[cheshire] fancy. [tag; torrence]

film star, yeah I'm deluxe
classic, expensive, you don't get to touch.

Perdita was in a bad mood.

She usually was but this was all down to her grandfather. Her brother, Sebastian, had just been promoted. He did the accounts (not very well, she might add) for Bloom Mill and he'd just switch departments to head of merchandising. That should have been her job and she was currently sulking. Her dad wanted to modernise the company but her grandfather was gripping on tightly with his withered fingers with all his might. She'd done what he'd asked. She was holding down a crap job at the Ministry at his request to prove that she was responsible. Urgh.

There was a party in a large stately home, nestled in lush green grounds with a long paved drive. Inside, the spacious rooms were full of people. Low, floating candles, free flowing champagne and soft music floating through unseen speakers entertained the guests. The women were dressed in drab shades of dark blue and greys, the men in tuxedos and smart wizarding robes. They were all so much older than her. And boring. Investors, partners, friends of her father's.

In an act of rebellion, Perdita wore a short dress in a shocking shade of red. She stood out like a sore thumb in the otherwise sea of muted colours. Her short hair was curled softly, her bright blue eyes made up and exaggerated in smoky hues with a slick of deeply scarlet lipstick. She was well aware that some of the prudish, wrinkly old women were shooting her less than subtle glances over their champagne glasses. Turning her head, she offered them a broad smile. She didn't see what the issue was. Her dress was a Bloom design. It just wasn't matronly.

Stepping in, she smiled brightly. "Hi!" The tall girl exclaimed, reaching out a hand to shake the one belonging to Ernest Blakenship. She did like him. He was a short, rotund man who worked for the company for almost thirty years. He was like a surrogate grandfather and she much prepared him over her own. "Great party," he told her with a loud laugh, elbowing his elderly but beautiful wife June who shot him a dirty look. "Oh thank you," she said politely. "I had nothing to do with it." If she had, the bar would be serving shots and whiskey, not just champagne and fancy cocktails.

Kissing his cheek and using the excuse that she needed to mingle, she stepped back and into the crowd. Tossing smiles and hellos, this behaviour had been drummed into her from a very young age. She was frequently left alone that these sorts of events. There wasn't anyone under the age of forty. It was full of just…old people. Whenever she tried to get involved, to put forward her business plans for Bloom Mill that would ensure an enduring legacy, she got laughed at. Pooh-poohed. Belittled. There was jokes asking why she was out of the kitchen or leering glances and honestly, she'd had quite enough. Her grandfather knew she was more capable than any man in this room.

But the bar. The wonderful bar.

Perdita's long legs strode forward, neatly weaving in and out of chatting patrons before she came across a tall, dark and rather handsome man. He must be working there because no one who was actually dressed stylish would be here tonight. Noticing he was carrying two glasses of champagne, her pale fingers reached out and took one from his hand swiftly. "Thank you," she told him distractedly, looking at him before tilting her head. "You should be wearing a tie," Perdita told him curtly, mistaking him for being part of the staff. Taking a sip of the fizzy liquid, she turned on her heel in a cloud of expensive rose-scented perfume before sitting herself down at the bar.

Torrence Regan could dress the part when he wanted to, but he usually didn't give a fuck. Tonight was one of those nights.

In the midst of a mansion that has probably seen way too many galas and not enough actual partying, Torr arrived in his usual fashion - late. He was dressed in dark slacks, a black button up shirt, a leather jacket and boots and the staff almost didn't let him in. A few choice words, some name dropping and his glacial stare changed their mind, but he reveled in the feeling. It was like a big middle finger to the whole system and nothing could have started his night off better.

The party was in full swing... but definitely not his usual scene. Damn, but these people were old. He was pretty sure he saw one woman who looked like she was three seconds from a grave she was so old, but Torr flashed his pearly whites and winked and all the older ladies seemed to love it. Not that he had time for them anyway. He was looking for his friend Liam who mentioned this party in the first place. He said they had free booze and it was a family that owned a clothing company.. didn't that mean there were going to be loads of models walking around? He did love his women leggy. But by the looks of things, he was not impressed with the turn out.

He strode over to the bar only to find that there were only serving champagne and fruity cocktails. Bloody hell, what kind of party was this. He grabbed two glasses of champagne, one for now and the other for right now and turned, figuring if there were no leggy supermodels and only champagne, that Liam was going to get a punch in the face for saying this party was not one to miss.

But then a girl in red with legs he wanted to lick until he got to the sweet spot appeared at his side. Torr raised his eyebrows, a smirk pulling the corners of his lips up, as he watched this girl take the glass from his hand. He chuckled at her admonishment, putting no more importance on it than he did any other reproach he received. But he was interested. Did this girl think he was a staff member? Ha! Torr laughed a little more at her audacity and couldn't help but follow her a few steps to where she sat at the bar. Sidling up next to her, getting closer than what was considered appropriate just to throw her off balance, he bent down and whispered in her ear, more for shock value than anything else, "you should be wearing nothing." He raised his champagne glass to his lips and took a long swallow, his cobalt blue eyes staying on her the whole time. Then with a wicked smile, his eyes darkened and he added, "I could help you with that."

