The building was close to the Greenley Heights financial district, and if the décor was anything to go by, the target buyers were young up-and-comers in banking or a similar profession. Clean lines, lots of white, with expensive neutral rugs covering the hardwood floor. All the appliances were top of the line, but I doubt the wall oven would ever get used and the range top only minimally. However, I could see the fridge and microwave getting quite a workout.
Whoever bought this apartment would be still hungry to make their mark. I imagined them to be single with no children, working long hours, and spending very little actual time inside these walls. Which was a shame, because the apartment had a lot of potential. Personally I loved the sections of open brickwork that made otherwise plain walls interesting, and the huge picture windows were a wonderful feature. As was the view, which I could now fully appreciate. But the feature that was the apartment’s crown jewel was the floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcase covering one entire wall.
“Yes,” I said, nodding and taking a satisfied sip of my wine. “It’s very nice.”
“Would you like it?” Gabriel asked in a low voice.
“Would I like what?”
“This apartment. Would you like to have it?”
Normally when Gabriel makes my stomach roll, it’s a good thing—an indication that I can expect some heavy-duty skin-on-skin contact taking place—but what my stomach was doing now was nowhere near that pleasant. A sudden jolt of anxiety made it curdle, causing a tremor that, if it reached my hand, would guarantee the light-colored couch would be wearing an abstract splash of the not-too-shabby merlot Gabriel had poured me.
You’re being ridiculous! my inner bitch scolded. What was that in the bathroom just now? A pity fuck?
No, at least that’s not how it seemed to me, and Gabriel would never be that cruel. So why did he want to give me an apartment?
Living with Gabriel had its own unique challenges, and while I had very little difficulty getting my head around most of the ones that related directly to his being a vampire, it was the human ones I found harder to deal with. Like the fact that he was beyond stinking rich.
“I need you to close your bank account,” he’d told me a few days after I’d moved in with him.
“Why?” I was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how the coffeemaker worked. The damn thing had more lights and switches than a flight-control desk at NASA.
“It will make dealing with your finances easier,” Gabriel said, coming up behind me and pushing the button that made the brew cycle kick into life. “Besides, isn’t that what married people do?”
“Not necessarily,” I murmured, frustrated that I’d missed which button he’d pressed. “And, anyway, we’re not married.”
The open cupboard door did a wonderful job of distorting his comment, which was probably just as well. I had no doubt he was making some pithy remark about my inability to set a wedding date.
“I still need you to close your bank account,” he said, handing me a mug.
“Um, you do realize I don’t actually have any finances, right?”
Being with Gabriel meant I now lived a nocturnal life, which pretty much wrote my pink slip for me. With no job, and having more or less given my house to my BFF Laycee and her boyfriend Jake to live in, I had less than a thousand dollars to my name. I’m ashamed to say my sudden lack of income hadn’t crossed my mind . . . until now.
“That’s what we need to talk about,” Gabriel told me. “Are you going to have a problem with me providing for you?” It was an old-fashioned phrase that sounded as if it belonged in the Victorian era, but it was also something I would expect Gabriel to say.
He wants to provide for you? I could almost see my inner bitch rolling her eyes. What does that mean . . . exactly?
I filled my coffee cup with premium roast, added a splash of half-and-half, and sat down at the breakfast bar while Gabriel stood, waiting for my response. What he was really asking was whether or not I was going to have a problem taking his money. Truthfully, I didn’t know. I’d never had a man offer to provide for me before, and from the way Gabriel was looking at me, I was pretty sure it wasn’t something he made a habit of. “You’re not going to leave a wad of bills on the bedside table, are you?”
He tried hiding his grin behind his mug, but the dimple in his cheek gave him away. “Only if that’s what you prefer.”
I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “No, I’m more of a cookie jar type of girl.”
A puzzled frown replaced the grin. “I know what a cookie jar is, but what’s a cookie jar girl?”
I explained. “Every payday we both put an agreed-upon amount of cash into an empty cookie jar, so either of us can take what we need, as we need it.” He seemed surprised by the concept, and I could almost hear the cogs turning inside his head as he weighed the practicality of such an arrangement. “Of course, it’s not going to be exactly fair in this situation, because only one of us is going to be putting anything into the jar.”
“Hmmm, well, I was thinking of something more along these lines,” he said, fishing something out of his back pocket.
He placed a credit card on the marble countertop and pushed it toward me with his forefinger. It was copper-colored and had what appeared to be a smart chip embedded in it and my name etched on the front. I recognized the familiar Visa logo, but the moniker in the top right-hand corner was something I’d only seen in my schoolbooks. I picked it up and stared at Gabriel. “J. P. Morgan? Is this like the banking guy?”
“The banking guy,” Gabriel repeated, chuckling softly. “I think John Pierpont would have liked you very much.”
My heel slipped off the lower rail of the breakfast bar stool I’d perched my butt on. “Did you . . . did you . . . are you saying you actually knew him?”
“We met a couple of times,” Gabriel said, shrugging his wide shoulders nonchalantly, “when he wanted some advice.”
