A thought occurred to her. She grinned. "Hey, you're a dragon. Does that mean you have a pile of gold somewhere?"
"Well. In a manner of speaking," Samuel said.
Theresa narrowed her eyes. It took her a moment, and then her mind abruptly made the leap. "That's why it's called Aurum! The company, I mean. It means gold, in Latin. The company's your pile of gold!"
"Yes," Samuel said, smiling.
Theresa laughed. "That's kind of cool."
Her eyes were slipping closed, her body reminding her that she hadn't slept in more than 24 hours. She fell asleep cuddled up close to the heat of Samuel's body.
They spent the rest of the day in bed, sleeping for hours, waking up to make love again and again, only getting up to raid the fridge. They fed each other the best pieces from a left-over appetizer plate, bacon-wrapped dates and tiny pieces of cheese on a stick. Theresa licked her fingers after, not thinking of anything until she saw Samuel watching her, his eyes dark and hungry. He caught her hand and sucked the tip of her fingers into his mouth, his tongue teasing gently at her skin.
They didn't make it out of bed for another three hours after that, and then they had a shower together, kissing slow and lazy in the middle of Samuel's enormous, luxurious shower stall, warm water pattering down at them from every angle.
They slept for a couple more hours, wrapped up in each other, and finally dragged themselves out of bed at seven in the evening. Theresa's entire body felt loose and sated, sore in the best possible way.
There was a ball at the Hilton that night. Theresa stood by the dance floor, watching the whirl of laughing, glittering dancers. Samuel's arm was wrapped warmly around her shoulders. She felt like a princess out of a fairytale, her in one of Sue's spectacular dresses, Samuel so gorgeous in a tux it almost hurt to look at him. Her dragon prince. It didn't feel like this could possibly be her life; her boring, ordinary librarian life.
"Would you like to dance?" Samuel asked, with the first notes of a Viennese waltz starting up. And, well, there was the problem right here. She wasn't a fairytale princess. She'd never been to a ball in her life, and she had no idea how to dance.
But Samuel only shook his head when she told him that, completely unconcerned. "Do you know the waltz steps?" he asked.
She did, sort of. They'd had a dancing lesson or two in gym class in high school. She' forgotten most of it, but the waltz was simple enough she thought she could probably still manage it.
"That's all you need," Samuel said. "Just follow those steps and trust me."
They started out slow, Samuel holding her close. Theresa vaguely remembered the pimply boy who'd danced the waltz with her in gym class, the way he'd trodden on her feet ten times during a two minutes dance.
Samuel led her gracefully, effortlessly through the steps, his strong hand on her waist guiding her exactly where she needed to be, compensating for any mistakes on her part. He guided them into a faster and faster rhythm, following the music; twirling her around until the whole room was a whirl around her and she was at the center of it, safe in her dragon's arms.
She felt a little dizzy, after, her heart racing; knew that her face had to be red.
"I'm gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?" she asked.
"I can get it for you," Samuel said immediately. There was a long line at the bar.
"No, it's fine. I could use a moment to cool off."
By the time she came back with two glasses in her head, Samuel had been joined by his brother. Severin had pulled him aside to the very edge of the room, where they were shielded by a line of potted plants. Severin was standing very close, talking to his brother in a low, urgent voice, his face hard, his eyes glittering dangerously. They were having an argument, that much was obvious.
Theresa hesitated. She didn't want to intrude. Neither of them had seen her yet. But then she remembered the way Samuel's shoulders had slumped when he'd told her about Severin and the way his relationship with his brother had soured. Maybe he'd appreciate some moral support. She came a little closer, until she could hear what they were talking about.
"…what I can't figure out," Severin was saying, his voice a low, dangerous hiss, "Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell—or did you really not know?"
"You're wrong," Samuel said sharply, cutting Severin off mid-sentence. "I don't even know where you get these ideas of yours. Theresa isn't my mate. I'm not in love with her. I'm paying her to show me a good time, that's all there is to it."
Theresa stopped dead in her tracks. Something wet and cold hit her wrist. She realized her hands were shaking badly enough that she'd spilled the glass of Champagne in her hand. Her entire body had gone numb. Her eyes stung.