Samson's Lovely Mortal
Page 22“I don’t really know.” Delilah averted her eyes, afraid they would reflect her excitement about the upcoming date. She didn’t really care what she was going to see, as long as the man sitting next to her was Samson Woodford.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” John looked confused.
“An acquaintance is taking me out, and I completely forgot to ask which play we’re seeing.” An acquaintance—she wanted Samson to be much more than that, at least an acquaintance she could have sex with. Lots of sex. Lots of good sex. If he was as good in bed as his kiss promised, there’d be lots of great sex.
Was it getting warmer in the restaurant?
“Too spicy?”
“What?” Delilah lifted her gaze to meet John’s inquisitive stare.
“The dumpling.” He pointed at her plate.
“Yes, yes. I think I put too much hot sauce on it.”
It was probably safer not to think of sex anymore while out for lunch with John. Or in the office during the rest of the day for that matter, especially since there was no air conditioning in the building.
Samson wished he could see his reflection in a mirror, but since vampires didn’t reflect in mirrors, he had to make do with Carl.
“How do I look?”
“Dashing.” Carl wasn’t a vampire of many words.
Samson fiddled with his shirt collar. “Too much? Shall I change into something less flashy?”
He wore dark slacks and a simple white shirt with the top two buttons open, no tie. He wanted to look casual, but not too casual. He fidgeted with his shirt collar again.
“If I didn’t know any better, sir, I’d say you were nervous about tonight.”
“Have you ever seen me nervous, Carl?” Samson deflected.
“Never, sir. Not a single time in the almost eighteen years I’ve been working for you. You are confidence personified. Which makes this rather strange, if I may say so.”
“Has it been that long already?”
“Indeed.”
Samson remembered the dark October night well when he’d had made the fateful decision. Save Carl or let him die?
“Do you regret it?” Samson did. He regretted having subjected Carl to a life as a vampire, but back then, he’d only had a few seconds to make a decision. Carl’s attackers had left him bleeding to death. Had he not turned him, Carl’s life would have been over.
Carl raised his eyebrows. “Regret that I work for a gentleman?”
Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m no saint. We both know that.”
“None of us are. But you are a gentleman. I believe your mother, God rest her soul, would be proud of you. She must have been an extraordinary woman, having raised a son like you.”
Samson smiled. “You would have liked her.” He paused. “Carl, have you ever thought of doing anything else? I mean, did you never want to start a different career?”
“I’m glad to hear that. You know, I would be quite lost without you. My household and my life would be a mess if I didn’t have you.”
“Thank you. Shall we, sir?” Carl motioned toward the front door; as always, trying to keep him on schedule.
“And you’re sure this is fine?” Samson felt his forehead crease in a frown.
“Yes, sir.” Carl nodded and helped him into his coat, before opening the front door. The rain had stopped again, and it looked like it would be dry, for a few hours at least.
As Samson settled into the back seat of the limousine, he wondered how he should play it. Casual and sweet? Aggressive? Sexy? Damn, he had no idea what would work on her. Apart from her name and where she lived, he knew absolutely nothing about her. Well, Oliver had also reported where she worked, but he had no idea what she actually did. The building where Oliver had dropped her off housed more than twenty different companies. Maybe he should have instructed Oliver to run a background check on her so he would be armed with a little bit more than his charm to get through the evening. And get her into bed. His bed.
He knew he had to be careful since he’d already screwed up the night before, acting like a jerk. Maybe a sweet-and-charming approach would work best with her. He would try that first. Light conversation, lots of laughter, nothing heavy. It was a good plan. He could do that.
The ride was short, almost too short for him to collect his thoughts. He stopped Carl from getting out of the car.
“Thanks, Carl; I’ll get her myself.”