Goodness, the staff was unruly. The way he laughed at her caused her to blink, her ire well and truly raised. Was he…wearing leather? Perdita wanted to cry. One should only ever wear leather gloves and at a push, a leather pencil skirt to add an edge to an outfit. Her bright blue eyes dropped and her heart sank when she saw his boots, a far cry from her expensive ruby heels. She made mental note to tell her father to let her hire the staff. This…person looked as though he'd just rolled right out of bed and she was totally disgusted.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she scowled at him, her bad mood already clear as day. Dear Merlin. Was he wearing an earring? Perdita pressed her soft fingers to her mouth directly as she thought she was about to vomit as she turned her head away. He'd laughed in her face. He dressed like some sort of walking personification of the word "dickhead". She didn't say anything after she'd berated him for his lack of formal wear and the fact that he seemed to think it was funny both annoyed and impressed her. But she stormed off anyway. She was good at that.

"Hi," Perdita said once seated, tilting her head at the barman. "Do you have anything else but champagne?" She asked him sweetly. She knew that champagne had considerably less calories than most alcoholic beverages but it wasn't really hitting the spot. When told that was all there was, she smiled again. "I think you're lying to me," she told the man behind the bar who turned pink and began to stumble over his words. "I'd love a whiskey sour if you could manage it," she purred, batting her eyelashes and soon after, she was rewarded with one. Perfect.

Picking up the small glass of the yellow, tangy liquid, she sipped through her straw and felt like she could get through the night without stabbing anyone with a fish knife. Perdita looked at her watch. It was a little after ten in the evening; it was still too early to retire to bed with a pretend migraine. How infuriating. She knew she couldn't leave. Her absence in this bright dress would be noticeable and then, Sebastian could pretend to be the golden child. Grumpy, she sipped her drink and angrily stabbed the cherry floating in her glass with her straw, irrationally angry that it had the audacity to bob right back up again.

Oh, excellent. Mr-I-Can't-Dress-Myself had followed her.

The fact that he was horribly close unnerved her. Perdita strained, moving her body as far away from his as she could without falling off of her stool. "I beg your pardon?" The tall girl hissed, her eyes wide as dinner plates as she stared at him, her jaw dropping open. Urgh! The cheek! Regaining her composure, she scoffed derisively before rolling her eyes. "Please don't tell me that creepy line works?" She asked, smirking. She'd never admit it but a spark of pleasure thrilled up and down the boldness of his disgusting remark. "Keep dreaming, you leather-clad cretin. You're not getting anywhere near the zip of this dress," she remarked casually, reaching for a small square napkin on the bar as she turned, awarding him with the view of the expanse skin of her back which clearly indicated that she wasn't wearing a bra that evening. With a low back, how could she?

Sipping her cocktail, she was both disarmed and confused by the changing colour of his eyes and why he was staring at her so intently. She blinked. He could help her? She smiled. "That's very sweet but if you touched me, I'd have to take a shower and scrub my skin until the epidermis layer fell off and no," she told him, holding a hand up to stop him from making another gross remark. "You're not invited into the shower either." Pulling a face to make her discomfort clear, she sipped her drink again. "You could help me by getting the Hell out of my face?" Perdita asked him with a sunny smile. "You smell like cigarettes and failed dreams."

Oh, this party was all of a sudden a little more interesting. Torr couldn't help that wicked gleam in his eye. This was going to be fun. He had met plenty a girl just like this one. Prude, uptight, no sense of humor, and usually very, very dull. But he wanted to play with this one. Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the legs, maybe it was the way she wrinkled her nose at him. Whatever it was didn't really matter, Torr never thought about those type of things for long, if at all. Game on.

He watched with a predatory gaze as she berated the bartender into giving her a stronger drink. She got a point in his book for that at least. But he noted with a twisted pleasure that she was uncomfortable with his nearness. Perfect. He draped his arm across the back of the stool as he turned his body to face hers. All the better to see the shock on her face. Torr smiled cheekily at the reaction he got and quirked a brow at he comeback. Not such a pushover then, he thought with a tad of interest. "You'd be surprised how often it does," he quipped with a smooth smile as he put his hand over her hand that was holding onto the whiskey and deftly slipped the glass from her hold. He was done with the champagne.

Gazing at her, he took the straw out and flicked it onto the bar. He lifted the glass to his lips and then swallowed the remaining contents of the glass. And for extra measure, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He grinned at her as she gave him lip, unable to contain his amusement. Leather-clad cretin? That was a new one. But the moment she mentioned him not getting anywhere near her zipper obviously made him want it even more. Challenge accepted.

His eyes got stuck on the arch of her back and the way her creamy alabaster skin was revealed in her open back dress though as she reached across the bar. He swallowed and while he knew this was probably a deliberate trick, Torr still appreciated the effect. He moved his hand from the back of the stool to her shoulder as he leaned in as if to tell a secret. "Baby, you'll be begging me to peel this dress off you by the end of the night," he said as he trailed one finger around the edge of the open-back dress, down her spine, lightly, teasingly.

