Insatiable

Meena realized this little girl-talk might be a good opportunity to learn a thing or two

about the prince. They had only six floors left though, so she figured she’d better hurry it up.

“I thought there was a little something…melancholic about him,” Meena said.

“Melancholic?” Mary Lou looked as if she wasn’t sure what the word meant.

“Yeah,” Meena said. She knew she had to tread carefully. She didn’t want to say

anything that might send the countess yapping to Lucien, saying Meena had been talking about

him behind his back. She needed to be subtle. But not too subtle. God, she’d forgotten how

hard it was to be in love! “Like something might have happened to him…maybe in his

childhood…that might have made him sad?”

“Oh,” Mary Lou said, rising to the bait like a champ. “You bet. His dad was a real

monster. But his mother! Couldn’t have asked for a lovelier woman. A living saint. I never met

them, mind you; they passed away before my time. This is just what Emil told me. But

anyway, yes, his father—”

“Did he used to beat him?” Meena asked, dropping her voice even though they were

alone on the elevator.

“Yes,” Mary Lou whispered back. “From what I hear.”

Meena’s heart wrenched for Lucien as she recalled his expression in the museum as

they’d stood looking at the portrait of Vlad Tepes. What did it mean, she wondered, that he

was so interested in a national hero who’d treated his sons the way Lucien’s own father had

apparently treated him?

And no wonder he hated the show 24. It must have brought back horrible childhood

memories.

The poor man! It was amazing how far he’d come in the world since his obviously

traumatic beginnings.

“So what do you two have planned for tonight?” Mary Lou wanted to know. “Don’t tell

me he hasn’t asked you. It’s Friday night!”

Meena felt herself blushing. She really was going to have to get over this blushing thing

where the prince was concerned if they were going to be an item, at least for however long he

was in town. “We’re going to the symphony,” she said.

“The Philharmonic?” Mary Lou shrieked. “Oh, how great! I got him those seats, you

know. I mean, they’ve been sold out for months. But I know someone who knows someone.

I’m so glad you’re going with him; it will be good for you both. You two have so much in

common, you don’t even know. You both work way too hard. And you both need to relax a

little, take some time off to actually enjoy life. That’s why I thought you’d be such a good

couple. Now,” Mary Lou said as the elevator reached the eleventh floor and the doors opened,

“you have to borrow this vintage Givenchy of mine for tonight; it will look like a knockout on

you. I know I’m a little bit bigger than you, but I didn’t used to be, believe it or not.”

Meena opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t need to borrow anything to wear, but

Mary Lou wouldn’t hear of it. There was no putting her off. She dragged Meena into her

apartment and then her walk-in closet (which was as large as Meena’s bedroom) and dithered

around in there until she found the dress she was looking for—an admittedly gorgeous vintage

Givenchy cocktail dress, covered all over in hand-sewn ebony crystals that caught the light and

shimmered like black diamonds.

“You’ll need to wear a slip with it,” Mary Lou said critically, holding the dress up to the

lights that shone above the mirror of her built-in dressing table. “I forgot how sheer it is. Do

you have a slip?”

At the sight of the gorgeous dress, Meena forgot all her protests. She was going to look

fantastic in it. Even if she knew Lucien was going to be more interested in how she looked out

of it.

“I do,” she said. She had a black slip she’d bought to wear beneath the dress she’d worn

as Leisha’s maid of honor.

She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was turning as girly as a teenager

getting ready for her junior prom. She had never spent this much time discussing clothes.

Love. It had to be love.

“Don’t worry about hurrying to return it,” Mary Lou said, walking Meena to the front

door. “Keep it as long as you want. I’m glad someone’s finally getting to enjoy it after all these

years. You know, I don’t think I’ve worn that thing since the sixties.”

Meena laughed. “You mean when you were a fetus?”

“Wait, did I say since the sixties?” Mary Lou laid a beringed hand on her chest and

laughed. “I meant it was made in the sixties. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Thanks, Mary Lou,” Meena said. She really did feel grateful to the older woman. Some

of the antipathy she’d harbored lately toward her was starting to ebb away. “And thanks for

introducing me to Lucien. He really is…well, what you said. Very nice.”

This was the understatement of the decade.

“Oh, hon,” Mary Lou said, leaning down to kiss Meena on the cheek. Meena caught a

strong whiff of the countess’s perfume. “I’m so happy for you. You don’t even know. I just

knew it would all work out between you two the minute I saw your eyes meet across the room

last night. It was almost like you’d met before or something.”

Meena swallowed back her almost instinctual Oh, but we had . “Thank you, Mary Lou,”

she said again, the dress tucked over her arm. “I…just thanks.”

She had to flee across the hallway before the sudden pricking of tears she felt at the

corners of her eyes overflowed. What was the matter with her? She was never this emotional

about anything. Well, except what was going on with Leisha and the baby. And her job, of

course.

Oh, God, her job. She had to sit down and get to work on her proposal for the Romanian

vampire-hunting prince who was going to kill Shoshona’s vampire and end up as Cheryl’s love

interest. If she didn’t finish it by Monday, she knew there’d be no hope of the story line ever

being accepted. Once Maximillian Cabrera won over viewers’ hearts, she’d never be able to

convince Fran and Stan—let alone the network and CDI, which was obviously investing a lot

into this whole vampire thing—to kill him off.

What was it about Stefan Dominic that rubbed her the wrong way? The moment she’d

seen him standing there by the elevators Meena had known—just known—that she’d seen him

before.

And not, as Shoshona had suggested, out with Shoshona.

No, Meena knew Stefan Dominic from somewhere else.

And not somewhere good.

Unlocking her door, Meena let herself into her apartment, which was mercifully empty.

Jon was still out fetching Jack Bauer. Meena almost sagged with relief to be alone, at least for

a little while. Hanging her bag and coat on the hooks by the door and throwing her keys into

the tray she kept on the table, she went to place Mary Lou’s dress carefully in her closet.

Then she changed into her “writing clothes” (a pair of leggings and one of Jon’s old

sweatshirts), grabbed her laptop, pushed up her sleeves, and curled up in her favorite comfy

armchair to work.

And just sat there, staring at the empty screen.

How was she supposed to work when all she could think about was Lucien?

She’d have thought this would have helped her creative process, since she was writing

about him. At least in theory.

But instead of writing, she could only sit there and remember the possessiveness with

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