by Sophia North
Dismissing her errant thoughts, she caressed the supple leather notebook Fiona had placed there. Her preference for individual handwritten journals was a personal attempt to keep her clients' deepest revelations private, as well as maintaining a more human connection with those she treated.
She did not agree with using tablets loaded with the latest industry software to 'ease an analyst's workload'. The act of putting pen to paper when noting a client's setback or breakthrough was much more personal than a ticked box on a screen.
Inside the notebook's cover lay a crisp sheet of paper. On it were the pertinent details of Simone's latest challenge: Dante Polidori.
Unusual name.
Who are you Mr. Polidori and why can you only make an evening appointment? she wondered with a sigh. Another hedge fund manager who works all hours under the sun and wonders why he can't maintain a steady relationship? A millionaire with too much money and not enough love, who can only discuss his feelings with a confidentiality clause?
Simone knew thinking like this wasn’t professional. A client's problems needed to be taken seriously. But it was tiring dealing with rich middle-aged men who wanted their egos stroking and were willing to pay serious money for it.
Stirred by her unpleasant mental wanderings, Simone stood up and returned to the window, intent on seeking the tranquility offered by gazing out into the night.
She needed to compose herself for what lay ahead. But rather than finding the comforting glow of the gas lamps below, she instead encountered her own reflection.
The evening sky had darkened to the point where the wall of glass had transformed into a mirror. And in its reflective surface, a tall figure stood in the door of her office. Whomever this spectral vision was, he shouldn't be standing there unannounced.
Simone spun round to confront her unexpected visitor. On her lips, a sharp reprimand awaited. The intended scolding, however, never came once her window apparition was made flesh.
Before her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, somewhere in his early to mid-thirties, impeccably dressed in a Saville Row suit. And yet, rather bizarrely, his eyes were obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses.
But regardless of his strange eyewear, to say the man possessed an air of sensuality would be an understatement. It was more like he exuded it.
"Good evening, Dr. Radcliffe. Apologies for my unannounced arrival. I prefer to keep my comings and goings...ah, perhaps 'fluid' best describes it."
Her steely countenance nearly crumbled at the sound of his deep voice. Its rich tone acted like a tuning fork to her senses and sent a strong zing coursing through her.
Simone replied to his opening line with as much coolness as she could muster. "An interesting description to assign to one's movements. I will be sure to note it in your file, Mr...Polidori, I believe. Please, do come in."
Sliding off his sunglasses, Dante met her cool gaze with his stormy grey one. Her voice may have tried to come off as cold as ice, but he knew differently.
The electrifying atmosphere between them could have cracked glaciers, so potent was its power.
It was most...unexpected. As was his therapist.
Her online bio photo failed to capture her true beauty. In the picture she appeared far too severe and serious, not at all like the graceful woman standing in front of him. But perhaps it had been intentional. The online world was a new kind of jungle and needed to be played by a completely different set of rules.
Dressed in a sleeveless ice blue high-necked dress, Dr. Radcliffe revealed a healthy amount of sun-kissed flesh. A long, perfectly shaped leg peeked tantalizingly through a slit in the thigh of her skirt.
A more modest professional would have opted for something much less risqué. Simone's tastes, however, plainly indicated she swam in a different direction.
"Do you mind if I switch the overhead light off?" he asked. "I have sensitive eyes."
Simone paused for a moment before nodding her consent. His request may be a bit odd, but if her cheeks were as flushed as she thought, the low lighting might help her out as well.
Switching on a nearby floor lamp, she secretly watched Dante as he turned off the main light. Her reaction to her new client verged on the unseemly. All sorts of impure thoughts were winging their way hither and yon through her head.
The change in lighting immediately gave the room a shadowy but cosy aspect.
Bloody hell, she inwardly cringed. The man had become even more attractive in the soft glow of the lamp.
What the hell had she been thinking? Low lighting, hot client? Give your head a shake, Simone!
