Retrieving Journals

Aidan's Flat

The two-story flat takes up residence on the top space of its building. The building is an old hotel that was reconstructed into flats in the 1950s, and has been updated sporadically every twenty or thirty years.The flat is very open and inviting, with rooms flowing into each other seamlessly, marked only by the complimentary changes in decor - tile and flooring, color of the walls. Its decorated in a contemporary modern style with light colored wood and chrome, and highlights of dark marble or granite, ceramic tiles and hardwood floors covered over with tasteful area rugs. An open staircase leads up to the three bedrooms on the second floor.The living/sitting/lounge area has a large picture window that peers over the city. There is an electric fireplace in one corner of the room, over which hangs a large flat screen television. A Fazioli baby grand piano stands in one corner, and the question lurks of whether is it ever used or is there purely for decoration.


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Aidan Corrie

Aidan drives a bit recklessly. He prides himself on being one of those vampires who keeps abreast of technology and modern developments, and he never shyed away from cars. He drives fast, and glamours himself out of traffic citations - when he gets caught. Therefore, he reaches his flat ahead of Corrie, leaving instructions for the doorman to send the "pretty red head" straight up when she arrives. He endures a few risque comments and ribald jokes about his attitudes and "plentiful lady friends" before taking the stairs up to his flat.

Getting there early gives him plenty of time to retrieve the last two of Gwen's journals that he has with him at this time; the grimoire pages and necklace, locked safely in his bedroom safe, will wait until later.

Upon return to the living area, the journals are placed on the coffee table and Aidan turns on the music, nothing that would even suggest that he is trying to turn this into a seduction - just a local station that has apparently decided that tonight it would delve into an odd mix from the 80s and 90s.

Pulling a face, Aidan switches to his iPod, hoping to find something at last palatable for background music.


Corrie is not a reckless driver. For one, she doesn't have the option of 'immortality'. For another, she really doesn't want a traffic citation. Thus, she drives slow, and carefully, giving Aidan a twenty minute head start approximately.

She doesn't park at the building either. She leaves her car a block away and walks the rest of the distance. Long enough to clear her head before she runs into the doorman, who tells her she can go right up.

She can't help but wonder if he's leering at her once she's past him, but she doesn't look back to see. If he was, she'd likely turn around and walk off. Especially since she's certain he was the doorman the other evening.

The rap on the door is very light when she gets up to the flat. Just a gentle tap, really.


Aidan gives up on the music when he hears the soft rap at the door. Corrie was probably a kid - or teenager or in uni - when the music playing was popular, so she'll probably appreciate it for nostalgic reasons.

His shoes are already off as he makes his way to the door, having made himself comfortable for the night. True, Aidan might — most probably — will end up going back out again, but he's home for now, and that means barefeet and a glass of scotch waiting at the bar for him.

Amazingly for once, Aidan has no ulterior motives, no designs and no plans for the night. Corrie wants Gwen's journals, so he's going to deliver the journals.

The vampire opens door with a smile, and though he itches to remind her of the last time she set foot in his flat, only a few nights previously, Aidan restrains himself. It's truly impressive, really. "Evening, Corrie. Come on in."


"Thank you."

Honestly, he doesn't need to remind her of the night. As much as she protests that she doesn't recall that evening, the truth is she remembers each detail with a great deal of clarity. Thus, it's no surprise that her face immediately starts to color to a deep red.

"I do appreciate you doing this. I know it's early for you yet." Frankly, she'd rather not be here… she didn't want to run into Aidan tonight, but she's not going to pass up an opportunity.


The sight of the blush crawling up Corrie's neck and into her face does bring something a smugly satisfied smile to Aidan's lips. One that he banishes nearly as quick as it appears. Aidan gives a half-shrug, falling into his classic affected boredom. "If it was a problem, we wouldn't be here," Aidan tells her as he closes the door behind her. He locks it, not to trap her but because he's not stupid, and yes, he might be a little bit paranoid about protecting what is quite basically his lair and safe house.

"Like you said, it's early." He has all night. Aidan motions her toward the living area, "Could I get you anything? Water? Tea?"


"Scotch," she replies, "Neat."

Really, Corrie would be better off having water, but one drink isn't going to make her lose control — she hopes.

"How did you come to be in possession of the journals anyhow? Did she bequeath them to you or some such?" Beat. "Did she just leave them behind somewhere for you when she died?" Doubtful that they would've been left with the family considering the associations but she can't help being curious.


