by Joey W. Hill
She would deny him nothing. Until dawn.
Chapter Fifteen
The train from Brisbane to Sydney wasn’t far from the coastline at most points, so she could smell the sea air through the open windows of their car. She didn’t know where Alistair had obtained the vehicle, but with it being so late at night, it could have been borrowed from an unsuspecting owner’s garage for all she knew. But it was clean, prepared. Having seen the size of his home, she thought he might have vehicles available to him anywhere he needed them. Whenever he had a wayward servant to retrieve.
As he drove, he clasped her hand, their tangled fingers on his thigh. He used the other hand to change gears, letting go of the wheel briefly to do it. Until she put her free hand on the gear shift, an unspoken willingness to help. A tacit agreement that she didn’t want to let go of his hand, either.
Anticipating the gear shifting was effortless with him in her mind, able to tell her right when it was needed. His thigh shifted under their combined grip, and she was aware of the muscles there. His gaze slid to her often, but they said little after leaving the train station. Yet they weren’t silent. There were things in the air between them that made it a living, breathing conversation, without any words being said.
He pulled onto a sandy road, lined with vegetation, and in short order came to a little sea cottage. It had a stone foundation, and the wooden siding was weathered. A blue wooden sign proclaimed it Hal’s Port. Beside the house was an old boat and a pair of rusted bicycles with vines twined through them, closed-up purple blooms showing between spokes and frame. A garden of spiky bayonet grass grew in the dirt-filled boat.
“Wait there.” Alistair exited the car, came around and opened the door for her, offering her his hand. It was something she’d expect from any male escort with manners, but she realized she’d needed his gentle reminder. The Mistress had done her job well enough that she hadn’t expected it from a vampire. A servant’s job was to serve him, not the other way around.
“Maybe it’s like anything else. You learn the rules, and then determine which ones apply to the situation.”
“And which ones can be broken?”
“And which ones can’t,” he said, but he squeezed her hand and drew her away from both the car and that troublesome topic. The stairs, though also weathered, looked sturdy enough. Alistair paused at the base of them.
“This cottage, at least the stone foundation and cellar area, is quite old. Built in the seventeen-hundreds by an ancestor of the last owner. Each son has had to do his fair share of repairs and replacement as the weather took its toll. Most of the original wooden structure is gone, but there’s a shelf inside that holds a few pieces of it. What wasn’t washed away by the temperamental next-door neighbor.” He cocked his head. “Hear it?”
She could. The roll of the ocean on a nearby shore. Giving her a half-smile, Alistair took her sure-footedly away from the cottage and through the darkness, broken only by the whiteness of the sand. He was guiding her along a path laced with sea grasses, which she knew would lead to the open beach. Her feet started to drag, her heart to pound.
Then she could see the froth of the surf. The moon was behind clouds, but there was enough light for it to glitter off the curves of the rushing breakers. A few lights dotted the shoreline, but not many. The air was full of clean night time salty ocean smell.
She balked. “Here is fine. Please.”
“Nina.” He turned toward her, blocking her view, and regarded her with knowing eyes. “It’s all right.”
“I know it. Don’t you think I know it, how silly it is? Just please…can we go back to the cottage?”
“In a minute. Stay right here with me.” He closed his arms around her, holding her in the cocoon of his body so she wouldn’t see it, so the sound was muffled, especially when he spoke against her ear.
“It’s not silly. I’ll take you back into it sometime. Help you feel better about it.”
“But you said vampires don’t swim.”
“We’re champion waders. I like the water, just not the swimming part. Maybe you can swim around me like a mermaid while I slog.”
That gave her a tiny smile. She wasn’t sure she wanted to smile yet. “Why does it matter? Why does it matter to you, how I feel about the ocean?”
About anything, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t be that cruel. But when she looked up at him, he didn’t look angry with her or her thoughts, though he was somber. He stroked a hand along her face.
“Because you used to love the sea. Since I’m part of what you feel has taken so many things away from you, I wouldn’t mind being the source of giving some back.”
She realized nothing was as dangerous to her sanity and the fragile state of her heart than his kindness. As if he knew how close she was to flying apart again, he spoke again, distracting her with less serious things. “There are a few scattered cottages here, but as you saw on our drive, this isn’t a hugely populated area. Mostly fishermen escaping from it all for a weekend.”
He turned her to face the cottage, his hands at her waist, and she let herself lean back against him. He crossed his arms over her, and she curved her fingers over them. He had strong forearms. A strong body, firm and resilient behind her.
“A vampire’s strength has a lot of uses,” he murmured. “I could stand here and hold you upon me, take you while standing, so there’d be no sand getting into unmentionable places, but you could feel the sea air on your bare skin, hold onto my shoulders and bury your face into my neck as I took you to climax.”
She trembled. “I’ve never done it, you know.”
“I know.”
Of course. She remembered how he’d asked her. Demanded to know if she was still untouched, that way. “Why did you require that?”
“I was selfish and wanted that gift for myself, Nina.”
He nudged her temple with his jaw, making her look up at him. “It was also more than that,” he said seriously. “This wasn’t the life you wanted for yourself. You imagined yourself giving your virginity to your husband, after a beautiful wedding. Nothing fancy, just every part of it well thought out. Flowers, a little church, a few friends. A party afterward with champagne toasts.”
