Ravens Deep (one) by Jane Jordan Page B

“Shall we go through to the living room?” Taking our wine glasses, we sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I was certain that being in such close proximity to him, he would be able to hear my heart racing.  He reached out and surprised me by taking my hand in his. A mixture of feelings swept through me, especially as his hand was warm tonight and I was happily aware of the thought racing through my mind.
                    He isn’t deathly cold tonight, real warm blood flows through his veins just like mine. He is alive, he is real!
                  My earlier inhibitions melted as his other hand stroked the bare skin on my arm.  It was the merest of caresses, but it set me on fire. With the briefest of looks, a few words and the lightest touch, Darius had broken through any barriers I might have built, and any previous thoughts of caution I had, disappeared in that instant.
                  “You are very beautiful,” he said seductively and I found myself lost in his vivid green gaze. I was happily succumbing to whatever magic he was weaving around me.
    “I have dreamed of this moment,” he continued in earnest.  “In all these years I have never met anyone like you, but it is a twisted fate that has brought you to me now.”
                    “What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding the meaning in his words. He sighed, leant back and gazed up at the ceiling. 
                  “Madeline there is so much that you don’t know about me,” he said a little sadly, and I thought to myself that it couldn’t be any worse than all my imaginings put together, but his sudden solemn demeanour worried me.
                  “Darius, whatever it is you can tell me when you’re ready.  I only need to know you are here with me now and are not going to suddenly disappear.”  Darius raised his head and turned to me with a puzzled look. I noticed for the first time vulnerability in his eyes, a look that that I had not seen before, as if a barrier had come down for him.
                  “I am not going anywhere,” he assured me.
                  “Although . . . I have been wondering what it is you do and where you go,” I said and saw the openness disappear, a barrier was back. “You know it doesn’t’t matter. You don’t have to tell me.” I wished I had not said anything.  It must seem that one minute I was telling him he didn’t have to tell me anything, and the next, interrogating him about his life. Darius was quiet for a few moments. 
                  “You are curious, that is understandable.  I live close by, but I also spend time and have a house in the city.” He paused briefly, “as for what I do. . . . I am a historian for a museum.” 
                  There was hesitation in the way he said those words, as though he had never spoken them out loud before.  I watched him, fascinated.  I had known he would do something intriguing, I could not somehow have pictured him doing anything else. 
                  “Do you specialize in any particular subject?  I am not entirely sure what a historian does,” I said, hoping I didn’t’t sound too ignorant.  Seeing my interest he continued.
                  “I search for interesting objects to add to various collections and when an artefact is retrieved or purchased, I make sure all the information on that object is factually and historically correct.” 
                  “That sounds really interesting,” I said, placing my wine glass on the table.
                  “It has its moments,” he continued, “but most of the time it is tedious and repetitive research. Searching endlessly through old libraries and archives. I can spend weeks and months tracking down cultural treasures and the documents that belong to them.”
                  “But surely