And then he leaned back against the bar and placed his arm back on the stool. It was that sort of push and pull that excited him. With one hand, he pushed his hair back from his forehead and grinned at her. Her rebukes didn't really affect him, only served to amuse him all the more. What an interesting diversion this girl was proving to be. And she even managed to pull a chuckle out of him with her 'cigarettes and failed dreams' line. Witty. This girl was a higher caliber than most and too good for him if he was being honest. Even better. He was all too eager to get her down and dirty, get her to stoop to his level.

"Alright, alright," Torr conceded with a smile, lifting his hands, his eyes bright. "You're not like most girls who show up at these parties, you know," he said as he signaled for another two whiskeys from the bartender, giving no quarter for the excuses he got before. If she could charm some hard liquor from this kid, Torr could get it with a glare. He slid the glass over to her, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers. He raised his glass, "Here's to not holding anything back," and then he leaned in once more, her perfume swirling around him, "and to girls in red who can hold their own."

He took a swallow of his whiskey and held his glass at his waist as he gazed at her. She wasn't what he expected and he wanted to know more. "Where did all these decrepit people come from?" Torr said with a glance around and a laugh under his breath. "I've never seen so many wrinkles in one room before."

Shit. She had nowhere else to run. Her pert backside was already half off the stool, her leg dropping from the footrest and onto the floor so she could hold herself upright. If anyone noticed her discomfort, no one came to save her. Setting her jaw, Perdita looked straight ahead, pretending to be rather interested in the pretty little bubbles that were moving up and down the champagne glasses. "Urgh," she scoffed, looking utterly appalled. "You need a better class of sex slave, then," she said tersely. What kind of game was he playing? Did he think that being made fun of and awkwardly groped would somehow impress her?

"I --" Perdita watched on in horror as he stole her glass. As soon as the feeling of his skin on hers registered, she snatched her hand back as though he'd just caught on fire. Utterly dumbstruck by this man's lack of manners, her jaw dropped as he downed the contents of her glass. Silently stewing, she tossed her short hair haughtily, wondering why he hadn't given up and moved on elsewhere. This man must be used to girls falling at his feet. He had the whole treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen thing going on. Perdita didn't buy into that for one second. For her, the only way she'd be impressed was if a man swept her away for a romantic weekend in Portofino. This man looked as though he'd been as far a field as Essex. Gross.

"Baby?"

Came the incredulous reply, her eyes almost popping right out of her head. "How dare you!" She hissed, careful to keep her voice low in case any of the passing patrons heard that she was getting sassed by a stowaway. It had been a while since she'd been touched in such a manner but she wasn't welcoming advances from the likes of him. No way. Her body let out a little involuntary shiver as his finger caught one of the sensitive spots on her back. Her head snapped to the left as she fixed him with an icy glare. "And you'll be begging me not to strangle you with it," she hissed, slapping his hand away harshly.

"Why are you grinning at me like a demented Cheshire cat?" Perdita asked, looking concerned as she moved her stool backwards and away from him a little. The way he ran his fingers through his thick hair made her want to pull it and not in the sexy way. It was such a shame that hair pulling and slapping wasn't at all ladylike.

"I didn't show up," Perdy scoffed,  squaring her shoulders. "This is my family's party. One I'm confident you weren't invited to," she told him, flicking her eyes up and down his body carefully. "And what would you know about fancy parties?" The brunette asked him, a slim eyebrow raised. Was that meant to be some sort of odd compliment he paid her? "I'm surprised you even got in the door," she told him casually, her eyes lingering on his worn boots and trying to suppress the nausea they gave her. "You wouldn't now a lady if she danced in front of you, wearing nothing but a tea cosy," she informed him, confident he trawled the seedy bars and clubs, picking up girls with dangerous low self esteem that smelt like vodka and cheap perfume.

Thankful for the drink but not the lingering touch on her hand, it took every fibre of her being not to throw it in his face. Perdita's fingers tightened around the rim of her glass, pressing hard enough to smash it. She grimaced at the first part of his toast but seemed interested in the second. Rather than replying, she simply smiled and raised her glass. "Nasdarovje," she replied, downing most of the whiskey and delighting in the gentle burning she felt as it slid down her gullet. The whiskey took the edge off but she was still fairly certain that she bloody well hated him.

She frowned at him, looking over her shoulder at the pensioners he so cruelly mentioned. "They're investors," Perdita told him. "Clients, business owners and partners," she explained, reaching across the bar to fish out the cherry from the drink he'd stolen from her before. Absently, she popped it into her mouth and chewed, the whiskey soaked fruit delicious. "Oh I'm sorry," she jeered with a dark tut. "Would you prefer pulsing music, flashing lights and scantily clad women?" She asked, blinking at him. "We've got canapés and Beethoven, suck it," she said rudely and turned her back on him.

Sliding her fingers across her defined collarbone, she finished her drink. "Unless you're going to buy me another one and get a complete personality transplant," Perdita told him. "I think I'll take my leave. It was a displeasure meeting you," she told him curtly as she got to her feet and stepped around the bar, trying to make her way to the door but finding herself hemmed in by geriatric idiots.

Her actions and reactions to him, her shock and disgusted surprise, her icy glares and dropped jaws only served to amuse him all the more. He fucking loved this. This party was already ten times better than he thought it would be, all because this little slip of a girl thought she was so far above him. He grinned as she slapped his hand away from her and already decided he was going to touch her again. Just to get that reaction from her again. Just to feel that little shiver she wanted to pretend didn't happen. Just because he wanted to feel her smooth skin under his fingertips again.