He eased his grip to turn her, hold her at arm’s length, but to look her up and down, not to let go of her hands. “You’d have a neat little travel outfit and the two of you would drive away to a cottage on the coast. Something more female-oriented than this fishing shack, but still. Similar. You’d go into the bathroom, bathe, brush your hair, put on a lovely nightgown with lots of lace and sheer cloth. When you stepped out in it, he’d be momentarily overcome, thinking if he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the way you looked, a gift for him.”
The ache in her throat had grown to the size of a sharp-edged whelk. Alistair drew her back to him, turning her once more so his arms were crossed over her. “Do you think a vampire’s memory is any less sharp with the passage of years, Nina?” He murmured it against her ear. “We don’t forget what matters. None of us do. Even if it gets buried down where we think we have.”
He shifted, dipped, and her breath caught in her throat as he lifted her off her feet and headed back toward the cottage. He strode up the stairs without hesitation. When he reached the door, it was unlocked. He pushed it open, carrying her over the threshold.
Based on his description, she’d expected a very male abode, with the lingering aroma of beer and fish. Instead she smelled a clean, fresh home, populated with the scent of flowers. As he let her down, she saw the fresh bouquet on the table. Purple and white flowers, a spot of orange here and there. The furniture was rustic but comfortable, a wood-framed living room set of sofa and two chairs, all with wide arms and deep cushions, a blue-green plaid pattern. The kitchen table could seat six, the kitchenette possessed of modern appliances that gleamed. The ocean-facing side was mostly windows, with sliding doors to the deck. On the walls were seascapes.
She saw them when Alistair lit lamps on the tables, ig
noring the electric switches. She liked the ambient lighting, which let her see details but not any harsh realities.
Her knees quivered as Alistair drew closer, running his hands up her arms and back down again. Clasping her wrists, he brought her hands up to his mouth, kissed the knuckles, a palm. He made his way to one wrist, her other hand falling to his chest as he teased the artery, scored it with a fang, which had her drawing in a breath. His grip tightened on her wrist as he did it. It made her keep holding that breath, heartrate accelerating again. “Go into the bedroom, Nina. See what I left you there. Decide what you want to do with it. I’ll know when to come to you.”
He stepped back from her, but didn’t turn away, holding her gaze. Her hand was still on his chest. As she moved back, it slipped away, and she was aware of every inch of him she covered before that contact was lost.
The door to the bedroom was behind her. Over that threshold, she discovered a man-sized bed, taking up most of the space. Another bank of windows included a door to the deck. During daylight, she expected a person would wake to the sight of the shore. Alistair would never have had that pleasure, since he’d been a vampire for over three hundred years, and this cottage had been built later. Had he ever had the pleasure of seeing an ocean at dawn before he was turned?
So many of the questions she’d thought about asking him since she’d arrived had revolved around her situation, the answers containing information she might or might not welcome. The idea of asking him something simply to get to know him better was startling…and not unpleasant.
The bedspread was a masculine blue, similar to the color in the plaid living room set. The pillows were white and blue, with a print of a seagull above the bed, giving the room an airy beach feel. But then her gaze was caught by what lay upon the bed, and the rest of the details of the room disappeared.
Spread out on the bed was a peignoir set, in a butter-colored sheer fabric, edged with lace. A spray of fresh yellow flowers tied with a white ribbon lay next to them. And a card.
She drew closer. The bedside lamp threw its light on the words.
I’m glad you are mine.
If he’d been her husband, it might have said, “I’m glad you chose to be mine.” But she was here, wasn’t she? She’d as much as admitted she’d thought of him for three years. If she hadn’t been forced to bind to him because of circumstances, would she have chosen him anyway? Could she deny that for certain?
Of course not. There were too many unknowns, too much of her life derailed and destroyed, for her to predict a track that was no longer available to her.
She touched the fabric. So silken soft, it coaxed her to stroke it. Her gaze lifted to the dresser and her throat tightened. A brush and comb set had been placed on a mirrored tray. They were silver, with an intricate raised pattern of roses on both the backing of the brush and along the spine of the comb. The mirror tray, too, was edged with the roses. Another white ribbon was tied around the brush handle and trailed down the front of the dresser. The dresser itself was a scarred wood, but it had been draped with a blue cloth so it wasn’t that noticeable. A mounted mirror above it would give her a view of herself to the waist.
Music drifted in. He’d started up a record player. The Ink Spots, “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire.” The male voices rose and fell gently as they declared they just wanted to ignite a flame in their chosen woman’s heart. It was a song that suggested the woman in question was the center of their attention. The gift Alistair was giving her tonight, if she was willing to go along with it.
She knew what tomorrow would bring. Why not clasp what was being offered now?
She closed her eyes, thought of Alistair’s hands upon her. Putting her hands to her blouse, she slipped the buttons. Slow, not thinking, she did it like in a dream. The blouse slid to the floor.
She tilted her head enough to see the door in her peripheral vision. He was standing there, though as she glanced toward the mirror she couldn’t see him. Vampire. No reflection.
