Author: Regency

Title: Half the Pleasure

Summary: Another way James Craig and Alexis Davis could have met.

Author’s Notes: Craig is evil, but sexy evil. And yes, I’d marry him under the right duress.

Disclaimer: I own neither of these brilliant characters. I don’t even own their first meeting since that took place last week. Way to go, ABC Network. Don’t drop the ball with these two.

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Craig sat down next to the beautiful woman at the bar and prepared to order himself a drink. He watched her out of the corner of his eye and noted that she seemed none too interested in his presence. Normally, that was the sort of anonymity he aimed for, but tonight he didn’t feel the need to blend in.

He cleared his throat and watched in feigned indifference as she snapped her gaze away from the couples occupying the dance floor. She eased around on the barstool and met his searching expression with one of her own. He wasn’t surprised to find a crystal sharp focus behind a lovely, if strained, smile. Her demeanor from head to toe was the unwilling the guest, the diplomatic creature out of her element. Still, she smiled and he was moved.

Although they hadn’t said a word to one another, he recognized her as the aunt of his former captive, Nikolas Cassadine. If his account was to be accepted, Alexis Davis was a force to be reckoned with on the worst of days. Somehow, though she appeared broken and tired, he believed that.

Realizing she had no intention of speaking, he decided to make a first impression. “Are your thoughts as entertaining as the expression accompanying them?”

She raised an eyebrow and laughed, not mockingly but it was a laugh. He hadn’t expected that. Alexis pulled the wrap she wore tighter around her shoulders and looked away, covering her mouth.

“I’ve never before been this funny without trying. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” He wasn’t upset, not necessarily. What he was, was outdone. She had a laugh like feathers on silk and it was beginning to melt his tightly-held cool.

She waved one expressive hand his way, brushing off his platitudes like so much dust. “I’m sorry, really.” She laughed again and dropped her head, leaving her hair to fall in front of her eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just really quite surprised by something. It’s completely absurd.”

Craig leaned sideways against the bar and watched her with slimly concealed amusement. “Do tell.”

She broke free from her mirth long enough to give him a serious look. He dared to make eye contact and she didn’t shy from it, pillaging his soul with the sort of intensity he’d yet to find in another person. As though intrigued, she moved an infinitesimal distance closer and tilted her head.

He felt the space around them shift and tighten; all others had been shoved through the nearest exit, leaving only the two of them and the dim light that came with discovering an unexpected kindred spirit.

“Are you going to tell me what surprised you?”

She pursed her lips, stifling what he was sure was a much bigger smile. “I was going to say that was actually a very good pick-up line. If I was anyone else or even if I just felt better I'd love it.”

“But now?” He was nothing if not a man of infinite patience. He'd built a lifetime of criminal mischief on top of that virtue. And she saw through it all.

“But now, tonight, I'm here to make an impression, not recruit a new lover.” She brushed aside her bangs and waited for his response. She appeared to be nothing if not patient as well.

“More's the pity for me,” he eloquently groused. A heavy sensation of disappointment filled his stomach, only to be brushed aside by his resolve. “Another night, perhaps?” It came out as a teasing, if seductive question. He saw her take a deep breath and felt those inquisitive eyes look him over again; the raking of white-hot coals.

She wet her lips and nodded. “Another night.”

That eerie feeling in his gut evaporated and anticipation took its place.

She took her clutch from the counter and stepped down from her bar seat. She was going to leave him. For now.

Her back was to him as he had one last question to ask, the one that would seal her fate.

“Miss?” She halted and looked backwards over her shoulder. “What did you say your name was?” He knew, he had always known.

The smile returned again, bruised but persevering. “Casssadine. Natasha Cassadine.” His mouth went dry and he found he had trouble breathing. He saw a flare of danger in her eyes and it drew him as easily as the elusive glimmer of jewels, an ebullient violence.

“It's been a pleasure, Natasha.” Her name was like the richest wine, intoxicating and addicting him in one taste.

“Another night,” she reminded him then vanished in her bitter confidence.

He watched for her long after she had gone; the air was singed with her presence--bereft now that she had gone. He tapped the bar and the bartender appeared, helpful as always. Ah, how he adored the service industry.

“A glass of red wine, please.” It appeared soon and he sipped it with a sigh. As a painkiller, it was a poor substitute. Until “another night,” however, it would have to do.

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