꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19

His growing raven curls tickle her nose and the combination of that and his neck open to her from the slanted position of his chiselled jaw allows her to finally pinpoint the impossibly dark and masculine plethora of aroma's that cling to him. Cooling and strong, peppermint  strikes her first, following closely in tow, eucalyptus, just as distinctive and sharp as the musky bergamot Eau De Toilette.

The traces linger even when he detangles himself back into his own person, glancing to James when he pipes up,

"Hey — hey, Medusa, look at me"

Rolling her eyes fondly, Romie re-directs her terrifying gaze onto James, laughing when he yells in fear, pretending to convert into a statue mid-motion. She's not the only one laughing either, much to her delight, making a mental note to inform Mary and Marlene of Lily's enthusiastic giggles later.

"I think I'm going to grab a drink. Join me?" She chirps, proposing the scarily soft question to Regulus.

He nods once, plastering on a smile that gives the impression his response is sweet and playful, "As if I have another choice"

He doesn't, he knows it, she knows it. Romie bids her brief goodbyes to the pair, including a teasing wink in Lily's direction that leaves the red head flustered and warm underneath the excessively high collar of her gown. Regulus sticks close behind her as she weaves between tipsy dancers, towards the well-supplied drinks table that's most definitely been James Potter's best friend tonight.

She pours a healthy amount of firewhiskey into a crystal tumbler, silently holding it up to Regulus. His eyes narrow skeptically, yet reaching for it anyway, his fingertips grazing the glass between hers. Then it's gone, and Regulus is heaving a sigh, knowing that he should've trusted his instincts over some out of the blue kindness from the roguish Gryffindor. Romie smirks against the rim of the glass, arms open wide to welcome the burn of amber liquid when she sips leisurely.

"Putting you in your place can wait, Black. It would be a shame to waste an opportunity here, you in?"

Of all the things that Regulus could predict to be the first thing to spill from Romie Lupin's lips, that would be one of the last. Given that she's made absolutely no effort to seek him out until now, he thought she would still be pissed, so pissed that she couldn't stand the sight of him. Apparently not, considering that she's fixing her gaze over his shoulder to the popular makeshift dance floor. Couples dance at parties, yes, but Regulus Black doesn't.

Romie's head tips back, her lips parting a fraction. Because curling underneath her chin, forcing her to that little bit extra height she's missing, is Regulus' ring embellished knuckle. It's cold but she's hot, her cheek's hot as his brushes hers, needing to be in that exceptionally close proximity for him to whisper, dark and dominant and personal in her ear,

"Make me want to be in and we have a deal"

He lingers, fresh peppermint breath fanning against the shell of her ear, as he listens carefully to Romie's witty reply,

"I wasn't aware you were in the position to propose deals to me"

A low chuckle ripples through his throat, the combination of that and the fact that his cheek is fully pressed against hers now, being entirely responsible for the next awkward, stumble of beats of Romie's heart.

"Let's make that rule seven"

"You can't just make up rules on the spot" Romie protests, not for this first time in this little arrangement they have.

Subconsciously, her fingertips grasp the flimsy hem of her skirt, much higher on her figure than the likes of the nun skirt she definitely rocked in its sadly short existence. Regulus finally pulls away, his pale eyes openly eloquent, reinforcing that if she wants him to dance with her in the middle of that dance floor, for all to see, she's got to earn his want first. Rolling her shoulders, she thrusts her drink into his awaiting hand, deliberately bumping into him as she passes, heading straight for the centre stage.