughtfully. Walking purposefully into the open plan kitchen I dig out a steak knife from the cutlery drawer. Holding it firmly I try pushing my knuckle into my wrist. No matter how hard I try, I can't reconstruct what he did.

Dammit! Why am I thinking of him again? Come on Phoebe, try and think of something else for ten whole minutes! I fling the fridge door open and the first thing my eyes alight on are the tomatoes. Seithe. Everywhere Seithe. Call him.

Walking to my phone I snatch it up, then snap it closed again. I can't call him because I don't have his number. It's like trying to resist sleep when you're exhausted. I can't. I have an addiction, borderline obsession now.

I connect again with my phone and wait impatiently for AIM to open.

PHOEBESMILES: You're online!

SEITHER:
My work is online, where did you think I'd be? Don't act surprised - you knew I'd be here.

PHOEBESMILES: I hadn't given it that much thought

SEITHER: How's work?

PHOEBESMILES: They sent me home.

SEITHER: I see.

A few moments of drawn out nothingness.

PHOEBESMILES: I'm ready.

SEITHER: Are you sure about that?

PHOEBESMILES: Yes.

SEITHER: When?

I pull my jeans away from my body and double check which undies I'm wearing. Pink lace. Perfect.

PHOEBESMILES: Now?

SEITHER: How long are you off for?

PHOEBESMILES: The rest of the week.

SEITHER: Pack a bag. I'll see you in ten minutes.

My heart begins thrumming with nervous excitement.

PHOEBESMILES: Okay

SEITHER: Phoebe.... are you sure?

PHOEBESMILES: Yes!

SEITHER: Ok.

And I watch him log off.

That canons me into activity. Madly rushing around grabbing toothbrush, perfume, hairbrush, underwear, stuffing them into an overnight bag. My pulse is going berserk, and I just have time to put my vamp teeth in when the doorbell resounds for the first time.

I push my phone into my pocket, smooth my hair, and open the door.

I can't breathe as my eyes drink in Seithe in full daylight splendour. He's wearing absolute dark sunglasses. I don't know how he sees through them. They just highlight his perfect nose posed above kiss-me-now lips. His hair is white, spiked up, accentuating his male symmetry.

His neck is surprisingly graceful as he cocks his head and smiles. His teeth are so white. I grin at his vamp teeth. Brilliant minds and all that.

He's wearing a black knit shirt almost identical to the one I'm wearing, a black leather biker's jacket which broadens his shoulders further, subliminally accentuating the V of shoulder to hip proportions. I swallow heavily when I notice the silver buckle and belt snugly surrounding his hips above long legs in tar dark jeans.

If I had any doubts they just deserted me like allies during war. This is the kind of man women will do anything for. We are shallow, but the gene pool preference instinct
demands
copulation with this type of male. And he's alpha with a capital A.

"Come in."

He walks in, and I follow his long striding with instant-lusty observation.

He peruses slowly before presumably staring at me. Those sunglasses really are dark. "Nice," he drawls softly.

I smile back. He picks up my overnight bag and wraps an arm around me, squeezing my softness against his contours, "Ready?"

I nod. So excited, I'm having a hard time breathing normally.

He lowers his head and crushes my lips against my teeth. They part as I entwine arms around his neck. He squeezes me tighter, I respond by increasing my grip; and I black out.

Chapter 15: Flow

I can smell him and ... and? My brow furrows as I cling to the lethargy and relaxation of not being fully awake. Fried onions!

My eyes instantly pop open with a smile gracing my face. I prop myself onto an elbow and chuckle quietly. A chaise longue in the kitchen? He's Mr Original, that's for sure.

His shirt is off and he seems intent on whatever he's doing at the hob. I died and went to heaven. I did! Except I owe him some pay-back. Mr. Super-alert twists to smile at me, "Welcome back."

I lose the happy smile to glower at him.

Noticing, he moves the pan off the flame and switches it off. He takes two steps toward me and stops. "Go on then."

How do you know?

He arches a cocky brown eyebrow at me. I deliberately dredge up the panic and fear I felt at what shall henceforth be referred to as *The bathroom incident*.

Standing up too quickly, I sway. Ignoring it, I stalk across to stare up at him, then slap him as hard as I can. Every mustered ounce of rage I have ever had stored up unleashes onto a perfect cheek on a flawless face.

