“Your lingerie,” he replied, giving me a smile that was very wolfish and completely alpha male.
But now, as I opened the familiar silk-lined drawers, I was horrified to find there was nothing within that was even remotely familiar. “Oh no, please tell me he didn’t,” I said in a voice that clearly illustrated my displeasure to anyone listening.
I pulled out a coffee-colored satin bra. Exquisitely decorated with small bows and tiny seed pearls, it could have qualified as a work of art. I let it fall from my fingers onto the plush carpet at my feet as I reached for another beautiful item. This one was a daring magenta trimmed with black lace. It joined its mate on the floor. My frenzied hands removed one gorgeous item after the other. There were satin bras, wispy camisoles, and lace panties, along with a few other items that looked as if an engineering degree might be required in order to put them on.
I stared down at the froth of aquamarine lace I held in my hand. Any prior admiration for the skill and dexterity required to produce such an item, even if it was done by machine, was suddenly wiped away by another feeling altogether. This scrap of fabric was actually supposed to cover my ass? I snorted in disgust at the garment’s complete lack of practical usefulness. There was only one reason a woman would wear something like this. Resentment, as thick and viscous as anything from the La Brea Tar Pits, began to bubble inside me. What the hell had Gabriel been thinking?
Um . . . I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?
My inner bitch sometimes had problems differentiating between rhetorical questions and real ones.
None of this was me. I was a Fruit of the Loom and Bali bra type of girl. Making a purchase from Victoria’s Secret was about as exotic as I got. I didn’t frequent shops that sold . . . I began checking labels: La Perla—Fleur of England—Agent Provocateur. Agent Provocateur? You gotta be kidding me—what idiot came up with that one?
Probably some guy who hadn’t been laid in a while? my inner bitch offered helpfully.
Yeah, I could believe that.
“Rowan . . . what’s wrong?”
I wasn’t surprised to hear his voice or note the deliberate mildness of his tone. Always able to sense my mood, Gabriel was only too keenly aware of my simmering anger. I turned around and glared at him.
“Where’s my underwear?” I demanded.
“It would appear that you are standing in it,” he answered reasonably.
I didn’t want reasonable. I wanted to stomp my foot, but it isn’t quite the same when you’re standing on plush carpet. “No, where’s my underwear?” I demanded.
“Rowan, sweetheart, that is your underwear. Who else’s would it be?” he added in an even voice.
“This isn’t mine,” I insisted stubbornly. “It’s yours.”
He chuckled and flexed his biceps, which in turn made my thigh muscle twitch. “I don’t think I’d look half as good in any of it as you would.”
Oh fuck me sideways, my inner bitch groaned, he thinks you’re trying to be funny.
It was disappointing to know that male vampire DNA could be just as idiotic as its human counterpart.
I took a deep breath in through my nose and exhaled slowly before I spoke. “This isn’t my underwear, Gabriel, this is all yours. Everything here is something you want to see me wear.”
“Of course it is.” If he was any more agreeable, he’d leave me no choice but to slap him. “But these are all items you would have bought for yourself... eventually.”
I stared at him, appalled by his chauvinistic attitude. What was wrong with my underwear? It had been good enough before I moved in with him, so what had changed? Did he really think that living with him meant he was entitled to make decisions for me? Indignation made me bristle and my temper climb a notch higher. I picked up a hanger and waved the item at him. At first glance, the lingerie appeared to be a black bra and matching pair of panties, joined together in some bizarre fashion with a number of buckled straps. It seemed to me that a contortionist might experience some difficulty putting it on. “You think I would actually buy something like this? For myself?”
Of course not, my inner bitch chimed in, but you gotta admit, it does look very interesting . . . and sexy.
“Ah, that . . .” Unfolding his arms, Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair and had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “The saleslady assured me Lady Gaga has something just like it.”
I stared at him, aghast. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It doesn’t?” he asked, mildly surprised by my apparent lack of enthusiasm.
