by J. R. Ward
There were all kinds of reasons to wish the night away, but for Trez, the main one was finally getting off her shift at the restaurant in any moment. Not that he had been counting down the minutes.
Okay, fine. He’d been counting them down since he’d left her.
And he’d come early. Given that this was an average, non-holiday, non-blizzard night, dinner service at Sal’s tended to grind to a halt around 10:30 at the latest. The waiters were usually off quickly thereafter. So yes, he’d shown up at 10:17 and parked in the shadows, outside the reach of the security camera by the back door.
He was not looking for a rehash with iAm. Nope. They’d both said their piece, and there was no going back from the lines that had been drawn. And besides, he was strictly on the happy train now, and anyone who had a problem with that, including his blood relative, could back off.
As Trez waited, ticking off each patron who emerged well-fed and sated into the cold, he couldn’t help contrasting this shelter-in-place with the one during the storm the previous night, the one where he had cut the engine and stayed in the frosted temperatures, the snow blanketing his car, closing him in, keeping him locked and frigid.
It was still winter. But this time, he kept the engine on, and he listened to the Heat on SiriusXM, and he ran his hand around the static steering wheel, sensitizing his fingertips.
Because he wanted them ready to touch soft places. Tender places.
Wet places.
Rearranging himself in his seat, he had to pipe-down-Scotty his damn erection. He couldn’t jump her the second she got in the car, for godsakes.
They had a ten-minute drive to their destination, at least.
After which the jumping could commence, assuming she would have him—
The staff door swung wide and he jerked forward, as if he could get closer her to already. Except… not her. It was that human man, Emile, and with him was a waitress who was talking a mile a minute.
They didn’t seem particularly thrilled to be together, but as far as Trez was concerned they were the perfect frickin’ couple. Total Hallmark time. Beauty and the Beast, Solo and Leia, Sheldon and Amy. Hell, go all the way back to Bogart and Bacall.
“Go forth and marry,” he murmured to the windshield as they went over to an old Subaru. “I wish you maaaaaaaany years of happiness.”
Abruptly, some instinct drew his attention back to the restaurant, and there his female was, coming out into the night, her parka loose—as if she trusted that he’d have a warm car waiting for her—her hair in a neat twist, a flash of lipstick on her mouth.
She had prepared herself for him, and he smiled at the thought. Because it was both sweet and totally unnecessary. He would take her any way she came.
Hell, especially if she were coming.
Opening his door, he didn’t notice the cold in the slightest. “Over here.”
Her head flipped around, and in the glow from the security lights, her happiness was as apparent as the noonday sun.
“Hello,” she said as she walked over to his car. “How’s your night—”
He meant to give her a chance to finish her sentence. His arms had a different idea. He brought her up against him and kissed her deep. And what do you know, she bent into his body and kissed him back. With a groan, he tilted her back, holding her weight, cradling her, as he lost track of everything: The winter weather. The time of night. The fact that anyone who worked there could come out at any time—the chefs, the bartender, the other servers.
Trez pulled back. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
“Yes,” she said.
Walking her around to the passenger side, he opened her door and gave her his arm. When she was settled in the seat, he closed her in, and hightailed it around the front bumper. He was not ashamed over being seen with her. Not in the slightest. But he worried about the consequences of her being caught with him. He didn’t want any blowback gossip in her workplace—and then there was iAm’s stupid HR-policy shit.
As things progressed between them, he might have to help her find another job… something that not only paid her more, but that used some of her talents—whatever they might be. As a Chosen, she had been sequestered all her life up in the Sanctuary until Phury had freed the Scribe Virgin’s sacred class of females. She was no doubt still learning about herself and what she liked to do and what she was good at.
Maybe she’d like to go to school?
Sliding in behind the wheel, he smiled over at her. “I’m going to take us on a little field trip, if that’s okay?”
“I’m game for anything.”
“It’s not far.” He hit the gas, the four-wheel drive tires grabbed, and they shot forward through the parking lot. “And it is very private.”
The farther he got away from the restaurant’s back door, the more relaxed he became.
“So how was your shift?” he asked as he stopped at the main road.
“Really good. I got over two hundred in tips.”
“Good.” He waited for a car to pass. And then saw another approaching. “So many humans out and about in the cold tonight.”
“By the way, thank you,” she said. “For understanding about your friend and the tip.”
“I don’t want to ever do something that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“I appreciate that.”
With the coast clear, he took a right and headed down the salted road.
“So we’re not going to the club?” she asked. “Not that I mind. It’s an… intense place.”
Trez laughed. “That’s one word for it. And I know it’s not your vibe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You like quiet spaces.”
“Well, quieter places than a club, for sure.” She let her head fall back on the rest and smiled at him. “And…”
“And what.”
She just shook her head. Then she brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “What about your night? How’s things at your work?”
“No one got shot, as far as I know.”
