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If he lived to be a hundred he didn't think he'd ever understand women. He'd roped steers that weren't as cantankerous. Last night when she showed up at the ranch with no warning, he'd thought he was dreaming. He'd been lying in bed half asleep and suddenly there she was, in his room, as if he'd just conjured her up.
His cock swelled and pressed against his fly at the memory of her hands on his body, massaging and rubbing. He hadn't thought he'd be able to participate, as worn out as he was, but Selene managed to coax his body to mate with her in a hot, lazy coupling. Her voice had enveloped him like molasses as she took him into the wetness of her cunt and drew his response out of him.
Like a Mistress. Like the Mistress she told him she was.
It had all been so good, and then he'd gone and fallen asleep, asshole that he was. He'd make it up to her, if he could just get her to talk to him.
The hours dragged by as he did his best to pass the time in the office. A few times he lounged in the entrance to the main room, checking out the crowd. Checking out Selene. But she either scowled at him or ignored him completely.
He crafted a few apologies in his head, but as time passed, he couldn't help feeling the punishment wasn't exactly matching the crime. He'd been worn out, and at least he'd made sure she'd had pleasure before he dropped off. She was the one who'd shown up unexpected. Damn it, he wasn't a cringing doormat, and if she thought she could talk to him like dirt just because he let her tie him up, they needed to talk that shit out.
He'd reached the end of his patience by the time he heard the sound of people leaving, Carol and Manuel calling good night. Finally--finally!--he heard the tap of Selene's heels on the concrete floor as she headed for the office. He forced himself to wait, sitting at his desk, as she opened the door and stepped in, carrying the drawer from the cash register.
"I see you're still here."
How could someone who looked so fragile exude such strength and control? But isn't that part of what draws me to her?
"In case you forgot," he drawled, "I own the place."
"In that case," she retorted, "you'll want this tallied and locked up for the bank. That means moving out of that chair."
He dropped his booted feet from the desk where they'd been resting and leaned forward. Taking the cash drawer from her, he set it on the desk and rose to come around it. Before she could move away, he'd curled his fingers around her wrists. When she tried to tug free, he tightened his hold.
"Enough," he said. "I know why you're pissed off at me and I should at least get a chance to apologize."
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry I fell asleep, okay? It was more than rude of me." Sitting his ass on the edge of the desk, he reeled her in closer until she was standing between his thighs. "My only explanation is I was worn out from a hard day of work and you took what little energy I had left. It won't happen again. You have my word."
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night. I owe you an apology." He frowned. "Isn't that why you're so pissed off at me?"
She took so long to answer him, the regret he'd battled all day surged over the irritation. Had he lost her already? He was seized with an uncommon need to pull her tightly to his body and demand she forgive him. To tell her she belonged to him. That she was his and no one else's. But for once in his life, common sense took over. He had an innate sense that was exactly the wrong tack to take. As hard as it was, he had to force himself to wait for her to say something. Anything.
Her mouth had tightened, and she suddenly looked drawn, tired. "This isn't your fault. I told you to go to sleep and you did."
He stared at her, puzzled. "Then what's this all about? I ask you out on a date, you show up in my bedroom and fuck my brains out. Now you won't talk to me."
She shifted her attention to where his fingers gripped her wrists. At once he released her, although he was afraid she'd turn and run out the door.
Selene backed away from him, that inner battle reflected in the turmoil in her eyes. She inhaled and let her breath out, the movement tightening the fabric of her dress across her breasts. Normally it would have been distracting, but there was something far bigger in the room, making it hard to breathe for the wrong reasons.
"I can't do this, Quinn. I know this is hard to understand, and I shouldn't be taking it out on you. In my world..." She gave a half laugh, tinged with bitterness. "In your world, I'd be eligible for retirement. Yet in my world...I always thought it was bullshit, what they said about age, made vampires, all that."
His brow creased, but he held his tongue. If he started asking stupid questions, she might stop talking, and fortunately, whatever she'd been holding inside looked like it was ready to boil forth.
She paced to the back of the office, turned and leaned against the wall. She settled her hands in a fold behind her, which raised her breasts, accentuated every lovely line of her body. What made it even more provocative was how unconscious it was.
"I'm sixty-two years old, Quinn. Given the average lifespan for a made vampire is four hundred to six hundred years old, I'm barely out of my teens. When I was made, it was explained to me that made vampires have impulse problems, especially in the first hundred years. It's why we're kept so close to our sire or mentor during the first fifty or sixty years, and then it's up to that sire to decide when to loosen the reins, give a young vampire more independence, the ability to move more freely around your assigned territory. Have your own career, job, relationships, what have you. If you don't have a sire, you're assigned a mentor who takes on that role. A mentor isn't held as strictly responsible if you screw up as your sire would be, but it's still a heavy responsibility."
"You had a mentor instead of a sire?" he ventured. She nodded.
"There's a prejudice toward made vampires in our world. The born vampires are our aristocracy. If you're merely born a vampire, you're given the title 'lord' or 'lady' at birth." Her lip curled derisively. "You have to become an overlord to earn that as a made vampire, and very few of us do that. So I didn't give the issue of 'impulse control' much credit. Just figured it was more of the snooty born vampire bullshit, trying to make us feel inferior. I should have listened better."
Her gaze locked with his. "Last night I almost second marked you when you were awake, and then, when you went to sleep, I came so damn close. Too close. It would have been inappropriate of me to mark you without giving you a choice. A fully informed choice."
Quinn didn't know whether to rejoice that the problem here was not with him or to turn her over his knee and paddle her ass for putting him through this. He straightened.
"Selene, I told you last night, I want whatever it takes to bind us together. Anything. I've made my choice."
She shook her head, flattened herself against the wall as if she'd step back farther if
she could. "Stop it. You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me, because whatever it is, it's eating away at you."
Again a silence stretched between them. This time when she raised her lashes he saw her eyes had gone cold, empty. Eerie and still.
"In my world, your consent is the only thing required," she said, low. "After that, every choice belongs to me. Do you understand that, Quinn? There's no law against me killing you if you displease me, whether it's quick, or I torture you for days. It's ironic that they give you the choice to become a slave, but that's the only choice you have. Then there's my own status. I am nothing in my world, the lowest on the feeding chain. If another vampire wants to use my servant for himself or herself, I have no choice but to allow it, a twisted form of hospitality rule."
She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Every vampire is required to attend his or her overlord's gathering once yearly, where that can and will happen, with a multitude of other servants."
He digested that. Did he believe all this? It was getting hard to discount it, especially with the complexity of it, the depth of her obvious belief. He supposed that was her point, to shove him toward the "bitch is crazy and back away" side of things. He cleared his throat. "I'm guessing made vampires think about this stuff more than born vampires. You're still human enough to have a conscience about it. Obviously."
Pain crossed her gaze. "Yes. Though that feeling goes away with the years. I was told that as well, didn't believe it either, and now I've already done more than I should with you, than conscience should allow."
"But other than that, what's the problem?"
She stared at him. "I get that you don't believe any of this, Quinn. But don't make light of this or mock me."
"I'm not." He injected enough steel into his tone to win an answering spark in her eyes. "I honestly don't know what to believe, Selene. Yeah, a part of me keeps wanting to say you're just some insane, hot woman with the delusion she's a vampire. But maybe I'm just as crazy, because there are things about you that tell me that might not be the case. I might not be to the point I can say out loud I believe it, but I'm not entirely on the not-believing side of the fence. But that's not the point. You are. There's more to this for you. I feel it. What is it?"