There is the briefest, subtle lifting of brows when Corrie asks for the scotch, but that's the only sign that Aidan is surprised by her request. He fully expects her to avoid being anywhere near intoxicated in his presence after the most recent fallout, but she's a big girl and if she wants a drink, he's not going to argue about it.

Besides which, Corrie Kavanaugh is a lot more relaxed and fun when she has been loosened up with a bit of alcohol.

Aidan crosses to the bar and takes out a glass. As he pours, he explains, "She gave them to me before she died. They were personal and there were things she didn't want her sisters and cousins to know. Fully certain that her intention was to take them back someday." It's not a lie, a few of them she did give to Aidan before; most fell into his hands after.

Picking up his own glass, and then hers, Aidan crosses the room and hands her the glass. "You can sit down, yeah? Make yourself comfortable?"


Carefully removing her shoes, Corrie turns to set them by the door. Returning to the main room, she seats herself nearest the arm of the chesterfield, and nods.

"I can imagine she wouldn't want others to get their hands on them. Especially considering what was in that first journal." These would likely have been a very private set of journals, as opposed to those with the daily comings and goings of the household.

Falling silent, she glances about the room and then stops at the piano. "Do you play or is it only decoration?"


"Gwendolyn was quite vocal about her innermost thoughts and feelings," Aidan acknowledges with regards to the journals. In a move quite different from his usual, he doesn't crowd into Corrie's space. With the drink delivered, he takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. He lifts his drink to his mouth, takes a swallow and follows Corrie's gaze around the room.

"Yes," Aidan replies to her question. He grins boyishly at her. "It makes an excellent focal point for the window and the bookcases, but I also play."


"So I noticed from the journal you lent me." Corrie doesn't sip from the scotch just yet. Instead, she cradles it in her hands and glances around again. Trying to catch another glimpse into the demon. "Are you any good?"


"Forget that. You must be good, you've had centuries of practice, I'd wager."

Lifting the glass to her lips finally, she takes the tiniest sip.

"What happened to her?"


Aidan watches the witch as her eyes track his flat. There's no question of what she's doing. It's the same as anyone would do upon visiting someone's home for the first time: find out what you can about them from looking at their stuff. That and find an excuse to nose through the medicine cabinet. And while this is not technically Corrie's first time, it is the first time that she's not otherwise engaged or distracted.

"I've never been judged or reviewed," Aidan shrugs at the piano question, "No one's ever run from the room wincing or with bleeding ears either." Beat. "I know that I'm no great concert pianist, though. No amount of practice can substitute a natural talent for some things."

Aidan stands and crosses to the piano, grabbing a coaster from the bar along the way. Coaster is set down, drink placed upon it and Aidan lifts the cover. He plays up the scale and down again, and then plays a few bars of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata', "Suppose that I'm decent enough. Though I'm probably better on the guitar."

Yes, he has completely ignored the question about Gwen.


Corrie notes the books, and the penchant for Celtic artwork. She's about to get up and get closer to the bookshelves to see if he's anything absolutely rare in there, when he starts to play. Pausing mid stand, she blinks. "You do play very well." She almost asks him to play 'Fur Elise' but stops herself before the words come out of her mouth.

Instead, she notes that he ignored the question and bites her lip.

"Aidan, please tell me what happened to her?" Beat. "I want to add her back into the grimoires." Well her grimoires at least. "So it would really help me."


"She died," Aidan says simply as he continues to play, his fingers dancing over the keys effortlessly.

Aidan isn't certain that he wants to have this conversation, simply because it's still a thorn in his side, and his brother's betrayal still stings even centuries later. He may not be human, but Aidan can feel anger and humiliation, and he can harbor a lust for vengeance at having what was his taken away.

"My brother … stole away with her, and then he killed her."


Yes, he has a brother, as bizarre as that might sound to Corrie's ears. "It wasn't a terribly clever decision on his part. Then again, he isn't terribly clever."


"Brother…" Beat. "Another vampire with the same maker?" Because the thought that Aidan might have an actual brother that is also a vampire is just too difficult for her to wrap her head around at the moment.

Setting her glass down on a coaster, she moves toward the piano. She's careful not to lean against it, but she wants to watch his expressions — or lack there of.

"Why would he do such a thing?"


Aidan closes his eyes, feeling the piece from memory. He senses Corrie's approach, but doesn't open his eyes to acknowledge her just yet. "No, well … yes. We did have the same maker." There's a pause while Aidan's brow furrows, his teeth biting into his lower lip as he focuses on the music. What was that about music soothing the savage beast?

