by Calista Fox
She’d dressed so quickly in the bathroom in Drake’s office last night, she hadn’t noticed them. Well, in truth, she specifically hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror until her dress was on, believing he found her hideous. Why would she bother to spare a glance at herself—it wasn’t as if she needed the confirmation that, despite all her exercising and eating right, her stomach wasn’t as flat as a supermodel’s, her breasts were solid Ds and her hips… Well. She was built to bear children, no two ways about it.
Not that that would ever happen. Her one chance at romance had been blown out of the water last night. And she was pretty certain she’d never meet another man who’d make her feel the way Drake had. She’d love him always, even though it would be an unrequited love.
She inspected parts of her body in the shower, ignoring all the usual flaws she was used to seeing. Like the strawberry-shaped birthmark on her left butt cheek and the thighs and calves that were toned, but too long for a woman to not dwarf most of the people she stood next to, no matter how low the heel on her shoe. Her narrow waist created such a severe hourglass shape that every pair of jeans she tried on gapped by several inches in the back, making them impossible to wear unless she planned to never sit down. Finding clothes that fit her properly had always been the bane of her existence. She kept a tailor in business with her alterations alone.
Her eyes swept over the purple marks again and she frowned. She rinsed off and got out of the shower. She swiped a hand over the steam on the mirror above the vanity and looked at her naked body from all angles, studying the faint bruises where Drake had touched her.
That gnawing sensation returned full force.
Oh, no. She groaned.
He’d done it again. He’d gone all Twilight on her. In the movie, the vampire Edward had seen the bruises on the human Bella’s body when he’d made love to her and he’d vowed never to touch her again.
Had Drake done the exact same thing?
When she’d come out of his bathroom, he’d been hugely remorseful for the way he’d responded to her. He’d looked to be in more agony than before he’d made love to her, when Jane had said he’d lived with the torment of wanting her for so long.
He’d wanted to explain, to apologize. But she’d had none of it as that familiar dread and despair had consumed her when she’d jumped straight to the conclusion that he didn’t find her appealing upon close inspection.
That sparked another thought. One she absolutely had to face.
She’d been so quick to push him away. Why?
Sinking onto the plush cushion of the vanity bench, she stared at her hands resting in her lap. She thought about Jane, who’d purposely denied herself physical intimacy with a human because she feared she’d hurt him. A valid reason.
What was Shana’s excuse?
Why had she given up so easily last night? Especially when Drake and Jane had done nothing but put her at ease when it came to her image issues. They’d admired and enjoyed her body last night. They’d both been aroused by her. They’d both wanted her. And they’d made her feel wanted too. Desired. Cherished. She hadn’t imagined it and it hadn’t been false appreciation of her assets. They’d really and truly found her attractive.
They hadn’t cared about her fame and fortune. They’d wanted her for her, not her name or her notoriety. So again…why’d she give in to her insecurities so easily?
She’d let all those past, self-perceived notions of herself prickle her pride at the very first misstep by Drake. And it wasn’t even his fault he’d hurt her feelings. He hadn’t done it on purpose. She was certain of it. No one could be so territorial one moment and so turned off the next. No way.
On top of that, it just didn’t seem like him to do anything so insensitive. He was anything but. He cared deeply for Jane and he’d been a rock for Shana all night as she’d spoken of things she’d never admitted to anyone else. As she’d done things she’d never done with anyone else.
She felt wholeheartedly she’d been wrong about his reaction to her. And she could kick herself for being so quick to believe the worst, not even allowing an explanation from Drake.
It had to end. A beautiful man with a sexy smile and kind heart had wanted her last night. Only a fool would let her personal fears stand in the way of something that had the potential to be so much more.
She was so convinced Drake had been repulsed by the bruises, not her, that she quickly finished her shower, dressed and caught a cab to Body Scenes. It was Saturday night, so the club was open. She asked to see Mr. Toliver at the door and, after she gave him a desperate plea to see Drake, he took her backstage. The guard at the elevators had to clear her before he’d let her up to the office and she anxiously tapped her toe while she waited.
Finally, the doors slid open and she stepped inside, her stomach in knots, her pulse pounding in her ears.
When the car reached the second floor, she rushed down the long corridor and into Drake’s office, only to pull up short, her stomach dropping to her knees.
His back was to her, though she knew he expected her. He stood across the massive room, packing books into a box. There were several full and empty boxes stacked around the large table where he worked and it alarmed her.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she remained in the doorway, her feet rooted where they were as the fear she was too late to fix this seeped through her veins.
“Packing.”
She sighed impatiently. “I can see that. What I meant was, why are you packing?”
Still he didn’t look at her. “I’ve got a flight to London in a few hours.”
She gasped. He was leaving? Putting an entire ocean between them?
Had she been wrong earlier? Had she come to a completely unrealistic conclusion about what had happened between them last night?
No.
The answer resonated deep within her. She knew she wasn’t wrong, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t going to doubt or second-guess herself. She was going to stand up for herself. She was going to go after what she wanted and she was going to convince Drake he wanted her too—enough to make him stay.