Her 'how dare you' was met with a wicked grin and mischievous eyes, but for her sake, he really tried not to laugh right in her face. He couldn't quite achieve that though. Torr chuckled at her outraged comment and her hissed threats, taking absolutely no stock in anything she said. Why was he grinning? Because this was too amusing to stop. But instead he said, "because you may be saying no, but your body is saying something else." He was cool about it as he gazed at her with a challenge in his eyes. Go on, deny it. It'll be that much sweeter when I'm between your legs later.

Torr rose his brows at her as he took another swallow of his whiskey. "You're a Bloom?" he asked her. He wasn't exactly surprised, he could see it. But knowing she was on the same level as him socially was interesting and only because she was acting like she was so superior. "I have my ways," he quipped about getting into the party, neglecting to mention that the Regan family name opened lots of doors. Or bribing with a little bliss. Or his fists. Torr could be resourceful when he wanted to be.

"Nothing but a tea cozy?" he repeated with a low laugh. He leaned in toward her, even though she had made it abundantly clear she wanted to be further away from him, and whispered to her, "What's the bet that you'll be wearing less than a tea cozy with me by the end of the night?" The smell of whiskey was heavy on his breath and he could smell her rose-scented perfume around her. The way she knocked back that whiskey had her rising up a notch or so in his esteem and he gazed at her with interest.

The Regan pressed his lips together as he tried to hold back the laughter he felt as she insulted and berated him and then with a flick of her hair was walking away. Torr smiled predatorily, knocked back the rest of his whiskey, and then pushed himself off the bar, striding with his long legs after her. It didn't take him very long to get to her. Her dramatic exit had been waylaid by the decrepit dancers. All the better for him.

Torr placed his hand once again on her back, loving the way her skin met his palm, and turned her towards him as he pulled her close and then began to sway. Dancing. Yeah he wasn't half bad, but this was more of a game than a dance. And he loved to play. He moved to the beat as he looked down at her and smiled, "Nice try there. Seems like you have a minute to dance with me. Don't make me tell your father you weren't nice to the guests," Torr said with a grin and wicked gleam in his eye. After all, didn't all little posh, rich girls have daddy issues? Sure they did.

"Or we could go somewhere a little more private," he said softly as he leaned down toward her ear, his breath gently blowing against her hair.

"Oh really," Perdita replied flatly. It wasn't a question. Her tone sounded bored, her pretty face impassive as she blinked her big blue eyes at him. He needed to see an optician because as far as she was concerned, her behaviour hadn't once alluded to her wanting to have sex with him. "How did you figure that one out?" She asked with a slim eyebrow arched. "Was the fact that I seem Hell-bent in distancing myself from you or the fact that I'm trying very hard to repress the nausea I'm feeling in your presence?" She asked, both eyebrows arched.

She was wearing a flirty dress but that didn't mean she was at all interested. He was making her head spin. She wanted to hurt him. Even a girly little slap, something, anything. He must know that he was rubbing her up the wrong way because she hadn't exactly been very careful in concealing her hatred from him. She found confidence attractive but he was arrogant. And he was stupid.

Perdita blinked again. "What if I am?" She asked, a steely edge to her voice as she sipped her whiskey again. Had he heard of her family? Had he made assumptions? The tall brunette regarded him cautiously, her full red lips pursed. He had ways? "Did you punch the security?" She asked him with a sweet smile, head tilted. He seemed like the type of man that either flirted of hurt his way through life.

As he leaned in, Perdita went the opposite way but not far enough. She swivelled but almost fell off her stool. Every single fibre of her being was screaming for her to leave but she ignored her impulses and stayed put, her and shoulders set as she glared at him. Oh gross. Had she just conjured up an image for him? She rolled her eyes swiftly. "You seem awfully confident that you've figured out my character," she told him with a tilt of her head gently. "Slim to none, you abominable twat," she hissed at him, her heckles well and truly raised. It was visible how mad she was. Her chest was flushed, her creamy white skin now becoming a delicate shade of pink as her chest rose and fell thinly.

She scoffed derisively, tossing her glossy hair over one of her bare shoulders. "Are you a gambling man?" Perdita asked him sweetly, her honeyed voice soft as she crossed her legs at the knee, her short hem rising and exposing an expanse of skin on her thigh. This dress was designed for a man's eye. She sipped her drink again. Had she not been raised better, he'd be wearing her drink by now. "Because you're going to need a full house, four of a kind and a royal flush if you have any chance of seeing me out of this dress, you horrid little weasel."

Her plans of a dramatic exit were cut unfairly short. She wanted to swish her hair, slam a door and flounce into the cold April night but no. She was cornered. Surrounded by doddering old fools, dancing some sort of slow and haphazard waltz. Failing to regain her composure, Perdita let out a strangled scream and stomped her ruby heel against the floor in a very childish manner. He was winding her up! He knew her every move and he was always three steps ahead in his horrible unfashionable boots. Boots!