"My actual brother, though. Same mother. Same father. Probably same father. There were always rumors and whispers about that."

Blue eyes spring open and fix directly on Corrie, though Aidan never watched her approach the piano. "Because he's an arse, and he wanted what was mine. Or else he just wanted to piss me off."


"It worked."


Corrie raises her brow at that. Actual brother, same maker… and she's left to wonder why at that, but doesn't want to pry too much into that since he seems to be a little moody on the subject.

"You're not afraid of history repeating itself then? Because honestly, I'd hate to be considered yours and wind up dead because of it." There are about a million red flags, bells, and whistles going off in her head right now. All of which are screaming 'FLEE'.

"I'm sorry, Aidan. I know losing her was difficult for you. I just honestly can't help my curiosity in the matter."


Aidan stops playing suddenly. "I'm not human, Corrie. He's not human. Our reasons and motivations aren't necessarily going to be anything that you can understand or process." Aidan lifts the scotch and takes a long drink. "That's not me being rude, by the way, that's me being honest and pragmatic."

His attention returns to the piano, and Aidan plucks away at something a bit melancholy. "You're not in any danger because you're not Gwen. She gave herself to me, heart, body and soul." The witch truly was Aidan's in every sense of the word.

"I might not have been completely honest. Seamus didn't exactly steal her. Gwen went quite willingly with him."


"Of course it is," Corrie says with a nod. It's true, really. It would be very difficult for her to fathom the sociopathic motivations of a soulless being. Actually, it'd be fairly difficult for her to fathom the sociopathic motivations of a souled being as well.

"Yes, I still don't understand that either. Perhaps I'll gain further insight from her journals." She moves toward Aidan then, just to rest a friendly hand on his shoulder. He's not sotted enough to really talk about this, so she knows that him giving her these answers is going above and beyond at this point.

"Though why would someone who purportedly loved you run off with your brother?" Beat. "It sounds like the makings of one of Celia's novels, actually…"


The music slows and then stops again, the vampire glancing up at the woman as she places her hand on his shoulder. He's well aware of her intention, of what that touch is supposed to mean. Aidan takes in the spirit that it's offered, reaching up to pat her hand. Quickly, briefly, his hand dropping back down nearly as quickly as it rose.

"It would, I suppose," Aidan gives a mirthless chuckle. "Except that there is no happy ending there." Beat. "She left to save my life, Corrie. To protect me from Seamus, who pretty much wanted me dead. Still does, probably. Fortunately, the feeling is mutual."

Aidan takes the scotch in hand again and tosses it back in one large gulp. "I've had plenty of companions since Gwen and he hasn't taken any interest in any of them. Considering that you don't like me enough to put your life on the line for mine, Kavanaugh, and Seamus' current lack of interest in anyone I interact with, I'd say you're pretty safe."


Reaching her hand out to grab the empty glass, she doesn't say anything. Not a single word as she processes it all. Corrie just takes the glass, turning away from him to wander to the bar. There, she carefully pours three fingers of the scotch into the glass. Standing there for a moment, she takes a deep breath, then wanders back to place the glass in his hand once more.

"She honestly loved you," she says quietly. "Not just the mutual benefits of protection. She honestly loved you."

A step back is taken from the man at the piano and she turns her interest on the room. "I can handle myself," she says idly in regards to her safety. "I wasn't too concerned with your brother attacking me anyhow, merely curious if he would go after something that he considered to be yours."


Aidan is happy with the silence. He's actually happy filling the silence with music, and turning back to the piano he restarts 'Moonlight Sonata.' It truly is somewhat soothing and distracting to let his fingers dance over the keys, and to just play, something he hasn't done with an audience, in a manner of speaking, for some time.

He stops again as Corrie returns with the glass, and watches her curiously as he takes a drink. Raising the glass a bit, he murmurs a quiet, "Thank you."

"You sound surprised," Aidan observes, quietly. "It happens."

He taps out the scale on the piano, up and down and up again. "No, I wouldn't say that you have any reason to be concerned. Gwen was a special case."


"Should I not be surprised? It's odd to me to think that someone could honestly care so deeply for a man that could have no hope of returning such perfect affection."

Corrie moves back to the couch then, allowing him his space. Once again she's quiet. Absolutely uncertain what to say.

Instead of words, she chooses a slight nod.

