Anyone could see he had an eye for fashion and kept a tailor well employed. He seemed to fit in regardless of the landscape he inhabited. The slopes of Aspen or the beaches of Cannes, the runway shows in Paris or the unforgiving bitter chill of Detroit in January. If he was anywhere, he looked the part and more importantly, belonged in the neighborhood.
She used to think it would be the women who noticed him first. The first to widen their eye, slow their step and the first to study the specimen before them.
But it was always the men. Men from all walks of life saw him from a mile away and stilled, taken aback by such a powerful presence. Business room or beach; nightclub or museum, it didn’t matter. They circled with caution, unsure of how to read him, how to handle him.
That’s where the women excelled. They knew exactly what they wanted to do with him.
Or to him.
Or what they wanted him to do to them.
Like moths to a flame, they fluttered around him, showing their best features, unable to resist getting closer.
He was beautiful.
When he was born, her mother had looked at her grandson only once before dismissing him, and the mother that bore him. The mewling child, with lungs so fierce, she heard his wails from two floors up as they took him from her. The horror of her coupling with a merchant’s son from the Ivory Coast had been unthinkable. To have bore his child been unforgivable to her family. He had been thrown to a wealthy family in London and it would be 15 long years before she saw him again.
He was defiant and rude, brazen and reckless and a boy who could barely hold his liquor and had no desire to continue receiving any kind of formal education.
But he was her son. Her flesh and blood and she would not let him go to waste as her children with Mikkos had. Stavros, her pride and joy, was everything she’d worked tirelessly for him to be, and yet, something was not quite right about him. He gripped things too tightly. He pushed too hard and with such ferocity that things and people around him broke.
And so much was destroyed by Stavros’ hand.
Then there was Stefan, her great disappointment. Who never needed a thing from her and ultimately took her beloved grandson and the Cassadine Empire with him. But her third son, her raven son, brimming with intelligence and drive, thirsting for opportunity and guidance and propelled by a hunger that only she truly understood.
He wanted the world.
He was beautiful.
Just like his mother.
“Mum.”
She turned her head slightly to the right, acknowledging his presence. His voice was affectionate, but came out as a growl of sorts, the lilt of the South London accent that he’d refused to give up ever present, much to her chagrin. He leaned down and bused her cheek before easing into the seat across from her. She regarded him with a cool gaze. He smirked slightly, before signaling the waitress. “Only you hate this,” he said, rubbing the two day stubble on his cheek.
The waitress approached their table, the lust in her eyes already on overload as she nervously pushed a stray hair behind her ear. She held up the pad and pen as she stopped in front of the small table. “Good afternoon,” she said, nearly breathless, her eyes locked onto the gorgeous man in front of her.
He gave her a small nod. “2 café au lait, please.” The waitress nodded feverishly, her fingers trembling slightly as she wrote the order down. “That’s all, thank you,” he said, smoothly dismissing her as he turned his gaze back to Helena. “Would you like anything to eat?” the waitress followed up. His gaze flicked back to her. He lifted his curled hand to his mouth, resting his knuckles gently against his lips. Her mouth parted ever so slightly. “Perhaps something sweet?” Her voice quivered as she drank in his dark chocolate orbs. Helena sat silent, watching him as he raked his gaze over the waitress. She was a pretty thing, cloying in a way that most men would find endearing, but this child, with hair like fire and charming freckles sprinkled across her cheeks might pull his attention for a few moments. He placed his hand back down on the table and lifted his chin. “Not right now, love,” he demurred. The waitress looked crestfallen, but let out a breath, offered a small smile and took her leave to the sanctuary of the other side of the café.
His demeanor shifted as he turned his attention back to his mother once more. Helena primly opened her D&G clutch and removed a small cream coloured envelope.
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyeing the item as she placed it on the table. “That’s why you called me here?”
Helena said nothing, but something of a twinkle set in her ice blue eyes, a gesture she knew would frustrate him immensely. Right on cue, a nerve along his jaw flicked and he shifted in his seat, his head cocking to one side. He glared at the envelope wearily before removing it and placing it into his pocket. Helena couldn’t help but feel a small surge of pride. Patience was not his strong suit, and it had taken him years to subdue his natural instinct of immediate gratification in moments like these. He would not wait until he returned to his hotel suite, but he would resist until she was out of sight. “All is well, I trust?” she finally spoke, her words clipped and haughty. The waitress returned with their drinks, setting them quickly on the table, giving a false smile and moving away quickly, without looking at him. He took a small sip of the hot concoction and gave a short nod.
She rose, and took a small step around the table. He titled his head up, taking up the cup and finishing the drink. “Then I shall see you in a fortnight.”
