(Somehow I like to channel Vincents complicated emotions, beaucause he isn´t showing very much on the outside...enjoy!)
This was hard,Vincent thought to himself.
His hands were still shaking, even long after Catherine had closed the window, turned her back on him and walked away into her apartement, leaving him there alone on the fireescape. He held his head in his hands for a minute; this WAS hard. Everything about this evening had been hard, difficult, challenging, and still; he regretted nothing. It was who he was nowadays, the result of his training and conditioning and he was good at his job, at doing what he was SUPPOSED to: hunting down dangerous criminals - like himself - although he was "inside" the program instead of outside and thus not posing a threat,at least not at the moment, to the ones he owed his services.
The look on her face, on Catherine´s face, when she realized this was the end for her, she had finally had enough and had decided to close the door on him still hurt him, somewhere. Even though he had no viable memory of a connection with her there still was one, and he felt it, through and through. He could still feel the pain of rejection when he looked into her eyes and realized she was telling the truth: this was it. No more. They were over.
His thoughts went to the evening before: the art gallery, their dancing and finally, how he had rescued her from being killed by pulling her away from the elevatorshaft. And it was at that precise moment the wheels had begun shifting inside him and a lot of what she had previously said to him, started to make sense.
To be honest, he never really expected to remember her - at all - and when he finally and suddenly did, it him like a force of nature, like a blast, a blow to the head, It wasn´t that he thought she was lying about their previous relationship, beacause somehow he believed her even when he had no reason to and especially when he didn´t need to, all the time he had taken her words for granted; she was right, she had the key to his many locks and the fact that he couldn´t remember was of no consequence. She had the full picture, he had not and he didn´t mind, mainly beacause he didn´t deem it important enough to have any impact on him or the life he was leading.
But oh was he wrong about that.
Sitting here now, in his eventappropiate suit and tie, on the empty stairs outside her buldning, all he could really think about was her fragrance; the feel of her body, the flow of her dark shiny hair as he dipped her when they danced and that red dress; oh my. She looked like a revelation and was so stunningly beautiful that all he could think about was how he had managed to forget her in the first place. How could he? How was that possible?
He had tried to lure her off, send her away with a lie, so that he could carry out his mission without being disturbed by her interference. But it hadn´t worked and he had VERY mixed feelings about that. The thing he felt when he saw her at the venue at the art gallery was a pang of - excitement - for loss of a better word. He hadn´t been happy or joyed to see her, not at all, for why would he have gone to all that trouble to send her away in the first place. But SOMETHING had happened this evening and the way his body had reacted when he saw her was very disturbing , so much so that he almost felt betrayed. How was he supposed to be in control when he couldn´t even manage his own feelings when he saw her?
Then there was the part about him being investigated - by her.
He didn´t like that at all. The fact that she had come to his boat on false pretences made him both angry and hurt, and something else too, since it was he who had thown her to the floor on the roof the night before and he was ashamed about that, so he was conflicted; a part of him was ready to back down and bite the bullet for the greater good and bow his head and be grateful for her forgiveness.And another part felt betrayed, like: how in hell did she think she could fool him, tamper with his equipment and STEAL data from his computer?
And that had, in turn, almost jeopardized his position with his "employers" since they assumed the securitybreach was on his end. He had to blow them off - for now - but he knew they weren´t easily fooled and he had to be careful not to be on the wrong side of "the list" of the persons he was hunting down on their behalf.
Vincent looked at his hands and could still feel the warmth of her fingers from when they danced. She had forced him, of course.He had better things to do with his time there than dance, but when she walked up to him and resolutely grabbed his hand and dragged him onto the dancefloor he could do nothing but comply. And when she told him to spin her he did and all the time he wondered how this would turn out; her being there added to the problems and catching Sebastian was hard enough as it was. He was angry at being played, angry that she intorregated him on the dancefloor and generally really fed up with her interfering and meddling in his buissness. But his body thought differently. When she came in close to him after the spin and grabbed his shoulders her dark hair dancing, all he could feel was the smoothness of her skin and how her body pressed against his and how he wanted that to never end and how he reluctantly released his grip on her to let her go. He knew she would know nothing of the struggle going on inside him; all she could see was his stern exterior, his fixed and noncomittal gaze as he met her eyes and the ever so slight hint of a sly smile in the corner of his mouth. He was good at this, at pretending, at sending people off course and he had no qualms about decieving her , not in the slightest. After all, he was here to do a job, not to have fun or flirt or dance or get distracted by Catherine´s body or fragrance.
No, I won´t leave you hanging.
To be continued....