An Unexpected Turn of Events (closed for Maka)

Morgan sat up when Daniel returned, taking a slow, pleasured sip of the delicious coffee. She smiled at his offer and nodded. "I wouldn't say no to a ride back to the club." She twisted a bit so that she could look out the bedroom window. It was a huge picture window that gave a breathtaking view of the city's vista. She chuckled softly, taking another sip of her coffee. "I admit, I have no idea where I am." She shot Daniel a knowing look, grinning. "I was a bit distracted on the way over last night, to say the least."

They ended up staying in bed together for quite a while, exchanging small talk from time to time, but mostly sitting in silence, watching the city wake up before them while they finished their coffee. Morgan didn't usually like to spend time with her partners in the morning like this. She usually found something about them in conversation that she didn't like - arrogance, most often, sometimes machismo, or an inability to shut up and enjoy the quiet of the morning. Daniel did none of those things. In fact, he seemed equally pleased by the fact that she didn't mind the quiet either. And so they sat on the bed in each other's arms until both of them were long finished their mugs.

Finally, Morgan tried standing again. This time, her legs wobbled but she was able to keep herself properly upright. She wandered into the kitchen to put the mug in the sink, then started moving slowly through the rest of the apartment - the living room, what looked like some combination of an office and a library, touring through his apartment completely naked - not that she thought he would mind. She finished in the living room, where she scooped up her dress, still discarded on the floor, and slipped back into it. She looked over her shoulder at Daniel, who was watching her from the bedroom doorway, and smiled. "Can you zip me up?"

Daniel was relishing the sight of Morgan padding naked through his apartment, as entirely unabashed and self-possessed as a cat. Indeed, she was proud to display her ravishing, athletic body. Daniel was captivated by the sway of her hips and rounded ass, the natural jostling of her breasts as she moved. She was driving him wild and didn't even know it -or perhaps she did, and was getting a mischievous joy out of his arousal. He watched, dry-throated with desire, as she bent down to scoop up her dress, offering him one last perfectly framed view of her heart-shaped ass.

Daniel momentarily considered taking advantage of her position to take her from behind once again, but reluctantly rejected the notion. Just as it had in the shower, when he'd followed a similar impulse, it would set off yet another marathon bout of fucking -and Morgan had regretfully made it clear that people would worry about her if she got home any later than midday.

Instead he leant forward to zip her up, sadly watching inch after inch of flawless golden-brown skin disappear. When it was done, he swept her up in his arms for one last passionate kiss, kissing her until a deep hum of satisfaction was coming from her throat, until her left foot was lifting up to brush the inside of her knee...


In something of a lust-filled haze still, Daniel drove in companionable silence with Morgan on the car-ride over to the bar. He was still achingly aware of her warm, slender body on the seat next to him, aware of her tantalizing bright eyes... aware that if he just pulled over, this sex goddess would be eager to fuck him once again there and then once again, giving no more a fuck for the disapproval of passing motorists than Daniel did himself.

But instead he drew up outside the bar -a place that would always be blazoned into his memory as the location of his first encounter with Morgan.

Morgan spent the entire car-ride back to the bar fighting with herself over her growing desire to simply reach over, unbuckle his pants, and give him another blow job here in the car. She was shocked. Sure, she was usually quite insatiable and she had stamina that saw her outlasting most of her sexual partners, but this was getting ridiculous. She'd been fucking Daniel almost non-stop for nearly 12 hours, and she still wanted him as badly as she did last night before they'd left the bar.

Instead, she settled for reaching over, sliding her hand into his pocket - making sure to run her fingers over his thigh while she did - and drawing out his phone. As they pulled into the parking lot, she entered her name and phone number into his address book, before putting his phone back into his pocket with a smile and a wink. "My number," she said by way of explanation.

She was just going to get out of the car and return to her own, wiggling her ass at him. She wasn't a "goodbye" sort of girl. And yet... instead of opening the door, she leaned toward him, catching his face in her hands, and kissed him long and hard, enough to leave both of them slightly breathless. She didn't need to tell him to call her. There was as much chemistry crackling between them now as there had been last night, and neither of them were satisfied with their one night together. So instead, with an impish little smile, she licked her lips. "See you soon."

Morgan stepped out of the car into the morning sunlight. There were people on the street, and anyone who saw her would be left with no doubt about what she'd been up to last night - a woman with bruised lips and messy hair, getting into a car in the parking lot for a club wearing an evening dress at 11 o'clock in the morning? It wasn't hard to figure out.