“Knowing Lady Gaga has something like this doesn’t make me feel better, Gabriel. It scares the shit out of me.”
He shook his head, moving the white waterfall of hair across his shoulders. It was obvious he wasn’t grasping why I was upset that my underwear, my perfectly good one-hundred-percent-cotton bikini panties and underwire bras, had all disappeared. Replaced, apparently, with ridiculously expensive designer lingerie.
He folded his arms again, and I forced my thighs to behave. “Okay, I’ll admit it might have been a little presumptuous of me to get that for you.” He tilted his chin at the Lady Gaga outfit still in my hands.
You think?
“But aren’t I allowed to give you a gift?”
For someone who was normally so in tune with me emotionally, Gabriel was now being maddeningly obtuse.
“A gift would be a negligee for Christmas or my birthday or Valentine’s Day, and it would be a single item. It wouldn’t be replacing everything I own with stuff I didn’t choose.” I forced myself to take a deep breath and push aside my anger. How could I get him to see that replacing all my underwear with lingerie he’d selected made me feel like I was being objectified. “You can’t do this, Gabriel,” I said, struggling to keep my temper on an even keel. The fact that I had to actually explain how I felt was starting to piss me off. “Replacing all my underwear is just . . . wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too . . . it’s too . . . Fifty Shades,” I blurted out.
His eyes narrowed as he considered the frame of reference I’d used. “You think,” he said slowly, “buying you lingerie means I want to control you?”
Thank God there’s at least one guy on the planet who understands that book ain’t a primer for a healthy, loving relationship!
“Not deliberately,” I said, mentally shushing my inner bitch, “but that’s how it makes me feel.”
I watched his brows pull together even further as he considered my words. If Gabriel thought this was covered under “providing” for me, then he and I had very different ideas of what that concept meant. Besides, this had nothing to do with gift buying. It was all about respect. For me. As a person. Any minute now, I told myself, the floodgates would open and comprehension would wash through him, along with a healthy dose of shame for taking so long to grasp what I was getting at. I waited for him to apologize.
He didn’t.
Instead his sudden sympathetic expression, coupled with an ever so slightly condescending smile, made me nervous. Whatever he was thinking, I was pretty sure he was way off base. “Are you PMS-ing?” he asked.
Awww—fuck! Tell me he did not just say that.
“W-w-what?” I stuttered.
A ball of fire exploded in my solar plexus, and I suddenly felt . . . all wrong. I didn’t feel ill exactly, but I definitely felt off-kilter. As if I was out of sync with everything around me. Especially Gabriel. I was hot, and not in a sexual fantasy way, even with all the lingerie on the floor. I was hot because my core temperature was rising, and what was worse, I was dangerously close to bawling my eyes out. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why did I feel so bad?
Because you’re disappointed, you idiot! Your hunky vampire just fucked up, and if you don’t want to make it any worse—by saying something you’ll regret—then you’d better get the hell out of Dodge and go find someone who can tell you how to deal with him.
So
metimes my inner bitch really does make sense.
I turned around, heading for the door that would take me back into the bedroom, but a gust of wind across my cheek was a rude reminder of vampire speed. Barring the opening with his arm, Gabriel blocked my exit. I guess the look on my face told him he’d just opened mouth and inserted foot. Big-time.
“Let me out,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Not until we’ve sorted this out.”
Ordinarily I would have applauded his willingness to discuss a problem between us. Most guys would be only too happy to let their woman pout, sulk, or go shopping just so they could avoid the possibility of talking about their feelings. But now wasn’t the time.
“If you don’t let me by, I’m going to rip off your fucking arm and beat you to death with it!” I snarled. My threat couldn’t have been more ludicrous, and how Gabriel managed to keep a straight face was beyond me.
“Rowan, please—”
My legs began to shake. I really needed to start moving while I still had the ability. “Gabriel, listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t want to sort out anything with you, at least not right now.” Hot tears pricked the back of my eyelids. “Let me by—now!”
