by Tamsin Baker
If there was one thing Snuggles liked more than stealing my brushes, it was running off with my false eyelashes. I applied them sneakily to avoid a house-wide chase, added lashings of mascara, and applied pink blush in circles and gave myself a corpse-like pallor, thanks to buckets of pale powder. My curling iron created soft waves, and with a glitzy headband that matched the dress, I nailed a signature hairstyle of the era.
I checked my outfit in the cheval mirror. “Not too bad, even if I do say so myself.” Snuggles meowed. “Dinner before I go, okay?”
I scrunched my hands around his dear face and kissed his nose. He turned his head away from the kiss, rather like a reluctant teenager.
After eating, he cleaned his face as assiduously as only a cat can.
“Don’t wait up, but I won’t be late!” I called from the front door and immediately glanced around so no one saw me having a conversation with my cat.
Walk or drive? I should've tried the secret tunnel earlier in the week so I knew where it came out. Silly me, too late now. It wasn't far walking by the river, but the sky had threatened rain all day. Decision made, I would drive. I’d gone to a lot of trouble, no point risking a something-the-cat-dragged-in look.
#
I came to a stop under an ancient spreading oak at the front of the Gravier mansion. Even though it was only nine-thirty pm, eleven cars, none of which I recognized, were already parked around the circular drive. Unless they had another parking lot, then this party was a more intimate affair than I expected.
I pulled on the matching, black satin gloves and shoved my phone and the small Smith and Wesson revolver I’d found in Tilly’s arsenal into a beaded clutch. The solid silver bullets might not kill a vampire, especially not one of the starving newbies Ben worried about. But not much chance of an ill-behaved vamp getting an invite surely? Then again, I didn’t have an invite, either. Worst case scenario, if I managed to hit an attacker, it would slow him down.
I let out a breath and shook tension from my shoulders.
“It’s just a teen party. If I see anything interesting, I’ll snap a few pictures to show Ben and get out of here.” I spoke aloud and groaned. As Snuggles was no doubt curled on my bed at home, I had to admit I talked to reassure myself.
Lighting edged the path that circled around the house. One way led to the elegant front door, another disappeared around the corner. Like my much smaller home, the grounds dipped toward the creek. The basement, or at least the entry to it, had to be at the back of the home. I set off at a steady pace towards the back of the house.
“Your invitation?” The clipped British accent startled me.
A tall man, his skin pale in the moonlight held out his hand.
“I’m afraid I misplaced it.” I aimed for a coquettish pose.
“No invitation, no entry, ma’am.”
As my eyes adjusted to the light I noticed that the man stood in front of an unadorned metal door. Like a sentry, he planted his feet in a wide spread, crossed his arms and fixed his gaze somewhere beyond my head.
He looked unmovable. I considered my options. Not many.
“Mr. Gravier invited me.” I said the first thing that came into my head.
The man lifted one eyebrow.
“Which one?”
“Mr. Nic Gravier.” I straightened as I solidified behind the lie. Besides, he’d visited me, and said he wanted to see more of me. Seemed only neighborly to return the interest.
“You are?”
“Louisa Thompson.”
He lifted his eyebrow again and rapped three times on the door. Seconds dragged by, and the sentry wrinkled his nose, as if a bad smell emanated from me. Perhaps he was allergic to jasmine and ylang ylang.
A small metal hatch opened. He quickly relayed my details and the hatch slid shut again. More waiting, then finally, the door opened wide and Nic Gravier himself stood grinning in the doorway.
Chapter Seven
Piano notes tinkled from behind Nic.
Beats me how he managed to look so suave, sexy, and darkly alluring at the same time. Maybe it was a vampire thing. With training every evening, papers and tests for marking, and classroom notes to write and upload, I hadn’t had time to return to Tilly’s journals, so my knowledge about vampires and their ways was still sorely lacking.
I returned his seductive smile. “Nic. I believe you have a party this evening.”
“She doesn’t have an invite, Mr. Gravier.” The sentry blocked my way forward with a muscled arm.
“Ms. Thompson is my guest, Gaspard.” Nic stretched his hand to me.
I threw a triumphant smirk at the sentry and ducked around him to take Nic’s arm. The door closed behind us, a lock clicked into place, and low lighting illuminated stairs leading down.
“You look good enough to eat, Louisa." For a second, his eyes flashed amber.
“Not literally, I hope.”
He chuckled, the sound low and decadent. His gaze seemed to take in all of me, and somehow focus on my eyes at the same time. He lowered his head, his lips dangerously close to mine. “Sweet Louisa, you will beg me to eat you one day, and soon.”
