"You're scared of me?"
"For you," he said. The anger was seeping out of his eyes, what was replacing it was fear.
"I can handle myself, Richard."
"You don't understand what you did last night."
"I am sorry if Alfred was your friend. Frankly, he didn't strike me as someone you'd hang out with."
"I know he was a bully, and Marcus's dog to call, but he was mine to protect."
"Marcus wasn't doing a lot of protecting last night, Richard. He was more interested in his little power struggle than in keeping Alfred safe."
"I stopped by Irving's place this morning." He let the statement hang there in the air between us.
It was my turn to get angry. "Did you hurt him?"
"If I did, it was my right as beta male."
I stood up, hands pressed on the tabletop. "If you hurt him, we are going to have more than just words."
"Are you going to shoot me, too?"
I looked at him, with his wonderful hair, looking scrumptious in his sweater, and nodded. "If I had to."
"You could kill me, just like that."
"No, not kill, but wound, yeah."
"To keep Irving safe, you'd pull a gun on me." He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed on his chest. His expression was amazed and angry.
"Irving asked for my protection. I gave it."
"So he told me this morning."
"Did you hurt him?"
He stared at me for a long time, then finally said, "No, I didn't hurt him."
I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding and eased back into my chair.
"You'd really pit yourself against me to protect him. You really would."
"Don't sound so amazed. Irving was caught in the middle of the two of you. Marcus would have hurt him if he didn't contact me, and you said you'd hurt him if he did. Didn't seem very fair."
"A lot of things in the pack aren't fair, Anita."
"So is life, Richard. What of it?"
"When Irving told me that he was under your protection, I didn't hurt him, but I didn't really believe you'd hurt me."
"I've known Irving a lot longer than I've known you."
He leaned forward, hands on the tabletop. "But he's not dating you."
I shrugged. I didn't know what else to say. Nothing seemed like a safe bet.
"Am I still your sweetie or did your baptism by fire last night make you not want to date me anymore?"
"You're in a life-or-death struggle and you didn't tell me. If you hide things like that from me, how can we have a relationship?"
"Marcus won't kill me," he said.
I just stared at him. He seemed sincere. Shit. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Yes."
I wanted to call him a fool, but I closed my mouth and tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. "I've met Marcus. I've met Raina." I shook my head. "If you really believe that Marcus doesn't want you dead, you're wrong."
"One night and you're an expert," he said.
"Yeah, on this I am."
"That's why I didn't tell you. You'd kill him, wouldn't you? You'd just kill him."
"If he was trying to kill me, yeah."
"I have to handle this myself, Anita."
"Then handle it, Richard. Kill his ass."
"Or you'll do it for me."
I sat back in my chair. "Shit, Richard, what do you want from me?"
"I want to know if you think I'm a monster."
The conversation was moving too fast for me. "You're accusing me of being a murderer. Shouldn't that be my question?"
"I knew what you were when we first met. You thought I was human. Do you still think I'm human?"
I stared at him. He looked so uncertain. In my head I knew he wasn't human. But I'd still never seen him do any of the otherworldly stuff. Looking at him here in my kitchen, brown eyes brimming with sincerity, he just didn't seem very dangerous. He believed that Marcus wouldn't kill him. It was too naive for words. I wanted to protect him. To keep him safe somehow.
"You're not a monster, Richard."
"Then why haven't you touched me tonight, not even a hello kiss."
"I thought we were mad at each other," I said. "I don't kiss people that I'm mad at."
"Are we mad at each other?" His voice was soft, hesitant.
"I don't know. Promise me something."
"What?"
"No more hiding. No more lying, not even by omission. You tell me the truth, and I'll tell you the truth."
"Agreed, if you promise not to kill Marcus."
I stared across at him. How could anybody be a master werewolf and be so goody-two-shoes? It was both charming and liable to get him killed. "I can't promise that."
"Anita . . ."
I held up a hand. "I can promise not to kill him unless he attacks me, or you, or a civilian."
It was Richard's turn to stare at me. "You could kill him, just like that?"
"Just like that."
He shook his head. "I don't understand that."
"How can you be a lycanthrope and never have killed anybody?"
"I'm careful."
"And I'm not?"
"You're almost casual about it. You killed Alfred last night, and you don't seem sorry."
"Should I be?"
"I would be."
I shrugged. Truth was, it did bother me a little. There might have been a way out without Alfred ending up in a body bag. Or in the stomachs of his friends. But I'd killed him. There it was. No going back. No changing it. No apologizing.
"It's the way I am, Richard. Live with it or get out. I'm not going to change."
"One of the reasons I wanted to date you to begin with was I thought you could take care of yourself. You've seen them now. I think I can get out of it alive, but a regular person—an ordinary human being—what chance would they have?"
I just looked at him. I flashed on him with his throat torn out. Dead. But he hadn't been dead. He'd healed. He'd lived. There'd been another man. Another human being that hadn't healed. I never wanted to love anyone and lose them like that. Ever.
"So you got what was advertised. What's the problem?"
"I still want you. I still want to hold you. Touch you. Can you stand to touch me after what you saw last night?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. His hair fell forward, hiding his face.