With dry humor, she regards him. "Yes. I suppose I should be thankful I'm not at all special."


Having 'been there, done that,' Aidan was not, and is not at all surprised by the depths of Gwen's feelings. Those same foolish human emotions of love and enamouration were what led him to where he is and what he is today. Not that there is regret or lamentation, it simply is what it is, and Aidan will not lie about the cause.

"I don't know," Aidan says after a few moments, "Humans have a tendency to covet what they can't have and emotionally invest themselves in the purely unattainable." Beat. "I was, at least, attainable."

Aidan takes another drink and puts the glass to the side again in favor of tickling out a few chords on the piano. The vampire makes a tsking sound. "Don't sulk, it's not becoming." Another chord is played out. "I never said that you aren't a special snowflake, I simply said that Gwen was … it was a different time, I was different, things were vastly different. Including my brother's motivations and means of upstaging and getting at me."


"I'm hardly sulking. I actually find it quite amusing." Corrie draws her legs up under her, leaning on the arm of the chesterfield. "That you are well aware that I will never be like that." She realizes immediately that her words sound like a challenge, and she reaches for her own glass to sip from it delicately.

"I am well aware of how foolish we are as a race." She is the one interested in a sorcerer, and knows full well that isn't likely to happen at all.

"Basically, your brother was a jealous, selfish little boy who took something that you had for the sole purpose of hurting you."


"And I thought you were an arse."


The dark haired vampire continues to play for a few minutes after her words. It might almost seem as though he hasn't heard her, but they both know that such is not the case. When he tires again, he reaches for the glass and turns on the piano bench to look at the woman on his couch. "Oh, Corrie, I am so very, very aware of how much you are not like Gwen and will never be like Gwen." There is a slight upward curl to his lips, though it would be hard to decide if he were meaning to be insulting or complimentary; or simply stating something he views as fact.

"Coming from you, that's high praise. I'll take it." Aidan lifts his glass in a mock salute, and finishes it in a few swallows. "I do pride myself on being slightly more civilized than Seamus."


Corrie actually rolls her eyes at that. It's a compliment to be sure, that she's not as daft as her ancestress.

Still she can't help but be contrary.

"And how much do you wish history was repeating itself at this moment?" Beat. "You'd not be having this conversation if I were like Gwendolyn Bishop. She was the type to act first, and worry about consequences later."


Aidan leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. He rolls the empty glass between his palms, his blue eyes fixing on Corrie. "As much I can't deny that Gwen's approach was freeing, I do admit that there are drawbacks to always falling into such patterns of impulsive, reckless behavior."

Pushing to his feet, Aidan walks to the bar and pours himself another glass of scotch. "I've no interest in history repeating itself." Beat. "Unless we're speaking of more immediate past history," is added with a sly, almost leering smirk.

Aidan takes several swallows from his glass, watching Corrie over the rim as he does so, and finishes off with a shrug. "I'd not be having this conversation if I didn't want to. Face it, Kavanaugh, I might just enjoy your company… and you're not completely averse to mine, no matter how strenously you protest it."


"Point." After all if her ancestress weren't so impulsive, she likely would've lived to a ripe old age, and have filled out a grimoire of her own, rather than being removed from the family history.

"I could have…" The offer dies out entirely when he goes there. Corrie's face turns a lovely shade of beet red, and she quickly downs the remainder of her scotch. Setting the glass on the coaster, she looks across the room rather than at him.

"I could simply be tolerating you until I get my family's heritage back," she points out.


"You're so darn cute when you blush," Aidan compliments completely without shame.

Crossing to the front of the bar, he stops there and leans against it, making no move to close the distance between himself and the witch. Another small sip is taken, and then Aidan moistens his lips. "You very well could be. Considering how big of an arse I am, that's some firm dedication that you have there."

With his scotch glass hand, Aidan motions toward the dining room table. "The journals are there on the table. I'll have to go back into storage to find the remainder of the items."


"Do be quiet," Corrie says, keeping her face averted from him until she can feel the heat dissipating from her pale skin. Taking a deep breath, she slowly glances toward him and notes that he's leaning against the bar — which means forgoing another drink. Probably better for her at the moment.

"Family is very important to me," she says quietly.

Then she blinks.

"There's… more? What else is there?"