The warm hand on her back send a shiver down her spine. He didn't leave her enough time to protest before he'd spun her around. Perdita's eyes were wide as he left his hand on her back and proceeded to take her hand in his. The first thought she had was he can dance?. His frame was good. Strong. Elegant. Was he classically trained in ballroom? Her pretty face conveyed expressions of shock, frustration and begrudging admiration. Shit. She watched him closely, her eyes flicking back and forth across his face.

She held her body stiffly but he pulled, causing her hips to slam into his with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Her hand left his shoulder and went for the one he had resting on her back, roughly sliding it up her spine to the correct ballroom pose, just below her shoulder blades. His hand had been way too close to the sensitive spot at the base of her spine. Narrowing her eyes, she held her hand stiffly, her fingers inflexible, making it rather clear he was no her ideal choice of dance partner. Aware that people were staring, she scowled, loosening her fingers to hold his as they swayed. He was good. She could admire a strong stance when she saw one.

"I honestly don't," Perdita responded crisply, not at all enjoying the feelings of his hands on her bare skin. Too close. Too much. Yack. "You aren't a guest," she reminded the Irishman primly, offering him a sarcastic smile. "Cry wolf all you want, we both know the only person in here that will be getting in trouble is you. Lift your left elbow," she snapped. "You're sagging and I swear, if your hand goes any further towards my arse, I will break it," she said through gritted teeth, tossing a smile to a confused looking patron as they moved across the floor.

"Oh Merlin give me strength," Perdita groaned as she rolled her eyes again, so hard she thought she might detach her retinas. "If we leave together, I may just have to change my name and never show my face in London ever again. No thank you," she said crisply, attempting to untangle her fingers from his. "And please, don't tell me that line actually works?" She asked him, looking disgusted as she took a step back and tried to escape. Do not break his nose she repeated to herself over and over like some sort of mantra. "No deal," she told him with gusto. "Although," she added in a low voice as though she was considering his indecent proposal. "I suppose I can't exactly stab you with my stiletto in a room full of people. Kindly let go of me, you ogre."

Torr raised a brow and chuckled under his breath as she stomped her foot like a child. He wasn't surprised but he was happy to note that he at least was getting under her skin. It was a very fine line between hate and lust and he knew how to walk that line well. He saw the surprise on her face and he smiled arrogantly because of it and then winked for good measure. Did he spy this little chit coming down off her pedestal. And Torr couldn't wait to get her down and dirty and on his level. There was just something about ruining reputations that excited him more than anything.

The Regan smiled and tried not to laugh as she stubbornly refused to dance normally for a few moments. His brows were raised and he pretended as if everything was normal until she finally gave in and relaxed a little. He considered that a victory on his part even if she was just trying to live up to the expectations of what every good little girl was supposed to do. When she slid his hand up on her back, he laughed and grinned, his cobalt blue eyes dancing with mirth. He could play the gentleman if he needed to so, for the moment, he left his hand where she had placed it higher on her back, hoping this would give her reason to relax a little more with him. Besides, her skin under his fingertips was hot and he wasn't ready for her to go just yet.

He shook his head and tutted at her as he said, "I am a guest and you, my dear, have been very rude." And then she snapped at him about his elbow and his hand that had been slowly lowering further down her back and he grinned, amused at her candor and courage. "But then again, I like getting into trouble so I'm not worried," he said against her ear as he adjusted his elbow and continued to move around the floor. He hadn't danced like this is what felt like years because he really didn't count dancing with his Nana at family parties when he couldn't escape from her reach.

"You'd be surprised at how often it does," Torr said with a wicked grin and looked at her as she tried to pull away. He wasn't ready to let this little piece go just yet. "Or maybe you wouldn't," he added as an afterthought as he gave her the once over and then without another second moved back in and took her hand in his. "Come on now, song's not over. I haven't had my fill yet," he said, wondering how much of a fight she would give him. These type of girls were always concerned with others perception so he wanted to know how far he could push her until she broke.. but then again he wasn't ready for her to go running from just yet.

"I can be the perfect gentleman," he promised, wanting her to take the bait and stay just a little bit longer. He straightened his spine and lifted his elbow, held her hand gently and smiled at her politely then starting moving again. With a air of perfect civility, he said, "What a grand party you've put on here. It's sure to help business with all of your investors and partners knowing just how much you appreciate them. We Regans already know this, but the invite is still appreciated." He glanced at her wondering what her reaction would be to his family name, but continued on nonetheless. "Are you enjoying your evening so far?" Torr asked, the question was innocent and polite and customary, but his eyes gave him away, dancing with wickedness. Go on, admit it, he wanted to urge her.

He had her and he knew it.

Perdita lacked an escape route. He was parading her around like some sort of prize pony in plain view of everyone, knowing that she couldn't act up because the walls had eyes. And ears. The grin he offered earned him a scowl and Perdy didn't make eye contact, much preferring to look right past his shoulders. This dance was merely a formality. Once the music stopped, he had no right to keep hold of her in this strange little embrace. Dancing two dances in a row with someone that wasn't her betrothed would certainly put a cat amongst the pigeons.