I stood up and took the step that left me looking down at him. He raised his face to me, his eyes glittered with unshed tears. The fear in his face was raw. I had thought that what I saw last night would make a difference between us. I flashed on Jason's unnatural strength, the sweat on Marcus's face, Gabriel with his blood-coated mouth. But staring into Richard's face, with him close enough to touch, none of that was real. I trusted Richard. Besides, I was armed.
I leaned over him, bending down to kiss his lips. The first kiss was gentle, chaste. He made no move to touch me, hands in his lap. I kissed his forehead, hands combing through his long hair, so I could feel the warmth of him against my fingers. I kissed his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, each cheek, finally his lips again. He sighed, the breath pouring into my mouth, and I pressed my lips against his like I'd eat him from the mouth down.
His arms wrapped around my back, hands hesitating at my waist, fingers slightly lower. His hands jumped to my thighs, skipping all those questionable areas. I put one leg on either side of his knees, and found the short skirt did have its uses. I straddled his lap, didn't have to raise the skirt an inch. Richard made a small sound of surprise. He stared at me, and his eyes were drowning deep.
I raised his sweater off his stomach, running hands against his bare flesh. "Off," I said.
He raised the sweater over his head in one movement, dropping it to the floor. I sat in his lap, staring at his bare chest. I should have stopped right there, but I didn't want to.
I pressed my face in the bend of his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, his hair covering my face like a veil. I ran just the tip of my t
ongue in a thin line of wetness down his neck, across his collarbone.
His hands kneaded the small of my back, sliding downward. His fingers danced over my buttocks, then up to my back. Point for him. He hadn't groped me.
"The gun, can you take it off?" He asked with his face buried in my hair.
I nodded, slipping out of the shoulder straps. I couldn't get the rest off without removing the skirt's belt. My hands didn't seem to want to work.
Richard took my hands and placed them gently to either side. He undid the buckle and began to slide the belt out a loop at a time. Each pull made me move just a little. I held the holstered gun while he drew the belt free. He let the belt drop to the floor. I folded the shoulder holster carefully and laid it on the table behind us.
I turned back to him. His face was startlingly close. His lips were soft, full. I licked the edges of his mouth. The kiss was quick and messy. I wanted to run my mouth over other things. Down his chest. We'd never let it go this far. Not even close.
He pulled my blouse out of the skirt, running hands over my bare back. The feel of his naked skin on places he'd never touched before made me shudder.
"We have to stop now." I whispered it into his neck, so it wasn't completely convincing.
"What?"
"Stop." I pushed a little back from him, enough to see his face. Enough to breathe just a little. My hands were still playing with his hair, touching his shoulders. I dropped my hands. Made myself stop. He was so warm. I raised my hands to my face, and could smell him on my skin. I did not want to stop. From the look on his face, the feel of his body, neither did he. "We should stop now."
"Why?" His voice was almost a whisper.
"Because if we don't stop now, we might not stop at all."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
Staring into his lovely eyes from inches away, I almost said, no. "Maybe, yes."
"Why?"
"Because one night is never enough. You either have a regular diet of it or you go cold turkey."
"You can have this every night," he said.
"Is that a proposal?" I asked.
He blinked at me, trying to draw himself back up. To think. I watched the effort and struggled with it myself. It was hard to think sitting in his lap. I stood up. His hands were still under my shirt, on my bare back.
"Anita, what's wrong?"
I stood looking down at him, hands on his shoulders for balance, still too close for clear thinking. I backed away, and he let me go. I leaned my hands against the kitchen counter, trying to think enough to make sense.
I tried to think how to say a couple of years' worth of pain in one mouthful. "I was always a good girl. I didn't sleep around. In college I met someone, we got engaged, we set a date, we made love. He dumped me."
"He'd done all that just to get you in bed?"
I shook my head and turned to look at him. He was still sitting there with his shirt off, looking scrumptious. "His family disapproved of me."
"Why?"
"His mother didn't like my mother being Mexican." I leaned my back against the cabinets, arms crossed, hugging myself. "He didn't love me enough to go against his family. I missed him in a lot of ways, but my body missed him, too. I promised myself I'd never let that happen again."
"So you're waiting for marriage," he said.
I nodded. "I want you, Richard, badly, but I can't. I promised I'd never let myself get hurt like that again."
He stood up and came to stand in front of me. He stood close but didn't try to touch me. "Then marry me."
I looked up at him. "Yeah, right."
"No, I mean it." He put his hands on my shoulders, gently. "I've thought about asking before, but I was afraid. You hadn't seen what a lycanthrope could do, what we could be. I knew you needed to see that before I could ask, but I was afraid for you to see it."
"I still haven't seen you change," I said.
"Do you need to?"
"Standing here like this, I say no, but realistically, if we're serious, probably."
"Now?"
I stared up at him in the near dark and hugged him. I folded against him and shook my head, cheek sliding along his naked chest. "No, not now."
He kissed the top of my head. "Is that a yes?"
I raised my head to look at him. "I should say no."
"Why?"
"Because life is too complicated for this."
"Life is always complicated, Anita. Say yes."
