I swallow hard, feeling the lump of fries hit my stomach. I feel queasy. I feel lightheaded. But most importantly, I am just as smitten with him as he is with me. With a shaking hand, and not knowing what else to do, I reach for the milkshake and take a slow and probably not very sexy sip, pondering what I want to say in return. There are so many things. How do I tell him I feel the same way? We're sitting in the In-N-Out Burger, for God's sake.
Words fly through my brain, lost and unspoken as I nervously finish the last of my burger and fries. He knows what I'm thinking. But after everything we've been through together, I feel like I need to say something. Not just sit here and eat. But this food feels safe. I know what I'm getting with an In-N-Out burger. With Dr. D, I'm not so sure.
"You're not saying anything," he says flatly, which totally takes me off guard. "You do not feel the same, I think."
I almost spit my milkshake across the table. "Oh, God, I definitely feel the same. You have no freaking idea," I blurt, feeling the tension between us as it pulls even tighter, nearly snapping right there in the middle of the In-N-Out Burger.
He reaches across the table for my hand and runs his thumb over my knuckles before giving my hand a little squeeze. "Do you?"
I nod shyly, my face on fire. "And stop doing that sexy, sucky-lip thing when you look at me, because you're making me crazy. Please stop."
He pulls me so abruptly to my feet that my milkshake goes flying across the table, suggestively spewing bits of cream in all directions. Greg and I would laugh at that for hours, but I'm not laughing now. I try to save my milkshake, but Dr. D pulls me tightly to him.
"Leave it," he says in a low voice. "I'm taking you home now."
Whoa.
It takes a lot for me to leave a half-finished milkshake behind, but I make the sacrifice. Struggling to match Dr. D's giant steps, I bound out of the restaurant with him, my hand clasped tightly in his.
"Where is home?" I ask, suddenly nervous. "Do you live in a castle? You're not going to make me sleep in a coffin are you? Why am I so nervous? Why am I talking so much? God, I feel so stupid. You probably think I'm stupid."
He presses me up against the side of the car, his strong legs straddling my small, puny ones, and takes my face firmly in his hands. "Miss Kelly. Please shut up and let me kiss you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As we make our way deep into the Hollywood Hills, I start to wonder where exactly Dr. D lives. I'd never given it much thought before. I know for a fact that the man isn't hurting for money, but we're in multimillion-dollar territory now. Maybe even castle territory. It feels surreal to me. The only time I've ever been in multimillion-dollar territory before was by accident, or if I was helping my mother clean someone's house.
Dr. D's hand has moved to catch mine a few times, four times exactly, but he hesitates every time, fumbling with the radio or another glowing knob on the dashboard before returning his hand to the steering wheel. A wayward strand of wavy hair that has fallen over his forehead thwarts his most recent attempt. He snags his hand through his hair before returning it to the steering wheel. I know he feels just as weird about this as I do, but has he given the "what's next" part any thought?
He's a man. And a vampire. Of course, he has.
He also knows just as well as I do that once we cross this line, I'm not sure we will be able to stop. I'm staring out of the window when I feel his fingertips graze down my forearm, sending shivers down my spine until they meet with mine.
"Okay?" he murmurs, lacing his fingers through mine.
My throat constricts with giddy excitement.
"I was waiting for you to do that."
I settle my hand comfortably in his, feeling an ear-to-ear smile stretch across my face as I stare out the window at the enormous, sprawling properties that seem to go on forever.
"Relax," he whispers. "You're as stiff as a board."
"I-I am really… I wasn't expecting…"
I turn to look at him.
"What?" He smirks at me. "You weren't expecting me to actually like you, Miss Kelly?"
"I thought… I mean, I didn't know. I thought maybe you did, but I don't know. I am just a college kid, and you're… not."
I press my lips together and take a deep breath. I need to remember to breathe.
"Technically, I'm not that much older than you are."
I hesitate a moment before I ask, "And just how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-seven," he says with a lazy grin.
I knew that much already from all the times I'd stalked him online. I want to know his real age, in immortal vampire years.
"How old are you really?"
I grit my teeth, waiting for him to answer.
"Release the death grip on my hand, and I'll tell you."
The music thrums a heavy beat that feels like it's pounding against my temples. My heart is racing, and I can't tell if it's because of the way his thumb is deliberately moving across my knuckles, or because he's about to tell me his actual age. I'm not sure I really want to know.
He exhales slowly. "I'm twenty-seven," he says again. "Going on… 927." His voice rises slightly as if he has to question his own age. He probably does. Anyone would need to keep some kind of record after nearly one thousand years.
"Years?" I practically shriek, feeling the blood rush from my head. "Holy shit. What are we doing?" I attempt to pull my hand from his, but he only squeezes tighter. "I can't…"
"You asked," he says calmly. "I was twenty-seven years old when I was turned. Does it really make a difference?"