Aidan's gaze turns inward as he truly thinks of what else he's been holding onto for Gwen, or for her one of her decendants, in addition to the necklace and the grimoire pages. "More journals, some jewelry. Some loose pages that don't have a journal." He gives a shrug, as though anticipating her thoughts and questions. "Just because I don't feel things the same way you do, don't let that confuse you into thinking I don't get nostalgic."

Again, Aidan's ready to shift the subject and he turns away from the bar to walk to the large glass window. Resting his hand against the nearest pane, he stares out at the city.


Corrie bites her lip, and for now accepts that as an answer.

"I'd like to see it all some day." Not have it because really the most she can ask for is to copy some of the things down. "When you feel up to delving into the past a little more."

Taking up one of the journals, she makes herself comfortable on the couch. Her fingers dance gently over the leather, and she smiles much like a child with a coveted secret. Carefully opening the book, she starts to peruse the first few pages. Checking to see if the handwriting is much the same as in the first book.


Though he's not truly watching her, Aidan catches Corrie's reflection in the glass, and is peripherally aware of her movements. There's a flicker of surprise across his face when she settles on the couch with one of the journals; the vampire truly expected her to take her prize and flee his presence as soon as possible. Particularly since he'll be the first to admit that he's bordering on not being the most pleasant of company right now.

Normally, such a thing wouldn't matter to him, but he is trying to win the witch over - without relying on glamour and other skills - and being a complete and utter arse isn't going to accomplish anything.

He finishes the scotch, his attention still focused out of the window, the music on the stereo playing soft and low in the background, and then turns to simply study the witch.


If Corrie were aware she could take the journals and flee, she likely would've. So far as she's aware, he wants to keep them and she's merely being granted a peek. So she'll take the peek where she can.

After about five full minutes of silence on her part, she blinks and glances over at him.

"Did she ever…" Now how to delicately put the question? Honestly, there's no delicate way to put it. "… blood," she blurts. "Did she ever drink your blood?" Blushing, she looks away again. Down at the journal resting in her lap.

"Sorry, that's rather personal, isn't it?"


Aidan's eyes rake over Corrie appraisingly, and he doesn't answer immediately. It's a curious question, and really one Aidan never expected to hear her ask, particularly with all the other things he knows that Gwen recorded in her journals. Knows, because he read them.

Aidan strolls to the chesterfield and perches on the far arm, continuing to give Corrie her comfortable distance. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he considers his answer. "It is personal, but considering everything else that Gwen recorded, it'd be completely hypocritical of me to play that particular card." The empty scotch glass is rolled between his palms again before Aidan tosses it up in a high arc, and catches it behind his back. "Yes." Beat. "Why, are you interested?"


There is a great deal that she's already ascertained just from the first few pages of the journal. They honestly are like reading an old-time romance novel, what with the way Gwendolyn has things worded. The majority of it is enough to make Corrie blush, but she's not really delved that far into the book as of yet.

"Hmm?" Beat. Blink. "What!?!? Are you absolutely mad? Of course not." Beat. "I was just honestly curious if it was a… thing. What with her loving you and… it just occurred to me to be something that she might do."


With a soft chuckle, Aidan slides off the arm of the chesterfield and onto it, twisting to place the scotch glass on the sideboard table. He leans against the arm of the chesterfield, one leg pulled up to his chest, the other leg dangling off with his foot on the floor. The witch's reaction made his return question and answer well worth it, and if he were keeping score, Aidan would mark off a tick mark in his tally column.

"I have been accused of being mad, yes." His eyes linger for a moment, and he bites his lower lip reflectively, "You're right. It is a thing. I'm a vampire. Blood is a thing."


"Not what I meant," Corrie replies quickly, blushing and dipping her head down to read another journal passage. It's a good minute or two before she peeks upward again, and she takes a deep breath. "I was curious if it was meant to be a sensual thing. I can't see the coppery taste being all that inducing of one's libido though."

Licking her lips, she carefully closes the book and hops up to her feet. She takes both glasses and paces toward the bar. She fills them, though she adds a splash of water to hers.

Carefully setting his down on the sideboard again, she takes a small sip from her own glass then clears her throat.


"It wasn't about the taste," Aidan idly swings his leg, bare foot brushing the floor. He pauses and frowns, not quite believing that he is contemplating having this conversation with the witch. "It has more to do with the intimacy of sharing." Vampires like the taste of blood, they have to, it's their sustenance; on the same hand, they'll frequently bite one another during intimate situations and that has nothing at all to do with sustenance.