The blood was still crackling in Daniel's veins minutes after Morgan's departure. He'd watched her get into her car, coolly disregarding the raised eyebrows of passers-by. She was far too much of a woman to give a damn about the judgements of strangers on her lifestyle. His lips still tingled where she'd kissed him, his skin still seemed to buzz where she'd touched him, and his mind was still crowded with the steamy visions of the things they'd done together. He took out his phone and stared almost reverently at her number for a long time, before reluctantly putting it away and pulling out of the lot.

It was a Saturday. After the wild, non-stop fuck session of the night before, after all the mad lustful thoughts Morgan had roused in him, Daniel felt a need to calm and centre himself -and there was one place in the city which was always guaranteed to do that.

Scribe Books was three packed floors of old and new books in the heart of the city -a creaking, old-fashioned bookshop presided over by a kindly, aging married couple who liked nothing better than discussing their favorite books. Daniel liked the atmosphere -it reminded him of Shakespeare & Co in Paris. Few of his collegues read much -when not making money, golf or binges with cocaine and strippers tended to be more their style. Daniel's literary interests were another thing making him an outsider in their world -but that only made him all the more of both a threat and an asset to them.

Soon, he'd composed himself -simply browsing the aisles, scanning the titles, occasionally taking a book down from the shelf to examine it in closer detail. He was at peace here.

While Morgan made her way home, another young woman was set on a crash course for Daniel as he headed toward the bookshop.

Charlotte Spencer could not have been more different from Morgan Green. She was absolutely lovely, without a doubt, but in a much more reserved manner. Where Morgan had been tall, almost statuesque, and very curvy, Charlotte was a tiny sprite of a girl. Morgan had been dark - chocolate and coffee and caramel - while Charlotte was light - fine, naturally blonde hair so light it looked white under the sun alongside pale, translucent skin speckled with a fine dusting of freckles over her small nose, and wide, pale blue eyes that only further encouraged people to describe her as 'fey' in appearance.

She chose her clothing based on practicality and comfort - that wasn't to say she looked unpleasant or dumpy, but rather than she eschewed high heels and tight dresses in favour of a pretty, loose-fitting sweater over a pair of black tights. Quite and shy, she spent most of her time alone, either working on her computer or curled up with a book.

She had recently discovered the joys of Gabriel García Márquez and, having read ravenously through his more well-known works, she was headed to Scribe Books in order to seek out more. She'd gone out early that morning upon realizing that her roommate hadn't come home last night. It wasn't an uncommon event, but Charlotte disliked eating breakfast alone, so she'd headed out to the lovely little bakery near the corner of their apartment building, and taken a long, strolling walk towards Scribe Book with her coffee and muffin.

When she arrived she, as always, spent a time simply wandering through the shelves. This place smelled of old books, and she loved it. She'd managed to distract herself entirely from her original pursuit with several large, high-quality tomes of paintings. She had always had a slight soft-spot for art, particularly Impressionism and the various styles immediately following. She knew painfully little about it, and the images available on the internet were, while valuable, nothing compared to the rich quality of prints in the books like the ones she ended up gathering into her arms, ready to take them home with her.

It was on her way out that she realized with a small giggle and a blush that she'd completely forgotten what she'd originally come for. She headed into the stacks once again, this time into the fiction section. It didn't take her long to find the author she was looking for - Marquez had quite a collection of works, and it dominated a large section of the shelf. However, most were copies of his better known works - Love in the Time of Cholera, for example, and One Hundred Years of Solitude. Charlotte already had those, and she'd read them each already several times. She did, however, spot a copy of Memories of My Melancholy Whores sitting tucked away on the top shelf. Charlotte frowned. She would never reach it. Setting her books down on a nearby table, she mumbled something about "try, try again," and pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, stretching as best she could to reach her chosen book...

Daniel was drawn from his thoughts by a sound coming from further down the aisle. Looking down it, he saw a very petite girl, fine blonde hair falling to her shoulders, standing on tiptoe in a determined if hopeless effort to reach a book on the top shelf. Fully stretched out, her fingertips were just brushing against the book's bottom corner but it was obvious that she wouldn't be able to actually grasp it.

