“Forget last night, Tiff! Tonight is the dawning of a new day.”
Miranda gave her friend a hug and a quick peck on her cheek.
“Now what was it you wanted to say before I so rudely interrupted you, my dear, dear friend?”
Tiffany looked down at the napkin she held in her hand. Miranda didn’t need any more problems. She crumpled it into a tight wad and tossed it away.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It was all part of yesterday.”
CHAPTER 32
By the time Tiffany and Miranda arrived at the club, Miranda had her bearings. She was no longer wallowing in self-pity or self-doubt. Winners were fighters and winners fought back. They didn’t bathe in the murky waters of being morose and depressed. Nor did they indulge in beating themselves up – the world itself served that purpose. No negative emotions built nests in Miranda or the select group of people like her. It’s what kept them on top – and winning.
Miranda preened as she walked into The Paparazzi. She looked fabulous and she knew it. She tossed her head back – making the most of her loose curly mane. She kept her face neutral, pressing her lips into a smile to accentuate her cheekbones. The dress she chose was a short, black jersey halter. A pair of soft, metallic silver ankle strap shoes were worn at the end of her outrageously long, slim legs. The dress and shoes were both results of her afternoon’s spending spree.
She trailed slightly behind Tiff watching the pink ruffled chiffon silk dress dance in the breeze. Tiff’s olive skin looked exciting and exotic next to the ultra-feminine color. The backless dress showed off Tiff’s trim, muscular body. Hours of Pilates and light weights gave her a dancer’s body.
Alex spotted Tiffany almost immediately. Miranda gave Tiffany the secret signal that indicated it was fine for her to leave her alone. Miranda separated from her friend and joined the flash of people living in nanoseconds and a centipedal rush. She felt high being around them. She drank in the energy feeling her sensations heighten from the madness of youth, power, and money. It was almost as if they were all riding superspeed trains that traveled on their own individual monorails. Tonight the club was their destination – the hub of their collective universe. Their separate individual lives converged and Miranda was the recipient of the combustible fusion. She planned on making the most of it, but first she needed a drink to shake the cobwebs out. Then she’d help set it off.
Miranda pushed her way past the men trying to catch her eye. The minute she entered the barroom area, she saw Peter. He was sitting at a table with a raven-haired woman that offered a vague resemblance to Rachel – at least from behind. She was curious to see what kind of girl would attract Peter’s attention and if her eyes were blue. She tried to get a clearer look, but couldn’t because of the crowd blocking her view and the angle.
An attractive redhead was tugged away from the bar by an eager young stallion eager to get her on the dance floor. Miranda slid into the vacated seat. She thought about Peter and what Tiffany had said. It was nothing that Miranda didn’t know. The problem was she found his differences appealing. As for the woman he was with, she was being ridiculous in even caring. She was going to put a stop to comparing herself to other women – her mother included. She was done approaching the dating scene like a scared rabbit. Instead, she’d think like a man. Men never let their own paunch or pot bellies stop them from pursuing the women of their dreams. Besides, Miranda knew she was desirable. She needed to keep repeating that to herself on an as needed basis. She crossed her legs and watched her skirt hike high up on her lithe bare thigh. There were more than a few men that would be happy to dive in between the matching pair. If Peter wasn’t one, it was his loss. If he preferred another type, let him, but Miranda had never been a big fan of the obvious.
Dexter was working the bar – busily filling previous orders. She tried to flag him down, but failed. He kept his head down as he burned rubber getting from one part of the bar to the other. She put her elbows on the counter and waited. It wouldn’t be much longer. Besides she had all night.
“Good evening, Miranda.”
It was Peter. She didn’t need to turn around to identify him. There was something about his voice – his presence. Her body tingled from having him so near. Miranda coolly turned and looked into the mesmerizing eyes of Just Peter. They seemed to have an aquamarine cast to them tonight.
“Won’t your friend be jealous?”
“Myrtha? We’re just friends.”
The man sitting next to Miranda tapped Peter on the shoulder. He got up and offered his seat to him to make the conversation easier. Peter tipped his head and acknowledged the courtesy. As he settled, Miranda watched Myrtha exit – or what she could see of her.
“Bye-bye, Myrtha,” Miranda whispered under her breath.
Miranda caught Dexter’s attention. Peter ordered for both of them.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m a little surprised.”
“And, why is that?” Peter asked, leaning in towards her. He took a finger and ran it along her cheek. It felt sensual and nice.
“I’m getting mixed signals from you. First, the insult, then the haphazard apology that really wasn’t one. Then you stopped by … but to give Tiffany her credit card and not to see me. Then, I find you here, with a … friend who you immediately cast off to sit with someone you don’t find attractive. You’re worse than a woman.”
Peter scratched his temple.
