Here's my entry in the Valentine's Day challenge.  I thought it would be
interesting to look at how Azure could have been different.

This hasn't been beta read, so all typos and inconsistencies are totally my
responsibility.  However, I *did* have to watch BMV a number of times to
get the facts straight.  Now, don't you all feel sorry for me? :-)
 

*********************************

(Really) Be My Valentine
By Barb Vainio
 

Natalie had always wanted to come here.  It was one of the best restaurants
in Toronto and people had raved about it to her for years.  But she'd never
gotten around to making reservations.  She hadn't wanted to come alone and
she didn't want to come with just anyone.  She knew Grace would have come
with her, but how lame would that have been?  Grace was one of the people
who had told her about it - after she'd been here for a birthday dinner with
her latest boyfriend.

She was lucky.  When the bouquet of white roses from "a gentleman from the
thirteenth century" was delivered to her office yesterday with the
invitation to meet him at Azure, she had commiserating with Dan Hickock, one
of the other coroners, about their equally empty Valentine's Day date books.
He'd just broken up with a long time boyfriend and she was rapidly accepting
the fact that she didn't have one.  She'd just started to worry that Dan
would ask her out on a pity date - and that she would accept - when the
flowers arrived.

She'd grabbed the card and blushed as she read the note.  Her face became
even redder when she realized the effect her blurted "Oh my God, I've been
invited to Azure for dinner tomorrow night!!" would have on her co-worker.

She started to stammer an apology, but Dan graciously offered to cover her
shift, wished her a terrific evening, and left.  His ex was an idiot.

A limousine had picked her up at 8 PM and now, here she was, gaping like a
schoolgirl at the beautiful décor, blond wood and lush foliage lighted by a
thousand candles.  After hearing all her friends' descriptions, it almost
felt as if she'd been here before.  Who had told her about the two steps
between the foyer and the dining room?  She appreciated the warning, whoever
had given it, so that she didn't make a sprawling entrance.

She stopped just inside the dining room and smoothed the long skirt of her
dress.  She'd considered buying something new, maybe in midnight blue or
bright red, but somehow her black dress with the narrow straps and short
jacket felt right.  Uncharacteristically, she'd worn it without a bra, and
her sheer hose ended at mid-thigh.

She couldn't believe how nervous she was.  It was only a dinner date.  OK -
a Valentine's dinner date.  Did that mean anything?  Was this just another
day in a long progression of years for him, or was it special?  Her stomach
clenched at the thought of how a special day might end.

She took a deep breath and walked forward, aware once again of her
surroundings.  There were strings, including a guitar, playing softly.  She
wished her knowledge of classical music was complete enough to let her
identify the piece.

She finally noticed that the dining room was empty, but, oddly, that didn't
seem out of place - which scared her even more.  Why should she think it was
OK that the best - most romantic - restaurant in town was totally empty on
Valentine's Day?  She'd become used to accepting unusual - not to mention
bizarre - happenings over the last few years, but this should have caused
even her to think twice - even as distracted as she was.

Movement from one of the tables caught her eye as she started to turn around
with the vague idea of asking the maitre d' what was going on.  She gulped
and turned back toward the tables just in time to see her date moving
gracefully toward her.  He was, as always, dressed completely in black, his
jacket buttoned over a high-collared shirt.  Black - obviously
custom-tailored - trousers with a smooth black leather belt threaded through
the loops and boots completed the elegant outfit.  Of course, he would look
regal in a paper sack - if he could find it in black.

As he stopped directly in front of her, Natalie realized that she had been
wrong about his shirt.  It wasn't black, it was a burgundy so dark it seemed
to absorb the candlelight.  She thought about the one new piece of her own
wardrobe - a wispy silk thong she'd seen in the lingerie department of The
Bay - and smiled shyly, glad she was wearing red, too.  Even if no one else
would see it.

He offered her a single white rose, held in long slim fingers.  She took it,
cupped the petals in her other hand and bent to inhale the beautiful
fragrance.  No one had ever given her white roses before, but they'd become
an instant favorite.

"Natalie, I am so glad you could come."

"Thank you for inviting me, Lucien."

Light blue eyes swept her body and a smile played briefly at the corners of
LaCroix' mouth as he took her hand to lead her to their secluded table.  He
was playing with figurative fire by inviting her here tonight, but what was
life without risk?  How much would she remember before the evening was over?
Perhaps he should depart from the script of their previous encounter just
slightly.  After all, he was looking for a very different result.

He held her chair, allowing his fingertips to brush against the soft
material of her jacket as he pushed it in, before returning to his place and
picking up the bottle of champagne from the table.

