Chapter 15 Dark Conversations #3
"Look at me," he called softly, but roughly. The surprise and the heat of it drew her eyes up without her thinking about it only to see those eyes boring into her.
"I thought about how when I get into bed tonight I'm going to smell you in those sheets, and how absolutely tortuous that is going to be.
You have been an agony for me for weeks.
" He closed his eyes and she watched in awe as he looked as though he was experiencing that torture, taking in a steadying breath before he opened his eyes again, and the nearly black look he gave her made her blood heat.
She couldn't move, could hardly think, and felt like her knees were going to give out on her for the second time in hours with this man.
This vampire.
Who was looking at her like a meal as he had her pressed against his hallway.
"I'm not angry, Tilly," he said, rough voice whispering over her face in a caress.
"I'm in agony that my fantasies will be that much more real, and yet that much still not reality.
" He ran the tip of his nose down the side of her face but without touching her.
He drew her into his lungs, slowly, deeply.
The only place he touched her was his hand on her waist but everywhere else he held back, like he'd placed an invisible force between them and he was barely holding onto his control.
She was having trouble breathing, small sips of air as her mind was taking in this heady moment, her body responding so easily, telling her to press against him, begging her to do something.
Finally, after ages, he pulled back and looked down at her again.
"And I'm certainly not angry that you got my bed dirty. Though next time will be a different kind of dirty."
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in shock as her body nearly combusted.
But then he pressed off of the wall and took two steps back. The air between them was sparking and she didn't know what to do or what to say.
"Come on" he said. "Food." And then he turned and continued down the hallway. She watched for a few moments, melting against the wall until he called her name halfway down the stairs.
"What just happened?" She whispered this to herself as she peeled herself off of the wall and followed the chief's command down the polished wood staircase on shaky legs.
She took everything in as she slowly descended.
The foyer was a large, open space with a chandelier that looked like dripping icicles caught in the glow of the sun.
The polished wood floor had rugs in rich colors of reds, golds, greens and navy blues.
The wood paneling was polished and had sconces of gold leaves holding light throughout both the foyer and hallway that led to the kitchen.
Which was also large, and somehow both cozy and airy.
Her eyes took in the navy walls, warm wood cabinets and the white marble counters with four lights dropping like little stars over the island.
The airy feel came from the large skylight above the island that she imagined would bring in the sunlight the forest around the house allowed in and it would be lovely.
But the true eye-widening feature in this kitchen was the man between the island and the large stove. The chief had lemon print oven mitts on both hands as he set a steaming tray on two trivets.
He looked up and nodded his head to a wide doorway at the other end of the kitchen. "Set up in the dining room. Go ahead and have a seat. Would you like wine?"
"Uh," she was trying to process what was happening. "Yes. Yes, thank you." As she walked past the island she saw a discarded apron matching the oven mitts and had to fight a smile. That was a nice mental picture.
She walked into the dining room and saw the two place settings with water and thin china plates with folded fabric napkins.
She took a seat slowly, wondering if she was still sleeping as she took in the room which was lighter than most in the house.
This room had almond cream-colored walls and a simple, though softly effective, light fixture hanging in a large globe from the center of the wood-beamed ceiling.
She took the navy napkin and shook it out to lay gingerly on her lap feeling odd at the juxtaposition of this lovely dinner and her jean shorts and muddy legs. She didn't fit in this room with the crystal glass of iced water and the two forks.
Wine was placed in front of her and she tensed at feeling him behind her, still not having processed the scene from moments ago in the upstairs hallway.
A little pie was placed on her cream plate and then he was sitting across from her, wine in hand and napkin slipped from the table to his lap in a smooth movement.
"It's lobster pot pie."
She looked up at him in shock. "You made this? Or bought it while I was out cold in your bed?"
The smallest smile formed and not for the first time she admired it. He didn't often smile and he didn't say much, but that made every expression and every word that much more.
"I cook. I like the art of it."
She picked up one of the forks and slid it into the pastry.
Steam bellowed out so she blew on it and when she closed her mouth around it, nearly let out a moan.
It was buttery, creamy, with just a hint of sweetness and sherry with shallots and perfectly tender vegetables.
The lobster was not scant and its flavor was succulent.
He watched her intently, sipping his wine and relaxing in his high-backed chair like sitting there and watching her was exactly what he needed.
She might have felt insecure having this man stare at her eating and mooning over food, but she was overcome by the food itself and that he had made it for her.
"Ohmygod. That is incredible."
He dipped his head in appreciation.
She dabbed the napkin to her lips and picked up the wine. It had tiny bubbles in the light golden liquid and as she took a sip she smiled.
"Sparkling wine. Dry with a touch of sweet."
"You struck me as a sparkling wine kind of woman."