"Does it make a difference? Professor, you're a walking history book. You've lived through the Black Plague, and King Henry VIII, and the Hundred Years’ War. And even the Spanish Inquisition. Holy crap." I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. "And—"
"I also lived through the disco era, Miss Kelly, and I assure you it was far worse than anything the Dark Ages threw at me." He gives me a playful wink. "Someday I'll tell you all about it," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.
I've joked with him about his age before, but truthfully, it had never really sunk in until now. It's amazing how intimidating immortals can be when you decide you're crazy about them. Christoph von Drauchenberg is already intimidating enough without the whole immortal thing thrown in.
"I know the thing with Madeleine hurt you," he admits. "The night before. You looked so beautiful. I almost took you right then and there. But I didn't know… I didn't know if it would be reciprocated."
I am numb with shock.
"Why didn't you just tell me? Or put your sleek vampire moves on me? Something so I would know," I whisper. "She's a model. A stunning French model, and I—"
"She's also a conniving, manipulative witch who thinks she can show up whenever she feels like it and expect my world to completely revolve around her." His hand tightens inside of mine.
"And here I thought it was my job to bring out the absolute worst in you," I say with a snort.
"You've taught me patience," he says slowly. "And restraint. Lots of very painful and torturous restraint." His thumb brushes roughly against my knuckles again, sending shockwaves of desire rippling through me. "And you are a thousand times more beautiful, inside and out, than she ever could be."
I'm still not used to Dr. D in his complimentary state. I feel my face redden and take a deep breath. I have to remind myself to breathe around him.
"Do you prefer to be with… humans? Like that? And not vampires?"
A slow smile spreads across his face as he appears to ponder this question.
"When they look like you do, Miss Kelly, and when they are as full of fire and passion and deadly light as you are. Yes. Yes, indeed."
My heart is going to explode.
"And all this time, I thought I was just this annoying, immature little college freshman who liked getting under your skin."
He laughs, which isn't something I hear very often, but I love the sound of it.
"Well, you are annoying.
And you definitely know how to get under a man's skin." He chuckles softly. "But I am absolutely crazy about you, Miss Kelly."
I don't even notice that he's parked and turned off the ignition until he gets out of the car and comes around to my side. I stare around the brightly lit detached garage, inhaling the rich new-tire smell, my jaw hanging to the floor. Vintage cars of all kinds are arranged in neat rows so that the entire garage looks like a showroom. Greg had always been into old cars.
"This is crazy," I breathe, trying to mentally take myself out of the situation and examine the bigger picture. "You're… my boss. You conduct the UT Symphony. I shouldn't be here like this with you. Plus, the Unseelie. And… you… really have a ton of cars."
"I am crazy about you," he says again, stepping in front of me and taking me by the shoulders, blocking my view of the priceless automobiles. "I've been crazy about you since the moment I met you." He stares helplessly at me, as if ashamed of admitting it. "But I understand your fear and your concern." He takes my bags from the trunk and laces his fingers with mine as we walk along a cobbled path up to a vast Spanish stucco marvel that looks like something out of the golden age of Hollywood.
He lives at the top of a hill that overlooks the ocean. I stare out across the water, enjoying a seclusion that's so rare in Hollywood. The night is dark, so dark in fact that I can't tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins. Dr. D doesn't just live in the mansion on top of the hill. He owns it, and the entire hill. I inhale the salty ocean air, feeling a cold breeze whip through my hair. He is like the king of L.A. up here.
The winding garden path from the garage leads to a side entrance of the house, which even in darkness is unmistakably a sunroom, complete with indoor lap pool and hot tub. I laugh to myself at the irony of a 927-year-old vampire who has his own private sunroom.
"That's a myth," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "We can tolerate sunlight. It's extremely uncomfortable for long periods of time, probably more so for newly created vampires, but it's not impossible. Over time, we develop a tolerance for it."
I nod slowly, wondering what it must feel like to be a newly created vampire.
We head up a flight of stairs so that we're on the ground level and then wind through a short, narrow hallway before we reach the entryway of the house. I stand in a state of complete awe as I gape at the double staircase that looks like something out of an old black-and-white movie. He squeezes my hand reassuringly. He knows I've never been in a place like this in all my life.
"Say something," he says, a look of concern creeping onto his beautifully chiseled face.
The interior of his estate has a stunning mixture of antique and Art Deco design, all combined into a tasteful, minimalist masterpiece of a home.
"This is the most beautiful home I've ever seen," I breathe, realizing how childish I must sound.
I come from the ghetto. I've never walked on marble floors before, and I've certainly never been inside a home with a double staircase and a massive chandelier in the entryway. At least, not as a guest.
A big, barrel-chested man wearing a uniform consisting of a short black coat and tie, black pants, and a crisp white shirt nods as he walks past us.
"Good evening, Dr. von Drauchenberg," he says in a formal yet friendly tone.
Feeling my pulse racing, I turn to Dr. D. "You have servants?" I hiss.
"Not servants," he says, biting back an amused grin.
"Do you have a whole staff of people?" I look around, hoping to find old-school servants in Victorian uniforms and little bonnets. "Including Sebastian?"