“So you weren’t at the club?” Abruptly, she sat up and twisted toward him. “Not that I’m checking up on you. Just to make that perfectly clear—”
“You can put a tracking chip in my head if you want. It doesn’t bother me. But nah, I just had some things to arrange outside of there.”
As they continued along, they passed by strip malls of shops. An office park. A supermarket, gas station, DMV facility, and a real estate developer’s complex. After that, the zoning turned residential, and the neighborhoods were modest but tidy, the houses cheerfully lit for the season with lots of light strings on eaves, and blow-up Santas in yards, and Christmas trees in bay windows.
“This is a beautiful car,” she commented.
“I bought it on a whim.” He rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist. “I had a different one that was much more practical. But I really like to drive, you know? It calms my mind. I realize I could dematerialize places a lot quicker, but sometimes, it’s good to take the roads.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Do you mind if play with the radio?”
“Help yourself.”
As she went through his favorites, his brows popped when she just kept going, skipping the R&B and hip-hop stations he’d saved and going into ’70s on 7.
“Do you like Led Zeppelin?” she asked him.
“Is that who this is?”
“ ‘Ten Years Gone.’ It’s one of their best.” She increased the volume. “I love this song.”
The words rebounded around the interior, and as he listened to them, something rippled through the center of his chest. Meanwhile, she sang along, every lyric something she knew by heart, and her pitch was perfect.
The sense of being stretched in uncomfortable ways made him squirm in his seat, his muscles tightening up to the point where he had to consciously loosen things or he wasn’t going to be able to drive right
.
As soon as the song was over, he toggled back on the volume. “I didn’t know you could sing.” He also thought she was into his kind of music. From when he’d taken her to Storytown. “Did you take lessons?”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t have that kind of voice. Wait, like voice lessons, right?”
“Yes. When did you learn to sing?”
“I guess I’ve always known how to. It’s natural. But I’m a shower singer, not anyone who belongs onstage. Can you imagine?”
Trez forced a laugh as he found himself internally arguing with her statements. She had never sung, and certainly not to Robert Plant, and of course she had never taken lessons. Before Phury had become the Primale, she hadn’t been allowed outside of the Sanctuary, and afterward, all of the Chosen had been busy enough just getting used to life on this side. Voice lessons were waaaaay down on that list of things to do.
Although she had played the piano, he supposed.
Still, as for knowing all the words to that song? Maybe she had recently listened to it. Maybe she was just really quick about learning lyrics—as opposed to having heard it since the thing had first been released. In the seventies.
Trez moved around in his seat—and this time, it wasn’t because of any arousal issue.
Meanwhile, his female glanced through the car windows. “You know, I’ve never seen this part of town before.”
“It’s really nice. Really safe.”
“Then again, I haven’t been most places in Caldwell.”
Yes, he thought as he took a deep breath. That jibed with her past. See?
Abruptly, he had an image of a tennis court, versions of himself on opposite sides of the net, the proverbial ball the statements she made about her past.
Keeping his curses to himself, he made a turn. Then another. Then one more. As they went deeper into a neighborhood, he saw that not all the houses were done up for Christmas. There were Hanukkah displays, the menorahs showing two candles, and also homes that were displaying Kwanzaa symbols in preparation for the last seven days of the year.
Tracking the different expressions of the season, it made him feel a little better about the human race, that so many spiritual traditions could exist together and celebrate according to their own practices during the same season. Usually he saw only the bad sides of Homo sapiens, the intolerance and the injustice and the brutality—which was what happened when you were living with a secret in plain sight of all of them. It was good that vampires could be easily mistaken for their likes, but no one with a set of fangs in their upper jaw ever forgot that if humans learned the truth, things were more likely to go badly than well for the species.
So yeah, he tended to pay attention to their bad deeds, as a lot of vampires did.
But passing by these houses? He could see them in another light—and it also made him feel better about what he’d done.
“Here we are,” he said with a surge of triumph.
* * *
Therese sat forward. The house Trez was pulling into was a gray-and-white Cape Cod, with glossy black shutters, a bright red front door, and cheery dormer windows in the roofline that looked like friendly eyes. Brass coach lanterns glowed on either side of the entrance, and there was a light on a stand halfway down a shoveled walkway. There was also an attached garage, a short-stack driveway that had been plowed, and bushes that had been set with strings of white lights, clearly so that the property fit in with the rest of the neighborhood.
“Is this where you live?” she asked.
“You sound so surprised.” He turned the car off. “I’m not so bad, am I?”
“Oh, God, no. I mean… I pictured you living in an apartment in a high-rise downtown.”
Trez smiled with what seemed like a curious satisfaction. “That’s because I did. Come on, let’s go in.”
Therese got out of the car and couldn’t look away from the pretty picture of the sweet house set back in its snow-covered yard, with the lights glowing and even—
“Is there a fire going?” She pointed up to the brick chimney. “There’s smoke.”
