"What are the dreams of the damned, I wonder? " she asks, swirling her index finger provocatively around the inside rim of her drink, those gorgeous eyes sparkling like the Caribbean sea beneath us in the light of a setting sun.
"I don't know - what ARE your dreams?" I say a bit more casually than I intend, maybe - trying a little too hard to keep it easy-breezy, you know, knocked off my ass by that heady combination of love and lust.
A quick narrowing of the eyes flash up with the Catholic in her for an instant before the scientist she had become says seductively, "let me show you".
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