"Do you typically drink deep red?"
"Because I'm a vampire?"
"I don't know why, but that's typically how vampires are written. That and bourbon."
That half smile lifted more than usual and it made her chest lift.
His was a face of austere beauty. Straight, strong nose, high cheekbones, a full mouth capped by a neat mustache, and smooth forehead with a couple of faint lines making him appear in his forties, though how old he truly was had bounced around her mind often.
Based on a perusal of his book collection she wouldn't put him in his forties.
"Do you want to ask me anything, Tilly?"
So many things.
But she was unsure.
He leaned forward resting his arms on the mahogany table, the delicate wine glass in his large hand.
"You will not offend me," he assured her.
And she realized that was the permission she needed.
"Do you drink from people?"
"No," he replied gently. "Blood bags and animals. And I don't need much as I'm not a young vampire."
Ah. "And how old are you? Because you give off antique."
A deep chuckle from him made her want to gather the sound and stuff it in her pockets. It was masculine and also soft. She loved it.
"I was born in 1712. Born to Quaker parents in Lewes.
Delaware now. We relocated when I was fifteen seeking new lands and found ourselves in wild Texas.
Lost an older brother and my mother passed in childbirth on the journey which took months.
It was my father, older brother, and two younger brothers who started a ranch and never left. "
"And then you came here a few months ago? Why?" Three centuries in a place did not make for a random change.
He nodded, though something passed over his eyes. "Tired of the heat. I like the cooler air here. There's something about the northeast coast that feels healing to me. I like the winters."
There was more, but she sensed to leave it at that for now.
"I do too. I didn't used to." She smiled as she ate another bite of the pot pie and took a sip of water.
"I love summer, the heat of it. I enjoy the way that the air thickens and becomes almost persistent.
I did not grow up enjoying winter because it meant more time inside with my family. We weren't very close."
"I'm sorry." His voice was kind.
She smiled wide and shrugged her shoulders but winced at the pain. She looked down as her other hand ran over a bruise on her shoulder, fingertips brushing dried mud from where her skin had started to purple at the top to where it disappeared from her sight.
"What did you mean, upstairs? About my friend?" Too fresh was the memory of him holding her against the wall; she felt the pulse of it in her belly.
He sipped his wine with a smirk before he answered her. "Your friend said that I should kiss you."
Her mouth opened in shock. "What?" It came out as a squeak and she cleared her throat. "She, Jen said that?"
He nodded and she quickly looked away to drink from her glass, hoping the liquid would cool the heat blooming on her face. To move past images of him kissing her.
"How do you know Astra?"
He smiled knowingly. And graciously saved her further embarrassment.
"A vampire as old as me knows about The Covenant. Astra Harding is cold and ruthless, and will do what she needs to make sure her kind are not brought to the same place of historical bloodshed."
She thought about the ten souls.
"You warned me to stay away from her."
He nodded.
"Would she hurt us? Do you know what magic she has?"
He took a thoughtful sip of his drink before answering. "I do not know her well. But if you take away anythin' from my experience with her, know that she is ambitious. Ambition creates ambiguous morals."
The look that Astra gave her once again flashed in her mind.
"I'm getting dirt all over your beautiful house," she changed the subject.
"Finish eating and then I have a fresh towel for you to take a hot shower."
She looked up at him from where she was lightly prodding the bruise, feeling its tenderness, and her shock turned to a frown.
"Oh, no. You don't have to. I can go home to The Lost Souls," she said.
"You could," he replied. "But I doubt your friends are home yet as the fireworks will be starting soon and I don't like the idea of you being there alone."
A flare of indignation rose which he must have seen in the set of her lips and eyes as he held up a hand in a placating motion.
"You're welcome to leave, Tilly." His words stopped the ones about to come out of her and she narrowed her eyes as he continued. "But I would prefer if you ate, took a hot shower, and stayed here until we know it's safe for you."
She worried her lower lip, index, and middle finger tapping on the table as she thought.
"I wouldn't want this culinary masterpiece to go to waste. And I'm honestly curious about your shower."
That surprised him. "My shower?"
She scooped up another mouthful of the lobster pie. "Yeah. Like I said, your house is beautiful, and if I know anything about the rich it's that you like luxurious bathrooms."
He tilted his head considering her. "Speaking about a person's wealth is bold."
She leaned forward with raised eyebrows in challenge. "Taking an unconscious woman to your small castle, baking her dinner while you tuck her into your bed, is bold."
He smiled, this one still only half but beautiful and fully affecting her. He tipped his wine glass to her with a wink, before taking a sip at her argument and then shook his head with a quiet rumbling laughter that didn't make it out of his chest.
She wondered, as she finished her dinner, what it would be like to hear this man truly laugh and decided she couldn't handle it.