Therefore, I made sure I was in a relationship most of the time.
Which meant I’d been in and out of relationships since I became eligible for my first Selection at eighteen.
Out of desperation, because I didn’t like to think I was an idiot but that was more likely the case, I’d picked all the wrong guys. Justin, the last, was the most wrong of all. And I stayed with them longer than I should in order to keep myself safe.
Maybe, just maybe (and I wasn’t putting a lot into that “maybe”), I’d been wrong.
Which meant two things.
One, I’d have to apologize to Lucien for being a judgmental bitch. Two, I’d have to ask him to speed up his instructions so I understood more about the life I was meant to be leading.
Then I’d make my decision.
The one thing I knew was that, however it went between Lucien and me, I wasn’t going to let him break me.
I’d meet him halfway.
If he wasn’t willing to do that then we were back to square one.
Obviously, even the tranquility of the lake didn’t stop me from thinking about Lucien.
I’d heaved myself up and walked back up the path. When I got to the house, I made the marinade, slid the chicken breasts in and put it in the fridge.
Then I decided to spend the rest of the day drowning my sorrows in food and numbing my mind with television.
My unfocused sight cleared and Lucien’s chest and, incidentally, Katrina’s scratch marks were completely healed, became defined again as my thoughts turned to last night.
Why I had that reaction to him feeding on someone else, to smelling her perfume, I didn’t know. But there was no denying it. I did.
In all the hateful feelings I’d had for the last two weeks, having Lucien touch me while he smelled and tasted of another woman was by far and away the worst.
Because it hurt. A lot. Too much.
I knew it shouldn’t, I had no claim on him.
But it did.
And I got it then. I understood. I knew why there was always this hint of sadness in the very backs of my mother’s eyes. And I knew the minute he told me I didn’t understand the way of his people that I couldn’t live this life.
Not as Leah Buchanan.
I’d have to be A Buchanan from The Premier Family of Vampire Concubines. Not impatient, not short-tempered, not stubborn, not immature, not anything that was me.
I’d have to be the good, perfect, dutiful concubine like my annoying cousin Myrna.
For what could be years, I was going to have to channel goody-two-shoes “I’m gonna tell on you” Myrna.
And that totally and completely stunk.
But, I told myself, I could live with that in the beautiful house, close to the beautiful lake with my beautiful clothes and, it must be said, with Lucien giving me mind-boggling, body-rocking, unbelievable orgasms if last night was anything to go by, and feeding all the time which, I had to admit, was sublime.
And he would do whatever he wanted to do which he would anyway.
Then he’d release me and I could go on.
But not with that sadness. He wasn’t going to get me to like him (or worse) and then break me that way.
I didn’t even know if I liked him and the pain of having him touch me, make my body feel like it was vibrating with life, his big, solid warmth surrounding me, making me feel precious, fragile and, above all, safe while I could smell her and taste her was bad enough.
If I actually did like him, I’d be really screwed.
Luckily, I didn’t like him so hopefully I’d be safe.
It was on this thought that his hand, which was curled at my hip drifted up my back and tangled in my hair.
“Are you awake, pet?” he asked in a sexy, rough, drowsy voice.
I tried not to shiver and failed. I also tried not to let him calling me “pet” feel like it was lacerating my heart and failed at that too. Then I tried not to wonder if he called the nameless, faceless her of last night “pet” and I failed at that as well.
I nodded my head, my cheek sliding against his skin. His hand fisted in my hair and he gave it a gentle tug. I looked up at him and his eyes caught mine.
“I’m hungry,” he murmured.
He wasn’t talking about eggs and bacon for breakfast hungry therefore I felt a rush of heat between my legs and my nipples contracted.
His eyes went lazy and he whispered, “Come here.”
I was about as “here” as anyone could get but I knew what he meant. I slid up, my body rolling deeper into his as his other arm came around to assist, hauling me up further and pulling me over him so I was mostly on top.
His hand guiding my head, my lips hit his and he kissed me.
I closed my eyes and all of a sudden I wanted desperately to cry.
He was a really good kisser but this wasn’t our flat out, fight for supremacy, hungry, sexy duel. This was a soft, sweet, morning kiss that felt nice and wonderful.
It was then I began to see the flaws in my new plan.
His lips broke from mine, traveled to my cheek, down to my jaw then to my neck. My legs moved restlessly as a really good kind of warmth tingled through my system.
His hand at my waist slid up my back to my shoulder, over it then, using only his middle finger to touch me in a whisper soft caress, slowly, unbelievably slowly, it traveled down my arm. I felt the goose bumps rising on my skin and they were the really good kind too.
“Do you want me to make you come while I feed?” he muttered against my neck and the answer to that was a big old yes. But I couldn’t believe he was asking me.
Was this some kind of test?
“Can we see how it goes?” I asked and my voice sounded breathy.
His hand in my hair tugged my head back so he could look at me. The fingers of his other hand curled around my wrist as he studied my face, his eyes thoughtful and maybe even a little wary.
