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An Excerpt From: DREAMS OF THE OASIS IV:
THE STING OF THE WIND
 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2007.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
It was a frigidly cold North Georgia night with a hint of sleet hovering in the gunmetal gray sky as Shannon took the glass to the penthouse floor. After work, she had hurried home to shower and dress in a nice gray stripe pin stripe pants outfit that made her feel professional and in charge. She was determined to put her best foot forward—in a pair of Manola Blahnik pumps that had cost her a small fortune. Nervous, but sure of herself, she had stared out over the Atlanta skyscrapers as the elevator rose quietly, praying the job would be hers.
Before reaching the penthouse floor, the elevator had slid gracefully to a stop and the intercom had come on.
"Miss Walsh?" a very British voice asked.
"Yes, Mr. Alfred," she replied, knowing the man speaking was Shae Durbin's butler.
"I am bringing you up."
"Thank you."
Once more the elevator rose and when it stopped with a very delicate ping, the wide bronze doors slid open to reveal an older gentleman impeccably dressed in a black suit.
"Good evening, Miss Walsh," the butler said, bowing his head slightly.
"Please call me Shannon," she said and was rewarded with a warm but polite smile.
"I would be honored to do so. Please call me Edgar. May I take your coat?" he asked, stepping forward.
Shannon turned around, presenting her back to him, and unbuttoned the coat, allowing him to slip it from her shoulders. "Thank you, Edgar. It's freezing out there tonight."
"We're in for some nasty weather I hear," he agreed, draping her coat over his left arm. "If you will follow me, please?"
The floor beneath her feet was stunningly beautiful as Shannon made her way over the sleek, highly-polished tiles made from black anthracite. With the walls covered in pale gold watered silk with intricate off-white crown mold at least ten inches in height and spectacular artwork that had to be priceless, she knew the entry alone was worth more than her entire apartment and its furnishings.
Edgar led her to a room just off the entry. It was a man's room with heavy oak tables, sofa, and flanking loveseats covered in a dark green and red plaid, and two oversized red leather chairs that sat to either side of a huge red brick fireplace roaring with an inviting fire. The room smelled of patchouli and the light was turned down so the atmosphere was mellow and inviting—a place in which to relax.
"I was worried you would have trouble getting back into town with the sleet I've heard is coming," a deep voice said. "I would have sent a car."
Shannon turned to see her employer standing at a richly carved oaken bar. He came toward her carrying two crystal wine flutes filled with what she knew must be champagne for she could see the bubbles.
"It's not as bad as I've heard its going to get," she said, unable to take her eyes from the striking man walking over to her.
Although she had passed the portrait of Shae Daniel Durbin in the lobby of the Greater Atlanta Area Blood Bank many times, she wasn't prepared for the man himself. No painting could have done him justice as he gave her a seductive smile that made his tanned face even more attractive.
Dressed in black slacks and a black silk shirt, he looked positively scrumptious. Tall—at least six and a half feet of prime maleness—and with a thick head of long dark hair pulled casually back from his face by a silver band, he had broad shoulders that flexed powerfully under the black silk and long legs that made her wish he'd turn around so she could see the view from the rear.
But it was his eyes that held Shannon in thrall. They were a sparkling dark amber with lighter striations of gold running through the irises. Beautifully long eyelashes and thick eyebrows peaked devilishly in the center framed those stunning eyes. Looking into them was like looking into the fire and made her just as warm.
"Well, I'll definitely send you home in the limo," he said, stopping in front of her and handing her the champagne. "We can't have my new CFO slipping and sliding around out there, can we, Eddie?"
Edgar flinched and with a sigh shook his head. "No, sir. We can not." He gave Shannon a look that told her he did not like to be called Eddie. "Will there be anything else, sir?"
"I don't believe so."
Edgar bowed slightly and pivoted around, walking away with shoulders ramrod straight.
"I've insulted the poor man again," her employer said with a grin.
"Do you do that often?" she asked, not having missed him calling her his new CFO. Her heart was being so fast she felt lightheaded.
"Only every chance I get," he replied with an unrepentant wink. He extended his champagne flute toward her. "To the kindred."
Shannon clicked her glass against his, puzzled over the strange toast. She took a sip of the champagne and almost purred as the wondrous taste of it spread over her tongue.
"Like it?"
"It's wonderful," she said.
"Shall we take a seat?" He indicated one of the chairs beside the fireplace, taking his seat only after she was seated. Settling back in the lush leather, he crossed his right ankle over his left knee and braced his elbows on the thick chair arms. He held the champagne with both hands and looked at her over the rim. "Barring any complications, the job as CFO is yours," he said.
A wild rush of relief spread through Shannon and she beamed at him, but cautioned herself to take it slowly, not to whoop with pleasure which was her first instinct. "What complications could there be?" she inquired.