"I have a butler and a housekeeper who live here. When I have guests, I hire bartenders and chefs to take care of food and drink. And I have a gardener that comes once, sometimes twice a week." He lowers his gaze and fumbles with the strap of my violin case, which is slung over his shoulder. "Is that… bad?"
"No," I say. "No, professor. Of course not. I just had no idea… You're a professor. I-I mean, I know you are world-famous and blah, blah, blah, Grammy-winning composer of lush and beautiful movie soundtracks and…" I stop, biting my lip. "I had no idea you were so stinking rich." I take a breath. "I am so out of my league here." I slump against a table, nearly knocking over a giant vase of colorful, freshly cut flowers.
Dr. D is staring at me wide-eyed, and I don't know if he's about to start laughing or if I've made him mad.
"First off," he says, setting my bags down on the cool, marble floor. "Stop calling me professor. When we're alone, please call me Chris." He cradles my face in his hand, running his thumb along my lower lip and sending more waves of desire coursing through my body. "Secondly…" He trails off as I fall into the clear blue depths of his eyes. "I just want to kiss you again. May I?"
My stomach jumps nervously. I am here. In his ridiculously lavish home. I'm on his turf now. And he wants me. And not just to distract me from killing someone this time, either. I don't know what to do with that.
Except kiss him. Jesus Christ, what are you waiting for?
"Uh, okay?" I say meekly. "That's fine?"
Way to be cool, Sophie.
Chris doesn't seem to notice though. He leans in, slowly at first, tilting my face up to meet his. My heart pounds, and I can hear the sound of my own breath as I inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Oh God, he's going to kiss me. Why am I nervous? Do I have a weird look on my face? He's about to kiss me. Do I look too eager? What is he thinking? His lips brush softly against mine. My knees start to tremble and my legs go numb. He hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me tighter against his muscular frame.
Hesitant and trembling, I reach up, snaking my hand through the soft, dark waves that frame his face. He sighs softly before deepening our kiss, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. The stubble of a day-old beard scratches my cheek and chin as he trails kisses along my jaw, down to my neck, across my throat.
"I want you," he breathes, his breath hot against my neck. His free hand snakes through my hair, pulling me closer. I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling the hard lines of his body.
Then something snaps inside of me, and I am overtaken by a vision so compelling it nearly knocks me off my feet. I see him in chains against a cold, damp stone wall. Leaning forward. Unable to stand. Long, unwashed hair. Soiled rags for clothes. Bloody. Bruised. There's a large gash in his side that's beginning to fester. He looks up, almost as if he can see me, though I know this event has long passed. Or has it? I have no way of telling whether this is foreshadowing the future or retelling the past.
"Help. Me."
His whisper is dry and parched. His eyes are pleading. But there's nothing I can do. I stand there. Motionless. Useless. He can see me. But I am just an onlooker.
A huge, hulking man enters and moves slowly to a stone slab in the middle of the room, unrolling a leather pouch filled with crudely sharp and oddly shaped implements. Implements one might use to torture someone.
"No." I break our kiss and wriggle out of his embrace, terrified by what I have just seen.
He looks at me, his eyes full of concerned alarm.
"What is it?"
I stare at him for a moment and try to catch my breath. I've ruined it. This perfect, beautiful moment with him, and I've destroyed it.
"I'm sorry," I say softly. "I'm so sorry, Chris. I don't know what is happening. But I just had the strangest… vision. I don't know what else to call it. I've never had anything like that happen before." I curse under my breath. "Why must all these things happen at the most inopportune moments?"
"Welcome to the supernatural realm," he says grimly. "What did you see?"
I debate with myself for a moment and then decide to tell him exactly what I saw, which may have been a mistake, because when I am finished recounting my vision, his face is white with terror.
"What? What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?" I reach up to stroke the side of his face. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."
"You saw me," he mutters. "You saw my past, Sophia. I don't
know how or why, but that's what you saw."
"You were tortured?"
The thought makes me feel sick.
"Oh, many times," he says, brushing it off with a wave of his hand and an awkward laugh. "What you saw sounds like one of the Crusades. Probably the First Crusade. Back when I was dumb enough to fall for all that Templar garbage."
"You were in the Knights Templar?" I breathe, fascinated. "The real Knights Templar, not the Monty Python one?"
He frowns and cracks a hint of a smile. "That was a long time ago. A very, very long time ago. How could you possibly have seen that?"
I start to describe how the images just played out in my mind like a terrible, gory horror flick but decide against it. It's likely not something he wants to relive.
"I have no idea. It's not like you have old pictures lying around. Of you in your Templar uniform. At graduation or something." I pause and chew my lip, ready to lighten the mood after that terrifying image. "I bet you looked hot."
"Smelled hot too," he says, laughing. "You have no idea how far personal hygiene has come, Miss Kelly."
I make a face, trying to keep things light, but the reality of this, of him, is hitting me hard. This is not just a hush-hush, taboo fling with a twenty-seven-year-old professor. This is raw and intense. This man is immortal. Is this something I can handle? Is this something I want to handle?
Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1) Page 16