The Daughters of Nightsong. V. J. Banis

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      She removed the small vial that she’d guarded all these many years, the bottle that contained the essence made especially for the Dowager Empress of China. Lydia uncapped it as seldom as possible for fear its intoxicating aroma would gradually vanish.

      When she handed the vial to Raymond he looked questioningly at the tiny bottle. “Oriental. Chinese to be precise. Sung Dynasty, I would say.” He carefully lifted the stopper and sniffed. His brows knit together as he studied the aroma. He smelled it again and gradually his face began to light up.

      “Magnificent,” he breathed. He smelled it again briefly before he recapped the vial. “But the essence is definitely not Sung Dynasty. Very new. It was concocted no more than ten years ago, perhaps less.”

      “Do you think you could duplicate it?” Lydia asked, trying not to appear too anxious.

      Raymond shrugged. “It is possible. Unfortunately, the oriental blossoms are sometimes difficult to identify. It’s a question of how the essential oils were extracted and distilled. On first guess, I would say that what we call the enfleurage method was employed, but it is merely a guess. I would need a laboratory to find out for certain.”

      Lydia beamed as she took away the vial. “I have whatever you will need, Monsieur Andrieux,” she said. “And, I’m familiar with the Chinese method of enfleurage.”

      He let a sly twinkle spark his eye. “If we are to be working together, perhaps you would honor me by calling me Raymond.” He reached for her hand.

      “Raymond,” she said, feeling a slight tremor run through her as his lips touched her skin. “And you don’t think Mr. MacNair will prove a problem?”

      “As I said, Madame, I am not interested in the MacNair products, while with you I find myself surrounded by magnificent temptations.”

      She was not altogether displeased with his flirtatious manner. It had been a long time since she’d appreciated a man looking at her the way Raymond Andrieux was. “If you don’t have to rush off, perhaps you’d care to stay for lunch, Monsieur....”

      He raised a warning finger.

      “Raymond,” she said with a laugh.

      “I’d be delighted.”

      “I’ll put this away if you’ll excuse me,” she said, clasping the vial.

      She was so elated she scarcely felt the floor under her feet. She was certain he’d be able to duplicate Nightsong and from then on there would be no limit to what she could do.

      As she replaced the vial in the safe she kept telling herself that Raymond had to reproduce the essence...he just had to.

      When she turned to leave the room Raymond Andrieux was standing blocking the doorway.

      “I am sorry,” he said. “I was looking for some place to wash my hands.”

      Lydia felt suddenly nervous, yet she could not deny that a part of her was flattered. “Yes, of course,” she stammered. “It is the second door down that hallway.”

      He didn’t move.

      There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. She’d seen it before in other men’s eyes.

      “We haven’t discussed pay,” Raymond said with an immodest smile.

      “I doubt if that will be a problem. My company turns a very nice profit. I am sure we can agree upon a figure.”

      He eyed her brazenly and she found herself enjoying their little game. Raymond said, “Of course money is of importance but there are other things.”

      He took a step toward her. “I would be very reluctant to even consider analyzing the perfume without some kind of an understanding.” His smile was intoxicating. “I have the exceptional talent of remembering a fragrance once I’ve inhaled it. It sticks inside my head. I have difficulty getting rid of it until I’ve copied it.”

      Lydia felt a sudden tightness around her heart. “You mean...?”

      He nodded. “The talent is not unusual for a true Nez.”

      With a faint smile she said, “Are you blackmailing me, Monsieur?”

      Raymond chuckled. “Of course. My price will be high.”

      “And if I don’t meet your price, you’ll reproduce the scent for Peter MacNair.”

      He shrugged. “Possibly.”

      Raymond simply extended his hand to her and instinctively she reached for it. A moment later, without her knowing quite how it happened, he was holding her hard against his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek and when he turned her face to his, he tasted the sensual loveliness of her mouth.

      “You’re trembling,” he murmured.

      “I can’t help it. This isn’t exactly what I’d planned for our first meeting.” She tried to laugh but the moment was too important for levity.

      “Ravishing,” he whispered as he kissed her hair, her throat, her eyes.

      The intensity of her reaction startled her and she could feel it invoking a response in Raymond as he pulled her tighter against him and pressed his body harder against hers. Her lips parted, perhaps to protest, but in the next instant she was lost to him. She seemed to have lost her senses to everything else about her, even to where they were standing, and yet she was acutely aware of everything about this handsome Frenchman.

      She felt his hardness, the pulsing of his need for her as it pressed against her thigh. Suddenly a flash of memory blinded her—she saw Peter MacNair standing naked before her in a Chinese hut. He seemed to be beckoning to her, smiling encouragingly as she felt his hot, wet lips kissing her mouth, her face.

      Like lightning shattering the dark, suddenly it appeared to her as if all the secrets, all the wonderments were made clear and all problems resolved.

      Raymond moaned softly as he took his mouth from hers, bringing her back to the moment. “Forgive me, Lydia, I cannot help myself. You have blinded me to all reason,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

      Yes, she thought. Pray God forgive us both, for she knew that he was no more to blame than she. Some strange need was drawing them together, changing his hair to brown, his face to Peter’s face. Her body longed for his body as some suffocating sweetness robbed her of all rationality.

      She moved away from him slightly, keeping her eyelids lowered. As she undressed she didn’t want to look at him; she knew that this was not Peter MacNair. Suddenly she bit her lower lip. She didn’t want it to be Peter MacNair. She looked up sharply and stared into Raymond’s handsome face. Wantonly she stepped out of her clothes and opened her arms to him.

      A moment later naked flesh pressed hotly against naked flesh and Lydia whimpered with an almost delirious delight as Raymond’s hands moved down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, outlining the fullness of her hips, her buttocks and still lower. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. As he lowered himself on top of her Lydia felt his breath, urgent and hot with passion and desire.

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