A tremor shook my shoulders, a buzz of excitement pulled a small gasp from me. Only a vague recollection of dating rules and my pride stopped me from begging him to taste me right then and there. I wasn’t even trying to fight the attraction.
“Modest, you are not.”
“I know my skills.” He kissed my cheek, then feathered his lips to mine. "I'd like to drag you somewhere private and kiss you crazy, but I don't want to muss up your adorable face.”
“It's super-stay—”
He cut off my blathering with a searing kiss that left me breathless and my knees weak.
He cupped one strong hand under my bum and the other around my face. “My sweet Louisa.”
His stubble, surprisingly soft, grazed my cheek. Breathing hard, I closed my eyes as he slid his lips to my neck. The touch of his tongue sent delicious shivers across my skin and I pressed my chest closer to his. He lifted me from the floor and pushed my back against the closest wall. Sandwiched between the stone wall and his hard chest, I found it difficult to breathe, but even harder to care.
“I’ve waited so long.” He licked his way back to my lips and took possession of my mouth with dominating flicks of his tongue. A long, low groan came from somewhere deep in my throat. Desire filled me as he tightened his hand in my hair and I sank into the aphrodisiac of his kiss.
The brush of his teeth made me gasp. Each one felt like a sharp needle pressed against the hollow between my collarbone and neck. Slowly, he increased the pressure of his mouth until my heart pounded and I rubbed against him like an alley cat in heat. He rumbled again, another sound so primal that my nipples hardened and scraped painfully against my lace strapless bra.
A discreet cough sounded below us. Nic pulled away. “Yes, Jason?"
“My apologies, sir. Your sire wishes to speak with you for a moment. In his study."
“It can't wait?"
“He said not.”
I took several deep breaths to calm my racing pulse.
“Forgive me. I must go.” He kissed me again. "I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. Can you wait for me to return?”
I nodded. Hell, yes. The man could kiss my socks off any day. I circled a fingertip around my face. “Is it mussed?”
He planted a light kiss on my forehead. “A little. I’ll show you to the restroom.”
Nic led me downstairs, into a lush and elegant lounge area. He guided me to a strand of potted palms and to a door marked with cupid bow lips. “Take a seat at the bar when you’re done and I'll send Sam over to get you a drink. I won't be long." He pecked my cheek and sauntered away.
What on earth did he mean about waiting for me, waiting so long? I needed to get my brain working if I wanted to gather any useful information tonight, so I feasted my gaze on the room.
The bathroom was an Art Deco masterpiece, with a lobby,
cubicle area and a separate powder area. I had to touch the cool, smooth, grey-streaked white marble covering the walls and floors, and they felt as cool and smooth as I imagined. In the powder room, I sat on a geometric-patterned stool and gazed into a sunburst mirror across a black and gold vanity. My favorite design period, but sadly not one I could replicate in Tilly’s mid-Victorian home.
By the time I’d removed a few black splodges from under my eyes and touched up my lipstick—impressive staying power, but not perfect—my breathing was back to normal and my head back in the game.
Back in the lounge, floor and table lamps cast soft lighting across the space. It was impossible to miss the leather-topped stools lining an old-fashioned bar that ran the length of the room.
The bartender must have been watching for me because he came to me as soon as I sat down. Miss Thompson?”
“Louisa, please. Is your name really Sam? It's such an iconic name for a bartender, isn't it?"
“Yes, and yes.” He grinned.
“Must get old—your name question, I mean.”
“It gets people talking. That’s usually a good thing. What will it be, Miss Louisa?”
The place hummed with conversation and laughter. I certainly hadn’t noticed any morose drunks that needed encouragement to talk, but the night was young. “I guess I’ll have a wine.”
He grabbed a wine list.
I waved it away. “Surprise me.”
As I sipped a lush Willamette Valley pinot noir, I gazed around the softly lit room. Around thirty people occupied the soft leather sofas and chairs that were grouped in arrangements for intimate conversations. Veronica, surrounded by her friends, held court like a movie star diva. She must have missed the message about dressing for the 1920s—or she Googled different sites than me. She’d dressed as a burlesque dancer in a white fringed bra top, raw hem denim hot pants—showing toned butt cheeks, no doubt—stiletto ankle boots, and with a fur wrap across her shoulders.
When Nic returned and sat next to me I slid my bum back into the seat and angled toward him. As I did so, my dress rode up over my thighs.
He feathered a touch to the top of my leg, though he held my gaze in his own. “I love the way your dress accentuates your curves. I should have sent you an invitation.”
“Just for my curves?”
His laugh, half chuckle and half purr, tickled my ear. “Definitely not just your curves.”
It shouldn’t have done, but the coolness of his touch surprised me. It was cool outside, but warm in here. I waved his concern away. “Don’t feel bad, we hardly know one another.”
