Her Billionaire, Her Wolf(25)

Wasting no time, he led her to a flight of stairs. They might have been a type of marble, but what Sara found most curious about them was that each had a bowed appearance, as if they sagged under the weight of so many centuries. She imagined, though, that it was due to simple erosion as so many footfalls over countless years had worn them down in the middle.

At the landing of the second floor, he turned abruptly from the stairs and together they walked down a long, narrow corridor. Under their feet, old wooden floorboards creaked and complained, as if too fatigued to support yet another passerby.

Still another pair of doors before them at corridor’s end and as he pulled one open, Sara could make out just how high it went.

The ceilings in this place must be twenty feet high, she marveled.

And, at last, beyond this final door, Sara saw warm light that felt like the welcome for which she still waited.

A long table ran the length of the room. Long enough to seat at least fifty people and at its far end, she saw a fireplace that went beyond the extravagant with its outrageous size. Within burned massive lengths of wood, most bigger around than Sara herself. But, she could not deny that the light and heat of those dancing flames was a heartening change for the better.

And as they walked along the length of the table, Sara remarked that two places had been set for dining at the end closest to the fireplace.

Simple white linen covered the table’s end while shining silver, crystal and porcelain awaited two for dinner. Candles burned in a pair of fixtures and added a last touch of gentle ambiance.

“You must be famished,” he said, glancing briefly at Sara before looking away again. “My little jet flies fast, but crossing the Atlantic still takes a good eight hours.”

Sara nodded looking down at the spotless dinnerware before her.

“I ate on the plane, but it feels like its been a long time since then,” she replied.

“Yes, of course,” he said, then added, “And how did you find the tournedos?”

Sara smiled and said, “Well, it was easily the best airplane food I’ve ever had.” She did not continue her thought, keeping to herself that it had been the only airplane food she had ever had.

“I thought you might like it,” he said, pulling out a chair for Sara. As she sat down, he gave it a little push that left her tucked in as neatly at the table as any professionally trained waiter might have done.

“It’s agreeable, I find, to savor a bit of France before one arrives...sets the tone, if you will.”

The anger of only a few minutes before seemed to be dissipating from his voice. He stood beside her as he spoke, then placed a warm hand upon Sara’s shoulder.

“I also find it very, very agreeable to see you seated at my table.”

Sara looked to the flames crackling and snapping not far away, and even if it felt like she was playing with fire, she reached up to the hand upon her shoulder and pushed it away.

“Well, I didn’t know I was coming to France, did I?” she said calmly, willing herself to be cool headed where he seemed to let his blood boil. “I didn’t know anything. Your people wouldn’t tell me.”

She heard him sigh, then watched as he walked to place himself opposite her, standing beside his own place at the table.

His eyes held her own as he considered her. In them, Sara saw the flecks of green and gold that made the amber color appear to flicker like the flames in the hearth. She wanted to look away, to refuse the spell of his fascinating regard, but he held her, his gaze as intensely focused upon her as ever.

“Is it true, Sara? The absolute truth that you did not know?” he asked.

Careful...he’s not asking the question you think he is.

Sara licked her lips, then said, “I tried asking, but no one would tell me anything.”

Brazier Abraxis shook his head.

“Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, Sara. Don’t disappoint me like that.”

She took a breath, then replied, “I only found out when Flair gave me the cellphone just before he dropped me off last night. Until then, I literally had no idea who you were.

“And that is the truth,” she said, then added, “As it is, I don’t even know what to call you...maybe you’d prefer ‘Mr. Abraxis’?”

The man across the table reached over to a carafe of dark red wine. A bottle stood at an angle nearby, in a sort of wire cradle that held it tilted to one side.

“Don’t call me that...please, “ he said as poured the wine into a wineglass shaped like a tulip. “I don’t want you to be like the rest of them.

“Call me Braze.”

Then, he continued as if the conversation had not just come within a hair’s breadth of catching fire.