Dahlia couldn't help herself; she smiled widely, a genuine smile untouched by bitterness or vanity, which in itself was very, very rare. At best, the Red Door made Dahlia happy and, at its worse, it at least offered her a temporary sanctuary from the hell she crafted for herself right outside the doors. It was a win/win situation.
Long, slender fingers rested atop Saint's hands when they lingered on her thighs, and the whisper might as well have been a caress for all the implications within. "As soon as I leave the party--" She was still smiling as she reached out to touch the pulled back strands of silken blonde hair. "I'll make an appointment for tomorrow. And the next day. And the next."
Even if she hadn't known that the entertainers of the Red Door weren't entirely human, she would've suspected something was different about Saint. He was too perfect, far more elegant than any person could ever hope to be.