Eighty Days Blue Read Online Free PDF Page B

to scream at her down the line, tell her all the bad things he yearned to do with her, to her, and be soothed by the balm of her acceptance. It would still be the middle of the night back in Manhattan, though, and she was probably blissfully sleeping like an innocent following the inevitable strain of their few days together. Besides, Dominik had never been a fan of phone sex. As a man who lived by words, it carried no emotional charge; it was just too easy!
    He extended his hand to reach for the soap and began washing.
    Days went by in a daze.
    Life unfolded on automatic pilot through lectures, tutorials, marking, research, drafting lectures and papers. Dominik didn’t see the time go as he busied himself with mundane matters, the business of his civilian life.
    His communications with Summer were sparse. Like him, she was uncomfortable with the politics of lengthy telephone conversations, so much of their contact was through emails and text messages. Impersonal, almost businesslike, to the point.
    It was a cruel game. When she expected him to be tender, he was remote or demanding. When she begged for his instructions, he was vague. Dominik wanted to keep her on edge. He wanted to be always in charge. Dominant. A role he was growing into.
    A handful of days later, Dominik was walking out of the university on his way to the Tube, lost in a daydream full of inconsequential digressions, when he heard his name being called.
    â€˜Dominik?’
    It was Lauralynn, the blonde cellist he had hired to perform with Summer in the crypt all those months ago. He’d entirely forgotten about her since their brief telephone conversation when he'd first arrived in New York.
    It seemed she had been waiting for him to complete his lecture. She was standing in the street outside the grey-bricked building, wearing a black pencil skirt cinched at the waist, which highlighted her voluptuous curves, towering heels and a white blouse through which her red bra was all too much in evidence as it strained against the outer material in an almost aggressive fashion. A calculated portrait of sin if ever there was one. Her yellow locks fell to her shoulders, carefully bisecting the oval of her face à la Veronica Lake.
    Dominik was annoyed by this interruption to his routine, his mind already absorbed by an article he had been planning to tackle as soon as he had reached his desk at home.
    â€˜Back from New York, I see,’ Lauralynn said.
    â€˜Yes,’ he answered. He couldn’t quite remember if he had told her he was going, but who cared?
    â€˜You hung up on me last time. That wasn’t nice.’
    He looked her in the eyes and detected a strong sense of predatory mischief. He decided to play this by ear, see where it might lead.
    â€˜You saw her in New York, didn’t you?’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Our violinist friend, of course,’ Lauralynn said. ‘Still your little plaything?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t put it that way,’ Dominik responded, slightly taken aback.
    â€˜I’d be fascinated to hear how you do put it, Dominik,’ Lauralynn remarked.
    Dominik was about to walk away, irritated by both her uninvited familiarity with him and her mistaken assumptions. How could she know anything of what existed between Summer and him? Then he remembered how she had been connected to Victor, and her too-eager involvement with the scene he had directed in the crypt, an involvement he now knew was orchestrated by Victor. Although he had not raised the subject with Summer in Manhattan, he had strongly suspected she had held certain things back from him. The fact that Victor had also been in New York could not have been coincidental. The man was duplicitous and cunning. Surely Summer would not have succumbed to him.
    He held back his impatience and asked her, ‘What is it you want?’
    â€˜Just a chat, nothing more.’ She smiled impishly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not into