Chapter 8 #2
Before I can finish the sentence, he vanishes. A blur of movement cuts across the room as he zips back to the kitchen island, inspecting the wine bottles with frightening efficiency. He lifts each of them, calculating.
The first two are nearly full since I abandoned them after a couple sips.
The third, however, barely has enough left to coat the bottom of the bottle.
“You’ve had at least thirty ounces,” he observes. “And you weigh…” His gaze lifts from the bottle, sweeping over me again with irritating precision. “A hundred and ten pounds?”
“One thirteen,” I correct automatically.
He frowns. “Then assuming you consumed the wine within the last two hours, your blood alcohol concentration is easily three times the legal driving limit.”
“What are you, a cop?” I scoff.
“No, I’m a scientist,” he replies simply. “And my work depends on accuracy.” He sets the bottle back on the island and drags a hand through his thick chestnut hair, mussing it further. “I can’t have you in the lab tonight. Not in your current state.”
I open my mouth to argue, but quickly think better of it– because not working in close quarters with this jerk all night actually sounds pretty damn good right now.
“Fine by me,” I say, lifting my chin.
His eyes narrow behind the lenses of his glasses. “I trust you’ll remain sober tomorrow evening?”
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
A soft sigh leaves him as he begins re-corking the fuller bottles, discarding the empty one. “James mentioned you might be difficult,” he mutters.
“Funny,” I snort. “I got the same warning about you.”
“And yet here you are.”
There’s something in the way he says it that feels oddly loaded, like he’s still trying to figure out why I agreed to this whole thing.
I spread my arms with a grin. “Here I am.” Then, because the wine has fully dissolved my remaining self-preservation instincts, I add, “So should we just fuck now and get the tension out of the way?”
For the first time, Dr. Faulkner visibly falters.
It’s subtle– so subtle that I probably wouldn’t catch it if I wasn’t staring right at him– but he actually freezes up for a second. His expression tightens before smoothing back into place, his pupils flaring wide enough to nearly swallow the brown of his irises.
And yeah, maybe I’m drunk, but I’m also not blind.
He’s hot. I’m hot. We’re going to be living together for an entire year. Fucking each other feels less like a possibility and more like an inevitability at this point, so we might as well skip the pretense.
He averts his gaze, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t do that.”
“What, have sex?” I laugh incredulously.
“Not with humans.”
The admission hits me with a weird little sting.
“And why’s that?” I huff, a bit too defensive. Because I honestly can’t recall the last time anyone turned me down, and my ego doesn’t appreciate the hit.
He rounds the kitchen island slowly, advancing in my direction. “You’re too breakable.”
I should probably be offended. Instead, heat curls low in my belly when he stops a little too close, towering over me with those dark, unblinking eyes fixed on my face like he’s imagining exactly how easily he could hurt me.
“Psh.” I roll my eyes, even as my pulse kicks a little harder. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I’m well endowed,” he says, stating it as a fact, not a brag. “I’d rip you in half.”
My gaze instantly drops to his crotch before I can stop myself, a shiver sliding down my spine.
I’m not sure whether to be terrified or turned on by that statement. Unfortunately, the heat pooling between my legs makes the answer pretty obvious.
His nostrils flare, his brow quirking. “The thought of that arouses you.”
Goddamn vampire senses.
There’s no point in denying it when he can apparently smell my pheromones or whatever supernatural bullshit is happening right now, so I just square my shoulders, doubling down. “What if it does?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze slowly raking over me again. It lingers on the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, the strip of exposed skin above the waistband of my shorts. Then it climbs back up to meet mine, the look in his eyes distinctly predatory.
“You may enjoy flirting with danger, little mortal,” he murmurs, tongue dragging slowly across his lower lip as if he’s tasting the thought of me. “But I don’t.”
For one insane second, I think he might lean down and kiss me anyway.
Instead, he abruptly turns on a heel and starts toward the floating staircase like physically removing himself from the room is the only solution.
“Hey!” I call after him. “Where are you going?”
He ascends the stairs without looking back. “To work.”
I huff out a breath, irrational disappointment stabbing through me. “Can I at least still get a tour of the second level?”
“Tomorrow,” he replies, not breaking stride. “Goodnight, Beatrix.”
“It’s Bex!”
He doesn’t respond, just disappears down the upstairs hallway, leaving me alone with the sound of the television and the lingering scent of his cologne still clinging to the air.
For a second, I consider going after him, demanding to see what he’s hiding up there.
It’d absolutely be on brand for me. But my blanket nest on the couch looks way too inviting, and I’m pleasantly drunk, and antagonizing a six-and-a-half-foot vampire while three sheets to the wind is probably not the best move, even for me.
So, I flop back onto the couch instead, pulling the blankets around myself as the reality show contestants continue screaming at each other on the TV.
Still, long after Dr. Faulkner disappears upstairs, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me.
And somehow, that feels even more dangerous than if he’d kissed me.