Crossing the room, she stood beside him and said, “This is a little drastic, don’t you think? I mean, if you no longer want to see me, I’ll survive. You don’t have to flee the country. I won’t stalk you.”
He let out a short laugh that was completely humorless. But at least he recognized her ribbing for what it was.
“I’m not leaving because of you. I’m leaving because of me. It’s time.”
“The club’s only been open a year. It’s not like you’ve overstayed your welcome and people are starting to question why you don’t age.” Wasn’t that one of the biggest concerns vampires had to deal with? “Besides,” she added, “from what I understand, no one really knows you exist. You’re sort of an Internet urban legend.”
He turned away to grab a stack of books on the end of the table. She reached into the box and hauled out five or six slim volumes and set them aside while his back was to her.
“It became very clear to me last night that I have the ability to pretend I’m something I’m not. And that pretense affects other people.”
He loaded up the box, but every time he turned away, she pulled out more stacks.
“‘Other people’ or just me?”
He sighed. “I allowed myself to think I was a man with you last night. Not a vampire. And I hurt you in the process.”
“No,” she said, collecting more books and making a tall pile on her end of the table. “I hurt me. And the truth is, I’ve been doing it since I was a child. A lonely, lost child who wanted to be loved for her, not her music, but who could never find anyone who saw past what she was on the outside.”
“You’ve met a lot of idiots in your life then,” he said with a tinge of anger—for her. He turned back to the box and let out a low groan, finally seeing he wasn’t making any headway filling it, though he’d been packing it for five minutes. He placed
the stack of books he held on the table and faced her, an amused look on his devilishly handsome face, despite his obvious annoyance. “You’re not helping.”
She smiled. “Sure I am. The more books I unpack for you, the less work it’ll be for you later.”
“Later?” he asked in his deep, sexy British accent.
As he stared at her, she was momentarily derailed from her mission. He easily stole her breath and made her want to do wild and wanton things to him. She wanted to climb all over his body, run her fingers through his hair, taste every tantalizing inch of him.
Fighting back a sigh of longing, she said, “I have met a lot of idiots in my life. I’ve also been one the vast majority of that time. I envied women like Jane and that was stupid.”
“Yes, it was. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the way you look. You’re exotic and striking and—” He shook his head. “Why are you frowning? Exotic is not a four-letter word, Shana.”
“No twelve-year-old wants to be called exotic, Drake. They want to look like princesses in fairytales.”
He scoffed. “For God’s sake, why would you want to look like someone else?”
That was a good one. She nibbled her lower lip a moment, then admitted, “So I won’t stand out.”
Exasperation tinged his voice. “I’m confused. I thought that was what most women wanted. To be noticed. Not be a wallflower.”
“I’ll take the wallflower.”
“Well, you’re going to have to get over it, love. Because that’s never going to happen.”
She stared at him a moment, recalling that last night, she’d actually found it fortuitous she was so sturdily built. She hadn’t felt like an Amazon walking next to him and she’d been able to enjoy his aggressive lovemaking. Jane never would have been able to take what he had to give if she weren’t a vampire.
When it came to Drake, there was definitely an advantage to Shana’s body type. Surprise, surprise.
As she mulled all this over, he asked in a soft tone, “What happened to you, specifically? There had to have been something that affected you so deeply when you were younger, you couldn’t get over it. And it made you feel as though you don’t belong, that you’re not normal.”
Shana wasn’t ready to divulge something so personal without hearing something personal in return. Jane’s vulnerability had helped her to open up, and now she wanted to know Drake’s.
So she countered by asking, “How’d you feel when you were turned into a vampire? Was it by choice, like Jane? Or did it happen to you unexpectedly—against your will and power—and you weren’t quite sure how to adjust?”
He seemed to process her diversionary tactic to see where she was headed, but didn’t skirt the question. “I was fighting for the British Army during the American Revolutionary War. I’d been selected for a small, specialized regiment because of my skills. Our focus was the American militiamen. They were tricky bastards,” he said, though a hint of respect touched his eyes. “They were due ample credit for their strategic tactics. But I was under the command of a vampire, unbeknownst to me. It was the reason we attacked at night. Villages and backwoods cottages. We were quite good at leaving no stone unturned as we sought our enemy.”
“That must have been a difficult time for you.” She couldn’t picture him as a ruthless killer.
Indeed, he turned away as he said, “I did what was expected of me. But no, I didn’t like it. And because of my disdain for war, I made a few mistakes. One of which got me shot. But before I died, my commanding officer bit me and I became a vampire.”
“Wow. That had to be a shock to the system.”
He turned back to her. “I was livid, but what could I do? I suffered through the first stage of vampirism and I suppose the only thing that eased my conscience around that time was that we were at war, and people get killed during wars. But then, I met a woman, and that changed everything.”
“Oh.” Her gaze wavered.
