Enchanted Dreams: Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural. Nancy Madore
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Название: Enchanted Dreams: Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural
Автор: Nancy Madore
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408914236
isbn:
There wasn’t any one thing that was especially unique or exceptional in Vincent’s appearance or personality. He blended in with other men brilliantly, and even had a peculiar ambiguity about him that caused you to wonder, after the fact, what it was that impressed you so much. In his manner—and I came to know it well in the weeks that followed—there was something completely and utterly charming. As well, I found his character to be extremely well-rounded. He was in every way confident, yet often humble. He was kind but not susceptible. He was amusing but never foolish. Of his attributes I could go on and on. The closest thing to a flaw that I was ever able to detect in him was his penchant for shallow relationships. He had an untiring aptitude for developing new acquaintances, but he never allowed anyone to come close to seeing the full spectrum of his personality. I understood the necessity of this, mind you, but I wondered that he never seemed dissatisfied with these fleeting connections, realizing, as he must have, how easily someone like him could have developed a closer bond. That he could capture a woman’s heart was certain. If he were ever known, he would most certainly be loved. Isn’t that what every living thing desires?
From among the beauties that were eyeing Vincent that night, he selected a rather—I felt—shallow and insipid woman. She had little to offer of either charm or substance. Even worse, there was a meanness about her that should have offended a man like Vincent. She was rude to those around her and even cruel to the waitstaff. I didn’t know Vincent at the time, of course, but even so, she seemed so opposite to him that I wondered how he could tolerate her.
This was what triggered my curiosity, and it held my interest throughout the night. Watching Vincent interact with the woman, I became more and more convinced that he felt little more than antipathy, if not outright dislike, for her. He was, of course, charming and courteous—Vincent would never be needlessly cruel—but his aversion was evident. I could see it in his expression and detect it in the ironic tone of his remarks.
When they finally left the bar, together, I found myself following at a leisurely pace. I had no particular plan, nor was I working very hard to keep them in my sight. I was not in the habit of following people. I just kind of hovered in the distance, drawn as if by some kind of invisible force. I think I sensed that something peculiar was about to happen. The two of them being together seemed to foretell it.
It was remarkably easy. The woman happened to live in a nearby apartment and, it being a balmy night in the densely populated city, it was not surprising that they walked. Many times since that night I’ve hailed cabs and actually uttered the words, “Follow that car,” which illustrates the strength of the force that drew me to Vincent. But there were usually other people scattered about, livening up the dark streets. Just like at the bars, I blended in seamlessly on city streets, with hardly ever a soul noticing me.
I wish I could tell you something novel and exceptional about the way it happened, or to perhaps add some small nuance to the legends and folklore. But it is novel and exceptional to actually watch it happening in real life, right before your eyes! I can assure you that the event was abundantly exceptional and even shocking as it is. I suppose people will always need to embellish an event, no matter how extraordinary it is. To the folklore I have nothing to add. The most remarkable thing, from my point of view as I peered in through a small opening in a curtain, was the ease with which it was carried out.
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