He took a sip of the champagne then set the flute aside. "Those who inhabit the upper echelons of my company are privy to things others are not," he stated. "If after I have filled you in on those things and you decide the job is something you truly want, then I will formally offer it to you. If you decide the job is not for you, I will erase the memory of this meeting from your mind and we will go on as though this conversation never took place."
She blinked. "Erase the memory?"
Shae Durbin threaded his fingers together and braced his chin on them. "That is completely within my power, I assure you."
Laughing nervously at his words, Shannon's smile disintegrated when he did not answer that smile with one of his own. He was staring steadily at her, his eyes seemingly locked on hers, drawing her full attention to the golden orbs.
"You're not joking," she finally said.
"I rarely joke, Shannon, and when I do, it won't be about business," he told her. "Durbin Enterprises is the lifeblood of my family. I am deadly serious about it."
There was something strange flickering through his gaze that made the hair on the back of Shannon's neck stand up. She felt drawn to him yet uneasy in his presence. From things she'd heard and read, she knew him to be a powerful, wealthy man, a corporate raider, a no-nonsense businessman who went after what he wanted, never resting until he had acquired that which he sought.
Edgar slipped quietly into the room, bowing slightly. "Dinner is served, Sir," he said in his impecible British accent.
Shannon's employer reached for his champagne, finished it, and then stood, the flute in his strong-looking fingers. "Would you care for another glass with your meal?" he asked.
Something warned Shannon not to indulge in another heady glass since the one she had been sipping on seemed to have dulled her thinking. "No, thank you. I'm fine." She got to her feet.
Her employer stepped aside for her to precede him and as they reached Edgar, he handed his flute to the stately man. "Another if you please, Eddie."
Shannon heard another sigh rush loudly from the butler.
"Of course, Sir," Edgar said, taking Shae's glass.
With a hand to the small of her back, her employer ushered Shannon out of the den and down the corridor, past fabulous pen and ink drawings that lined the long walls. She would have liked to stop and give the drawings a closer look but the contact on her flesh was sending tingles up her spine and she thought she could feel each individual finger as it pressed against her back.
"I hope you like salmon," her host said.
"Yes, I do," she responded.
The room to which he directed her made Shannon's eyes widen. It was by far the most beautiful, lavish room she'd ever entered. With silk moiré walls of a celadon green and an intricate oriental area rug upon which sat a massive red oak table and tall wingback chairs covered in a plush scarlet red silk, the room took her breath away with its beauty. As if that weren't enough, the fine china rimmed in what she knew must be gold was flanked by shining utensils in thick gold stamped with a lovely Celtic knot pattern.
"This is absolutely stunning," she said, looking about her at the landscapes that decorated the walls.
"I'm glad you like it," he said, holding her chair out for her.
Edgar had placed her directly to their employer's right instead of at the far end of the twenty foot long table.
"This makes for a much cozier conversation," Shae said. "I detest having to shout to be heard."
The chair upon which she sat was as soft as a marshmallow beneath her rump yet the back was stiff enough to keep her spine straight and not allow her to sink down into the cushion as she wanted to.
"First the meal, then our little talk," Shae said. "I never combine one pleasure with the other unless it is strawberries and whipped cream on fine silk sheets."
Shannon's face turned red at his words as Edgar took her napkin, shook it out and laid it across her lap. She thanked the stately gentleman and looked around as several servants came out laden with serving trays.
The meal of salmon baked in a thin philo crust and served with shredded leeks was mouthwatering. Side dishes of braised vegetables sautéed in olive oil and a rosemary and tomato quiche complimented the salmon to perfection. Following the entrée, Edgar arrived with poached pears in a delicious plum brandy sauce. As her host sipped champagne, Shannon made do with a rich hickory coffee that left her senses sharp.
The two diners spoke of mundane things like the present bad weather, the state of the Atlanta Braves baseball team, the on-going congestion caused by still more and more freeway work, and the need for less strip malls and more adequate housing for the poor in the teeming city. By the time dessert arrived, they were comfortable with one another and ate in silence, relishing the superb taste of the poached pears.
"Would you like a snifter of brandy while we discuss the particulars of the job?" he asked as he blotted his lips with his linen napkin.
"No, thank you. If I'm to sign away my soul, I'd like to be aware I'm doing it," she joked.
He gave her a strange, unwavering look that caused the hair on her head to stir but then he smiled—lazily and with a sultriness that went straight to her libido.
"Then let's go back to the den and start the negotiations for that soul, Shannon," he said, pushing his chair back.
Once they were settled in the den—he with a large snifter of brandy and she with another cup of Edgar's delicious coffee—he laid his arm over the back of the loveseat on which he sat and crossed his ankles, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"What would you say if I told you I was a vampire?" he asked.
Shannon nearly choked on the sip of coffee she had just taken. The cup rattled in the saucer and she leaned forward to place it on the cocktail table in front of the sofa. "I beg your pardon?" she said, not sure she'd heard him correctly.
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