"What do you think of that new lawyer the firm just hired? Byron." Elizabeth asked Stacy as the two paralegals walked from their office; Elizabeth toward home, Stacy to her car.
"I don't think anything of him. I'm engaged." Stacy answered, fluttering her left hand which held a small diamond ring, newly placed there.
Elizabeth made a small face of "Oh yeah I remember now" but continued her train of thought. "Well I think he's kind of creepy looking. So pale and all."
"Oh," Said Stacy sounding slightly disappointed, "I thought you were going to say you thought he was cute. You know you haven't had a date in ages!"
"Please don't remind me of that ok. I've been through more batteries than any girl should!" Elizabeth answered.
They both laughed as they reached Stacy's car and said goodbye. Elizabeth remained deep in thought about Byron as she continued on her way walking home. Much as she thought he looked kind of creepy with his dark hair and eyes and white as marble skin, at night when she went home to that battery eating vibrator, it was usually his face she saw in her minds eye. That was what was really troubling her as she walked the nearly dark city street toward home.
A gruff voice saying, "Hand over your purse and you will be fine!" startled Elizabeth from her reverie.
Two men blocked her off from the street. On her left were buildings, and she gauged her chances of running.
"I said lady, hand over the bag." The shorter of the two demanded.
"She's not bad lookin,'" the taller thug observed. "I like blondes."
"Tall bitches are hot," the shorter one leered and the two of them corralled her towards the shadows.
"Shit!" Elizabeth thought, looking franticly for an escape route. "Here, take my purse," she offered.
"We will. After," the bigger one growled, reaching for her breast when he was shoved to the side by someone appearing as if from nowhere. In an instant, her attackers were on the ground, bleeding and there beside her was Byron.
"Are you alright Elizabeth?" he asked with his deep voice.
"What, yes, fine. Where did you come from?" She stammered fighting tears.
"Here come with me. Inside here," And he was steering her toward the nearest office building. She followed as if in a daze.
Once inside Byron led her across the lobby and into a private elevator. He swiped a key-card and pushed the elevator's only button.
The doors opened into a suite, partly illuminated by indirect lighting.
"Is this your home Byron?" She asked.
"It's a place I know," he replied off-handedly. "You're safe now Elizabeth. I'll get us some wine to calm your nerves."
She looked around the plush, hotel style apartment; very dark and modern, sleek furnishings, all reds and blacks. The only seating, she noticed was a plush bed in the center of the room.
Byron returned with two goblets of wine and gestured for her to take a seat.
Noting her hesitation he grinned and said, "I won't bite you Elizabeth. I just saved you from being mugged." He looked deep into her eyes, not touching her at all and whispered "Trust me."
She sat.
He handed her a glass and she asked,
"Where were you Byron? It's like you came out of no where to save me."
He laughed .
lightly," Does it matter?" He said. "WhatAllmatter? All that mattersthat matters is that you are safe. Now." He gestured to her a glass. "Taste. It's delicious."
She sipped the wine feeling it warm her all the way to her toes. He was watching her with those deep, dark eyes. It excited her and made her uncomfortable, all at the same time. It and it was almost like he knew that she thought about him late at night when she was home. She could feel herself blushing.
At that moment, as if he was reading he thoughts, he grinned slightly and reached finger out to brush a stray piece of hair from her face.
"I like working at your firm." He said. "Do you like it there?"
"Yes," She answered and wondered why she sounded breathy.
"Have you worked there long?"
"A few years" she answered and noticed he had moved closer to her.
"Do you like the wine?"
"It's good. Very..." She was at a loss, her pulse racing, her breathing shallow "red."
"I like red. Don't you?"
He was touching her again. Her hand this time. The one she had on the bed. Just running his fingers over hers daintily. Back and forth. Little rivers of light were going off inside her every time he did it. She felt herself nodding in answer to his question, unable to form words.
"This particular red is a favorite of mine,." he murmured hypnotically.
His hand traveled up her arm now to her neck, her cheek, her ear. His eyes, never leaving hers always intent, looking into hers, reading her.
"Your hand is cold." She said finally when words would come.