Daniel strode over. For this casual Saturday, he had dressed casually in a black T-shirt and jeans, although his finely muscled, toned and athletic body had a way of making everything he wore, no matter how utilitarian, look somehow elegant yet almost intimidating all at once.

"Excuse me."

Startled, the blonde girl turned, almost losing her balance. Daniel was confronted with a face of ethereal loveliness -delicate, elfin features; a small nose bridged by a fine spray of freckles, sensitive pink lips, and a pair of large, impossibly blue eyes just now widened in shy surprise.

What struck Daniel at once was her sweetly delicate beauty -so different from that of Morgan and yet equal to hers. Morgan had a body of sumptuous, jaw-dropping curves while this girl was of small but perky, exquisite proportions. Morgan's steamy, challenging stares seemed to dare men to prove themselves worthy of her, to fight for her and reap a rich reward but this girl's shy glances instilled a desire to protect her and look after her, to scoop her up into their arms and win sweet fresh kisses.

Towering over her, Daniel easily reached up and picked up the book she had been going for, handing it to her with a smile.

"I thought I could help... " his eye caught the title. "You're a Márquez fan?"

"Excuse me."

A deep, pleasant-sounding voice cut through the silence of the bookshop, startling Charlotte so badly that she nearly fell over in her hurry to turn around. She met the gaze of what had to be the most stunning man she'd ever seen in her life. He absolutely towered over her and, given how close he was standing, she expected to feel intimidated by him. Instead, she felt this intuitive sense of safety.

He was smiling at her, offering the book she'd been reaching for. She took it, her gaze darting to the floor out of shyness as a bright blush rose over her cheeks. She smiled faintly, looking up at him from beneath thick, dark eyelashes. "Thank you."

Then he asked her if she was a fan, and her eyes widened again, this time with excitement and pleasure. It felt rare to meet someone else who enjoyed literature the way she did - though some part of her recognized that her surprise at meeting someone like that in a book store was somewhat silly. She nodded. "I discovered his work oh... a few years ago now. I feel in love with it immediately." She smiled up at him, a genuine expression of innocence and pure happiness. She loved the idea of this kind, beautiful man sharing this interest with her. "Does this mean you're a fan too?" she asked, her smile turning shy.

The vivid blush tinting the girl's cheeks made her look all the more cutely desirable, as she alternated between staring bashfully down at the bookshop and shooting timid glances up at him from underneath her lashes. Daniel was reminded of a shy little forest creature, poised on the brink of flight. He almost felt like holding his breath, as though to avoid doing the slightest thing that might startle this delicate beauty away. And yet there was already a kind of instinctive trust in her large, soft blue eyes, an innocent happiness.

"A fan?" he said. He laughed. "I learned Spanish, just so as to be able to read him in the original. Well... him and Borges."

He crossed over to the stand where she'd left her other acquisitions and his eyes widened at the familiar sight of Monet's Water Lilies.

"Are these yours as well?"

Charlotte had, for the moment, been distracted from her excitement about the beautiful art books she'd found, covering Impressionism, Post-Impressionism and into Expressionism, by the man who had come over to help her.

She followed him to the table, nodding absently in answer to his question. "Oh, yes. I've fallen quite in love with Impressionism. Renoir in particular." She gathered up her books into her arms, looking up at him with an expression akin to wonder. "You speak Spanish? I can only imagine what it would be like to be able to read Marquez in his language... His prose is so beautiful, even when it's been translated into English."

Daniel smiled, thinking of Montmartre -the narrow streets and stairways cut into the hillside, winding their way up to the Sacre Coeur, the cabarets and the artists' colonies with their gardens and little vineyards. The two years he'd spent in Paris had been among the happiest of his restless, drifting existence, and in his mind it was always merged with the enchanting, melting, vivid colours of the Impressionists and the bold, harsh lines of their successors.

The girl was looking at him, starry-eyed and her mouth half-open, the books gathered up in her arms. Daniel was possessed by an unaccountable impulse to touch her soft cheek with his hand.

"Let me help you carry those," he said instead, extending his hands for the books. "I'm Daniel, by the way."

He was going to help her with her load as far as the counter, then she'd pay for them and be gone from his life. And he couldn't have that, Daniel suddenly realised. He wanted to see more of this girl. He'd had a night of spectacular, awe-inspiring sex and the prospect of many, many more now that Morgan had come roaring into his life but somehow, with quite the same urgency, he felt he needed to see that shy smile from the bookshop girl one more time, to see her furious flush again and listen to her silvery giggle. Morgan affected him like a shot of smoky, premium whisky after dark -this girl was like something sweet and refreshing on a summer's day.