“At least tell me where you’re going,” he said as he let me push by him.
He was a vampire, and it was his nature to be possessive, something I still hadn’t quite come to terms with. What Gabriel would grudgingly admit to as being slightly overprotective, I saw as irrational, borderline obsessive behavior. But, as upset as I was, I didn’t want to provoke him into doing something we’d both regret.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak calmly. “I’m going to talk to someone who will understand without my having to explain.”
“Anasztaizia?” He sounded relieved.
“Yes, Anasztaizia.”
I could feel his eyes boring holes into my back as I dropped the towel I was wearing and pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt.
And no underwear.
Chapter 4
“Oh, dahlink!” Anasztaizia declared, taking one look at my teary-eyed expression and overall pathetic state. “This is going to take more than coffee, I am thinking.”
She pointed to a bar stool by one of the kitchen’s prep areas and instructed me to sit. When I had called the lovely Magyar, she had simply told me to come to the restaurant she and her family owned. “I am taking inventory. No one is here, so we can talk in private.” Which I took to mean that her vampire boyfriend Aleksei was down for the day at her apartment and she already had a good idea why I needed to see her.
After slamming the penthouse door behind me, I’d half-expected Gabriel to wrench it off its hinges and drag me back inside, or to find him waiting for me in the garage when the elevator doors opened. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t. Stepping into the garage’s concrete coolness, I let loose the breath I’d been holding. As an Original Vampire, Gabriel could tolerate the daylight in measured doses, and I wasn’t completely certain that he might not decide to continue our discussion by coming after me. It appeared he’d seen reason and thought better of it. Good. If he was really smart, he’d go lie in his sarcophagus and look for the answer while in a state of unconsciousness.
Wouldn’t that be kind of difficult, what with him being unconscious and all?
It seemed my inner bitch had enjoyed this difference of opinion between Gabriel and myself a little too much.
Now I watched as Anasztaizia emerged from one of the restaurant’s large walk-in coolers, a decadent-looking confection in her hands. It was some sort of cake, and the fondant glaze on the top had been decorated in a spider-web pattern.
“Esterházy torte,” Anasztaizia told me. “Guaranteed to cure everything but the stupidity of the male sex!”
She cut me a slice and set it before me, along with a fork, a napkin, and a large mug of the special-blend Russian coffee that I loved. As I ate my cake, giving my taste buds an orgasm, she told me about Prince Paul III Anton Esterházy de Galántha, whom the cake was named after. It wasn’t until she was refilling my coffee mug that she asked me softly what Gabriel had done. So I told her.
Being able to talk to another female who was also involved with a vampire was a godsend. Anasztaizia had made herself available to me from the moment I’d accepted that vampires were very real and that I’d been sleeping with one. At first I’d been hesitant to burden her with my endless questions and anxieties, especially as vampires are, by necessity, secretive. I wasn’t sure how Gabriel would react if he thought I was blabbing bedroom secrets to Aleksei’s girlfriend.
“It’s all right,” he’d assured me, making his dimple wink sexily. “I understand there are some things you would feel more comfortable discussing with another female, and I think it might be good for Anasztaizia also.”
His instinct had been correct.
“You have no idea, dahlink, how long I have wanted another woman to talk to,” Anasztaizia told me, making me realize that keeping her boyfriend’s secret had been harder on her than I’d thought. “But I have no wish to come between you and your friend, Laycee.” Her smooth brow puckered with an uncharacteristic frown. “You have been friends for a long time, but I am thinking perhaps there are things you cannot say to her, yes?”
It was true. Even if Laycee had wanted to embrace wholeheartedly having vampires in her life, there were still things I wouldn’t be able to share with her because she would always be on the periphery. And this particular episode with Gabriel? Laycee would have shrugged it off as nothing more than one of the perks of having a rich boyfriend. She certainly wouldn’t have felt objectified or disrespected and might not have understood why I did. And why was that?