“With that phrasing, you’re making any retort impossible. If I deny it, I’m saying women are always changing their mind and if I don’t agree, I’m saying the same thing.”
“Pretty much,” Miranda said enjoying making him squirm.
“As I said, Myrtha and I are friends. I don’t get to New York that often and who should I see? Besides you should be flattered since I was telling her all about you …”
“Me?” Miranda interrupted. Dexter placed their drinks on the counter. Miranda took hers in her hand and tasted it. “Mmmm… good.”
“Are you? Too bad. I had big plans.”
“Did you now? Well, they may not go to waste. And as for what you said about Myrtha, was that your attempt at gamesmanship? I painted you in a box, and now you’re painting me in a corner? No matter what I say, I’ll come up looking insecure if I don’t accept the compliment and the prospect that you were discussing me. Is that about it?”
“Did I ever tell you that I simply love intelligent women?”
Peter raised his drink indicating he was about to give a toast. Miranda reciprocated.
“To us,” he spoke solemnly.
Miranda wasn’t expecting that. She narrowed her eyes to see if he were joking. There was no trace of a smile.
“To us,” she intoned as their glasses touched. He held his against hers turning a mundane occurrence into a sensual occasion. She smiled and brought her glass to her lips. She licked the side of it where some alcohol had spilled. It captured Peter’s attention. She touched her glass to Peter’s mouth. He sensually kissed the wet exterior, never taking his eyes from her. She ran it over his cheek and brow – leaving a trace of cool condensation against his white skin before she took a sip. She hoped that in doing so, she’d make the toast come true. It would be so nice to be an us instead of being only Miranda.
“You know, before I go any further. I owe you an apology. It seems my father did take things that didn’t belong to him. They were yours. You are Peter Adduné?”
Peter nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
He arched an eyebrow and considered Miranda.
“Well, well, well, I did have you all wrong, didn’t I? I had erroneously assumed that since you were his daughter and had taken over his company, that you must be just like him. You are most definitely your own fascinatingly wonderful person, Miranda. One that I’m glad I met. ”
His eyes surveyed her face as if where he looked he touched … and kissed. Miranda exploited the moment and used it to examine Peter’s face in minute deta
il. There were very few people that could stand this close scrutiny and have initial impressions hold-up. He was one of them. In fact, the nearer you were, the better he looked – better even than that first night in Fairfield. She thought the improvement was also because his face had softened. There was no judgmental derision written over it tonight. No sneer coloring it in an unflattering light. Tonight it was the face of a poet that was open to where love led him.
“You know, before I insert another rather large foot in my mouth, I should offer a more sincere apology for those remarks I made about the infamous Arthur Perry. I am cognizant of the fact that I’m talking about your father and that you loved him very much. I might have felt the same way had I been in your position. Loyalty is a commodity that is want to find these days. I’m so glad you possess it. It leads me to believe that if you ever did find yourself caring about a man, you’d be right there by his side if things went awry.”
She exhaled shaking her head, “Peter, you’re certainly saying all the right things, aren’t you?”
“Saying? I hope you know that I mean what I’m expressing. The games are over. I was wrong to let a stupid vendetta taint what I saw standing in front of me. You looked so beautiful that night. It was the first time I’d seen you in person, and I wasn’t prepared to have my breath taken away by the person I considered to be an archenemy. I misjudged you, Miranda. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me just as I’m finding in mine the space to love you, dear Miranda.”
His words hit home. His manner told her that what he said was true. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her mouth in a long, lingering kiss that set her soul on fire. She arched her back trying to push her breasts into his chest, but he was too far away. She clung to the kiss as a butterfly to a flower.
A heat ran through her body. A heat that seemed strange given the coolness of his soft, lush, lingering lips. The coolness was just enough to urge her to be more passionate in trying to warm them. She wanted to obliterate that part of him that was not overcome by her passion. The heat spilled down her body like boiling hot oil. Her inhibitions melted away like a spring frost under the hot summer sun. All her doubts and reservations floated away.
Just as her fervor was cresting, he pulled away. Her eyes sprang open. His face was out of focus – as if he were being photographed through cheesecloth. The moment didn’t seem real. None of it. The club, the music, this beautiful man that was speaking to her from his heart and not his mind. Miranda was being seduced. She could feel it. Her crotch was wet from desire and her heart was beating to his tune. Her skin was warm and flushed. The pink added a touch of excitement to her demure expression.
He reached for her hand. He rubbed her palm with his thumb. For a delicious second, she imagined his thumb inside her, tickling her from within, pressing down on the spot that was starting to throb. She was getting carried away and didn’t care. She was here to let loose and being swept away was part of it. And why shouldn’t she let things proceed? Why should she be the one to put on the brakes? A man in a similar position would never think it prudent to clamp down on their sexual desire, so why should she? She reminded herself that the hallmark of a good night for a man, was getting laid. She was after the same thing. It kept her pipes clean and reminded her there was more to life than business and money. There was spontaneity, joy, love, erotic pleasure, and romance. She’d found all of them. They were before her, encased in one very tall, cool customer. He was there for the taking and Miranda was ready to be greedy. Whether he realized it or not, a yes was already on her lips.