“I set one for us.” He took her hand and led her up the walk. “Let me show you inside.”
From out of his pocket, he took a copper key and put it into the front lock. As he turned the deadbolt, she frowned.
“Do you ever wear a coat?” she asked.
He glanced down at himself as if he were surprised he didn’t have one on. “You know… I should, shouldn’t I.”
“It’s okay. You look handsome with or without outerwear.”
Instantly, he got dead serious and focused on her mouth. “How about with nothing on.”
“Even better.”
They were both smiling again as he opened the door, and as he let her go in first, her only thought was that they needed to finish what they had both started in their minds hours ago. Except as he willed the lights on, she gasped.
The interior of the house was done in soft dove gray and white, with pine floors that were the color of honey. Throw rugs were scattered with care in between cushioned furniture and thoughtfully arranged details, and through an archway, she saw a kitchen with stainless steel appliances and counters made of gray granite.
Her feet started walking before she was conscious of wanting to explore. Before she knew it, however, she was looking through the kitchen, going down a hall to find a study and a little bathroom, and standing at the base of the stairs and wondering what was up above.
“There are also two bedrooms and a common room underground,” he said. “You can go up, if you’d like.”
Therese nodded and put her hand on the varnished banister. There was no creaking underfoot as she ascended, and when she got to the top, she made a turn and learned where the fire was.
The master suite took up the entire top floor, and the bed alone would have made her never want to leave. It had a canopy of gossamer-thin white gauze that draped down onto the pale gray rug. The duvet on top of the mattress was big as a cloud and looked twice as soft, and there were so many pillows, the queen-sized expanse had little room left on it.
“What do you think?” Trez asked behind her.
She focused on the fire that was quietly crackling. “Is that a fur rug?”
“Faux fur, but yes.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Not long.”
Therese glanced over her shoulder. “Is it okay for me to put my bag down?”
“You can do anything you want here.” He smiled. “Think of it as your own place.”
She bent to the side and set her purse on the floor next to the footboard. Then she looked at her feet. “Oh, God, did I track in? I’ve got snow and salt—”
“Fritz loves every opportunity to clean up. Trust me.”
“Fritz?”
“He’s the Brotherhood’s butler. He takes care of this house.”
“You’re connected to the Brotherhood?” She tried to keep her expression as un-fangirl as she could. But the Brotherhood? “The Black Dagger Brotherhood?”
Although come on, like there was another?
Trez crossed his arms over his huge chest and eased his shoulder onto the wall. Crossing his ankles, he gave her a remote look.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m just… I’m not sure what to say.”
“Well, people like me don’t usually cross paths with the likes of them.” Therese indicated the heavens above. “And I am so grateful that the Scribe Virgin provided them unto the race. They have saved so many lives.”
“This is very true.”
Therese turned back to the fire. “That’s beautiful. The flames, I mean. They’re also very warm.”
She shed her puffy, thigh-length parka, peeling the light weight from her torso and letting it fall to the carpet. Then she kicked off her boots. She was relieved not to find any track marks or salt stains on the treads, no matter what he said about some butler
taking care of his house.
“I just want to make sure I don’t hurt this nice rug,” she murmured.
Turning away from him, she padded across to the hearth. The logs were burning low and slow, and as she thought about the nature of heat, she reached up to the twist she had redone in the restaurant’s bathroom before she had gone out to Trez’s car. The pins came out so smoothly that it was as if they wanted to work with her, and when she felt a release of tension at her temples and down on the back of her neck, she sighed. The weight of her hair tumbled, tumbled, tumbled down over her shoulders, reaching to just above her waist. She had been thinking of getting it all cut off, and going with something chin-length and easy.
Now, she was glad she had resisted the impulse.
Still with her back to him, she pulled out the tails of her work shirt and began to unbutton things from the top down. When she had released all the fastenings, she split the two halves and let the cotton fall from her torso.
The gasp from over where Trez was standing gave her the confidence to keep going. Her slacks were easy to take off, and as she kicked them to the side, she wondered how far she was willing to go. Then again, with only her underwear left? It wasn’t like there was much more to remove.
And given the dark spices that emanated from behind her?
She didn’t exactly suck at stripping.
Her bra had a back clasp so she torqued her hands between her shoulder blades and unclipped it. As the binding released, her breasts felt instantly fuller and heavy in a sexual way, her nipples teased as she shucked the plain, serviceable undergarment.
Therese was about to turn around when she looked down at a buzzkill and a half: She was pretty much naked… except for black socks she’d bought at Target. Yeah, because nothing said sexy-sexy like a female in her panties and her ankle-highs.
She had to laugh as she took them off with her toes, one… then the other.
After which, she looked over her bare shoulder and—
Trez’s body was anything but relaxed as he leaned against that wall. His thighs were twitching underneath the fine wool of his slacks, and his pecs were spasming under his silk button-down. But it was what was doing behind his fly that she really was impressed by—