"This place makes it easy to loose track of time, does it not?"

He extends a hand in greeting, but not a handshake. If she takes it, he will brush a chaste kiss across her knuckles. His hand is surprisingly warm, and the warmth of his touch does not leave her fingertips, but somehow seems to migrate up her arm and into her chest, like standing next to a fire.

"Vlad Tepesh, at your service."