by Bella Jacobs
Rourke grins, his dimple popping as he comes to stand beside me and reaches out to pinch my chin. “Look at that. She’s worried about us, Leo. Don’t fret, sweetheart, Leo and I have been starved and beaten before. Nothing we can’t handle and come out on the other side full of piss and vinegar. Especially piss.” He winces. “I could use a break. Be a love and pop upstairs to make sure the blackout curtains are drawn before Leo and I bring up the luggage?”
“On it.” I nod, pressing the keys into Leo’s hand before turning and trotting toward the elevator I spotted on the drive in.
I smile to myself on the way up, remembering a time when I assumed vampires didn’t do normal things like use the bathroom—or have a heartbeat or a reflection, for that matter. Until Leo and Rourke came into my life, I’d never met a vampire. I only knew the folklore.
I still don’t know much—I’ve always been too shy to ask questions, worried I’ll come off like the stupid human I am—but maybe that will change while we’re here. Looks like we’ll have plenty of time to chat.
The house is gorgeous, but small, without so much as a television or radio for entertainment. I suppose we’ll have to play the board games I spot as I’m pulling the living room curtains shut.
Or find other ways of entertaining ourselves…
“Off to a bad start, Eliza,” I mutter as I take care of the curtains in the master bedroom and move across the kitchen to the larger, bunk bed filled second bedroom. Less than ten minutes in and I’m already thinking about what it might be like to tumble into one of these beds with Leo.
Or Rourke. Or Leo and Rourke.
It doesn’t bode well, and my only comfort is that I’m way too tired to get into any trouble today.
By the time I tell Leo and Rourke that the coast is clear, unpack my suitcase in the master bedroom they insist I take, and fix myself a bowl of soup for a late lunch from the pantry’s abundant supply of canned foods, I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open.
The boys aren’t looking much better. Rourke is slumped in a chair, and Leo’s head hangs wearily between his shoulders as he braces his hands against the island in the kitchen, stretching his calves.
“I have to crash, guys. I’m sorry.” I lean against the frame of the door to the bedroom, fighting to hold up the concrete weights that have settled on my lids.
“No need to apologize,” Rourke says with a tired smile. “You’ve been up longer than either of us, and I’m knackered. Being awake during the day is easier than it used to be, but it still hurts a little.”
“I’ll take first watch while you both get some rest,” Leo says.
“Are you sure? There’re more than enough beds to go around.” Rourke nods toward the larger bedroom, where two twin beds sit side-by-side on one wall and a full-size bunk bed fills the corner. Clearly, this hideout was designed to shelter not only Rourke, but several of his nearest and dearest, as well. “The security system is state of the art, and I’ve never brought anyone from our world here. It’s so far off the radar, not even my master knows my name’s on the deed. It should be safe for us all to take a kip.”
Leo plants himself in one of the wrought iron stools on the far side of the island, turning his back on the softer, cushier furniture in the living room behind him. “I’ll keep watch for an hour or two. Make sure we weren’t followed. Maybe then I’ll turn in.”
“And maybe flowers will bloom out of my asshole,” Rourke says pleasantly. “Suit yourself, Mr. Control Freak.” He lifts a hand my way. “See you this evening, love. Sleep well and sweet dreams.”
He winks at me, a wicked wink that sends memories of that kiss by the garden flitting through my mind. In all the chaos of last night and the escape from Castle Doom this morning, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to think about that kiss.
But I’m thinking about it now.
And so is he, judging by the twinkle in his sea-glass green eyes.
God, that kiss…
It was a kiss to rival all other kisses, such a sweet, sexy experience that a misbehaving voice in my head insists we should make this nap a co-ed affair. But the other voice in my head—the reasonable, not ruled by my libido one—insists this isn’t the time or place. That there will never be a time or place because Rourke has serious responsibilities and the weight of his shiver’s survival on his shoulders and isn’t in the market for a “let’s have amazing sex and see where things go” kind of relationship.
And then there’s Leo. Leo, who probably wouldn’t be jealous, per se, but who certainly wouldn’t approve of Rourke and I shacking up in the same bed.
Leo, who I would also very much like to kiss…
Leo, who is watching me through hooded eyes, as if he can read every wayward thought flitting through my head.
“Right. Good night. Or good afternoon.” I lift a hand, waving at the insanely gorgeous men staring at me as I trip over my own feet and nearly take a tumble while I’m shutting the door between us.
This is a bad idea—me, Leo, and Rourke, all alone in a romantic lighthouse at the edge of the sea with nothing but the sound of crashing waves and a cabinet full of board games to occupy our time. The two of them might be old and wise and capable of exercising restraint, but I’m twenty-eight, not two hundred and eighty. And it’s been years since I’ve had good sex, let alone the supernova of pleasure I have no doubt awaits in any bed with Rourke or Leo in it. Eugene was a proficient, adequate lover at best, and an uninspired one at worst.
“And look how much trouble you got into with him,” I mutter to myself as I crawl under the perfectly heavy covers. “Just imagine how badly things could go awry with a gorgeous, sexy, ancient vampire.”