Because no matter how much you care for Laycee, you aren’t cut from the same bolt of cloth, my inner bitch whispered in a voice that seemed surprised I hadn’t figured this out for myself. The truth could be very disheartening at times.
So no, Anasztaizia wasn’t going to come between us.
“He replaced everything?” she said, the incredulity in her voice telling me I hadn’t been overreacting. Anasztaizia understood completely why I was upset about Gabriel wanting to dress me up like an X-rated Barbie doll.
“Has Aleksei ever done anything like this?” I asked hesitantly.
She laughed. “Of course, dahlink—he’s male.”
“Yeah, but has he ever done anything to make you feel . . .” I trailed off, unable to verbalize what I was feeling.
“Like he had absolutely no idea who I was?” Anasztaizia asked gently. I nodded, and she sighed. “Oh yes, he’s guilty of that, but I think it is something every male on the planet has done, and it makes no difference if they’re human or vampire.” She reached out and patted me on the back of the hand. “Only Aleksei would never buy me lingerie.”
“What—not ever?”
Anasztaizia shook her head. “He would be far too embarrassed to actually walk into a store and buy something so intimate.”
“He should ask Gabriel to go with him. I’m sure he could give him some tips.”
“Could you imagine the two of them together in a lingerie store?”
A sudden image of the big Russian vampire filled my head. I pictured him dressed in his beloved army greatcoat, military garb, and combat boots, checking out a thong on a hanger. It was too ridiculous for words, and I snorted in a very unladylike way.
Anasztaizia shook her head. “Well, thankfully he doesn’t have to, dahlink. I know what he likes.”
“Yeah, I thought I did too, but I guess I was wrong. Apparently Gabriel wants to see me wear something called La Perla.”
Her brows rose in admiration. “He bought you La Perla?”
“Yeah and Flora England and some Agent or the other.”
“Fleur of England and Agent Provocateur.” The names rolled off her tongue with ease. “Well, you certainly can’t accuse him of having bad taste. Were they pretty?”
“Exq
uisite,” I sighed, recalling the lovely satin bra with ribbons and pearls. An unexpected wave of shame swept through me at the way I’d manhandled them. “I guess they were pretty expensive, huh?”
“The cost makes no difference, dahlink. Gabriel was wrong to do what he did, and if you don’t want it happening again, then it is up to you to let him know, although . . .”
I stared at her as her voice trailed off. “Although what?”
“Well, you did let him buy you an apartment and a new car,” she pointed out.
“But at least I had some say in both of those things.”
The apartment was one thing, but the car was a different matter altogether. I’d been upset when Gabriel had insisted I give up the POS. Iffy brakes, which had been on my needing-to-get-checked-out list, made the vehicle, according to him, unsafe to drive. I might have been able to swing the odds in my favor if new brakes were all that were required, but the POS had other problems. The kind that required a mechanic who would relish the challenge of working without the help of computer-aided diagnostics.
“So it’s the scrap yard then?” I’d asked, feeling an unexpected prick behind my eyes.
“Absolutely not,” Gabriel assured me. “This car is a link to your father, and you can keep her for as long as you want. I’d just feel better if you didn’t drive her.” He’d held me close, surprising me that he understood how strong a pull a couple of tons of steel had on me. “Let’s see if we can get her fixed up, and maybe restore the original paint job?”
“What’s wrong with the color she is now?” After all these years I’d grown quite fond of the unique Pimping-It-Purple shade a previous owner had chosen.
“Absolutely nothing,” Gabriel said, his attempt at nonchalance not quite disguising his shudder. “In the meantime you can take your pick of anything here.”
I was far too intimidated to drive anything in his garage, and as most of his vehicles had stick shifts, it was the perfect excuse to decline his generous offer. Which left me with no choice but to allow him to buy me a new car. And that, I suspected, was his intention all along. The Dodge Charger met with his approval, the Plum Crazy color not so much. Still, he was smart enough not to make any disparaging comments, and for that I thanked him.
A Vampire's Honor Page 3