“About what?”
“Mergers, acquisitions, financial investments.”
“What did you do?” I was fascinated as my brain went on a trip through high school history lessons. “Tell him to create U.S. Steel?”
“No, that I can’t take the credit for, but I did mention that I thought electricity was definitely a sound investment.”
I was stunned. “You’re responsible for General Electric?”
Gabriel laughed out loud. “Of course not! I just offered an opinion when it was asked for.”
“And that’s why you have an account at his bank?”
“I have accounts with many banks.”
If there was some other meaning in his statement, I had no idea what it was. Instead, I looked down at the credit card in my hand. “What’s the limit on this thing?”
“There isn’t one.”
Oh goody!
I might not be that savvy about finances, and certainly no banker is ever going to ask for my advice about anything, but I do know that credit cards with no pre-set spending limit are issued only to accounts with a lot of numbers coming before the decimal point. As if it might suddenly sprout teeth and bite me, I put the card back on the countertop and pushed it in Gabriel’s direction. “I don’t think so,” I told him.
He folded his arms and stared at me for a full minute before asking, “Why not?”
“It’s too much, Gabriel. Too big. I don’t think I can handle it.”
It wasn’t just the card we were talking about, and we both knew it. It was accepting the lifestyle his wealth was going to give me. Of course, I knew he had money. He didn’t just live in the penthouse of the swankiest apartment complex in town, he owned the building itself. His shirts were made in England, and he wore watches with names like Rolex and Patek Philippe. And then there were his cars. I’d been stunned to learn there was a second sub-level garage for his vehicles only.
I read an article once about people who won multi-state lotteries. Seventy percent of the winners either lost or spent their entire fortune within five ye
ars. I remember thinking I would never squander such an opportunity; only now I could truly appreciate how terrifying a sudden fortune could be. Gabriel wanting to give me a J. P. Morgan Palladium credit card was like winning the lottery, and like that seventy percent of overnight winners, I wasn’t equipped to deal with the reality of such an abundant cash flow.
“You sure we can’t do the cookie jar thing?” I muttered wistfully.
Gabriel said nothing as he took back the plastic bearing John Pierpont’s name, but the next evening a colorful jar was sitting on the breakfast bar. Next to it was a note written in his beautiful copperplate script.
Better? And please, don’t make a fuss. Your limit is 100K.
Inside the jar was an assortment of tens and twenties, with a few fifties thrown in for good measure. And a credit card. A black American Express with my name stamped on the front. Smiling, I took a couple of the twenties and slipped them with my new credit card into my wallet.
And now he wanted to buy me . . . an apartment?
“What do I need an apartment for?” I asked, trying to sound conversational while at the same time doing my best to ignore the seasick feeling washing through me. I looked up and found myself gazing into a pair of neon blue eyes, and I turned my head away. Gabriel’s ability to move quickly—and silently—was still unnerving.
“What is it, Rowan?” he asked, placing a finger under my chin and turning my head back so I was looking at him once more.
“N-nothing.”
My response was met with a raised brow. “You’re not being truthful with me.” He began stroking the side of my jaw with his thumb. “If you don’t like this apartment, we can always look for another.”
Oh yeah, like that was going to make a difference. It wasn’t the apartment that was a problem, it was the reason for it. Apparently the novelty of living with me had lost its charm. Oh, I didn’t doubt that Gabriel loved me and would want to keep seeing me. I was his Promise, after all, but being around me twenty-four-seven was an entirely different prospect from being able to pick and choose as the mood—or hunger—struck him.
I leaned back, pulling my face out of his grasp, and shook my head. “The apartment’s fine,” I said, although I already knew the bathroom was going to have to be gutted and redecorated. It already had the wrong sort of memories.
“If it’s not the apartment,” Gabriel said, “then what are you upset about?”
I downed the contents of my glass in one go and, emboldened by the sudden rush of fermented grapes, blurted out, “Why don’t you just say you want me to leave?”
He looked startled. “What? Who said anything about you leaving?”
“Well, isn’t that what this is all about?” I wasn’t sure how much boldness I was going to find in one glass of wine, but I was determined to make the most of it. “It’s okay, Gabriel, you can be honest with me.”
“Aw, shit, Rowan—no! You’ve got this all wrong.”
He jumped up from the couch and proceeded to pace. I watched him do an entire circumference of the open living space before coming to a stop in front of me. He dropped his gaze to the floor, and I watched his chest move as he took in a deep breath. My thighs twitched in appreciation of his muscle control.
“I should have known,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, “that this was going to blow up in my face.”
“What was?”
Picking up the bottle of merlot, he refilled my glass. “I thought you might like a place of your own.”
“Whatever for?”
“For your . . . stuff.”
“My what?”
“I don’t like the idea of all your possessions being boxed up and sitting on a ten-by-twenty slab of concrete surrounded by corrugated metal walls. You don’t seem to want to bring anything to the penthouse, so I thought if you had an apartment of your own, you could get everything out of storage.” He paused.
“What?”
