Lucrezia had seen many faces emerge out of Vincent's room, faces from all walks of life -- when it came to sex, Vince had never discriminated. However, it was rare that Lucrezia would ever see the same face twice, except that of Nick St. Vincent, who'd she'd seen far more than twice. There was no accounting for taste, she supposed. She had never found Nick to be particularly impressive, but she did find him to be entertaining. Lucrezia had known him long enough that she'd been able to make a game out of it -- riling him up and backing off moments before he'd reach the breaking point. Playing with fire. This morning was no different.
The elder St. Vincent had emerged from Vincent's room, taking slow careful steps to avoid being noticed before he could get out the back door. She watched him tiptoe for a moment -- he's clearly not noticed her -- before bursting into soft, mocking laughter. Lucrezia was sitting in the kitchen, wearing a large, fluffy pink bathrobe over her thin nightdress. Her hair, which had been tightly curled the night before, fell apart in loose waves. She might have been angelic if it wasn't for the devilish gleam in her eye.
"Well, well, well," she mused, raising an eyebrow. Nick doesn't generally spend the night unless they've been up late. Spooning grapefruit into her mouth, she took a moment to look him over, chewing slowly.
"You must be exhausted."
