“About all I can say is that it’s in the law enforcement field.”
“That’s a pretty broad brushstroke. Is it dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do it?” she asked, although she thought she knew the answer.
“Because some risks are worth taking.”
Dom opened the first door in the hallway and climbed the stairs, his hand at her back.
Even with everything stripped away, when they were ordinary people doing ordinary things, they seemed to fit together. He pushed open the heavy steel door at the top, and they stepped out onto the rooftop garden. She gasped, her eyes widening, as she craned her neck to see everything.
“Oh. Dom. It’s...amazing.”
Candlelight from the chandelier hanging beneath the trellis danced in her eyes. If he hadn’t made that regrettable promise to her back at the art studio, he’d have pulled her into his arms right now. Instead, he turned to get the salads, but she stopped him with a light hand on his wrist.
“Thank you.” She lifted her chin to him, her green eyes fiery in the warm glow from the chandelier. He wondered if his own mirrored the same passion.
“For what?” he asked. “You haven’t even tried the food yet.”
“For everything. Just in case I forget to tell you later.”
He swept four fingers under her jawline. She was delicate, yet so strong. He wanted to place his lips there.
His erection strained against the seam of his jeans, and his palate throbbed as the tips of his fangs began to protrude. He quickly turned away and stepped behind her. Grabbing at the leather band around his wrist, he grimaced as he cranked the buckle tighter, the metal barbs of the cilice digging farther into his skin.
Holy shit. Chuck hadn’t been kidding when he’d said this thing stung like a sonofabitch.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip as his body acclimated to the higher level of pain. He took a few halting steps toward the outdoor kitchen, grabbed a towel and dabbed at the thin trickle of blood running down his forearm.
Chuck had told him he used one of these ancient self-torture devices to control his own feeding urges when he’d first married Shirl and met her large family. The pain it caused diverted his attention away from the blood desire.
He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Smooth again. He managed to set a couple of salmon steaks on the hot grill and returned to the table with the salads.
Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed to slits. She sensed his pain, of course, but didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t take the damn thing off, that was for sure. He wouldn’t dare take the chance. He flashed what he hoped was a distracting smile and sat down.
“How about you tell me your happiest memory?” Now it was time to keep himself diverted.
“Only if you will, too.”
He nodded.
“Okay, let me think.” She speared a large bite of salad and chewed. He liked that she not only ate—he’d been with plentyof women who didn’t—but that she did so with gusto. She put a finger up to indicate she must have come up with a story. Before she finished chewing, she began to speak, as if she didn’t start now, she’d forget what she was going to say.
As she recalled a visit to an amusement park, her eyes flashed with excitement. “My dad carried me around on his shoulders all day, hunting down every storybook character for my autograph book.”
He loved the musical quality of her voice, and her enthusiasm for just about anything. He could listen to her forever as she talked about purple toucans, fairy princesses, hot buttery corn and caramel apples.
“Do you still have it? The autograph book?”
The night turned suddenly quiet, and she picked at her salad. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly.
What had just happened? Why was she sad? “I’m sorry. Seems I have a knack for asking tough questions.”
“It’s just that I made my dad sign the last page before we left the park. Several days later was when he disappeared. That autograph book is kind of special, that’s all.” For several beats of her heart, her eyes had a melancholy, faraway look, but when she lifted her chin a moment later and smiled at him, her expression was warm and inviting again. “I guess I’ve had a bit of sadness in my life. I just hope I don’t come across as depressing or morbid. I try not to think about the past too much and dwell on things I have no control over.”
“You couldn’t be morbid or depressing if you tried.” He stared at her for a moment longer, wanted to comfort her, to draw her into his arms, but he didn’t because of that damn promise. Instead, he rose from the table and returned with their dinner plates.