It doesn't even change colour. No red hand mark, nothing. My hand, however, is hurting rather severely.

He smiles down at me and yanks my jeans toward him with one hand in the waistband. His heat drives me instantly to the edge. Frenzied pulse flickers like dancing fire at the proximity.

"Feel better?"

Uncertain, confused that it made zero impact whatsoever, I nod.

He hooks hands under my arms and hoists me onto the counter top, pulling me against him as he stands between my thighs. Eye to eye we stare at each other. I swallow nervously, excitement adrenalising me, screwing with my breathing.

"Kiss it better."

I stare at his cheek and smile in mute resistance. I love defiance. He smirks back with obvious bemusement.
Sexy arse!
One of his arms wraps around me in silent restraint, while his free hand starts tracing my contours with fingertips. His head buries into my neck and my senses are accosted on every level.

With his weight pushing against my pelvis, fingertips arousing me, and that tongue and hot breathing on my neck, I subconsciously draw myself closer by reaching my arms up and squeezing them behind his neck. I turn my face to touch his skin with my lips when he forces us apart abruptly. His smile is so naughty as he points to his cheek.

"I'm waiting."

Honestly I am sorely tempted to slap it again. But I can't prevent the stupid smile spreading over my face at his shameless methods. Pursing my lips and nibbling the inside of my cheek I consider not kissing him.

My desire wins and I lean forward to kiss his cheek. Just as they are about to connect to stubble his head adjusts and my lips connect with his. Pulling me tightly against him again, I drink in the pressure, the exploration, the reconnection. He turns me into a savage with a one track mind.

Ungracefully he scoops me off the counter, walking with me. He slams me into the cold tiles, my body reacting to the unyielding hardness of the wall. I grip him tightly out of instinct, not wanting to fall. His kiss feels close to oral rape, my hair snared by fingers as he forcefully crushes my body with his own.

A decadent voice laughs into my ear, "Still want me to mount you to the wall?"

"Yes." Needy, gushy, breathless.

He walks with me again, I can't see where we're going, captivated as I am with mesmerising silver irises.

"Where are we going?"

"To feed you to the sharks."

Alarm rises, because I can never tell when he's joking seriously, or seriously joking.

"Adrenalin baby, I love it when you breathe it back at me."

I try to twist to see where we're going, he's covering ground fast.

A low chuckle tickles my skin as he holds my head tight again and seductively whispers, "You make me hard."

"Are you really taking me to sharks?"

"This is your last chance to trust me. You either do or you don't. If you do, prove it."

"Seithe I ..."

Help! He's blinded me again and I can't see anything at all. Instantly I'm overly sensitive to the body heat soaking through my clothes, his unique scent permeating my nostrils.

"Seithe, please don't hurt me again."

"Ask yourself why I would choose to hurt you?"

My mind is racing. I've done nothing to you, you have no reason to hurt me. Okay I did slap you but both times you provoked it, you honestly did.

He forces me to stand as we stop, then he begins to strip my clothes off.

"What are you doing?"

"Feeding you to the sharks."

"No you aren't!"

"Prove it baby girl."

My jeans are being yanked off while I struggle to maintain balance, fervently examining my *instinctive feelings*. No matter how hard I try I cannot sense malicious intent or that kind of primal fear. I deduce he's testing me again the way he did with the aloe.

"This time the power of suggestion won't work."

He unclips my bra and yanks it off, leaving me in just pink lace for minimum modesty. He lifts me, and my toes recoil violently from cold water.

"NO! I don't want to get in water!"

"Do you trust me?"

"YES!"

"Why?"

"I don't know why! I just do."

"Why Phoebe?"

"It's not logical Seithe! I can't explain why I trust you! It's just what I feel!"

"Name it! Define it."

"Instinct! My trust is instinctive."

"I'm putting you in the water."

"Why?"

I'm close to tears now. I don't want to get wet.

Hands close over my ears. Now I can't hear and I'm blind. Oh God! Within moments something covers my ears again and I sag when I hear movement. Hands grab my waist and hoist me forward.

SQUEAAAAL!

I'm almost delirious with relief when I experience his body against mine in the water. I hold him tightly as water particles dance icy fingers over my warmth, stealing it. My breath draws in with shock. He pulls me hard against him and I soak in his unnatural heat. Frigidly C.O.L.D!