"I hope you like champagne, Natalie."

The coroner smiled - something she'd done more since yesterday than she had
in the previous several months.  She would find it hard to dislike anything
this evening, but fortunately she loved champagne.  She didn't drink it
often and, when she did, it certainly wasn't as expensive as the vintage
Lucien had just opened.  She watched the spray of small bubbles escape from
the bottle, following them as they foamed lightly into her glass and
sparkled in the candlelight .  She raised the flute in a silent toast that
was acknowledged by the touch of a thistle glass whose dark red contents
glowed richly in contrast to the pale gold of her wine.

They each sipped silently, eyes locked together until Natalie broke the
contact.  She looked over LaCroix' shoulder to give herself time to catch
her breath and got the strangest feeling that something was out of place.
Shouldn't there be a suit of armor in the alcove behind him?  She shivered,
although it wasn't cold.  What in the world was going on here?  She'd never
been here before.  She wouldn't know if Rodin's  "The Kiss" had stood in
that corner.  She blushed at her choice of artwork and dropped her gaze to
her lap.

LaCroix reached over and gently took the champagne flute, which was in
danger of spilling, from her hand.  He chose not to ask the reason for her
blush, although he desperately wanted to know.  Was it something to do with
him - with her feelings for him?  Or was she thinking about something - or
someone - else entirely?  Had he misread her waning passion for Nicholas?
Or perhaps she was remembering some interlude with someone he didn't even
know.

He allowed himself a neutral query.

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

Natalie blinked rapidly several times and shook her head as she tried to
find a reasonable explanation for her sudden confusion.

"I - I.  Yes. I'm fine. I just..."

Her answer trailed off as she realized he had called her 'Doctor'.  Not
"Natalie", or - or...whatever.  Just 'Doctor' - as though this were a
business meeting, not a date.  She gasped out loud and her thoughts tumbled
wildly.  Oh my God.  Maybe it *was* just a casual dinner and she'd
assumed... But then why would he send her flowers and open vintage
champagne?  Maybe he entertained everyone this lavishly.  He was obviously
wealthy; it must have cost a fortune to buy this place out on Valentine's
Day.  But maybe he just liked to show off.  That certainly wasn't the
picture Nick had painted of him, and it wasn't the impression she had formed
since they had met after Nick was shot.  But how much did she - could she -
know about a 2000 year old vampire from a handful of evenings at the theatre
and limousine rides that ended at the door to her apartment.  This was the
first time she'd even seen him eat - drink - whatever.

Her blush deepened to the point that LaCroix, who had been watching her with
surprise, could feel the heat radiating from her face.  Dr. Natalie Lambert
did not strike him as someone who blushed like a vapid teenager.  She had
handled Nicholas' shooting and its aftermath with great skill and absolute
professionalism.  Even her fear of Nicholas' "evil master" at the loft was
well controlled and used to her best advantage.  He had been surprised
initially that she allowed Nicholas to seek him out alone to "fill in the
gaps", but soon realized that she didn't have as much influence over him as
she wished.  He found himself listening more carefully to his son's
references to the "we're just friends - really" coroner, even subtly
steering the conversation to learn more about her.   He had found her
intriguing enough to risk refusal when he asked her to the theatre, but To
his delight, he found they had the same taste in - contemporary - drama and
that she could discuss it with both logic and passion.  They had been to see
several plays since the first and he found himself wanting to spend more
time in her company.  Thus tonight's invitation.

The ancient vampire caught Natalie's hands as she raised them to hide her
face and folded them between his fingers.  They were as warm as if she were
running a fever.

She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them firmly in place.  She
noted idly that his grip, which could have easily crushed her fingers, was
gentle. Insistent, but gentle.  She smiled nervously, her face now bearing
only soft traces of whatever had embarrassed her so.

"Are you all right?"

The coroner again struggled to pull away, her hair swinging in staccato
rhythm with the shaking of her head.

"Yes. No. I - It's just - I'm sorry - Please..."

Releasing only one of her hands, LaCroix smoothly stood up and moved to the
side of their table.

"Would you care to dance?"

The color rushed back to her face at the unexpected question, but she
managed to nod and allowed him to guide her out of her chair.  Taking care
not to stumble on the hem of her dress, Natalie followed him to an open
space at the center of the room.  At an abrupt signal form LaCroix the music
switched from a Vivaldi guitar piece (she was pleased she could recognize
it) to the sensual rhythm of Antonio Carlos Jobim.

LaCroix stood still, his left hand still lightly clasping her right one, as
she turned to face him.  He slid his right hand around her waist, moved her
closer, and stepped into the simple pattern of the samba.