He sighed. “And I thought perhaps Laycee might be more comfortable visiting you in a place that felt like it was more you and less . . . me.”
He had a point. Had I become involved with a regular non-vampire guy and moved into his penthouse apartment, my BFF would have already found a way to get invited for an extended stay, just so she could see how the other half lived. I loved Laycee dearly and always would, but if I thought my introduction to the presence of vampires had been shocking, her experience had been brutal.
Katja was the only female vampire I’d met so far. Gorgeous enough to be on the cover of any high-end fashion magazine, she was also obsessed with Gabriel. When her attempt to get me to dump him failed, she took it upon herself to reveal the truth about my boyfriend. It wasn’t the ideal way to learn I’d been sleeping with a vampire, but it didn’t have the outcome Katja had been hoping for. Being Gabriel’s Promise meant more than just a casual fling. The beautiful vampire wasn’t about to give up, however, and decided to use my best friend as coercion. But after hearing that her psychotic abductor was a vampire, Laycee’s knee-jerk reaction had been to laugh. Which was not appreciated by Katja. In retaliation, she broke Laycee’s wrist with a squeeze of her fingers, something hard to believe from a girl who looked as if she’d have difficulty opening the packaging inside a cereal box. But a flash of Katja’s dental work had sealed the deal, and when the realization hit Laycee that I’d been sleeping with a vampire. . . well, it was asking a lot for anyone to accept. Even if they had known you since second grade.
When Laycee and I finally discussed the events of that particular night, we both knew there was no going back. Laycee wanted a normal life. One that involved marriage, children, and PTA meetings. What she didn’t want were supernatural creatures that might tag along with me. So the only way she knew to protect herself, and her new family, was by letting me go. It might have been the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. On both sides. You don’t just walk away from someone you’ve known since you were six years old. A fact Gabriel recognized.
“Having a baby changes everything,” Gabriel said in a voice that told me he’d given the matter some thought. “I can’t imagine Laycee not wanting to share this with you. I understand her concerns, especially about me, but I don’t think it’s going to be possible for her to shut you out of her life completely. No matter what either of you think. Perhaps having your own place will make it easier for both of you.” I hoped he was right because I really missed my best friend. “I’m sorry. I should have discussed this with you first. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
It was a wonderful gesture and another example of how well Gabriel knew me—sometimes better than I knew myself. “I don’t know if she’ll . . .” I let the rest of my sentence stay unspoken. We both knew if Laycee and I were to resume anything close to a friendship, she had to be the one to make the first move. The decision to put some distance between us had been hers; the olive branch had to come from her also.
“She just needs some time,” Gabriel said as he sat down next to me. “But if it makes you feel better, do this for me. I really don’t want your possessions kept in storage, and there’s a spare bedroom that you could use for your father’s things.”
He had a point about my belongings. Apart from my clothes, the only other items I’d brought to his penthouse were a few books and one or two photographs. All of which I kept in the master bedroom, because somehow pictures of my dad didn’t look right perched on a shelf next to a vase that was probably from the Ming dynasty.
“I realize what you’ve given up for me, Rowan. It’s going to take time getting used to being with each other—”
“You mean it’s going to take me some time,” I amended quietly.
He sighed. “I don’t ever want you to regret the decision you made.” Raising my hands, he turned them over and kissed the inside of each wrist. It was a gesture filled with tenderness and warmth.
“Can I ask you a favor?” There was a lump in my throat, and it took a couple of swallows to dis
lodge it.
Gabriel’s long, slender fingers tightened around my hand, and his face took on an earnest, yet guarded, expression. “Of course, anything you want.”
“As we’ve already christened the bathroom . . . do you think we could do the rest of the apartment now?”
It really was too bad that a few days later my wonderful, thoughtful vampire lover proved he could be just as stupid as anyone else on the planet with two legs and a cock.
Chapter 3
I stared down at the colorful array of silky material that filled the drawer before me and didn’t recognize a single item. “What the . . .” I muttered as my hand rifled through the contents. Hitching my towel a little higher, I closed the drawer and opened the one below, and then the next. All of them were filled with the most exquisite items of lingerie, and none of them were mine. Trust me, a woman recognizes her own underwear.
When I moved in with Gabriel, I didn’t have to ask him to empty a dresser drawer or give up wardrobe space for me. One side of the massive walk-in closet in the master bedroom had deliberately been left empty. Gabriel had never doubted that it would hold my clothes. I had stared, open-mouthed, at what looked like a half mile of empty padded hangers on the rail above my head. I was equally astounded by the custom-built cabinetry below it—empty drawers interspersed with sections of open shelving that I was expected to fill with my shoes, purses, and other fashionable accessories. Hah! My idea of accessorizing was to actually carry a purse. It never occurred to me to see if it matched my shoes or anything else I was wearing. Fashionable was not in my vocabulary.
As I began making my way toward the open doorway, my progress was halted by a set of drawers that were partially open. Lined with a pretty floral silk, the vibrant colors caught my eye. I pulled open the drawer a little further, and the light scent of freesias filled the air. “And what am I supposed to put in here?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at Gabriel.
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