Well, this one had balls of solid steel, figuratively speaking - or so Matthew hoped. One more unpleasant surprise might be more than he could take.
Still, though he had taken every precaution, some preternatural notion had woken the woman, who now sat in her bed impressively disheveled, dark hair haloing her head, the merest hints of her curves visible under her nightgown, enough to fire a man's imagination when outlined in flickering candlelight. Matt's imagination had been too long kept under wraps, not allowed to roam; and since the woman didn't immediately scream upon finding a dark, handsome stranger in her bedroom, Matt pounced upon the advantage of the moment.
"You're remarkably unafraid of me," said Matt, flashing his crooked, rakish grin - devastating, in his youth, and it would only grow more powerful the longer he had to develop it. He had yet to polish all of the street-vowels from his accent, but then, he would have time to become refined. Off the sill he came, moving into the room, lithe and graceful as a tiger. The man who would become a living legend had never been very tall, but he was compact and corded with muscle, and had presence enough for the ten foot devil of his reputation. "Perhaps this is a dream, then? Though that begs the question -"
One step forward, two, and at the end of it he was at the bed and bowing slightly before her, face half-shadowed in candlelight, dark eyes glittering in the rebellious light of the candle, as if he brought the shadow with him simply by existing. "- Who is the dreamer, and who the dreamed?"