This man smelt like alcohol and leather. It burned her nose and made her head swim. "Then I'd like to see your invite," the brunette replied snippily. He seemed dead set on the fact that he'd been invited to this soiree and yet, he'd turned up dressed like a hobo. Rude? Rude? Perdita scoffed, causing one of the elderly women dancing near her to shoot her an accusatory glance. "Under the circumstances, I've been nothing but accommodating," she said smoothly as they moved around the floor. "I really don't know how much clearer I can make it but you seem incapable of taking no for an answer."

Perdita's pretty face contorted into a grimace, letting him visibly know how disgusted she was with his behaviour. "I wouldn't," she told him quickly, her shoulders squared as she squeezed hard on the fingers holding hers. Not enough to break them, it was just a nonverbal warning. "I'm fairly certain I'm nothing like those women you seem to frequent," she told him. It was rude and unfair to assume that he associated with scarlet women but she imagined the idea wasn't so far fetched. "So please, don't compare us. There's a chasm between the two." The way he looked at her made her glare, red hot anger licking her insides as she thought steam might shoot out of her very ears.

The idea of freedom was fleeting as he pulled her closer, her lithe body bending as her hips banged into his. "Don't be so rough," she chastised him with a frown, following his feet as they moved in graceful circles. She was fairly certain she hated this stranger. It was difficult to keep up with him. He was so horribly self-assured that no matter how much she based his ego, she wouldn't have any sort of effect on him.

"Fill of what?" Perdita asked him with narrowed eyes. "I don't know what game you're playing but I'm not biting," she told him clearly, wishing for this song to end. It seemed to be going on for a millennia. "I'm certain I've quite had my fill of you," she snapped, stepping forward and purposefully onto his toe.

"Really," the tall brunette asked flatly before she laughed. Properly. She cracked up, the sound as clear and lovely as a peal of bells. "Oh stop!" She wheezed, missing a step or two because she was too busy giggling. "Hilarious. Oh. As if you'd buy a girl flowers or whisk her off to a fancy restaurant," she grinned, her cheeks dimpling. "I bet you don't even hold open doors or pull out seats. No," she said as she gave him a shrewd once over. "I imagine an evening out with you consists of a dive bar and a punch up. I, however, am quite partial to champagne and an opera recital."

Why was he twittering on about investors? Was he trying to impress her or something? She blinked and then he dropped the bomb shell. The hand he was holding sagged a little. A brief flash of panic crossed her pretty face before she cleared her throat. "Cork Regans?" Perdita asked in what she hoped was a conversational tone. If that was the case, he had been invited but she was surprised that his family had chosen to send him. Her mind was spinning. Shit balls on fire. Thank goodness her grandfather wasn't around. Her impolite behaviour towards this man might cost the family money now.

As far as she was aware, the Blooms and the Regans weren't directly involved. They weren't in partnership and they weren't competing but the Regan name had gravitas. Considerably so. Word could spread like wildfire. His question went ignored as her mind played catch up. Her dance steps of the waltz weren't as crisp and precise as they had been. In fact, they were slow and sloppy, causing her to bump into a couple of smartly dressed invitees. There was a grunt of annoyance from someone as she dropped his hand but he still had hold of her around the waist.

"Lovely, thank you," Perdita replied, her eyes wide and unfocused as she squinted at him. Had the song ended? She couldn’t hear anything but her own blood pounding in her ears. "Listen," she told him in hushed tones. "Not to sound like Cinderella but I might have to dash off. I'd like to say that it was a pleasure, Mr. Regan, but it really wasn't." She looked over her shoulder. Her slip on the dance floor had made a few people notice and watch her more carefully, one man even coming over to her. "Fancy a run for it?"

"Not as accommodating as you could be," Torr admonished her with a devilish smile. This girl was too easy to rile and it was more amusing that he thought she would be. She showed promised and Torr wasn't ready to be rid of her just yet. Plus he liked that fire he saw in her eyes. "'No' isn't exactly in my vocabulary," he added casually.

He tried to hold back his laughter when she stiffened even more in his arms and glared at him. She had even squeezed his hand. Not enough to hurt, but it wasn't a gentle touch either. He quirked a brow and squeezed his fingers over hers, with more force than she had done and he hoped it hurt her a little. He wasn't exactly the chivalrous, gentlemanly type. "Don't be such a prig," Torr said lowly with a small shake of his head. "You are just like everyone else when you get your clothes off and get in between the sheets. Don't act like you're not." And that was a Torr truth. So many people looked down their noses at him for being more in touch with his sexuality and his desires, but he didn't see any need to hide behind facades of righteousness or false innocence.

"My fill of you," he retorted and then gazed at her with amusement as she challenged him. At least that what he saw it as. He wanted her to bite, in more ways than one, just to see her face when she finally realized he had won. Just to see her when she finally heeled. Torr felt a slow burn inside him that he couldn't quite shake. A sharp, shooting pain through his foot distracted him and he grunted with the pain, wincing as he stepped away from her killer heels. "Damn you," he hissed through clenched teeth as fire radiated throughout the nerve endings in his foot, his grip falling to her waist and squeezing hard in retaliation.

It took him a few moments to regain himself and his foot still hurt like hell, but he tried to push it aside. He knew he would get back at her somehow for that. And he would enjoy it. Her laugh distracted him. Grated at him really. He didn't like being laughed at, for any reason, but at the same time, he found himself enjoying the sound of her laughter and that smile on her face. He found himself smirking in response. "You think you know me so well already, don't you," he said with a shrewd gaze in her direction.