“If that’s what you’d like,” he replied and I started to nod my head when he went on, a smile tugging his handsome mouth, “but I know how it’ll go.”
He didn’t wait for me to reply. His hand brought my wrist to his mouth while he kept his eyes locked on mine. I felt his tongue lash against the pulse at my wrist in a way that was so sensual, my breath caught.
His long fingers slid down, curling into my palm, dwarfing my hand in his much larger one. His mouth moved and all I felt was the flow as he began to feed.
It’s impossible to explain how beautiful this feeling was. If I hadn’t felt it, I wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps it had something to do with giving another being sustenance, nourishment, life. Perhaps it was lips locked and sucking. Perhaps it was bodies touching and other connections besides, both physical and emotional, both intimate.
Whatever it was, it felt great.
His black eyes held mine captive as he drew my blood into his mouth and I squirmed, the fire building, the need turning hungry.
I saw his tongue sweep my skin and then he let my hand go. I couldn’t help it, I felt and heard the mew of complaint escape my throat.
He grinned, rolled me away and his hand went to the drawstring on my pajama bottoms.
“I’ve decided I want you to come while I’m feeding.” He said this like it was some sort of tender challenge.
I was okay with that. Way okay.
“Okay,” I whispered.
His grin spread into an arrogant smile.
He swept the covers aside and my bottoms and panties were gone in the blink of an eye. He pulled me over him, yanking my knees so I was astride him, open and bared.
I felt extreme discomfort at this exposure.
For about two seconds.
Then he was kissing me and his hand was between my legs.
This kiss was a ravenous duel, both of us taking which meant, weirdly, both of us giving.
Then I thought nothing at all and everything I felt was beautiful.
His mouth went to my neck. I felt his tongue as I registered my own
mouth was tingling.
Then he was feeding and his fingers were inside me, his thumb manipulating me and it built fast. My heart started tripping, blood singing through my veins. My head tilted back to give him better access, my hips rocked into his hand demanding more of what he was giving me and all of it was good.
It built fast, it built huge, before it happened I knew it was going to be overwhelming.
But it wasn’t. It was consuming.
My climax was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was beyond beautiful. Better than even the night before, straight to life-altering.
I gasped then stopped breathing, my neck arching back, my hips grinding into his hand as it hit me in a wave of pure, perfect, toe-curling, breasts-swelling, moan-inducing bliss.
I felt his hand in my hair position my head but I didn’t know he watched until the pleasure slowly subsided and my eyes refocused.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze soft on my face.
Yes, there were definitely flaws in my plan.
So I didn’t have to look at his handsome face gazing at me with such rapt attention, I gave a gentle yank against his fingers in my hair. I didn’t try to escape but settled on top of him, my forehead in his neck as his hand carefully moved out from between my legs and both his arms circled me.
“Did you like that, sweetheart?”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to do me the favor of not calling me endearments.
I decided to let this go and nodded. I mean, the answer was obvious.
“Good,” he murmured as his arms grew tighter.
It occurred to me my body was exposed and I didn’t like it much about a nanosecond before he rolled me to my back, yanking the covers over the both of us.
He put his head in his hand, his elbow in the pillow and shifted his weight so it was resting against my side but he tangled his heavy legs with mine. I looked up at him as his other hand came up, fingers curling around my neck, thumb stroking against the now numb wound.
“What would you like to do today?” he asked quietly.
His eyes were both languid and alert, as if he liked what just happened but he needed to be prepared for whatever happened next. I thought this was strange but I was focused on his question.
Lucien was asking me what I wanted to do that day? Was this another test?
Clearly, I’d passed the last one but I didn’t want to try my luck. I’d always been terrible with tests.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “What are my choices?”
His response was immediate. “Anything you want as long as it includes me.”
No man would do anything a woman wanted. He might say he would then you’d somehow end up drinking beer, eating hot wings and watching a game at a bar where the waitresses wore short-shorts and skintight tank tops.
“Um…” I thought about it, my eyes sliding to the side. I felt his body start moving so my eyes slid back to see he was silently laughing, his lips tilted up in an attractive smile. “What’s funny?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head, didn’t answer and still grinning, he repeated, “What do you want to do today?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“Um…”
“Leah, think. The first thing.”
“Um…”
His voice dipped low, sultry and amused, an effective combination. “It isn’t hard, sweetheart.”
“Books,” I blurted and he blinked slowly.
“Books?”
“Yes, books,” I replied. “My stuff isn’t here yet and without a telephone or internet or a house to clean or a car and with Edwina gone, there wasn’t much to do yesterday. I don’t like TV, nothing’s ever on and whenever I sit in front of one I start eating like my stomach’s a bottomless pit so I need to go buy some books.”
His face changed. The amusement fled, it went blank and I wondered if this was an overshare. His eyes shifted away and stared unfocused at my pillow. This would have been all right except I saw close up a muscle jump in his cheek.
I didn’t think this was good.
I had momentarily forgotten that men, on the whole, weren’t really fond of shopping, even for books. Big, bad, male vamps were probably seriously not fond of shopping.