He reached a hand out to her and grazed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “It wasn’t like that. She was older and a widow. She’d lost her husband and her sons to British soldiers, and yet, she was so compassionate, she felt it was her mission to help anyone whose path she crossed, even if they were the enemy. She lived close to one of the forts in Kentucky and she’d put the injured up in her house or bring them medicine or care for them. She didn’t see them as soldiers. They were people, and she couldn’t turn her back on them, no matter what uniform they wore.”
“That’s admirable.”
“And courageous. It was extremely dangerous. And not everyone agreed with her reasoning of treating human beings, not soldiers.”
A flash of pain in his eyes prompted Shana to ask, “What happened to her?”
“Hanged for treason, of course. I couldn’t get to her in order to save her, because I’d been elsewhere at the time. I never quite forgave myself for that and it changed me a bit. I took up where she left off, as best as I could at any rate.”
“You went AWOL?”
He nodded. “No one ever found me, of course. I was able to avert attention. Unlike you, obviously,” he added. “You’ve always been the center of it.”
“Not willingly.”
“So what was it?” he asked again, not even needing to remind her he’d posed a specific question.
Shana shook her head. “You’ll think it’s absurd, but… It was a white dress. No,” she corrected as her heart constricted. “It was the dress. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m guessing this is anything but absurd.”
She loved that he got her. How could she not have seen that last night?
Ignoring that thought, she continued.
“I saw it in the window of a Paris boutique. It was the most beautiful gown I’ve ever laid eyes on—then or now. The sleeves were made of the most delicate lace and they were so long, they covered half of the mannequin’s dainty hands. Beads and crystals were sewn into the intricate design, making the lace sparkle under the twinkling lights from the chandelier overhead. It was an off-the-shoulder dress with a slight dip at the breasts. The bodice was all lace and it covered the breasts and cut away at the top of the rib cage, like butterfly wings, then wrapped around to the back, where there was a long line of buttons. The lace gave way to the smoothest, softest, most luxurious satin I’ve ever touched. It was positively breathtaking.”
He propped a hip against the table and said, “Don’t tell me you couldn’t afford it?”
She smiled, despite the painful memory creeping around the edges of her mind. “Of course I could. I was only fourteen at the time, but I had plenty of money. A lot of it got sent to my family, even though I never saw them, but I had more than my fair share.” Her smile faded at the thought of a family she didn’t even know and the recollection of the dress that had perpetuated her damaged self-image.
“What happened, Shana? With the gown?”
“I told the saleswoman I wanted it and handed over my credit card. In a very cold tone, she informed me it was a one-of-a-kind creation from an up-and-coming designer named Phillipe LaVallier and that it wouldn’t fit me.”
This seemed to strike a sour note with Drake, as he scowled. “It was just a dress, Shana. How could you have let something like that make you feel inferior?”
She lifted her hands in the air. “If you’d ever been a fourteen-year-old girl who wasn’t a size two, you’d understand.”
He had to concede that point. “I have no delusions about the pressures your society and species places on girls and women to look a certain way. It’s all over the Internet. But it’s also something you denounce on your website. You take the stance that everyone has to find their own way and be true to themselves. Why can’t you take your own advice?”
She let out a long breath as her hands dropped to her sides. Deflated, she said, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because it was engrained on my brain that I was different. I was constantly reminded of it when designers created the
gowns the women performed in or when we were all photographed together or when we sat in front of thousands of people and I looked at the semi-circle of other female violinists and saw how small and feminine they looked. They all sort of blended together. And then there was me.”
He seemed to consider this, taking her self-consciousness seriously. Finally, he asked, “So about the dress?”
“I bought it, of course. My own gift to myself. Though…” Her brow furrowed. “I’d always considered it was the sincerest gift I’d ever received—even though I’d been the one to buy it—but in hindsight, it was the most insulting one.”
“How so?”
“I took it with me everywhere. I’d hang it in plain view in my hotel suites, and every time I passed by it, I’d touch the satin skirt or a lace sleeve. I had room butlers steam it as soon as it was unpacked or if I saw the tiniest wrinkle. And sometimes, I’d try it on. Of course, I could never get the buttons to fasten at my hips. They’d hook at my waist, because it was small enough. But my hips and breasts… Not a chance.”
“Good Lord.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Those hips and breasts are the stuff fantasies are made of.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.” She never would have believed his words had it not been for last night. “But dresses like that one were made for women with zero curves and no boobs. So it would never fit me, no matter what I did. Yet I hadn’t quite accepted that reality when I was fourteen.”
He groaned.
“Yeah, I know. But again, it all comes down to being thrust into a limelight I never wanted to stand in, and all the attention created a lot of anxiety. So much so, one night before a performance, I fainted. Collapsed backstage.”
She hated to tell him this part of the story. It was painful, yes. But as she thought of it, she could see how detrimental she’d been to herself.
She said, “They rushed me to the hospital and hooked me up to an IV. I realized I hadn’t eaten much in weeks, and even less over the past few days. When a nurse told me they were feeding me intravenously, I got hysterical. I ripped the IV out of my arm and tried to leave the hospital. They had to restrain me.”