"And would you like to get a coffee?"

Charlotte smiled gratefully as Daniel took a few of the books from her, offering to help her carry them to the counter. She was somehow sad at the idea of being parted from his company already. He seemed so interesting - there was so much about him that she wanted to know. How had he discovered Marquez? When did he learn to speak Spanish? She realized with a start that she wasn't interested in the answers because of the answers themselves, but rather because the answers would be his. She wanted to know more about him.

"Charlotte," she answered when he introduced himself. She had barely finished her response when his next question came out - the invitation for coffee. From her expression alone, Daniel would have known her answer. A bright blush flourished on her cheeks while she bit her lip to contain a bashful smile. She was quite evidently feeling very flattered by the question, and after a moment, she nodded. "I would love that, very much."

They walked together up to the front of the store, where the kindly older woman who owned the shop with her husband rang through her purchase. Charlotte was amused to find that she knew both of them by name - apparently they'd both been long-time customers. It was simply chance that they hadn't encountered each other before now.

As they walked out, Charlotte clutching her bag full of books, she asked, "Did you have a particular place in mind? If not, there's a lovely little bakery not far from here. Everything is freshly baked, and absolutely delicious."

Charlotte's eyes lit up at Daniel's suggestion. She blushed once again, cutely biting her lower lip. This gentle, softspoken girl was beyond adorable. She was clearly unaware of her ethereal beauty and the effect it had on men, and that made her all the more attractive. And her blushes! Something about them suggested a deliciously innocent sensitivity. If she blushed at a mere invitation to coffee, how might she react to much more obscene suggestions?

Perhaps it was just Daniel's projection, but it seemed to him that Dee, the kindly older woman who co-ran the shop, had a knowing smile on her face as she saw the two of them together. She'd always had a soft spot for Daniel, joking about the things she'd like to do to him if she were forty years younger (her husband just smiling indulgently) and giving him tongue-in-cheek lectures about the soulless corporate world he was wasting himself on. It was clear that Charlotte too was an especial pet of Dee's from the obvious warmth of the bookseller's smile and the solicitude of her inquiries. Charlotte, it seemed, inspired the same kind of deep affection and protectiveness from everyone she knew.

Dee stopped Daniel with a hand on his broad chest after Charlotte had already exited Scribe Books.

"Now, young Daniel Aiken. You look after that young lady, do you hear? She's a very special girl, and I won't have you breaking her heart."

"We're just going for coffee!" Daniel protested, half-believing it.

Dee snorted.

"Just going for coffee. I've seen the way she looks at you... and the way you look at her, more to the point. Ohhh... who am I to stand in your way? Just be gentle with her."

"Yes, mom," Daniel said, sticking out his tongue. Dee grinned.


Outside, Daniel assented to Charlotte's suggestion immediately.

"That sounds great."

He was still carrying her haul of art books.

"Do you study art, Charlotte?"

It was probably for the best that Charlotte hadn't been around to overhear the short conversation between Daniel and Dee. She had no idea the kind of protectiveness she inspired in the people around her - most people she knew were kind to her, certainly, but she simply thought it was their nature. She was honestly unaware that she was the reason they behaved that way, so, had she heard the small 'warning' Dee had given Daniel, she might nearly have exploded from embarrassment.

Instead, she and Daniel took a slow, meandering stroll down the street toward the bakery. He asked her if she studied art, and she smiled, shrugging noncommittally. "I suppose you could call it that, if that's what you would call it when an amateur reads about art history," she explained. "I wish I knew more. I love the Impressionists. Actually, I love French art in general, but there's only so much you can learn from books. I only studied it in school in my last semester. I took an art history class because, frankly, I thought it would be an easy way to fulfill my degree requirements. I didn't care what the class was about at the time. I just needed a break." She laughed softly. "I felt like I was drowning in Calculus. I really wasn't expecting it to inspire in me a love of art. My only regret now is that I didn't take it earlier."

Daniel was smiling softly as he watched Charlotte speak, although he was only half-aware of it. There was just something about her warmth and innocence, her shy but eager confidances, that made him smile.

"Well, you could call me an amateur too," he said. "When I was in Paris, I practically took up residence at the Musée d'Orsay... they had to shoo me away at closing hour every evening."

