Dorian didn’t slow at her question, her hand still in his as he guided her away from the bar, out of reach of the man she’d discarded and the noise that came with him. “Somewhere we don’t have to compete with half the room for a conversation,” he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder. He angled them toward a quieter stretch, removed just enough to feel intentional. Selective rather than sparse.
Only then did he stop, turning back to her properly, his attention settling in full. Up close, his earlier assessment held—everything about her was deliberate. Expensive. Not loud or flashy, but built to be noticed anyway. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention and got it regardless. It held his interest in a way most things did not.
“Depends how interesting you want the night to be.” His gaze held hers, steady and openly assessing. “We can stay here, have a drink,” he continued smoothly, “or, if you’re expecting something more, I can arrange that too.” He gave a slight tilt of his head, considering her without hesitation. “There’s a helipad not far from here. Clear night, right altitude—you get a better view than anything this place can offer.”
It wasn’t pitched as an attempt to impress her so much as a baseline, something he was used to offering. “But we can start simple,” he added, quieter now, more direct. His thumb brushed once, absently, across the back of her hand before stilling again. “Dorian Wells." He let the name sit, like it should already mean something. "Do I keep calling you sweetheart, or are you going to give me something better?”
She raised a single brow as his answer only begot more questions. The din of the bar faded as they moved closer to edges, yet Belle knew that not to be their final destination with how certain he guided her from the floor to the corner. The table in the shadows felt far more intimated than any other spot, and with his hand still on her back, the charade of him being a tardy lover remained. Not that either of them paid the man left behind any heed.
The vampire allowed him a moment to access her and decide whether he wished to continue the evening in her company or not. He'd served his purpose if he wished to leave, but there was something intriguing about him. Few possessed the confidence that he'd shown so far. This was a man used to getting his way.
"What makes you think I haven't already seen the city from above?" She toyed with the olive stick in her martini. If he wanted to impress her, he would need to be far more original than mere showings of wealth and status. Isabelle had plenty of that on her own. She longed for someone to challenge her and make her existence a little less mundane.
"A pleasure, Mr. Wells." Wells... Wells.... The name struck a cord with Isabelle, although she couldn't remember where she'd heard the name before. Of course there were Orson and HG, but she doubted this man to be related to them. No his assurance came from a more self-made perspective than an entitlement. "Isabelle Laurent."
