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A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t want to know the answer, but I have to ask. “H-how?”
“I’d make a deal with Thaddeus, the vampire king. Vampires can fuck with minds. Hypnotic suggestions and all that.”
The shiver turns into a shudder. “Okay. Wow. Vampires exist, too.”
He reaches out and squeezes my hand like he did in the stairwell. "You're safe with me, Madison. Do you believe that?"
I draw in a breath, considering. The connections are still coming together in my mind as I sort through all of our past interactions. When I view them through the lens of Brick being a werewolf, they make more sense. The weird rules about no fragrances in the building. The prohibition against silver. His reaction to having me show up in the Berkshires and spending Thanksgiving with the pack. The protectiveness of everyone around him.
I see what Blackthroat meant. It was never about our social status difference. I thought that because of my own hang ups with money, but it was a werewolf-human thing. I’m an outsider getting too close.
So am I safe with him?
Yes, I think I am.
His behavior toward me points only toward a steady and continued interest in me. He's not dragging me off to his place now to make me his wolf-dinner. Or turn me into one of his kind. Or even mind-wipe me with a vampire. I know when he's lying. He does that overly-scornful act.
Besides, why would he tell me about the vampire thing if he planned to use it on me?
“Yes,” I answer him out loud. “Why are we going to your place?”
This time there’s no mistaking the meaning behind his look. It’s positively feral. “Because, Windows, I haven’t feasted between your legs in over four days, and it’s absolutely killing me.”
I squirm in my seat.
Brick’s nostrils flare. “I can smell your arousal, sweetheart. Good thing we’re here.” He drives into an underground parking garage with a manned gate. The security guard waves to Blackthroat as he drives through. After a spiral downward we go through a few more gates–these automatic–and enter what appears to be a luxury car showroom. The spotless floor is coated in a gleaming pale silver epoxy, the ceiling has ultra-modern recessed light banks. A few dozen gorgeous cars worth eight figures each fill the parking spaces.
“What…where are we?”
“My garage.”
I barely hold in my gasp. “Your…personal garage?”
“Yes. But a lot of these cars belonged to my father.”
I’m dying. Literally dying. I’m not a car person, but if I were, I’d probably orgasm right here. There are Jaguars and Astin Martins, Porsches and limousines. New models. Old ones. All in mint condition. “Gulp.”
Brick walks around to take my hand when I get out. “Did you just say gulp?” He pushes me against a shiny red Ferrari and insinuates one muscular thigh between my legs.
“Yes.”
“Get used to my money, Windows.”
I confess to being a little drugged by his dominance. His pushing me up against the car and molding his body against mine has me breathless. So I blink up in confusion. “What?”
“You have a hang-up with money. A chip on your shoulder.”
“I have a chip?” I sputter.
His grin makes him look boyish. The way his hands roam inside the coat he bought me makes me squirm, and I rub my needy clit against his thigh wedged between my legs. “You definitely have issues with it.” He lowers his head and nibbles at my neck. “I want to spoil you with my money. Will you let me?”
Oh my gawd. It’s not dirty talk. I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to be, but everything in me electrifies at his words. My nipples turn as hard as diamonds, my core clenches. As much as he’s right–I do have hang-ups with his money–this request, delivered in Brick’s demanding, bossy way, nearly makes me come.
He wants to spoil me with his money.
I have parameters and definitions about money. I want to earn it. Legitimately. Through my hard work and brains. I don’t want it given to me. I resent people–like the Blackthroats–who had it handed to them without hard work or earning it.
I didn’t like finding out Eleanor Harrington paid for my secondary education or that I may have gotten financial assistance from Princeton through her connections.
