The Devil's Playthings Read Online Free Page A

bite, watching him carefully first to mimic how he cut the chicken and took small bites, then swirl the pasta around his fork.
     
    After that came a leafy salad, with a vinaigrette dressing. She couldn’t say this was her favorite part of the meal, but she ate some of it. Then another course came, a puffed pastry filled with thick cream and topped with drizzled chocolate. He ate this with his fingers, so she did the same. Another napkin was provided, thankfully.
     
    She’d got chocolate on her hands, and when she lifted it to lick a little off, he made a small growling noise. She could only assume it was disapproval, and she didn’t do it again.
     
    Next they were served fresh fruit, like a fruit cocktail she had when she was younger, but even better, and a thick dark coffee. She tried a sip, and wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, so she tried another. It was bitter but good, and he politely placed a sugar cube in it for her.
     
    “Thank you,” she said in a small voice. He only nodded. She knew at least that he wasn’t deaf. Everything tasted so good she was full and still wanted more.
     
    W hen the dinner was over she knew he would disappear again, and she would head off to bed. She searched the room for a clock, but couldn’t find one. So she sat silently, head down, hands wringing the napkin, waiting for a signal from him.
     
    “Would you like to join me in the salon? We can listen to music,” he finally spoke. And what a voice he had; soft and quiet yet rich and melodious. H e was definitely not American. The a ccent was lyrical, almost like he was singing .
     
    She saw before she felt the goose bumps on her arms, and her breath caught as she looked up at him. He stood, and he appeared bigger than she’d thought, perhaps because she sat staring up at him . And then he held his hand out to her, and she took it. His skin was pleasantly soft, and warm, his fingernails well-manicured . He looked, for lack of a better word, classy .
     
    She trie d hard to walk in the shoes and she went very slowly. Thankfully he didn’t try to rush her, and when they entered the salon, he led her to a rich burgundy colored leather seat. She sat on the very edge, knees together due to the length of the skirt.
     
    He stood in front of a desk, and picked up a remote. From nowhere music filled the room ; a soft jazz sounding melody. H e walked toward a low serving table that held several crystal decanters. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silvery bucket, with two crystal glasses sitting beside it.
     
    The salon looked like a mixture of a library and a music room, with shelves lined with books beside shelves lined with CDs and even vinyl records. A huge hearth was the center of the room, with a large fireplace inside. It looked big enough for her to stand in if she wanted to. She couldn’t see any walls that weren’t covered in shelves, but the chairs were rich leather and the tables were dark wood. There were no lamps that she could see in the room, only several candelabras on each table, providing muted soft light.
     
    He popped the bottle of champagne, and she smiled with a blush and watched as he poured the bubbly liquid into the glasses. He carried one to her, and then tasted the other. He nodded then sat in one of the leather chairs beside hers. She sipped it as he did. It was very good, like the wine, but a taste she would have to grow accustomed to; if she got the chance.
     
    “I like that you don’t chatter incessantly,” he finally said after several quiet moments.

    She couldn’t think of a stranger compliment, but she blushed and nodded, “Thank you.”
     
    “You’re very welcome,” he said and sipped his drink. She did as well, and he filled her glass again. She began to feel a little light headed; probably a combination of the alcohol, the candlelight, and his presence. He was as intoxicating as the wine.
     
    “Would you like to dance?” He asked.
     
    Her eyes grew wide, and then flew to the