Ahhh, there it was. The reaction to his surname and it was even sweeter than he imagined. He studied her reaction, seeing the flare of recognition in her eyes, the surprise, the panic. He smirked more fully then as he looked down at her, realizing she was becoming more and more unfocused on their dancing. Torr was trying to figure out where her head had gone to when she slipped, bumped into someone else, and dropped his hand. He ignored the other couple that was unhappy except for a glare he sent their direction. Civility be damned.

Her hushed words made his brow crease. She was running? He wasn't ready for that just yet. Even her insults toward him didn't prevent him from following her. He wasn't quite ready to be done with this one just yet. It was just getting interesting. Fancy a run for it? Torr grinned at her, slow and sweet, and inclined his head. Oh yes, he was going to be following this one. He took a few steps toward her, and then a few more as he dodged around the elderly dancing population, not taking his eyes off this little slip of a woman in her hot red dress.

"I honestly don't think you've given me a reason to treat you otherwise," Perdita said primly as she tossed her hair and stuck her chin in the air proudly. Firstly, he'd gatecrashed the event. Secondly, he was dressed like a sexy hobo. Thirdly, he'd stolen her drink and fourthly…he just wasn't very pleasant. Hm. The tall brunette pulled a face, creasing her pretty facial features. "Someone must have gotten too much praise as a child," she mumbled quietly. Gross. His ego must be the size of Russia. His self-important streak was three miles wide. She frowned at him, feeling a bit uneasy.

The youngest Bloom prided herself on not socialising with people like him. He was dangerous. She liked to think that she was much stronger, smarter than other girls. He had a certain appeal, she supposed. The leather and the whiskey. He could show a girl a good time but she wasn't interested. Sort of.

Prig? Perdita was dumbfounded. What an odd, archaic word to use to describe someone. Though, it was horribly accurate indeed. She scowled. She didn't appreciate someone figuring her out so quickly. Her eyes widened again, this time in surprise, not shock. "Oh please," she scoffed darkly. "Don't even think you know anything about my sexual preferences," she told him with a tut. "Why are we having this conversation?" She asked him in a quiet voice. "I haven't once insinuated any kind of that behaviour. Besides," she said breezily. "We aren't ever going to have sex so if you've got that image, lock it in your wank bank, you disgusting Neanderthal."

His grip tightened and she gasped in pain. It was so sudden and unnecessary. He'd squeezed her fingers together, the bones cracking, the digits contorted into a horrible grip. Letting out a squeak of surprise, she took a step back and tried to extract her hand from his. Her fingers were throbbing. The marble white skin of her hands would now be red raw, just from the sheer pressure he was exerting. Perdita was unable to mask the soft whimper that escaped her full lips. Ow.

Perdita was thoroughly unimpressed by his remark. Sighing, she rolled her beautifully made up eyes as she looked Heavenward, somehow trying to ask for some sort of divine help. "Is that supposed to make me feel special?" She asked flatly, flicking her eyes up to his face once more. "The more you talk, the more I'm convinced you have stalker potential. Or maybe you'd be like an unlucky penny; always turning up." She hoped not. This would be the first and only time she'd be seeing him.

Her action of stepping on his foot was just because she'd reached her limit. He was so rude and so crass and the secretary didn't believe she'd done anything to deserve such horrible behaviour from him. Her smug smile was soon replaced by a frown. Perdita could feel his fingertips press deep into the sensitive skin of her waist, her skin burning. He was pressing down so hard he would leave an imprint. Oh, he'd love that. Marking her, even temporarily. As he pulled, she followed, her hips banging against his as she scowled at him, gritting her teeth. So he liked to hurt women, hey? Unsurprising.

Her eyes went to his hand and then back to his face, a wordless order for him to let her go. Her gait was altered. Her body twisted a little, straining away from his hold, clearly she wasn't enjoying this. Nor was she going to tolerate it. The skin he was squeezing now matched the shocking red of her dress. "I don't get pleasure from pain," she told him in a low, warning tone, her eyes flashing dangerously. "But I know plenty of sadists I can put you in touch with," she said cheerily. "One of them is my accountant." With that, she gently placed a hand on his and prised his fingers off her body, harshly flinging his hand back at him carelessly.

"Pretty much," she said with another smile, giving him a swift once over again as she tilted her head. "Smoker, drinker," she observed. "Kinky sex. Not a relationship kinda guy. I imagine you get distracted," she said as she stared at him. "I doubt you like art museums or the opera. I think you prefer shots to a Kir Royale," she observed dryly. "I think you have an encyclopaedia of issues," Perdita said, her finger very gently tracing the line the collar of his jacket. "But I'm not a trained psychologist so I have bugger all interest in hearing, dealing or being dragged into them. So you can just leave me."

Feeling like she was in a bit of trouble, she needed an out. If she ran, he'd follow. He'd cause a scene. He'd get her into even more trouble. If he wanted her to like him, he was going about it the wrong way. She needed to think. The grounds were expansive. There were plenty of rooms upstairs but the last thing she needed was to be found in a clandestine situation with Captain Caveman. Yack. She considered apparating but now he knew who she was, he could track her down. Not that he would but it was a chance she wasn't willing to take.

