by Tessa Bailey
“Maybe one kiss?”
He laughed without humor. “It wouldn’t stop there,” he said thickly, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of Ginny. “It would have to be all or nothing with you.”
Jonas flicked her a searing look and she saw his meaning there. Oh, she certainly did. A corresponding moving image came to life in her mind. Jonas moving roughly on top of her, her skirt around her waist…his teeth fastened to her neck. Her thoughts must have translated to her face because Jonas blurred away with a curse, leaving her in a near puddle against the wall.
“Only another eleven hours and seventeen minutes to sunrise,” he muttered. “Downstairs, please, Ginny.”
“Yes, Dreamboat,” she quipped, before blushing to the roots of her hair. Avoiding his questioning look, she slipped past him down the stairs.
“I knew I’d heard you call me that last night.” His voice was brisk—and directly behind her. “Do you have a nickname for Gordon?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“You wanted it to be my business or you wouldn’t have brought him up.”
“I was befuddled when I did that.”
Jonas hummed a skeptical sound. “How do you know him?”
“Am I…putting his well-being at risk by telling you?”
“No. Remember the rules.”
Ginny stopped and turned at the bottom of the stairs. “The rules are pretty much the only thing I’m thinking about right now.”
He touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. “Same.”
They held a heated mini staring contest. “What happens when you find the person who has been threatening me? Are you going to slap them on the wrist and ask them nicely to stop? Anything else would be against the rules.”
“You don’t think I’ve considered this?”
“What did you come up with?”
He took Ginny by the wrist and guided her in the direction of her office. “You’ve changed the subject from Gordon. How do you know him?”
“His mother is the founder of my dress making club. She favors a polyester blend.”
“Itchy.”
“Yes,” she agreed fervently. “And not breathable at all.”
A corner of his mouth jumped. “So you’re in a dress making club. I don’t suppose you’ve made many enemies there.”
“No…” she hedged, following him into the office and turning on the desk lamp, casting the small room in a dusky glow. “No enemies, per se…”
“Be less convincing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve made any friends, either.” She dragged her index finger across her father’s old mahogany desk and the initials she’d scrawled there with a protractor when she was eleven. Her father had scolded her for it, then taken her for a Carvel ice-cream cone out of guilt. “They call me Death Girl, so we haven’t done a lot of gossiping over coffee.”
Jonas’s expression had turned stony.
“You’re mad on my behalf,” she breathed. “Are you sure we can’t kiss?”
“If there was a way, I would have done it already. Several hundred times.” He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they were scanning the room and Ginny’s stomach was still mid-somersault. “What about unhappy customers? Anyone who stands out?”
She sat down behind the desk, flattening her palms on the spread of paperwork. “Everyone who comes here is unhappy. It’s hard to pick just one.”
A flash of white teeth. “I see your point. This isn’t going to be easy.” He took a seat in the chair in front of her desk. With an arm draped along the back of the chair and his hair falling over his forehead, he was straight out of one of her movies. All he needed was a cigarette and high-waisted man pants.
On second thought, scratch the latter.
Some things were better in the modern age.
“It would help if you told me how you’ve been threatened, Ginny. It would help if you told me anything at all.”
“I don’t know anything at all. I only know…what happened.”
There was a tick in his temple. “Start there.”
She shook her head. “Tell me about your roommates.”
This time, Jonas shook his head. “It’s one thing to risk exposure on my own, but I can’t jeopardize them, too.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust my desire to trust you. It doesn’t make sense when we only met last night.”
“Same,” she whispered, a little shaken at how perfectly their feelings aligned. “I understand your wanting to protect them. You don’t have to tell me anything.” She took a key out of the top desk drawer and used it to unlock the bottom one, pulling out her laptop and firing it up. “I’m just going to return a few client emails—”
“I met them through my work,” he growled. “My roommates.”
“Oh.” She closed the laptop. “Why did you decide to talk about them?”
“Maybe if I confide in you, you’ll do the same to me.”
“Not unless I suddenly gain the ability to abscond with your memories.” She swallowed. “Still planning on doing that?”
He said nothing, but a muscle jumped in his cheek.
In other words, yes. As soon as the mystery was solved.
She’d wake up one morning and not even be aware of his existence.
Trying to rid herself of the discomfort in her throat, she cleared it quietly. “Tell me about your roommates anyway?”
He stared at her hard, looking like he wanted to address her comment about memories, but ultimately he let it sit there between them like a nine-hundred-pound gorilla. “One is very serious. The other takes nothing seriously.” He changed positions in his chair, leaning forward and clasping his hands together loosely between his knees. “Like I said, I met them at work. A lot goes into maintaining our cover. Most of us have no issue following the rules set out by the High Order, but new vampires…well, they have a hard time adjusting.” He paused. “A really hard time. And I help them.”