I try to scare myself, I really do, but as I drift off to sleep, the visions dancing through my head aren’t frightening at all. They’re only tempting—wild and wonderful, and just the right amount of wicked.
Chapter 16
I crash hard and sleep like the dead. Or the undead, I suppose—vampires are notoriously hard sleepers—and wake feeling refreshed but disoriented.
Is it still daytime? Nighttime?
Today, tomorrow, yesterday?
I have no idea.
“Pretty sure it isn’t yesterday. Unless we’ve entered a time vortex,” I say, rolling out of the giant bed. I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and brush my teeth, doing my best not to look at the nightmare that is the right side of my head.
“Don’t do it,” I mutter to my reflection. “Just don’t. Looking only makes it worse.”
“Everything all right in there?” a voice from outside the door asks, making me yip, jump, and bang my knee on the cabinet.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds. “Just wanted to make sure you had everything you need.”
Leo.
I limp to the door and open it with a laugh. “No worries. And yes, everything is great. Just talking to myself.”
“Makes sense. You’re good company,” he says with a nervous-looking smile.
Leo? Nervous? What madness could have caused this state of affairs?
“Thanks.” I run a hand over the good side of my head, smoothing my sleep-fuzzed hair. “What’s up?”
“I was thinking. While I was on lookout. About…” He motions toward my head, still so adorably awkward I can’t help but smile, though my hideousness isn’t really funny.
“Yeah. I know where it is,” I tease. “It’s okay. It’ll grow back.”
“But your contest is in less than two weeks. And I know you’re supposed to look a certain way. So I thought…” He pulls one hand from behind his back and holds up his cell. On the screen is a picture of a beautiful, edgy-looking model with one side of her head shaved and the other fluffed into outrageous 1980s-style curls. “Maybe something this?”
I gingerly take the phone, so touched I can’t speak for a moment. When I do manage to get words out, they’re husky, “I love it. It’s perfect. Pretty and punk, but not too much for Miss U.S.” I look up at hi
m, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. “Thank you, Leo. So much. You can’t imagine how much better this makes me feel. I can’t wait to get to a hair salon.”
He withdraws his other hidden hand, revealing a trimmer. “I could do it for you. I used to cut my men’s hair. When we were occupying Manchuria after the war. Want me to see what I can do?”
Self-consciously, my hand drifts to my head, fingertips brushing over the sad clumps left behind. It’s so awful there’s no way Leo could make it any worse, and how could I possibly say no to such a thoughtful offer? Even if he messes up and I have to get my stylist to fix it later, it will be worth it to show him how grateful I am for his good heart.
And his respect.
The fact that he hasn’t tried to pressure me into taking his money again hasn’t escaped my attention. Or my gratitude. It’s nice to feel respected by your friends, even when you know your decisions don’t make sense to them.
“Let’s do it.” I nod, emotion tightening my throat. “But maybe I should wash it again first? I think I got all the blood out when I showered this morning, but I was anxious about driving the getaway car. I could have missed a spot.”
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen and let me wash it for you at the sink?” Leo nods over his shoulder. “I’ve already set out shampoo and conditioner.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” I say, my cheeks heating at the thought. “I can just jump in the shower.”
“I know I don’t have to,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I’d like to. To thank you for your excellent getaway driving. And to apologize for putting your hair and your head in danger in the first place.” He rolls a lazy shoulder. “And to make Rourke miserably jealous while I’m at it. While we were locked in the trunk, he made sure to mention about a hundred times the fact that he kissed you.”
A surprised laugh bursts from my lips, and my blood begins to fizz the way it did when Leo touched my face in the armory. “I didn’t think you guys were the jealous type.”
“We aren’t,” Leo says. “But we do enjoy tormenting each other, challenging each other. Playing aggressive games of tag football, beating each other at cards, bragging about who might have kissed a beautiful woman first…”
First. That one little word is enough to make butterflies dance in my vagina.
I worm my hands into the front pocket of my gray sweatshirt, the better to keep them to myself. “So the hair-washing would just be a way to get back at Rourke?” I peer at Leo from the corners of my eyes. “Your ‘no fragile humans’ policy is still in effect?”
“Of course it,” he says, the sober note in his voice at odds with the heat flickering in his gaze. “But just because I’m determined never to put another hair on your head in danger doesn’t mean flirting has to be off-limits.”
I arch a brow. “Flirting? You? Mr. Serious? Do you even know how?”
“I used to,” he says with a twitch of his lips, “but it’s possible I’ve forgotten. It would probably be wise if I gave it another try, before the skill atrophies and falls off. Like a bloodless limb.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“No good?” he asks, playing dumb. “I shouldn’t mention bloodless limbs while trying to woo a woman to my sink?”
“No. Bloodless limbs are a hard pass.” I press my lips together, but there’s no shutting down my smile. “But I will accompany you to your sink, sir. We can’t let Rourke get away with tormenting you while you couldn’t escape him.”
“Good.” The pleasure in Leo’s eyes makes the fizzing even worse, until I’m all bubbles inside. “Then we can go out onto the deck for the cut. It’s a beautiful evening. There’s still some sunset glow left in the clouds.”