"Okay," she said softly, offering a smile to the approaching man. She quickly said that everything was fine, just a minor misunderstanding. Her leather-clad companion stuck out like a sore thumb. Considering the family he belonged to, she would have thought he had some decorum at least. "Follow five paces behind," she told him in a whisper, smiling to the patrons who had since gone back to dancing. Perdita moved slowly through an opening, not once looking over her shoulder for her new friend. Once in the foyer, she decided she'd had enough of him. Taking a quick breath, she took a step back and sprinted up the grand staircase.

Perdita could run in heels. She knew this house like the back of her hand. There was a floo network fireplace in one of the smaller rooms upstairs that she could use as she didn't have her wand handy. Taking the stairs two at a time, she reached the landing and turned to see him at the foot of the stairs. With a wink and a wiggle of her fingers in a goodbye wave, Perdita was off, sprinting down a separate hallway. He'd never find her. She also hoped he'd be mad, confused, upset and alone downstairs by himself. Hopefully, he'd get bored and leave. Or someone would see him and he'd get thrown out. Yay! No wasn't in his vocabulary? Well, it certainly was now.

He smirked as he gave her a once over. "You have a mouth on you," he remarked with amusement in his eyes. There was also a hint of respect there too. Torr was intrigued by this little slip of a girl. She was everything he expected of a snobby pureblood girl, but damn that mouth of hers. He bit his lip as he gazed down at her. Made him want to do things with that mouth. Made him want to keep pushing her until she wasn't saying anything, until she was only moaning. Torr was getting ahead of himself already. As usual.

She gasped in pain and he shivered as a frisson of power surged down his spine. Her face contorted in pain before he reprieved the pressure he had placed on her fingers and for a suspended moment, he considered squeezing just a little harder. That whimper just about did him in though. His cobalt blue eyes shone a little bit brighter and while he did release her hand, he did take a step forward as she took a step back.

He wasn't opposed to this type of dance. Not the damn waltz or whatever archaic step-here-step-there movement they were engaging in. But rather the push and pull, the run and chase of her and him. He was familiar with it, thrived on it and tonight was no different. Well, she was different. More intriguing, but he was sure the result was going to be the same as always. He was going to win, no matter how much she fought.

I don't get pleasure from pain. His eyes flashed and his breath quickened. The fact that she cut to the quick with him only thrilled him more. Her statement didn't faze him. As far as he was concerned, the vast majority of people didn't know what they wanted because they only knew a little taste of what was out there. Torr, coincidentally, liked opening people up to more.. possibilities. He lessened his grip at her silent request, but smirked at her and shook his head. "You, my darling, don't know what the hell you're talking about," he said. Then his smile became more wicked. "But I'm willing to teach you."

He mentally shrugged. Apparate me to your accountant and she can join the party, he thought, chuckling lowly as she flung his hand back at him. He immediately missed the physical contact with her, but took it in stride. He crossed his arms in front of him and gazed up and away from her as he listened to her summation of him. "You forgot to mention devilishly handsome with a package you want to get your hands on," he added casually. His eyes followed her hand across the collar of his jacket and even though her words needled him, he didn't focus on it too much. She hit more truth than lie even he didn't care to admit it. She just wasn't focusing on his positives.. what were they again?

Torr narrowed his eyes at her whispered command and waited only about two and a half seconds before following her. He was less polite in moving through the crowd, staring impassively at anyone who threatened to get in his way and watched as they cleared the path for him. He reached the foyer in time to see her running up the stairs and he took a moment to drink in the sight of her running in those shoes. He got caught on her legs and his tongue slipped out and dragged across his bottom lip before he reminded his legs to start moving. She wanted to be chased? He was inclined to oblige. He fucking loved the chase, mostly because when he caught her, it would be that much sweeter.

His mind was filled with anticipation, glee and smug arrogance. He fucking knew this little tart was just playing the posh snob. She had played and put him off all night, but now look at her. Leading him to her bedroom right now. He wanted to laugh and get naked all at the same time. He was breathing hard as he came to the top of the steps and glanced around. He didn't see her anywhere and he took a few steps in the direction of one hallway, figuring she'd peek her head out of the doorway or something. Torr frowned when he didn't see her in the first few moments, his playfulness beginning to wear off as this became actual work and less foreplay.

Every step he took down the hallway made the frown on his face intensify. He grabbed door knobs at random and yanked them open, frustrated to find them (mostly) empty with no sign of his girl in red. "Dammit!" he cursed as he marched down the rest of the corridor, checking the rest of the rooms. He gave up after searching for ten minutes and didn't want to think about what he had to admit to himself: that she hadn't been kidding. That she had actually ran. His rage had topped out and in a moment of no self-control, he turned and punched the wall beside him rapidly as he let out a primal roar, three gaping holes appearing in the plaster. His chest was heaving with his breathing and his knuckles were bleeding. He heard footsteps coming closer to see what the commotion was all about and Torr shut his eyes to concentrate. A moment later, he apparated away though the feelings of frustration and disappointment clung to him like bad cologne.