Displeased by her girlish behaviour, she took a deep breath and suited up. Her clinical persona would keep her safe. "Please, Mr. Polidori," she said, gesturing to the seating area in front of her desk. And in her best therapist voice, finished with: "Take a seat."
Dante repressed a satisfied grin. Her pink cheeks and haughty ways were a delightful contradiction. "Thank you," he replied, strolling towards a white leather Modernist-style chair, across from an equally horrific matching one. "By the way, call me Dante. I'd much prefer it. How shall I address you?"
Dante. Like an Inferno...she mused. It suited him perfectly.
"Dr. Radcliffe?"
"Yes, please address me as such. Mr...ah, I mean, Dante," Simone deftly replied, covering her lack of attention.
Whew, that was close.
Taking her place in the chair opposite his, Simone carefully arranged her leather notebook. She needed to get a grip, fast. It wasn't as if Dante Polidori was the first unbelievably handsome client she'd ever treated.
An attractive face still experienced sadness, doubt...crises in confidence. And she should know, her looks had led many to believe her life must be easy, when it wasn't anywhere close.
Beauty was no guarantee of happiness.
Feeling back in control, Simone peered up from her lap to find Dante still on his feet, gazing down at his chair.
"Shouldn't I be lying down on a couch or something?" he asked, his handsome face clearly perplexed at her meager offering.
Her heart went pitter-pat at the thought of him on his back.
So much for noble intentions. They'd failed her at the first hurdle.
"Oh, no. I don't utilise the Freudian method," she casually remarked, keeping her professional mask firmly affixed. It would not do for Mr. Polidori to suspect her thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
"Well, I'm almost disappointed," Dante replied, with a slight smirk.
As he sat down, the chair's leather creaked under his substantial form. Once settled, he flashed her a surprised grin. "This chair is more comfortable than it first appeared. I am usually more of a traditionalist when it comes to furnishings."
Lord, save me – Furnishings? she thought, and in an slightly high-pitched voice asked, "Before we start, may I offer you a drink?"
Dante did not miss a trick.
"Ah, I see you prefer to employ a more Dionysian method to your technique."
Simone's hand hesitated as she reached for the bottle of spring water on the low table separating them. His use of 'furnishings' was one thing, his casual insertion of a Greek god quite another. How many gorgeous men spoke of home decor and mythical beings so effortlessly? Answer: not many.
Slightly enthralled by his banter, she couldn't resist adding a dash of her own. "Regrettably, the world of psychoanalysis frowns at plying one's patient with drink as a method to address the human condition," she remarked. "But a glass of water, or strong cup of Earl Grey, are completely permissible."
Dante's eyes smoldered at her effort. “Shame. I find the prospect of sharing a bottle of wine with you most appealing. I understand Jung wasn't opposed to the odd tipple.”
He sat back to enjoy her reaction at his daring invitation. His worry over how to behave eased once he realised Dr. Radcliffe possessed a sense of humour. A definite benefit, given the conversation they were about to have.
Pouring them each a glass of water, Simon
e took a sip to calm her nerves. The thought of cracking open a bottle with him and seeing where the night took them appealed on levels she didn't dare dwell upon.
Dante Polidori was far too good-looking for his own good - or she was too weak willed. Either way, it was time to turn down the temperature between them.
"Now then, the information provided when your appointment was booked is rather sparse," she stated, setting her glass down and picking up her fountain pen. "Perhaps you could fill in some of the blanks by telling me why you've decided to seek my assistance?"
Dante took her cue and dialed back on the building sexual tension between them.
He'd prepared for the question. Had even come up with a variety of answers that sounded plausible enough to get the ball rolling. But now in her presence, he opted for a new tactic altogether - the truth.
"I was drawn to your particular style of therapy after listening to your radio show, InsideOut."
His answer surprised her. With his looks, and probable wealth, surely he'd have better things to do at eleven o'clock at night than listen to her show.
