Page 35 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

I don’t drag them away tonight. Julian notices. Of course he notices.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and stays there. The room changes. Nothing moves. Nothing has to. The air between us draws as tight as wire.

“You keep looking at me,” he says, his voice lower than it was a second ago.

“You’re looking at me too.”

“Yes.”

No excuse. No joke. No elegant deflection. Just yes. Plain and direct, the way his yeses always are when they matter. My pulse jumps.

“Julian.”

“Penny.”

“The town has a betting pool.”

“I’m aware.”

I stare at him. “You’re aware?”

“Theo is not subtle.”

“Twelve to one on never.”

The corner of his mouth moves. Then he leans slowly towards me, so slowly that I understand what he’s doing. He’s giving me time. Every inch is a question.

I could move back. I don’t.

His hand comes up beside my face, not touching me yet.

“Then let’s cost someone their money,” he says, and he kisses me.

His mouth is cool against mine, and it should be strange and it isn’t. Because it’s Julian, dark and controlled and careful until the second I put my hand into the front of his still-damp shirt and pull him closer. Then his restraint breaks. His fingers slide into my hair, and his other hand closes around my waist. Not hard, but there is strength in it. So much strength.

I kiss him harder, and his mouth opens under mine. The sound he makes is small and rough and completely unlike anything I’ve heard from him before. My entire body goes warm.

Somewhere in the back hall, rain is dripping into a stockpot. I do not care. Somewhere outside, half a rose trellis is probably headed for Canada. I do not care about that either. I care about Julian’s mouth. I care about the cool sweep of his thumb beneath my ear. I care that a man who does everything carefully is kissing me like being careful has become difficult.

He pulls back, only an inch. His forehead rests against mine. For the first time since I’ve known him, his composure looks genuinely damaged. I like it more than I should.

His thumb moves once along my jaw.

“I have just made things considerably more difficult.”

My stomach flips.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” he says immediately. His hand tightens slightly, keeping me where I am. “That is precisely the difficulty.”

I breathe out. His eyes are very dark now, red beneath the brown.

“The problem,” he says, “is that now I know what that’s like.”

I swallow.

“And?”