“That sounds lovely. And this is very sweet of you. I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate your understanding.” He leads the way across the bedroom and out into the quiet kitchen. Judging by the closed door on the other side of the apartment, Rourke is still down for the count. “I’m sorry about all of this. We were supposed to be protecting you, and somehow our roles became reversed.”
“We’ll just have to protect each other, then,” I say as he turns on the water, holding two fingers in the stream to adjust the temperature. “That’s what friends do, right?”
He glances over his shoulder, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Right?” I prod. “Because we’re friends? Who might flirt a little, just to help you remember how to get girls?”
He blinks. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Friendship. Honor. Betrayal. Who might have the most to gain from pretending to be a friend and then betraying my trust.”
I pucker my lips. “So just the easy, light-hearted stuff, then?”
He smiles, big and bright, and my heart does spinning, squeezing things. Things that assure me I don’t want to help Leo get other girls.
But I won’t think about that now. After all, there aren’t many women in the village, Leo can’t go out during the day, and Port Bailey doesn’t look like a hotbed for nightlife.
Good luck finding anyone else to practice flirting with, buddy. You’re mine for now, I think, beaming back at him.
“And what are you thinking?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“That you have a gorgeous smile,” I say, choosing the safest version of the truth. “You should bring it out for show-and-tell more often.”
His nods. “Maybe I will. As soon as I figure out who’s trying to kill us. Now get your head under my spray and let me take care of you.”
“Sounds kind of dirty when you put it that way,” I say, enjoying the freedom to flirt every bit as much as I thought I would.
Leo grunts, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head. “Not dirty. Clean. I’m going to get you all cleaned up and ready to do battle, Ms. Frank. Those judges aren’t going to know what to do with you.”
“Except give me first.” I slide in front of him, keenly aware of his large body angling in behind me.
“Exactly,” he murmurs, his hand resting on the small of my back. My nerve endings sizzle as he adds, “Now flip over. Head in the spray.”
“Yes, sir.” I slowly bend forward, letting my hair spill over in a tumble of gold, hoping the effect is still at least a little sexy. Leo is standing on my left side, not my right, after all, and from the left I’m still 100 percent beauty queen.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” His fingers brush across my bare neck, smoothing loose strands into the water.
“Regret what?” I ask, my eyelids fluttering closed as my nipples pull tight inside my bra. Who knew that such a relatively innocent skin-on-skin moment could do this? Could make my body ache and my knees go weak? Could make my stomach triple backflip as Leo guides the spray from one side of my scalp to the other?
“Opening this door with you,” he says, angling farther behind me until his pelvis brushes lightly against my ass and we’re in such a blatantly sexual position my heart begins to beat between my legs. I sway my hips subtly left, then right, left then right, seeking friction, but the brush of my thighs against each other isn’t nearly enough.
Finally, after a beat, Leo says, “Stop it, Eliza.”
“Stop what?” I ask, unable to resist one more wiggle or the giddy grin that spreads across my face when Leo curses softly in response.
“That,” he says. “Do you enjoy torturing me?”
“The torture goes both ways,” I say, my voice breathy, “believe me.”
“Is that so?” Leo’s hand skims from my waist to my ribs, his fingertips so close to my breast that my nipples sting with wanting. “Bend over a little more. I can’t reach the back.”
I obey, breath catching as my bottom makes contact with where he’s definitely not unhappy to see me. He’s not hard, but he’s getting there, and when we touch, he doesn’t pull away. He presses closer, and my head spins so fast I have to brace my hands on eit
her side of the sink to keep from sagging to the floor.
“You’re a bad man.” I moan as he massages lavender-scented shampoo into my hair, his deft fingers treating my still tender scalp with exquisite care. “I can’t believe I thought you were the nice one.”
“I am the nice one.” Leo’s hips shift forward, making me moan again as the thicker, harder length of him presses against me. “But if the torture really is to go both ways, I have to hold up my end of the bargain. Close your eyes. I’m going to rinse.”
“My eyes are closed,” I say, shivering as his fingers rub the shampoo from my skin.
“Cold? Should I adjust the temperature?”
“It has nothing to do with the temperature, and you know it.” I reach back, running my hand down the side of his hip to grip his thick quad muscle through his suit pants, a surge of triumph surging through me when he growls in response.
He slicks conditioner onto my head, combing it through the strands with a confidence that has me imagining what it would be like to have his fist in my hair, pulling my head back as he—
Nope. Not going to think that. If I let my thoughts go that X-rated, the chances of me resisting the urge to beg Leo to take me right here, bent over at the sink, will be slim to none. My hips squirm again, and Leo answers with another soft growl.
“Apologies,” I murmur.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” he says, rinsing the conditioner away.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I lied to you.” He shuts off the water, wrapping a towel around my damp hair before guiding me to stand in front of him. “I don’t want to practice flirting.”
“No?” I tell myself I’m dizzy because I was just bent over upside down, but that isn’t the reason my head is spinning.
“No.” Leo moves closer, pinning me between his powerful body and the cabinet behind me. “I don’t want to practice. I just want to flirt with you. Even though I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I whisper, pulse racing in my throat.
“Because you’re off-limits. You’re human and fragile, and starting something with you would be a mistake.”
