In a soft, wistful tone, she said, “I have to go now.”
“You really don’t.”
“Thanks again for the company.”
“Charlotte,” he said, savoring the taste of it, the way her eyes softened when he said it. “This isn’t necessary. I can have my driver here in a matter of minutes. We’ll take you anywhere you’d like.”
As long as it’s not anywhere near this man and his ice-cold eyes.
“I appreciate the offer.” Charlotte lowered her gaze, cheeks blushing, and Dorian wanted to freeze the moment right there, to stop the inevitable goodbye poised on her lips.
But he could no more stop time than he could reverse it.
“Technically I’m still on the clock,” she continued. “I don’t have a choice.”
He wanted to kiss her. To memorize the feel of those soft, plump lips, to welcome the warmth of her sigh against his ear one more time. But with the other man standing so close, Charlotte’s discomfort was obvious.
“It was lovely to meet you,” Dorian said instead, cursing himself, cursing the demons, cursing the man in the SUV, cursing the very witch who’d created the first vampires eons ago.
For all the blood and fury,thiswas the true bane of an immortal life.
Regret, heavy and inescapable, destined to haunt him for eternity.
“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said, resisting the urge to touch her face.
“Goodnight, Stranger.”
And then she was gone, climbing into the SUV without a backward glance.
Dorian took a deep breath, her scent lingering on his skin, despite the second dose of demon blood.
They may have said their goodnights, but it wasn’t agoodbye.
Not for him. Not by a long shot.
Dorian felt the burn of a dark gaze on his skin, and he glanced up to find the man watching him, a puzzled expression on his face. He schooled it quickly, rearranging his features into a mask of neutral disinterest.
“Mr. Redthorne.” The man offered a curt nod, then climbed into the backseat with Charlotte, shutting the door behind him.
It was only after the SUV vanished into a sea of taillights that Dorian realized he’d never actually introduced himself.
Chapter Twelve
As much as she hated to admit it, Rudy’s ill-timed arrival was just the bucket of ice water to the crotch Charley needed. Tonight was a crazy fantasy, and she’d enjoyed every mouthwatering second of it, right up until the part where they nearly got mugged.
Eventhatfelt like a fantasy—a blurry smudge of a story she could barely remember, no matter how hard she tried.
What was the point, anyway? Story time was over. Her clock had struck midnight, her stagecoach turned back into a pumpkin, and now Charley would return to reality, the man no more than a delicious memory of a life she could never have.
Resting her head against the tinted window, she closed her eyes and let the hum of the road vibrate through her skull, enjoying the last few minutes of silence before Rudy started up the inevitable third degree.
What do you mean, nada?
You didn’t find a single thing of value in that entire penthouse?
What’s wrong with you, Charlotte?
Are you sure you’re committed to this?