He returned his gaze to Charlotte's bright eyes.

"I even started painting myself that summer... "

Daniel stopped, surprised at himself. It was one of those things he'd never told anyone before, like the secret Morgan had told him last night. It seemed that the instinctive trust he seemed to inspire in Charlotte worked both ways.

Charlotte was going to ask about Paris. She'd never been, though she's always wanted to. She could afford it, probably, and she had no doubt that her best friend would be willing to take a trip with her. She just... hadn't done so yet. Perhaps she felt like she hadn't earned it. She had done shockingly well for herself, for a young woman so recently out of school. She felt like she owed the world something. Most of her peers were still struggling with rent, and Charlotte could already afford to take a month off to tour Paris. It wasn't fair. That was something older people did, once they'd made their fortunes - even if those fortunes were smaller than what Charlotte already had. But Charlotte somehow felt that she was cheating, that she still had to pay some sort of due to society, even if she would have found the concept silly, had she been consciously aware of it.

Instead, however, she was distracted entirely from that line off thought by the off-hand mention of Daniel's painting. "You paint?" she asked, her interest clearly peaked. "I've tried my hand at it a few times. I can never quite capture the light..." She laughed. "I've given up, and these days I paint much more abstractly. It hides the fact that I don't think I have any actual idea what I'm doing!"

They'd arrived at the bakery. The smell of fresh, hot bread in the air was delicious, reminding Daniel that he hadn't eaten in some time now. He was in peak physical condition, but he'd have to keep his strength up if more marathon fuck sessions with Morgan were on the cards -and he certainly hoped they were.

The thought made him grin... but all of a sudden, he wasn't sure if he was thinking about Morgan or Charlotte. He'd half-meant his protest of innocence to Dee, but he had to admit that part of his brain had been wondering all along: what would Charlotte be like in bed? She was so demure, shy, and innocent but something told Daniel that with the right man and the right level of seduction, coaxing and patience, she could be turned into an absolute firecracker in bed -if one that still blushed furiously at the moans and gasps and screams coming out of her mouth. And that thought was very enticing in itself.

They found a table inside the bakery. Daniel was captivated by Charlotte's smiling revelation.

"You paint too? I'd love to see your work."

Charlotte blushed at the interest Daniel showed in her work. If she'd known what he was thinking about, her skin would have taken on a permanent shade of pink. Which wasn't to say she wasn't interested. She wasn't the sort of girl to take a man home after first meeting him, but there was something wonderfully compelling about Daniel that made her want to spend more time with him. A lot more. And, were she being honest with herself, the way she could see his muscles moving under his skin, even as he did something as simple as grasp the chair he pulled out for her, was causing a certain kind of heat to start crawling through her body.

She caught her trail of thought and became suddenly aware that she was staring at him. She averted her eyes, blushing, and had to think to recall what he had been saying last. He wanted to see her work.

"It's nothing to write home about," she assured him. "I like it, I suppose, and my roommate insists on hanging them all over our apartment, but I don't really think they're particularly worth mentioning." She paused, considering her next words carefully. Tucking a strand of fine blonde hair behind her ear, she looked nervously up at him and smiled. "I... I suppose I could take you back to my apartment to show you sometime. If you wanted."

Charlotte's blue eyes had gone soft, dreamy and distant -as if she was thinking about something very pleasant. Daniel's inquiring glance seemed to call her back to reality. She blushed furiously, scrambling to avoid meeting his eyes, a strand of blonde hair falling out of place.

She carefully tucked it back behind her hair as she responded to his question, hesitantly smiling as she invited him back to hers.

Daniel would have known what that meant from most girls -from Morgan, most definitely. But Charlotte seemed so innocent, so earnest that it didn't come across as flirtatious, as suggestive in the same way. Or did it? The way she'd suddenly steal side-glances at him, thinking herself unobserved, only to flush furiously when she realised he noticed...

"I'd love to see your work," he answered gravely.

They talked on for hours, about everything concievable, but always coming back to art. Daniel found himself opening up in a way he never had before, flattered by Charlotte's rapt, wide-eyed attention. He never liked to brag or go on about his time in Paris, never wanted to act like a poseur or a returning tourist, but somehow he found himself talking about the walks he'd taken through the fog-shrouded Latin Quarter in autumn, or the lush, refreshing greenery of the Luxembourg Garden in the heat of summer. Not trying to impress her, but sensing that she'd understand.