He wasn’t surprised that she was leaving mere minutes after sitting down. They’d not crossed paths in over six months, and yet here she was, departing once again. But he’d long since given up doing battle with her over this issue. She would not bend to his will on this issue, or any issue for that matter. It was one of the things he respected about her.
“Right. The wedding,” he replied, referring to young Andresj’ upcoming nuptials to a Greek shipping heiress. All Cassadines had been invited, and for him, it would be his first official acceptance into the family’s graces. He wasn’t nervous; he didn’t get nervous about anything anymore. It had been one of Helena’s first lessons.
She stiffened ever so slightly at the mention of the wedding. He knew she despised the mere thought of it, but she would attend, of course. He bit back a smile, knowing his soft barb had hit the desired mark. It was a silly gesture on his part, one he knew he’d pay for at a later date. Her hand lifted and ever so slightly, her index finger brushed against the rough plain of his cheek.
“None of this for the wedding,” she stated firmly, staring down at him. A moment of quiet passed over both of them at her touch. “Of course Mum,” he replied softly. Slowly she removed her hand, surprised at how long she’d kept it on his face. It unsettled her in so many ways, the way it always did when she was in his presence. She was never an affectionate mother, but with her youngest, she found herself wanting to reach out to him, feel his warm skin on her cool hands, pull him close to her in a way she’d never felt with Stavros or Stefan. Warmth blossomed from deep within her, coming like waves, making her heart thump wildly. It was not the beat of a woman in lust or romantic love, but rather a carnal beat, one that she felt in her bones, a maternal instinct she had never experienced before him. She loved him fiercely. He was her beautiful raven son.
She turned and slipped from the busy café and into a waiting car. He let out a slow breath, surprised at how he’d been holding it from the moment she touched him. He gave his face a quick rub, wanting to calm the jumble of emotions rushing through him. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off both his mother and the envelope sitting in his right pocket. He knew exactly what he wanted. He stood, throwing a €20 on the table and made his way through the busy café to the empty hallway near the washrooms. There he saw what he was looking for, at the computer station in the dimly lit hallway, punching her next order into the screen. He leaned against the wall and pulled out a small card and a pen, writing a name and number down on it. As he finished, he looked up and she turned. She gave a small gasp, her hand flying up to her chest. “Oh, you scared me!” she exclaimed, but already, her cheeks were flushing with knowledge of their previous encounter.
He gave a chuckle. “I do apologize. Might I make it up to you?” Her gaze widened ever so slightly as her hand dropped from her chest to clutch her other hand. He took two steps towards her, closing the gap between them. She took in a shuddering breath at his close proximity. Her hands itched to touch his midnight chocolate skin. So did her tongue. He handed her the small card.
“When do you finish work?”
She blinked twice. “2 hours,” she stammered. He gave a small nod, as if approving. She looked down at the card. “Do you know where this is?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s a 5 minute walk from here.”
“Go in, give them this card, get yourself something you’ve always wanted to wear.” He flipped the card in her hand to reveal the address of a hotel. “Then come here. I’ll meet you at 8, yeah?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” she asked, her tone faltering. She was suddenly unsure. He cocked his head to one side and examined her. “More like, an experience,” he offered smoothly, a hint of a purr in his tone. “What kind of experience?” she asked, feeling herself being pulled back by a tone of warning. Not one fearing her safety or well being, but rather the spoiler, the voice of her strict father, hissing at her of immorality and wanton behavior she should steer clear from. He raised his brows, “would you like a hint?” His voice dropped an octave and his eyes darkened with a sudden heat and she knew instantly, she wanted nothing more in the world right now, than the hint he was offering.
“Yes.” The single word came out, almost in a croak, but it was all he needed. He pressed against her, molding his body to hers, pushing against the wall. His hands snaked around her waist, clutching against the small of her back, pulling her even closer to him. Her hands flew up to his chest as his mouth descended on hers, demanding everything from her, drinking in her lust and need. His right hand came up her side, grasping the side of her face, deepening the kiss. It was for her, in a single word, heaven. She let out a soft moan as she tasted his succulent lips, his tongue plunging into her mouth, his own lust hungry for nourishment. Just as she began to move her own hands to explore, he pulled completely from her, leaving her mewling with protest and gasping for air. She was hot, her panties were wet and she wanted nothing more than to climb him right then and there, the world be damned.
“8 o’clock,” he said with a nod.
Her mouth ravaged, her lips bruised and her libido screaming for more, she looked at him, almost pleadingly. “Your name? What is it?” She would never forget it as long as she lived.
“Archer.”
With that, he left the hallway. He never asked for her name. He didn’t need to. He was Archer Cassadine. She was just a distraction.
*~*
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