"Are you a regular listener?" she asked, intrigued to know if he truly did or was simply praising her show as a form of flattery. Many of her male clients had made similar claims, somehow believing it might charm her into sleeping with them. Call it one of the hazards of her profession.
"Religiously for the past few months," he readily confessed. "The way you engage callers to get a positive reaction is impressive. Your determination to find a sliver of hope from what, in many cases, are desperately unhappy lives is...admirable. You help many people, Dr. Radcliffe. I can hear it in their voices by the end of their time with you."
Simone blushed, deeply flattered by his comment. Too flattered. A client should not have such power over her.
"Actually, I wanted to ask you about last night's show," Dante continued. "A caller – Dorothy, I believe was her name, seemed to unsettle you. I may have misinterpreted it but your voice sounded a little on edge."
"It did?" she said, startled by his comment. Not even her producer, Jason, had picked up on it.
Simone remembered the call vividly. When Dorothy had complimented her on her listening skills, she'd felt a blind panic take hold. It was as though the older woman's words had somehow unmasked Simone's deepest secret.
She didn't want to listen anymore.
"I'm afraid you were mistaken," she lied, trying her best to sound convincing.
"Perhaps," Dante replied, not buying it for one second. Unsure why his question had been so unsettling, nevertheless, he pressed on. "Last night's show focused on how to cope with unexpected moments in life...you expressed the opinion that it is important to embrace change. Not fight it."
"I remember," she confirmed, relieved he’d changed the subject. Opening her note book, she nodded at him. "Please, continue."
Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Dante suddenly appeared a little anxious. Something was obviously troubling him.
As he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, his face moved out of the soft lamplight, and Simone could have sworn his eyes flashed like a cat's. Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed it as being nothing more than a trick of the light.
"To be honest, I'm unsure how best to proceed. I find it...difficult to express myself."
Simone understood his discomfort. Initial therapy sessions were awkward affairs. A level of trust needed to be established before the real work began between doctor and client.
"Why do you listen to InsideOut?" she asked, offering him a way forward.
Dante sighed pensively. He had not anticipated how difficult it would be to converse about the real purpose for his appointment.
"Your voice," he answered bluntly.
Simone sat back, unsure what he meant. "My voice?"
"I find it...soothing," he gruffly admitted.
Clearly he found the confession unsettling. It showed vulnerability to admit an unknown voice on the radio gave him comfort.
Determined to put him at ease, Simone continued with her gentle prodding. "Did last night's show touch upon something? Perhaps your life is undergoing a lot of change at the moment as well. Sometimes one can find comfort in listening to the problems of others. It can bring perspective."
Perspective. Yes, that would be nice. He'd not had much of that lately.
"Do you believe in fate, Dr. Radcliffe?" Dante asked, capturing her gaze with his piercing one.
Locked in the intensity of his stare, Simone swallowed nervously.
"Not particularly," she replied.
"Pity. For it is fate which brings me to you."
The room suddenly grew warm, or maybe it was her? Licking her parched lips, she asked, "Why do you believe fate has brought you here?"
Mesmerised by her moistened lips, Dante imagined how sweet they would taste.
He'd not expected to be so aroused by Simone's presence. A desire to ravish her on the hideous glass desk behind them almost overpowered his senses. He'd never been affected by a woman like this. Not even Zara had stirred his sensual side so strongly.
Thinking of his lost love instantly doused his carnal cravings. Ashamed by his lack of control, Dante glanced out the window. What the fuck was he doing? Simone was a means to an end, not a replacement for his lost love.
The office's low lighting created a half-in, half-out mirror effect on the wall of glass. On it, he and Simone appeared strangely projected against London's urban landscape.
"My being here is nothing but…pure folly," he muttered, disheartened.
The defeat in his voice alarmed her and without considering the consequences, Simone reached across to grasp his hand in support. At the touch of his cold skin, she drew back in alarm.