Time passed by. His untouched coffee grew cold in front of him. He watched Charlotte, enchanted by her little swift movements, by the fleeting expressions of her angelic picquant face, by her quick sunshine smiles, and most of all by her endearing, inexplicable blushes -as though naughty thoughts were flitting through her mind. He said to himself that he should get up and go several times. He did not.

Charlotte found herself absolutely and utterly enraptured by Daniel. The life he had led up to this point seemed wonderfully interesting, and so foreign to Charlotte as to sound almost fantastical. He spoke about wandering aimlessly through Paris, about discovering the works of great masters by, quite literally, stumbling upon them in the great art galleries of France. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything. And perhaps that was the most important part: she wanted to know everything about him. Everything he spoke about captured her interest completely, and she was certain he had many, many more such stories. Though, with a voice like his - rich and deep, like melted chocolate - she thought she could easily listen to him talk about the wonders of watching paint dry.

They had come for lunch, but as the hours passed, the sun started to dip low in the sky, and they ended up ordering more food. Both of them suggested it was just a quick snack - they weren't having dinner together. They would part ways soon, surely, and get a proper dinner then. And yet the hours continued to roll by and their conversation never slowed. And, in time, one of the bakers - a young woman, recently hired - came over to the table to inform them that the bakery was closing. She bore an indulgent smile; it had been hard to miss the couple sitting by the window, and it wasn't difficult to imagine that the date was going well, given that they'd been sitting there her entire shift, and neither of them looked quite ready to part yet. It wasn't hard to see why. The young blonde was positively adorable, and the man had the sort of confidence that chiseled good looks that might have led her to leave him her own number with the bill, had he been here alone.

Charlotte and Daniel paid and left, with the door being locked behind them. They stood out on the sidewalk for a moment, both quiet, neither quite ready to part from the other. Charlotte wanted very much to remain with him. She wanted to keep talking with him - and perhaps, if she was being totally honest with herself, she was rather interested in the taste of those lips as well. Still, she knew what people said about women who invited men home after the first date, and this hadn't even really been a date. Charlotte might have been innocent herself, but with a roommate like hers, it was difficult for her to avoid becoming aware of the implications of inviting a man home with her, even if it was just to talk.

But should that matter? She'd always felt a little jealous of those more free-spirited women, who did as they desired regardless of what people might say. She wanted that effortless confidence. She wanted to stop choking on her words as she tried to invite Daniel back to her apartment. "Did you, umm, want to come back? To my place? With me?" Her cheeks started burning in a blush. Of course he was going to come back with her, who else would he be going with? "I thought, I thought we could talk some more and... And you wanted to see my paintings, right?" She winces at how badly she was flubbing the invitation. It felt painfully clear that she'd never done it before. She stared down at the ground, unable to look at him, and waited for what she thought was an inevitable rejection.

It took Daniel a moment to parse Charlotte's invitation. She'd stammered and hesitated so much, he wasn't quite sure what she was saying. His confusion was only increased when Charlotte concluded by staring forlornly down at the sidewalk, as though already rejected and inconsolable.

Then enlightenment came. Arousal rose up like a caged tiger, but Daniel contained it, firmly reminding himself that sweet, innocent Charlotte couldn't have meant it that way. That didn't seem to matter to his roaring libido, with all of its suggestions about how Charlotte might look nude and panting and crying out his name in her soft, sweet voice.

"I would love to come back with you," he said.

And the truth was that, for all the lewd images dancing through his mind, what he wanted above all was simply to spend more time with this enchanting girl.

Charlotte's gaze snapped up to Daniel's when he responded. "You would?" she asked, clearly surprised by the idea. Her whole face lit up with a smile, then, and she simply grinned at him, her face shining with pleasure. "It's not too far from here. I walked from my apartment this morning."

Now that the question of what would happen next had been cleared away, Charlotte's demeanor returned to the bright curiosity that had dominated all afternoon. She was still intensely curious about him, and she nearly peppered him with questions about the Musee d'Orsay as they walked together through the cool evening.

Charlotte lived in a modern high-rise, all glass and steel. The building was nice enough to have a doorman, and Charlotte herself lived on one of the upper floors. Perhaps it was odd that she would live in such a clearly expensive building but still have a roommate - obviously, if they were splitting rent, both of them could have found nice places for half the price and lived on their own. In part, it was because Charlotte found living alone to be quite a lonely existence, especially considering that her work rarely saw her in an office environment. She generally worked from home.