He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but that feeling from the car returned, so much compressing the air between them, giving it weight and heat.
Lifting her head so she was gazing at the mirror again, she unhooked the skirt, let it fall. Reaching behind her, she unhooked the strap of the lacy bra, let it slide down her arms. Then she released the garters to the stockings, which she bent to roll down, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.
Still no words from him, but something electric sparked through her mind, so strong she paused, her head down, her mind hyperaware of the picture she must be creating, naked from the waist up, back curved and hips tilted, one toe leaving the floor so she could remove the stocking. Then she straightened enough to do the other.
After unfastening the garter belt, she was standing only in the underwear. She hooked her thumbs into the sides, slid them off. As she’d removed her clothes, she’d done each piece slower and slower. At times her eyes had closed, for it felt like the fabric were his hands, his mouth, gliding along her too-tight skin. Were those his imaginings, or all her own?
When she dropped the underwear, she saw the blot of dampness that proved what she already knew, that her body was aroused. It didn’t feel practiced this time, not an automatic response to what The Mistress had trained into her. It was a direct reaction to his closeness. His palpable awareness. The male standing silently in the doorway, watching her undress. For him.
On unsteady legs, she moved to the bathroom. There was a shower, no bath. She turned her head in time to see him leave, cracking the door, giving her privacy. Time to bathe if she wanted to do so.
She did. She saw there was an unopened shampoo, verbena soap and razor, all the things a woman would desire. She had hair pins in her travel bag. But her travel bag was in the car.
Had been. Alistair entered again, the bag in his hand. He put it on the bed, looked at her a long moment, eyes sweeping over her bare body. She felt like a statue in a garden, no need for self-consciousness, though her fingers, resting lightly on the bathroom doorknob, tightened. He registered it, a muscle flexing in his strong jaw. Those cobalt eyes held her in place with the male hunger in their depths.
“Take the time you need, sweet nurse,” he said quietly. “But don’t take too long.”
Pivoting, he left her again, pulling the door to the jamb, but not closed. She could see a sliver of him, moving around in the living room. With her second mark, she picked up the light scent of a whisky, heard the clink of a glass. She might need one of those herself in a bit.
With a wry smile that twisted her confused and battered heart, she retrieved the pins from her travel bag and went back into the bathroom to pin up her hair. Running the water until it reached the temperature she wanted, she then stepped in and washed away the hours of travel.
She could have framed the things that went through her mind, tried to order and make sense of them, but that would have led to things she didn’t want to think about. It was as if he was giving her a wedding night, though he could give her nothing else, and even that wasn’t exactly as she’d envisioned. But something else had happened at Bangka Island, and maybe even before then, when she’d seen so many other people’s dreams lost. A person could hold onto the wrong things when it came to a dream, and miss the most important part, which was usually something very simple, the heart of it, really. Nothing could muck up a person’s happiness like their own head.
Hadn’t Alistair said something like that? So maybe vampires did it, too.
She stepped out of the shower, dried off with a thick, fluffy blue towel that smelled like lavender and sage. The bathroom door had been closed, the yellow nightgown hanging on the back. No peignoir to go over it. She suppressed a smile. “Decided against that, did you, cheeky fellow?” she murmured.
She’d dried herself, but her skin still felt damp. Soft to the touch. The nightgown flowed over her skin like water. The lace-edged, diamond-shaped satin piece at the waist was a gathering point for the tiny, s
himmering folds of sheer fabric that molded to her breasts. The sleeveless straps bared most of her shoulders and her back to the waist. The skirt was translucent, too, with scalloped lace points at the hem, which fell to her calves. There was nothing to go under it, so what was beneath was as visible as fingertips reaching through a mist. He would be able to see the shadow of her sex, the cleft between her buttocks.
Her body was tight again. Needing. She’d washed off any makeup. She’d come to him as she was. As Nina. Her brush and comb were still out on the dresser, so she assumed that meant he wanted to watch her do that part when she emerged.
She gazed at herself in the round mirror over the sink. It only provided a view of herself to just below her breasts. She could see the dark color of her nipples, their press against the fabric, the valley between her breasts, and their generously rounded shapes.
Her hair was damp at the nape. She liked the smell of verbena that wafted to her from her skin. Choosing not to think, only to act, she stepped out of the bathroom.
Alistair was stretched out on his hip on the bed. He wore his slacks, but had taken off shoes, socks, coat and shirt. He still wore the cotton singlet he’d had on beneath the dress shirt, which allowed her eyes to feast upon the curves of his biceps and chest, the latter molded by thin stretched cotton. He had the whisky in one hand, his elbow propped against the mattress.
She reminded herself to breathe again, holding his gaze. It was difficult to keep doing it, though, and eventually she looked away, down. When he didn’t move, she knew he was taking his time, looking at her, what was his, as long as he liked. The thought made her tremble harder.
“Brush your hair for me.”
She realized she wouldn’t have moved until he gave her leave. The uneasiness tried to push back through, but she wouldn’t allow it. She might not have a will against him at times, but against herself and her own thoughts, trying to take this night from her, yes, she would fight that tooth and nail.