“We don’t have to buy books,” I went on hurriedly and his eyes sliced to mine, no longer blank but now broody and intense. Regardless I sallied forth, “We could –”
He cut me off and freaked me out by saying, “I’m sorry, Leah.”
Now, hang on a second.
Lucien was sorry? And he admitted it?
It was my turn to blink.
Then I asked, “What?”
His face dropped closer and his voice dipped lower when he repeated, “I’m sorry.”
I felt my heart start racing and Lucien did too or he heard it because his fingers tensed on my neck.
“You’re sorry about what?” I whispered, finding I was having trouble breathing and finding this was because I wanted to hear what he said next.
“I’m sorry I left you with nothing to do yesterday. I was so angry, I didn’t fucking think.”
I didn’t know what I expected to hear or wanted to hear but whatever it was, that wasn’t it.
Still, I said, “That’s okay.”
His head bent and he touched his lips to mine briefly before he lifted it again.
“We’ll get you some books,” he said softly.
I nodded.
“And I’ll see that the broadband is activated tomorrow.”
I nodded again.
“And, if you promise you won’t attempt to drive to Panama, I’ll give you the keys to the Cayenne.”
Boy, I must have passed the second test too.
“I promise I won’t drive to Panama,” I whispered.
The broody intensity went out of his eyes and he said, “Good.”
“I couldn’t anyway, I don’t have my wallet,” I told him. His eyes went broody intense again. “Or,” I went on quickly, “a map to Panama.” He stared at me and I continued, “Can you actually drive to Panama?”
He studied me a moment, his face softened and his lips twitched.
Okay then. Crisis averted.
Thank God.
“I’d rather you not find out,” he said.
“I don’t really think I want to,” I shared. “Panama isn’t one of my preferred on the run from a vamp locations.”
The lip twitch happened again and his hand shifted from my throat to my cheek then his fingers slid into the hair at the side of my head.
He cocked his head deeper into his hand and asked, “What is?”
“What is what?”
“Your preferred on the run from a vamp location.”
My eyes moved to his naked shoulder (this was a mistake, by the way, he had a nice shoulder but I had to power through it), “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you that.”
His body moved when his head jerked back and he let out a shout of laughter. Half a second later, his arms were tight around me and he was hugging me again, his face stuffed in my neck.
“Probably not,” he said against my neck, his voice still shaking with hilarity.
It was time for this to end. I could easily find things to put in my Why I Might Like Lucien Small Fireproof Safe when he was like this.
For instance, how good it made me feel when I made him laugh.
And that, I hated to admit it but it was undeniable, I liked it when he hugged me. He gave good hugs, tight and warm and with him being so big, I felt snugly and cozy and safe.
“I think I’m hungry,” I told his ear and his head went back.
His eyes were still amused when he looked at me and that look had to go in my little safe as well.
He brushed my mouth with his, pulled back less than an inch and rested his forehead against mine.
“Let’s get you fed and take you to town,” he murmured.
Oh hel
l.
That had to go into my safe too. All of it, the mouth brush, the forehead rest and him taking me to town.
Damn but it was getting freaking crowded in there.
He rolled over me, exited the bed but pulled the covers to, not exposing my lower half at all.
He leaned in, put fists into the bed on either side of me and said, “Take your time, sweetheart. Edwina’s likely gone. I’ll see what I can do about breakfast.”
Then he was gone, zoom, out of the room.
I looked at the clock and noticed it was nearly noon. Then I looked at the ceiling. Then I wondered if Lucien could make breakfast. Then I figured, since he’d lived hundreds of years, during one of those years he’d have to learn how to cook. At least make toast (or something).
Then I sighed because I couldn’t escape it.
If he kept acting like this, there was a big, ugly, gaping flaw in my plan.
This was going to be hard. Really, really hard.
Lucky for me, one of my bad traits would come in handy. I was crazy stubborn.
“I can do this,” I mouthed to the ceiling, not wanting Lucien to hear and hoping I wasn’t lying to myself.
* * * * *
I stood at the stove and slid the big spoonfuls of vegetable shortening into the skillet, the shortening melting as it hit the hot iron. As I did this, I considered the many mistakes I’d made that day and began to prepare not to make anymore that evening.
I didn’t discover if Lucien could cook. But I did discover he could toast a mean sesame bagel and put the exact right amount of cream cheese, smoked salmon and capers on it.
As we ate our bagels and drank our coffee, we didn’t talk. This was not companionable silence, it was uncomfortable or at least it was for me. I didn’t know what to say, seeing as I couldn’t be me. And I didn’t know why Lucien wasn’t talking. And I wanted to know why, like, a lot.
I tried to gauge his mood but failed.
What I did know was that he’d attuned himself to me. It wasn’t that he marked me. It was something else, something new, it made me feel less like I was drugged and more like I was pulsating. It was like he was trying to figure me out, source my mood.
I didn’t know if he succeeded but I guessed no as his quiet watchfulness lasted all day.