"Yes." The minute I said it, I wanted it back. I lusted after him a lot. I even loved him maybe more than a little. Did I suspect him of eating Little Red Riding Hood? Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to kill the Big Bad Wolf. Of the two of us, I was the more likely to slaughter people.
He kissed me, his hands pressing against my back. I drew back enough to breathe, and said, "No sex tonight. The rule still stands."
He lowered his mouth and spoke with our lips almost touching. "I know."
Chapter 18
I was late to my first zombie appointment. Surprise, surprise. Being late to the first meeting made me late to the other two. It was 2:03 by the time I got to Edward's room.
I knocked. He opened the door and stepped to one side. "You're late."
"Yeah," I said. The room was nice but standard. A single king-sized bed, nightstand, two lamps, a desk against the far wall. The drapes were closed over the nearly wall-to-wall windows. The bathroom light was on, door open. The closet door was half-open, showing that he'd hung up his clothes. He planned to stay for a while.
The television was on, sound turned off. I was surprised. Edward didn't watch television. A VCR sat on top of the TV. That was not standard hotel issue.
"You want something from room service before we get started?"
"A Coke would be great."
He smiled. "You always did have champagne tastes, Anita." He went to the phone and ordered. He asked for a steak, rare, with a bottle of burgundy.
I took off my coat and laid it on the desk chair. "I don't drink," I said.
"I know," he said. "You want to freshen up while we wait for the food?"
I glanced up and caught a distant look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Chicken blood had dried to a sticky, brick color on my face. "I see your point."
I shut the bathroom door and looked at myself in the mirror. The lighting was that harsh, glaring white that so many hotel bathrooms seem to have. It's so unflattering that even Ms. America wouldn't look good in it.
The blood stood out like reddish chalk against my pale skin. I was wearing a white Christmas sweatshirt that had Maxine from the Shoebox Hallmark commercials on it. She was drinking coffee with a candy cane in hand, saying, "This is as jolly as I get." Bert had asked us to wear Christmasy-type things for the month. Maybe the sweatshirt wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but hey, it was better than some of the ones I had at home. There was blood on the white cloth. Figures.
I took the sweatshirt off, draping it on the bathtub. There was blood smeared over my heart. I'd even gotten a little on my silver cross. I'd put the blood there along with the stuff on my face and hands. I'd killed three chickens tonight. Raising zombies was a messy job.
I got one of the white washrags from the little towel rack. I wondered how Edward would explain the bloodstains to the maid. Not my problem, but sort of amusing anyway.
I ran water into the sink and started scrubbing. I caught a glimpse of myself with blood running down my face in watery rivulets. I stood up and stared. My face looked fresh scrubbed and sort of surprised.
Had Richard really proposed? Had I really said yes? Surely not. I had said yes. Shit. I wiped at the blood on my chest. I played with monsters all the time. So I was engaged to one. That stopped me. I sat down on the closed lid of the stool, bloody washrag gripped in my hands. I was engaged. Again.
The first time he'd been so white bread that even Judith had liked him. He'd been Mr. All-American, and I hadn't been good enough for him, according to his family. What had hurt
most was that he hadn't loved me enough. Not nearly as much as I'd loved him. I'd have given up everything for him. Not a mistake to make twice.
Richard wasn't like that. I knew that. Yet there was that worm of doubt. Fear that he'd blow it. Fear he wouldn't blow it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
I looked down and realized I was dripping bloody water on the linoleum. I knelt and wiped it up. I was scrubbed as clean as I was going to get until I showered at home. If I'd brought clean clothes, I might have done it here, but I hadn't thought of it.
Edward knocked on the door. "Food's here."
I got dressed, put the rag in the sink, and ran cold water over it. I made sure the cloth wasn't blocking the drain and opened the door. The smell of steak hit me. It smelled wonderful. I hadn't eaten for more than eight hours, and truthfully I hadn't eaten all that much then. Richard had distracted me.
"Do you think room service would shoot us if we asked for another order?"
He made a small hand motion at the room-service cart. There were two orders on the cart.
"How did you know I'd be hungry?"
"You always forget to eat," he said.
"My, aren't we being mother of the year."
"The least I can do is feed you."
I looked at him. "What's up, Edward? You're being awfully considerate."
"I know you well enough to know you won't like this. Call the meal a peace offering."
"Won't like what?"
"Let's eat, watch the movie, and all will be revealed."
He was being cagey. It wasn't like him. He'd shoot you, but he wouldn't be cute about it. "What are you up to, Edward?"
"No questions until after the movie."
"Why not?"
"Because you'll have better questions." With that inscrutable answer he sat down on the edge of the bed and poured a glass of red wine. He cut his meat, which was raw enough to bleed in the center.
"Please tell me my steak isn't bloody."
"It isn't bloody. You like your meat well dead."
"Ha, ha." But I sat down. It seemed odd sharing a meal in Edward's hotel room, like we were two business people traveling together, just a working dinner. The steak was well done. Thick house fries suitably spiced took up almost as much room as the steak. There was a side order of broccoli, which could be slid to one side and ignored.
Anita Blake 4 - Lunatic Cafe Page 13
