He's A Dream 2/5
The following week, Bonnie cautiously walked through the open door of the Salvatore boarding house, calling out a greeting as she headed towards the library. Upon entering, she spied Damon sprawled in a wing-back chair, appearing to be engrossed in a dusty tome.
“Damon.” She greeted.
“Bonnie,” he drawled, dragging out her name, not bothering to look up from his book, rubbing his elegant fingers back and forth across the book’s outer edges.
Bonnie watched his fingers, nearly hypnotized by the slow, rhythmic movements.
Shaking herself mentally, she offered, “I’m dropping Stefan’s book back to him. He said I could borrow the next volume when I was done with this one.” She held the book out in front of her as though it were a talisman.
“Leave it on the table, and we’ll be sure to have it re-shelved.” His tone indicating boredom for their exchange.
She countered, “It’s no problem for me to put it back.” Heading for the ladder she moved it until it rested underneath her borrowed book’s shelf.
“Suit yourself, witch.”
“What are you reading anyway?” she inquired idly, not so much to actually engage him in conversation, as much as to ascertain his given location via the sound of his voice. Carefully stepping up the ladder, she replaced the book and took out the next installment. Shouldn’t have worn this skirt. But then I also didn’t think he’d be here.
“The revolution of the Italian states in 1848.”
“Wha--,” In shock, Bonnie turned to look at him, lost her footing and fell off the ladder.
Damon, preternaturally swift as always, abandoned his reading, and caught Bonnie scooping her into his arms. Grinning down at her, he declared “You did that on purpose.”
She squinted at him. “No. I was flummoxed that your reading skill-set ventured beyond the latest edition of some T&A rag, is all.”
“You sure are a tiny little thing,” he mused, hefting her experimentally and sniffing at her hair.
“Damon.”
“Hmm?” His mouth was opened now, eyes closed, scenting her like a cat.
“With what country was this Italian revolution against?” she queried.
“Australia…” his voice trailed off.
“Put me down.” She commanded in a no-nonsense tone.
He opened his eyes, questioning. “What?”
Staring up at him, clutching her book to her chest, she spat, “AUSTRIA! The Italian revolution of 1848 was against Austia, not Australia! Let me go, Damon!”
Chuckling, he set her on her feet. Straightening her clothes, she squared her shoulders, uttered, “Thanks for the save.” She grabbed her bag and book, pivoted on her heel, making for the exit.
Watching her sashaying derriere depart the library, he smiled his predatory smile. “Anytime, Bonnie.”
“Damon.” She greeted.
“Bonnie,” he drawled, dragging out her name, not bothering to look up from his book, rubbing his elegant fingers back and forth across the book’s outer edges.
Bonnie watched his fingers, nearly hypnotized by the slow, rhythmic movements.
Shaking herself mentally, she offered, “I’m dropping Stefan’s book back to him. He said I could borrow the next volume when I was done with this one.” She held the book out in front of her as though it were a talisman.
“Leave it on the table, and we’ll be sure to have it re-shelved.” His tone indicating boredom for their exchange.
She countered, “It’s no problem for me to put it back.” Heading for the ladder she moved it until it rested underneath her borrowed book’s shelf.
“Suit yourself, witch.”
“What are you reading anyway?” she inquired idly, not so much to actually engage him in conversation, as much as to ascertain his given location via the sound of his voice. Carefully stepping up the ladder, she replaced the book and took out the next installment. Shouldn’t have worn this skirt. But then I also didn’t think he’d be here.
“The revolution of the Italian states in 1848.”
“Wha--,” In shock, Bonnie turned to look at him, lost her footing and fell off the ladder.
Damon, preternaturally swift as always, abandoned his reading, and caught Bonnie scooping her into his arms. Grinning down at her, he declared “You did that on purpose.”
She squinted at him. “No. I was flummoxed that your reading skill-set ventured beyond the latest edition of some T&A rag, is all.”
“You sure are a tiny little thing,” he mused, hefting her experimentally and sniffing at her hair.
“Damon.”
“Hmm?” His mouth was opened now, eyes closed, scenting her like a cat.
“With what country was this Italian revolution against?” she queried.
“Australia…” his voice trailed off.
“Put me down.” She commanded in a no-nonsense tone.
He opened his eyes, questioning. “What?”
Staring up at him, clutching her book to her chest, she spat, “AUSTRIA! The Italian revolution of 1848 was against Austia, not Australia! Let me go, Damon!”
Chuckling, he set her on her feet. Straightening her clothes, she squared her shoulders, uttered, “Thanks for the save.” She grabbed her bag and book, pivoted on her heel, making for the exit.
Watching her sashaying derriere depart the library, he smiled his predatory smile. “Anytime, Bonnie.”