“You helped your roommates when they were…”
“Silenced. That’s how we refer to the newly turned…because their hearts have been silenced. And yes, I trained them, helped them adapt when they were unsure how to fend for themselves.” Ginny had at least forty-five follow-up questions. Such as, how were humans turned? What did new vampires do that constituted a “hard time adjusting”? How did Jonas find new vampires to help? But her pressing questions were put on hold when Jonas shook his head. “You already know more than you should.”
Reluctantly, Ginny nodded.
Jonas waited, watching, obviously hoping there would be some quid pro quo for what he’d told her about an apparent underworld that operated without human knowledge. When she said nothing, he rose and walked to the door. “I’ll be right outside the door while you work.”
“Okay.”
The room felt empty without Jonas’s intense presence and it was hard to concentrate on anything knowing he was mere yards away, but she managed to answer all of her client emails and even make some adjustments to the AdWords she was using to court clients through Google. Larissa wouldn’t be happy knowing she kept a budget set aside for advertising, but it was impossible these days to run a business without marketing in some form. Her father had been a huge believer in word of mouth, and truthfully, that’s why most people darkened their door, but there was no reason Ginny couldn’t add a few modern touches.
Would her father be proud of how she’d been running the business?
It was something she wondered every day. Sometimes she’d even look up from her desk and expect to see him fussing with the catalogues or trimming stray strings on the carpet out in the lobby. Sometimes he’d even used a magnifying glass and would get so lost in the activity, clients would have to step over his crawling form while Ginny greeted and ushered them into the back office.
With a sigh, she put her laptop back in the drawer and stood, confident that tomorrow would be a better day for the business
. Yes, that meant that people had to die, but as long as they were doing it anyway, her wish wouldn’t do any harm, would it?
Opening the office door and finding Jonas leaning against the opposite wall knocked the wind clear out of her sails. He looked like he’d been counting the seconds until she appeared again. Or was she reading way too much into the way his fist clenched while his shoulders relaxed at the same time?
“How old are you, Jonas?”
“Twenty-five.”
The grandfather clock ticked out in the lobby. “How old are you really?”
She only caught a glimpse of the haunted quality that spun through his eyes before he transferred his attention to the ground. “I’ve been twenty-five since nineteen fifty-six.”
“Ohh,” she wheezed, wishing for a calculator.
He looked and up at her. Waiting for an official reaction?
Possibly even nervous about it?
“A lot of good movies came out that year,” she said finally, wetting her dry lips. “Do you want to go watch one?”
He seemed surprised by his own jerky nod.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Jonas muttered, taking Ginny’s hand and walking by her side back to her bedroom. “You won’t remember this.”
This time, his tone held far less conviction.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You really haven’t seen this movie?” Ginny counted on her fingers. “You would have been twenty-one when it came out.”
Jonas settled onto the opposite side of the couch from Ginny—and it still seemed too close for his comfort. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“Maybe it’s for the best if you haven’t.” She punched a series of buttons on her remote. “I’d be jealous if you’d gotten to see The Quiet Man in a theater.”
His eyes ticked to the black and white movie poster hanging on her wall. “Why do you have such a fascination with movies from before your time?”
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. My father found it odd, too. That I favored the Turner Classic Movies channel over Disney. But I eventually converted him. After that, we watched them together all the time.”
A beat passed. “What happened to him, Ginny?”
“Heart attack.” She said the words simply, but an invisible bolt twisted in her neck, like it always did. “He was working downstairs at night and I was sleeping, so I didn’t know. I always think, if it had just been a different time of day, he’d still be here. I’d have called the paramedic to save him. He’d be on a strict diet now, but totally cheating on it behind my back.” She shook her head. “Useless thoughts.”
“They’re impossible not to have.”
“Do you have them about anyone?”
In lieu of answering, he nodded at the television. “What’s the movie about?”
“Oh, it’s wonderful. It’s about a man who travels to Ireland to buy the cottage where his mother grew up. He falls in love with Maureen O’Hara—at first sight. She lives next door. I’m just going to fast forward to the part. I’m too excited.” Ginny pressed the proper button, trying not to bounce up and down on the couch cushions. It had been so long since she’d watched a movie with anyone, let alone a gorgeous man. “Here. This is where he sees her in the field…” She clutched a hand to her chest. “Look at his face. He knows he’s done for.”
When Jonas had nothing to say about the incredible scene, she looked over and found him watching her instead, lips parted slightly.
A shiver flew up her spine. The moment stretched, this timeless male on one side of her, the modern television on the other. “Does romance between two regular people seem pointless when they only live a short time and vampires have eternity?”
“No.” He gestured absently at the screen. “Regular is how it should be. The short time humans have is precious. It’s living for eternity that’s unnatural.”
“You didn’t choose to be a vampire?”
“I did, actually.” His fingers curled into his palms. “Everyone should be given a choice. Though choosing to become a vampire is always the wrong decision.”
His desolation made her wish to give him a hug, but suspected it wouldn’t be well received. “Surely there are some perks. When you have all the time in the world, you’re not under the human pressures. Get a job, get married, save for retirement, start a podcast…”
“You say those things like they’re terrible. Do you not want to…marry?”