A slight smile touches on his lips as Corrie suddenly finds a reason to vacate the couch. Aidan is very clear on why, at least he's clear on what her scent and heart rate were telling him, but he doesn't utter a word. He doesn't even lift a metaphysical finger to sway her one way or another as she refills their glasses and returns.

Picking his up, Aidan sips and returns it. "Gwen was quite verbose." Said casually, and off-handedly.


"The journals?"

Corrie nods, and then paces the room while she sips from her watered down scotch. "She definitely was in the first that you've leant me. I should think she may be in these ones as well. I doubt I can get through both of them this evening though." She finally stops on the other side of the coffee table and chances a glance in his direction. "So it was an intimate thing." Beat. "I don't understand how it possibly could be."


"Yes, the journals." Aidan tracks her, his eyes dancing a bit with merriment at her need to keep moving and keep her distance from him. It's not even as though he's tried anything with her since coming back to his flat. He's being a perfect gentleman through and through, and really shouldn't he get some sort of acknowledgment or good karma for that?

"I don't suspect that you do," Aidan says. "It's not something that can be explained either." No more than it can be explained why kissing is intimate to someone who's never experienced it, or why sex is so profoundly pleasureable.

Shrugging as though it doesn't matter, Aidan swings around, propping his feet on the coffee table and tucking an arm behind his head. "You'll just have to take my word for it."


"Who else's word would I possibly take? It's not as though I run around nightly with vampires, you realize." Corrie rolls her eyes before she finally decides on a chair that's across the room from him. Shifting as she sits until she's quite comfortable, she drops her head back against it and sighs. The conversation is going to wind up circular with her 'I don't understands' and his 'I don't suppose you do's'. Rather than go back to it, she asks, "What does one wear to Mardi Gras? I've found several costumes, but none that I'm certain are what one is supposed to wear, or if they're just fancy dress costumes for the fun of it."


Aidan almost, almost tells her that he won't bite, but changes his mind and decides against it. Instead, upon seeing her take a seat in a chair - as far from him as possible - Aidan changes position again. He stretches out on the couch, lacing his hands behind his head as he gazes up at the ceiling. "If you're between the ages of 18 and 25, or just very sotted, and parading down Bourbon street in the French Quarter, you wear a very thin t-shirt or tank top and no bra." There is most certainly an appreciative and wistful smile on his lips as he says those words.

"There's really no set costume. One wears whatever costume one wants to wear. That's the point of it being a huge costume party." Beat. "However, for a themed ball, like the one you're planning? Something more traditional. Though even that's open to interpretation."

Aidan rolls his head so that he can look at her, "What sorts of costumes were you considering?"


"As I'm most certainly not between those ages, or caring at all to show off my naughty bits to all and sundry, I think I'll forgo that particular outfit," Corrie says extremely dryly.

"A dress of some sort. There were two that caught my eye when I was in picking out the masks. One was perhaps a little more formal than the other, but both are quite lovely." Though the more formal of the two would go splendidly with the mask she's chosen, as well as her hair.


"But you have such lovely naughty bits." He can't help it, really. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Aidan really, truly, is trying to play the gentleman, but … there's truly only so much he can handle before something springs free.

Sitting up, a genuine look of curiosity settles on his features, "Show me?" Beat. "Maybe I can help you decide." Though it would be just like the witch to say 'no' or decide opposite of what he suggests.


Corrie opens her mouth to say something, but winds up gaping like a trout for several moments. Eventually to stop the issue of opening and closing her mouth rapidly, she takes a sip of the drink. Placing the glass on the table, she gets up once again — she seems rather fidgety at the moment — and glances around the room.

"Have you a computer? The shop does have a website."


Aidan watches her with a mixture of amusement and a touch of exasperation. He can practically feel the tension and desire rolling off of her, and he's had to do nothing to cause it, other than be in the same room with her. The vampire really doesn't understand why the woman will go to such lengths to deny herself what she very clearly wants.

"You do know," Aidan throws out in that quietly affected bored drawl of his. "That I'm not going to leap across the room, rip your clothes off and take you by force, yeah?"

That being said, he swings himself gracefully from the couch and rises to his feet. "My laptop is upstairs. You're not going to take off while I'm gone up, are you? Because I would really hate to waste the trip if you're just going to flee the moment my back is turned."


"I should hope you have a bit more control than that," she snaps at him.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she exhales a sigh. "Sorry, that was incredibly rude of me. I don't know what came over me." Taking a rather large gulp from her glass, she nods to the journals. "I'll read these while you run up."

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