“You know what I like most about you, Miranda?”
“No, what?” she asked feeling giddy and light. She felt as if she could fly away. She was a balloon filled with helium about to be taken for a wonderful ride across the sky.
“The fact that you don’t indulge dark moods.”
Her back stiffened in response to Peter hitting on another of her secrets. It was what she had thought earlier in the evening – almost the exact words she’d used. She hadn’t spoken them aloud, and yet here he was repeating them almost verbatim.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” he asked innocently. His thumb continued to trace her palm as if it were a clitoris to be moistened before penetration.
“Read my thoughts so perfectly.”
Peter smiled. He pulled her hand to him and kissed her fingertips.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes.”
“It must just be because I’m interested in you.”
“I suspect there’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe,” he offered. He placed her hand over his heart. She could feel the pace of his heart. It was strong and even. His chest solid and well-toned.
“Why are you so afraid of dark places?’
He’d done it again. He’d hit on another secret. She was afraid of the dark and what it held. It’s why she refused to be dragged down into a black mood or give credence to people that were. It’s why the ghost story Reginald told her at Weatherly had scared her so badly. And how the stories about vampires had …”
“But vampires aren’t real, Miranda.”
She gave up guessing how he knew, he just did. She’d look on it as an opportunity for her to learn.
“No?”
“No,” he said kissing her palm. Using his tongue to trace the network of erogenous patterning that crisscrossed her hand.
“Are you?”
He paused his exploration of her skin. His eyes looked into hers.
“What? A vampire?”
Miranda smirked.
“No, silly. Real?”
“Oh, very. And I’m offering you help to get over your fear of the dark. I know all about it. I live in it. I inhabit it. I feed off it.”
He was intriguing – a mystery – a conundrum. She’d never met anyone like him – no one that talked like him. No one that was ever able to read her thoughts and put into words what she desired to hear, but was she only hearing what she wanted to?
He didn’t appear to be jesting, but perhaps he was. Some men put on a brave front. ‘Machismo dressing’ was what Tiffany called it. She examined his face looking for any signs of deception. She couldn’t find any, but neither could she see any telltale evidence that what he was professing was true. How could a man so beautiful know anything about the unholy and accursed? Bats, sadistic killers, nocturnal pursuits seemed an anathema to what he projected, and yet … there was something there. Just around the corner. There was something that made him puzzling. He was … elusive. Was it the darkness where he lived that added that element to his demeanor? Or just an insatiable sexual appetite? Peter may just be a sexual freak … a junkie that delighted in trying out new ways of achieving gratification and satisfaction. She supposed sexual exploration was a type of darkness, but it was a kind of darkness she might enjoy.
“I don’t know whether to believe you. You don’t seem all that frightening.”
“I’m not, but what I am is.”
“Is that a kōan meant for me to solve? Aren’t you, and what you are, one in the same?”
“No, they are separate and distinct. Like you – there is the one that is sitting before me – and then there’s the hidden, other dark Miranda,” Peter dropped her hand and took hold of his glass. He inched it towards her chest. Miranda watched it nearing. He pressed it against her chest – her heart beating underneath it. It was an icy chill that felt exhilarating. The condensation dripped down her skin – underneath her blouse to her waist.
“… that dwells in here.”
He slid the glass slowly until it covered her right breast. He pressed it against her nipple. The moisture wet through the material and wedded the blouse to her skin. He moved it to her left nipple and gently rubbed it against her, Miranda responded to the sensual foreplay. Once he was satisfied with her reaction, he placed the glass calmly down on the counter as if nothing had occurred.
“You have the moves, don�
��t you? Well, you have my attention. Tell me what is this shadowy, hidden half-creature that resides in you?” Miranda asked, feeling the icy fingers spread into her stomach, down her groin, and into her vulva. Her thighs exploded in lust. She could well imagine that frigid glass pressed against her vaginal opening.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t be frightened?”
“No more so than you will be of me.”
“In that case, I’ll show you.”
His long, elegant hands reached around her waist – just under her ribs. She was lifted her off her chair. He raised her up over his head. Her waist was at the level of his eyes – her vagina that now bled desire was before his succulent half-opened mouth. It throbbed in its demand to be touched and satiated. This all seemed to be a glorious mating game and Miranda was more ready for lovemaking than she’d ever been with Jake. She threw her head back, feeling the waves of excitement swelling within her. Her vaginal lips secreted her desire. Her vagina was hot and sticky – fully ready for penetration.
Adduné (The Vampire's Game) Page 47