4 a.m. A late Summer storm is breaking over the city, alleviating some of the oppressive humidity of the last few days that’s made everyone so cranky and itchy. Well, almost everyone. Some don’t feel the humidity any more.
Alan Buchanan shifts a little as he watches the storm from a 32nd floor vantage point, through the huge picture window of Eveline Ward’s sumptuous luxury bedroom in upscale, midtown West 52nd Street, New York. Far below, the rain lashes Central Park. He hopes the storm lasts a while longer, he loves walking in the rain and he must be gone by dawn. It’d be nice to feel cut loose from the world by the elements for a little as he walks. So many worries, so many things to think about and plan.
A combination of Buchanan’s movement and a tumultuous thunderclap wake the apartment’s owner and she opens her eyes, staring up at her “friend” from her position pillowed on his naked hip. Smiling softly and still tired from what she remembers as passionate lovemaking earlier, she draws a circle around his left nipple with one perfectly manicured fingernail. Buchanan continues to stare out into the storm, a slight frown on his fine features, and she makes a small, plaintive mewl as she raises her head to bring herself into his field of view.
“Penny for them?“ she asks, her wantonly (and carefully) untamed blonde hair trailing over his hip and stomach as she sits up, as naked as he is. He blinks, coming back from miles away, and a fleeting hint of annoyance crosses her face at being ignored. She knows she’s beautiful, this one, especially like this, and is used to that beauty being her passport to complete attention. She digs in her fingernail, bringing a little flinch from her pale and gorgeous lover.
“Oh, I’m sorry, love. I was miles away there. I thought you were asleep.” Buchanan shakes his head “Just business. Nothing you’d want to know.”
Evie leans in and kisses his chest. “Shame on you. No business unless there’s juicy gossip involved.” Bite.
That makes Buchanan shift, laughing and sitting up suddenly and grabbing Evie around the waist, then pulling her to the side so she’s cradles against his side, her head on his shoulder and wrapping one hand about both of her wrists to hold her still.
“No biting! That’s my job.”
“Yes Sir, oh long, strong and handsome!” she giggles.
“And anyway, I may have some gossip” Buchanan teases, waiting for her reaction.
Evie kicks him lightly in the shin “Give, you bully-beast!”
“Well, you know the businessman Vincent Viennatti, the one who just squirmed out from under a federal indictment? Well, the F.B.I. are still after him. He made the mistake of trying to rip-off one of the companies my boss is involved in and our forensic accounting department are ready to turn their whole file over to the feds. My boss tipped off his contacts at the British Foreign Office and M.I.6 too, and they’ll be turning anything they have on him over to the F.B.I. too. He’s going to suddenly decide he should take a long vacation somewhere without an extradition treaty, mark my words. But you mustn’t tell anyone, honey. It’s all sub judice still.”
“Like I would. It’s nice to know you don’t trust me, “she pouts. “Beast.”
Hey, no pouting! You know the rules.” In one swift movement Buchanan is sat upright, and Evie is trapped face-down across his lap. “Now you have do take your punishment!”
Evie squirms helplessly against the strength of will and arm in her lover, so unexpected from his build or usual manner but something she secretly finds immensely attractive about him. She squeals happily in mock-fear as the flat of his hand descends for the first time.
Later, as she’s tidying up the bedroom after Buchanan has gone., Eveline snags the bedside phone and hit’s the quick dial number for her stockbroker – her lover before Buchanan came along and a work colleague of her always-absent husband.
“George, do I have any stock in any of the companies Vincent Viennatti controls?”
“Huh, Evie?” comes back the voice of a man still fuzzy from being woken at 6 a.m. “Ugh, I think so. Most people do. Why?”
“A little bird tells me he’s not going to beat that federal rap, Georgie. Sell. Sell it all and fast!”
…And as the first lightening of the sky that presages dawn breaks over the city, Buchanan lets himself into his Lower eastside apartment, humming happily to himself. By mid-day, Viennatti stock should be in freefall. If that and the Feds isn’t enough to get Vincent the Troublesome out of the city then his Sire still has a few tricks up his old Ventrue sleeve.