“Sure. Someday.” Puzzling over his sudden frown, she sighed over the beautiful greenery on the television. “I’d rather travel, though. Have you been to Ireland?”
“Yes.”
Ginny gasped and melted against the arm of the couch. “Say the first five words that comes to mind when you think about it.”
“Damp. Friendly. Fireplaces. Beer. Wool.”
She laughed. “Where’s the best place you’ve been?”
“We’ve only been in Coney Island for a few weeks,” he said quietly, his regard sweeping her. “But it’s definitely a frontrunner.”
Because she was there? Surely not. Though his eyes suggested that’s exactly what he meant. Still…no. Couldn’t be. “Yes, the boardwalk is pretty great, even in the fall,” she said in a rush, narrowly resisting the urge to play with her hair. “Are you planning on staying long?”
“I don’t know,” Jonas murmured, a line forming between his brows.
Wait. Had he come closer?
Ginny looked down to find it was her that had scooted halfway across the couch. Flushing to her hairline, she reversed until her back met the arm of the sofa.
Jonas chuckled.
Desperate to pull the focus off her behavior, Ginny resumed watching the movie, though it was impossible not to feel Jonas’s attention locked on her. “My favorite line is coming up.”
“Don’t tell me. I want to guess.”
A smile stretched her mouth. “Okay.”
They watched in silence for a minute and just like always, Ginny got lost in the romance of the scene. The rain that lashed the windows of the small cottage, the music that swelled as the hero searched his house for the intruder. How he pulled his future wife up against his chest. “It’s a bold one you are,” Ginny whispered, in time with Maureen O’Hara. “‘Who gave you leave to be kissing me?’”
Several lines followed in the characters’ argument.
Then, “‘You’ll get over it.’” She dropped her voice several octaves. “‘Well, some things a man doesn’t get over so easy.’”
“That’s the one,” Jonas said.
Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I have my ways.” He raised a brow. “Why is that line your favorite?”
Ginny took a moment to think. “It’s nice, isn’t it? People acknowledging someone affects them, right to their face, instead of leaving them to guess.” Cursing her ability to make any situation weird, she wet her lips and went back to quoting the movie. “‘Like what, supposin’?’”
“‘Like a girl coming through the fields with the sun on her hair…kneeling in church with a face like a saint…’”
Ginny sputtered a laugh. “You have seen this movie!”
He winked at her. “Opening weekend.”
Thinking of him in an old-fashioned theater with red velvet curtains, she made a wistful sound. “Why did you pretend you hadn’t?”
“So I could listen to you talk about it.”
A fluttering weight dropped into her belly—and once again, she was halfway across the couch before realizing she’d moved. Drawn to him in a way that couldn’t be denied or explained. Slowly, like a middle schooler might do, she slid her open palm over the couch cushion toward Jonas, afraid to breathe, afraid he’d think it was a bad idea.
When he slowly lowered his hand to Ginny’s and knit their fingers together, cool twined with warm, electricity raced up her arm and Jonas’s nostrils flared. But he didn’t take his hand away—and they stayed that way until sleep snuck in like a bandit and claimed her.
Ginny woke with a start the following afternoon to find Roksana doing a walking handstand from one end of her room to the other. The previous night came back to her on a roaring current and she sprang into a sitting position, searching the room—futilely—for Jonas. Of course he wouldn’t still be there in the broad daylight, but the reminder of his sunlight allergy did nothing to stop a ditch from opening in her stomach and filling with disappointment.
The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her around two o’clock in the morning was waking in a slump against Jonas’s hard yet welcoming shoulder. She recalled trying to sit up, clear the cobwebs of sleep from her brain and refocus on The Quiet Man unsuccessfully.
Some time later, she’d woken again while being carried in his arms from her sitting area to the bed. There were moments she recalled from childhood of being carried thusly, but this had been different. Her body had been lighter than air, kind of how she imagined it would be like to float in salt water in a sensory deprivation chamber. She’d kept her breathing even and pretended to be asleep, profoundly aware of Jonas’s lack of heartbeat beside her ear. Instead of laying her down in the bed right away, he’d paced for a while at the foot of her bed. Without him saying a word, Ginny could decipher his internal mutterings. They might as well have spoken out loud. I shouldn’t be here. She’ll remember none of this.
Finally, he’d lain her down in the bed—fully clothed. After rattling the knob to make sure her bedroom door was locked, he sat in the window staring out over Coney Island. As she drifted off to sleep, she sensed his gaze burning over her time and time again, until she’d lost the battle with not only exhaustion, but the safety she felt in Jonas’s presence. Surrendering herself to unconsciousness had never been easier with him watching over her.
“Hey!” Roksana hopped up on the foot of the bed and clapped her hands twice. “You are not a Victorian princess. Rise and shine.”
“I work nights,” Ginny complained. “Noon is early for me.”
She rubbed her stomach, which was decidedly bare between a studded bra and low rider jeans. “I was told this job included meals.”
Biting back a smile, Ginny climbed out of bed. “Do you want me to prepare you something or should we go get bagels and cream cheese?”