Her apartment was certainly large enough to comfortably house two people - and with enough privacy to avoid many of the problems resulting from sharing a apartment with someone else. The place was decorated very comfortably - the space was large, but quite full. Nearly every room in the place had at least one wall dedicated to books. Most of the rest of the walls were full of large, abstract paintings; either painted specifically for the room, or the rooms were decorated around the paintings, because they matched their decor perfectly. It was an open concept space, with the living room running straight into the kitchen, undivided from the dining room. There were only three major rooms seperate from the rest: Charlotte's office, and the two bedrooms.

Charlotte swept into the apartment as soon as she opened the door and busied herself making coffee. "Did you want anything to eat?" she called out from the kitchen. Honestly, she felt a little rude disappearing immediately like that, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to stand and watch Daniel's reactions to the paintings that were everywhere. It had never really bothered her before, but her guests usually didn't know beforehand that they were hers. And, she suspected, she cared much more what he thought than she had about any of the rest of them.

Daniel looked around the apartment with great interest. He was hungry for more details of Charlotte's existence, for more facts to put into the context of the beautiful young sprite of a girl. He found it easy to tell Charlotte's selections among the furnishings and books -there was something quiet and unassuming yet unmistakably her own in their taste, in the Parisian-influenced colours and textures. That left those books and articles of decor that must have been chosen by her flatmate.

They weren't what Daniel had been unconsciously expecting. He supposed that he had been picturing Charlotte's roommate as a kindred spirit to her -perhaps another shy bookworm. But her taste betrayed an elegant confidence quite unlike Charlotte -and a few risque arthouse coffee table books, of black and white nudes, would surely have caused Charlotte to blush like the sunrise.

But Daniel had noticed all of this in just the first few moments. His attention was caught, rapt, by the abstract paintings that hung everywhere. They were marvellous. In daring, self-assured use of colour and light-effects, perfectly chosen to match the colours of each room, Charlotte had somehow expressed something beautiful and mysterious, something that could not be put into words, something that only Charlotte could have seen. Daniel stood, wordless. He did not even hear Charlotte's question when she peeked her golden head around, admiring the painting in the living room as he was.

When Daniel didn't respond to her question, Charlotte came out from the kitchen to find Daniel staring openly at one of her paintings. He didn't have to say anything; his expression was bordering on reverent. He loved it, that much was plain to see. It wasn't uncommon for people to like them, but he bore th expression of someone who knew the value of art and had discovered something absolutely priceless. A blush, this one of pleasure, crept over her cheeks at the sight.

Silently, she padding back across the room toward him. When she reached his side, before she quite recognized what she was doing, she slipped her hand into his. They stood like that, in silence, for a few more minutes, before Charlotte quietly explained, "I had actually just discovered Marquez. I finished Love in the Time of Cholera over the span of one night. I couldn't stop thinking about it and... I don't really know how else to explain it. I tried to paint the whole book at once."

"I see it," Daniel said softly.

Charlotte's hand slipping into his, slender fingers curling in his palm, felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it belonged there. Daniel at last dragged his gaze away from the painting and its softly luminous painstrokes, the way its colours captured the vibrancy and mystery and melancholy of the Márquez novel. He looked down at Charlotte standing beside him, her chin lifted bravely up, her face flushed with pleasure, her eyes as large and blue as the sky. There was an electricity between them, playing between their joined fingers, and a hush in the air of the apartment.

Daniel lifted his free hand and let it rest on Charlotte's slender shoulder, drawing her to him. Her eyes were wide and very grave. Neither of them said anything. He bent down to kiss her, slowly, gently, as though she were in fact the timid fawn he'd imagined her as earlier. Her lips were as sweet as honey. His kiss was tender, warm, and seductive.

She realized the kiss was coming well before his lips actually met hers. Some small part of her felt a moment of panic - how could he want her, when he was so very worldly and she was so very, well, not. It lasted only a split second, before it was whisked away in favour of butterflies exploding in her stomach and the soft touch of his lips against hers. There had been no deception. He knew and understood who she was, and he wanted her still.

She lifted her hand away from his so she could slide her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with playful, almost hesitant motions. She made a small noise, something between a sigh and a squeak - an intimate, innocent expression of desire.