Glad that she had gone to those dancing lesson her Grandmother forced on
her, she followed his lead.  Stiff at first, she soon found herself caught
up in the music, her hips swaying to the beat and her feet gliding with his.
When a hesitation drew her closer to him, she didn't pull back.  Instead she
tipped her face up to smile at him and tightened her grip on his shoulder.

The samba changed to a waltz, which became a fox trot and then a rumba.  A
tango finished with the two of them cheek to cheek, Natalie breathing
heavily as LaCroix lightly caressed her hair.

"Tired?"

Natalie thought about denying it, but then decided on the truth - or a
version of it at least.

"A little.  I haven't danced like this in years."

LaCroix' grip on her hand was tighter returning to the table than it had
been when they left it. She was surprised at the wistfulness in his voice
when he replied, "Nor have I, my...good doctor."

Was 'my good doctor' better than just plain 'doctor'?  Natalie didn't know.
And found she didn't care.  This was an exquisite night and she was being
feted by a very attractive man who seemed more than interested in her
company.  Whatever happened tomorrow would be faced up to then.  Tonight,
here, now she would enjoy herself - and her companion.

The vampire pulled her chair out but didn't return to his own after she had
settled comfortably onto the seat.  He stood behind her and gently moved her
hair back from her neck.  He slid his hand down the side of her throat and
let it rest on her jacket.  He moved his other hand to the opposite side and
slowly slid the jacket back until her shoulders were exposed.  He moved his
hands across her creamy skin and bent to place a light kiss on her neck.

Natalie shivered.  This seemed so familiar, but so different at the same
time.  She shrugged off her confusion.  She would worry about it later.
Right now all she wanted to do was encourage those cool hands to caress her
skin again.  Maybe move a little -.

She jumped, barely able to contain a gasp.  Could he read her mind?  The
fingers of  his right hand had slid beneath the neckline of her dress and
were now resting quietly on the swell of her breast.  Her nipple hardened
and her groin clenched at the contact.

The hand slid away and tipped her chin up so that he could trace her mouth
with his other hand, pushing lightly with his middle finger at the center of
her lips.  Natalie parted them slightly and the fingertip slid in.  Before
she could respond, it was gone and his mouth was next to her left ear.  How
could such cool breath cause her to grow so warm.

LaCroix began to lick the vein in her nick, varying long strokes with short
nudges.  His left hand returned to her neckline, tracing its curve with his
index finger.  His right hand began to massage her hair.  There really was
no other word for it, she decided.  He gathered the tresses and squeezed
them in his fingers, rubbed them on his palm and combed his fingernails
through them.  Sometimes only a few strands and then an entire handful.
Natalie sighed in pleasure.  She closed her eyes and leaned back rubbing her
shoulders slowly against him, pleased when he didn't reject her increased
activity.

He squatted at her left side and slid her jacket down her arm, lightly
touching the exposed skin with his lips.  She couldn't call them kisses
exactly, and they certainly weren't bites, but whatever they were he could
continue them forever.

He moved his mouth upward and began lightly sucking on her shoulder, his
tongue laving her skin like a cat.  She turned her head and kissed his
temple very deliberately.  LaCroix looked up and smiled quickly without
interrupting the sensuous stroking of his tongue.

Would he wash all of her this way if she asked, she wondered, sending a wave
of heat to warm her skin and engorge her sex, drenching the wisp of silk
that covered it.  She heard him chuckle and pulled away.

"If you find my reactions funny...," she snapped more in embarrassment than
anything else.

LaCroix stood up and lightly covered her lips with his.

"Not at all, my...dear.  I find you many things, but cause for amusement is
not one of them."

He went back to his seat and motioned the waiter to begin serving the
dinner, glad of the break that allowed him to regain control of himself.  He
hadn't expected to be that...involved.  Unlike Natalie, he remembered their
last encounter here - and how unexpectedly attractive she had been.  He
hadn't been lying when he'd called her "exquisite".  So he had planned to
control their interaction so that nothing unexpected happened.  But it
appeared that the good doctor had once again spoiled his well laid plans.
He gulped a mouthful of bloodwine.  He could ignore the erection that showed
no signs of abating, but he had come very close to allowing his fangs to
drop and tasting the blood that called to him even now.  That could not
happen.  Not tonight.

"I hope you don't mind my ordering for you.  If something isn't to your
taste, please let me know so I can have it replaced."

Natalie glared at him.  She'd let no one order her food since she was on her
first date and didn't want to offend the poor 16-year old who was trying so
hard to impress her.  LaCroix didn't need to worry, she'd *definitely* let
him know when something was wrong.