No living creature should feel as cold as he did.
"You are so cold...what is wrong with you?" she gasped, without thinking.
"My dear, Dr. Radcliffe. Would you dare to believe me if I told you the truth?"
Chapter Two
"WHAT IF I told you I was a vampyre?" Dante quietly asked, the unnatural stillness of the office making his reply sound louder than intended. He didn't mean to reveal his true self to her in such an abrupt manner. But it was too late to worry about that now.
If only she hadn't touched him.
Half-expecting Simone to run from the room, or at the very least ring for security, Dante watched her face with a great deal of interest. Barely a flicker of emotion flitted across her beautiful features.
Quite the 'poker face', Dr. Radcliffe, he silently applauded, before deciding a different approach may yield more fruit. Opening his vampyric senses, he attempted to read her mind but, like her facial expression, it too was impossible to crack.
He'd never encountered a human capable of masking their thoughts from him. Unfortunately, the luxury to explore it further was not an option he could indulge in. He needed to act, the die had been cast - and his softly, softly approach had crapped out with a pair of snake eyes. Time to be direct.
"Excuse me?" Simone eventually replied, unsure if she'd heard him correctly.
"Dr. Radcliffe...Simone...I am not a man," Dante said, using her first name in an effort to convey his sincerity.
I beg to differ...you look rather masculine to me, her inner voice conspiratorially whispered, while her logical self added: Gorgeous, but mad as a Hatter. Damn, there's always a catch, isn't there?
Curious to see where he intended to go with his rather fantastical declaration, Simone settled back in her chair. "Alright. Let's assume you're a vampyre," she said, accepting the premise of his statement. "I suppose it is the reason you insisted on an evening appointment. But why seek out a therapist – have you tired of sucking the blood from innocents?"
Right, that may have been a tad sarcastic. But honestly, a vampyre?! What did he expect?
Dante's brow furrowed. The good doctor was sending him mixed messages. On the one hand, she appeared open to a supernatural discussion, despite her unders
tandable incredulity. While on the other, she demonstrated an annoying tendency to shut down and go all clinical on him whenever he spoke truthfully.
Quite the conundrum. Simone Radcliffe's contradictory nature required tea leaves to understand and he was fresh out.
"Ah, you see! You know nothing about real vampyres," Dante exclaimed. "To you, we're simply a myth. For your information we don't even feed on humans anymore!"
Oh dear. He did not appear ready to back down.
Very well, Mr. Polidori. Challenge accepted.
With her pen poised to capture his answer, Simone raised a finely sculpted brow. "Then please explain how vampyres satisfy their need for blood. And any other pertinent information you feel might be relevant," she coolly requested.
Chink. Armour engaged.
Dante rubbed his bottom lip in contemplation. Simone's barely concealed disbelief wasn't a great start, but he was in no position to be choosy. He would do whatever it took to get closer to his goal.
Should the situation get out of control, he possessed the ability to remedy it. But hopefully, such drastic measures could be avoided.
Taking up the gauntlet, he replied in an equally dispassionate tone. "We have a network of blood banks across London to satisfy our needs."
Somehow Simone managed to hold back from laughing at such a preposterous answer. "Oh, so there are lots of vampyres in London then?"
"Most humans have no idea what London holds beyond their own history. Vampyres have resided here for as long as mankind. Not only vampyres, either. There are all sorts of creatures roaming about."
Riii-ght. All sorts are there? As in a smorgasbord of fantastical ones J.K. Rowlings-style?
Simone refrained from voicing her thoughts aloud. "I'm sorry, what?"
Uhm, okay not the most professional response.
Gripping the arms of his chair unnecessarily hard, Dante found Simone's flippant behaviour bothered him more than he cared to admit. Had his hope for salvation been made in vain?
A slow snaking awareness wove its way through him.
No, she is the one, whispered in his ear.
