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His eyebrows arched, but he was still grinning, amused by my greed. “Fifty thousand? There’s no prorated, special guest price available?”
I looked down toward the bruises forming on my arms, daring him to question the price. “Give me flak about it, and it will be seventy-five.”
He none-too-tenderly pressed my head against his collarbone with a thunk. “Apparently, you know more about negotiating than I give you credit for.”
I chuckled against his shirt and stayed burrowed there. We remained quiet as my breathing slowed. I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, winding it around my fingertips. His soft, cool lips rested against my forehead, and his arms pulled me tight against his solid chest. It would be so easy to imagine that he really cared, that we were a normal couple, cuddling up after a long day. But he didn’t care. He barely knew me. He was just clinging to the only person he knew who was willing to shelter him. And I was going to have to learn to prevent this sort of closeness if I was going to survive after he inevitably blew out of town.
I would have to invest in some Godiva, because that was really going to suck. But for now, it felt really good to share any sort of connection with another person, breathing or not.
He rubbed his hands along my arms, my back. My pulse evened out, and my eyelids drooped. And the incredible heaviness of ebbing adrenaline sucked the strength from my limbs. I was on the point of dozing off when Cal said, “Go take a shower. I’ll make you something to drink for a change.”
I nodded, wiping at my sticky, drying cheeks. “Something with vodka.”
I shampooed four times before realizing that I’d completely zoned out under the hot spray. Even with leave-in conditioner, the next morning was going to be a rough hair day. When I finished my shower, I drew back the curtain to find two fingers of vodka on the rocks waiting for me on the bathroom counter. I chose not to think about the fact that he’d been in the bathroom with me while I was naked. After all, I’d seen him “indisposed” often enough in the last few days.
I grabbed for my fluffy pink robe and slugged back the drink in one gulp … then immediately regretted it. I wheezed in a croaking gasp, my windpipe burning in the fumes of the ice-cold alcohol. “Holy Lord, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a grown-up drink.”
I bent over the counter, breathing out of my nose to lessen the sting. I was out of practice at this particular skill. Being a single pseudo-parent seriously screws with one’s alcohol tolerance.
I eventually emerged from the bathroom, wet hair combed and teeth brushed. Cal wasn’t in the master bedroom when I came out. I went upstairs to my room, determined to find the least attractive pajamas I owned. Standing in front of my dresser, I dropped the robe and opened the top drawer.
I heard a throat being cleared behind me.
I shrieked, turning around to find Cal standing in the doorway, holding another vodka and a bag of Jolly Ranchers that he must have found in the vegetable crisper. “Cal! Get out!”
“You saw me naked,” he noted, his voice irritatingly untroubled.
“This is why you’re not supposed to be on the second floor!” I cried, yanking my robe over my shoulders.
“Because you walk around nude?” he said, smirking. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Iris. You have a lovely body. Shapely calves, high, firm breasts, a sweet heart-shaped little—”
“Easy,” I said, glaring at him.
“Don’t be upset.” He waggled the glass at me. “I struggled all the way up the stairs to bring you this. You rewarded me handsomely.”
“If I hear you say the words ‘tit for tat,’ I am not above repoisoning you.”
Cal smirked. “But you feel better now, don’t you? Now that righteous indignation has replaced your fear?”
“Not really, no.” I tied the robe tightly at my waist and sat heavily on my bed. I scooted against the headboard and clutched an embroidered green pillow to my stomach. Cal put the drink on my nightstand and carefully sat on the end of my bed, on the opposite side. I appreciated that he was trying to give me some space, but it was still very strange to have a vampire perching on the blue log-cabin-pattern quilt that my grandma made for me. I dropped two green-apple Jolly Ranchers into the glass to flavor the vodka, a trick I’d learned when I’d outgrown wine coolers in college.
Sipping my drink, I told him in more detail about my walk through his dark house, about the empty front bedroom and being felt up by a randy, hungry vampire. He examined the bite mark at my neck, his face hardening, but he remained quiet.
“I don’t understand where he even came from,” I said, draining the glass. “Would the Council have left someone sleeping in your house? Like a guard?”
I cut my eyes toward his face, and the room spun a little. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had two stiff drinks on an empty stomach after blood loss. I blinked rapidly, and his frowning face wavered a little before my eyes.
“If they did, they certainly wouldn’t send someone who would bite an intruder. You would have been taken directly to the Council office for questioning. You would have cracked under their tactics and revealed my whereabouts in about an hour.”
“Thank you for your faith in me,” I deadpanned. “So I guess it was a good thing, then, that it was some rogue vampire squatter who molested me and fed from me against my will.”
His face softened. I closed my eyes to that pitying, guilty stare and felt a cool hand stroke my bare ankle. “I’ve never been bitten before,” I said, running my fingers over the raw red mark at my neck. “I didn’t care for it.”
There was an incredulous note in his voice now. “Never?”
“Never,” I repeated. “I work for vampires. I don’t fraternize with them.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “It can be very enjoyable for the …”