She ate the entire meal, including the chocolate soufflé, without a
complaint.  Maybe he really *could* read her mind.  She licked the last drop
of chocolate from the corner of her mouth and glared across the table.

"Don't think I'll be so accommodating if you ever do that again."

Her hand flew to her mouth.  She couldn't' believe she'd just told him she
assumed he would ask her to dinner again.  Suppose he -.

"Very well, Natalie, I'll consult with you the next time."

Natalie dare a quick look at his face to see if he was making fun of her,
but saw only carefully schooled features staring back at her.

Their after dinner drinks, Irish Mist for her, the "usual" for him, were
interrupted for more dancing.  This time he spun her around the floor in a
series of Viennese waltzes until she was dizzy and had to lean on him as
they returned to the table.  The arm around her shoulder gave more than
support and the fingers that stroked the skin made her feel like purring.

Another round of drinks and another turn on the dance floor, to a much more
sensual Brazilian beat, finished with them both standing back at the table.
The stars shining through the skylight (didn't she read somewhere that it
had been broken in some freak accident a year or so ago?) began to pale
imperceptibly and LaCroix called a reluctant halt to the evening, slipping
Natalie's jacket back on and leading her to the waiting limousine.

When she saw how light the sky was getting, she suggested that he leave her
to take the limousine alone so he could get home before the sun rose
completely.

LaCroix was touched by her offer, but quickly refused.  He had withstood
much longer exposure to a much hotter sun than a February morning in Toronto
could provide.  And there was one more thing that needed to be done before
he left her for the day.

"Thank you for your concern, my dear, but I will be fine.  As you can see,
the limousine's windows are tinted and I will not have to step outside to
enter my home."

Natalie didn't allow her disappointment at his obvious decision to leave her
at the curb yet again to color her response.

"Very well then," she smiled, "I'll enjoy you're company on the trip home."

LaCroix held the door and slid in after her, only stopping when his thigh
was lightly touching hers.  Natalie sat perfectly still for a moment and
then let her hand drop lightly onto his leg.  He covered it with his, and
squeezed her fingers gently.  She curled her fingers around his palm and
they sat in companionable, if overheated, silence until the limousine pulled
up in front of Natalie's apartment building.  La Croix reluctantly unwrapped
his fingers from hers and deposited her hand back onto her lap.

Natalie had to swallow several times before she could stammer, "W-would you
l-like to come in for a n...day cap?"  She smiled foolishly at the bad pun.

LaCroix stroked her cheek and declined with regret before turning his legs
to the side so she could move past him.  She acknowledged his action, and
her understanding of the reason for his remaining in the limousine with
lifted eyebrow and a quick kiss on his lips.

As she reached to open the door, the ancient vampire slid his fingers around
her arm.  When she started to turn back toward him, he whispered, "No.
Please stay where you are."

His hands positioned her so that her back was completely to him.  Natalie
heard the rustle of material followed by a soft click.  She felt LaCroix'
breath, cool against her skin, as he moved her hair to the side as he had in
Azure.  She froze briefly, but relaxed as she felt him slip something around
her neck and fasten it.  When she would have reached up to touch it, he
moved her hands away.

"Not yet.  Wait until you are in your apartment."  He would not witness her
reaction to his gift.

"But I -"

A slender finger touched her lips to silence her protest.  She closed her
eyes in acquiescence and reached for the door again.

She didn't even take the time to turn and wave at the departing limousine,
fumbling to open the front door before running to the elevator.  She tapped
her foot impatiently as she waited for it to arrive and paced around the
small square until the doors opened on her floor.  She dropped her keys
twice in her haste to unlock the door, but finally was inside.  Ignoring
Sydney's brush against her legs, she ran to the bathroom and flipped on the
bright fluorescent light.  Blinking in the sudden glare, she peered into the
mirror.  And saw, nestled perfectly - as though it had been made for her -
in the hollow of her throat, an irregularly shaped stone pierced by a thin
antique gold chain.  She leaned forward to get a closer look, blinked, and
looked again.  The stone was a ruby about half an inch at its widest and no
more than that at its longest.  She recognized the color from a TV show
she'd seen about precious gems.  It was called pigeon's blood and was the
rarest, and most expensive, color a ruby could be.  She wasn't even sure if
rubies this color were still being mined.

Natalie reached up in awe to touch it.  It still felt cool against her
throat, but warmed up as it absorbed her body's heat.  She looked into the
mirror again, and smiled once more.

At a certain angle, and if you used a little imagination, and if you were
feeling more than a little romantic, you could almost convince yourself that
it looked - possibly - like a most unusual heart.

Finis