He lifted his brow. “We both want to change that, don’t we?” It was a statement rather than a question. He gave me a seductive smile. “We can start tonight.”
I knew he didn’t mean twenty questions to get to know one another. A flicker of amber showed in his eyes. I pulled back, and his eyes quickly returned to their blue shimmer.
He snapped his fingers and the bartender rushed to serve us. “A couple of Negronis, Sam.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Never had one?”
I shook my head. “I’m not a big drinker.”
Nic leaned closer, close enough for me to inhale the scent of his citrusy cologne. “You will enjoy it. The Negroni is a tribute to the definition of a cocktail. The ultimate balance of spirit, sweet and bitter—rather like you, Louisa—it will stimulate all your senses.”
His seductive voice drew me closer, and I was now practically straddling his lap.
Thank the heavens above, the bartender finished stirring and straining the drinks and the spell was broken when he pushed the glasses towards us. I pulled back on to my stool and crossed my legs. A jazz trio in white suits carried their instruments onto the small stage.
“What made you create a speakeasy-style bar in your basement?”
“Create?” Nic smiled as if amused again. His eyes sparkled. “It’s been here forever. Well, since prohibition. My sire had it built.”
“This is all original?” I gestured to take in the whole room.
“Mostly. If not original, then lovingly restored.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I took a small sip of the golden cocktail, the taste quite like grapefruit, except, of course, with the punch of gin, vermouth and Campari.
“I’ll give you a tour of the house later.” Nic leaned in again, his hand resting on the small of my back, almost possessively. “It’s a fine example of French Country as interpreted by West Coast settlers back in the day.”
The musicians finished tuning their instruments and launched into smooth jazz, the mellow soundscape and flowing melodies a perfect backdrop for the elegant party. A party of young people throwing back mocktails and brightly coloured cola’s like there was no tomorrow. I felt like an old prune in a sea of sparkling youth. Another sip of the crisp and bitter cocktail helped a little.
“I’d like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been inside.”
“I’m sure you haven’t, my dear.” He leaned closer, his face so close to mine I couldn’t miss hearing his slow intake of breath. He stroked from my temple to my chin and I leaned into his touch. “I would not forget seeing you.”
Maybe he was just flirting. But he spoke with a sense of urgency and with undertones of mystery, danger, and dominance. Not all alpha males wore uniforms, probably not many vampires either. I knew from reading Tilly’s papers that one thing modern vampire stories got right was a vampire’s sense of entitlement, their belief in their position at the apex of the food chain. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be sensible to get too close to this man—on the other, come hell or high water, he pushed all my buttons and I wanted him.
I tried to keep the confusion from my face and disguise the tremor in my voice with a laugh. “I must be the oldest person here.”
Tried and failed, if the smug expression on Nic’s face meant anything.
He squeezed my forearm, his mouth quirked and he winked. “Not by a long shot.”
Damn the man. I held my chin high. “The oldest non-vampire, perhaps?”
He quirked his mouth again. It was a sin how handsome this man was with a smile on his face.
“Carla Williams over there,” he pointed to a tall, slim woman with long blonde hair, “is having her fiftieth birthday party here.”
“No way. You mean in a decade, right? Not anytime soon.” She couldn’t be fifty. Maybe she used the same plastic surgeon as Imogen?
Nic wriggled his brow. “Next month.”
“Is she related to Imogen?”
“Older sister.”
Interesting that Imogen hadn’t mentioned a sister who frequented the Gravier parties. “Does Imogen come here?”
“To dinner parties in the main house, but not here.”
Dinner parties attended by beautiful women, no doubt. I finished the cocktail in my hand in two swallows. It did nothing to ease the sudden hardening ball where my stomach should be. But when the alcohol hit me, the buzz filled me with a comfortable, cozy warmth. We’d kissed twice, and flirted a bit. I had no cause to turn into a green monster because Nic held dinner parties in his home.
“Tilly used to visit us at both.”
“Did you read my mind?” My grin was real. This was much better than letting Nic see my unwarranted jealousy.
“No, but I do pay attention and that seemed to be your most obvious next question.”
“How old are you?” I let my gaze wander across Nic’s chiseled face and down his hard chest. He could be thirty or three hundred. Perhaps not polite to ask in the vamp community. “Not that it matters. Just curious. I mean how do you…you know, count your birthdays, from birth or… from the other thing?”
One drink and I was prattling like an idiot.
“The other thing?” He quirked an eyebrow.
Heat burned in my cheeks.
“How do you know I wasn’t born like this?”
My eyes widened. I lowered my voice to
a whisper. “I thought vampires couldn’t breed.”
“It’s rare. And I’m teasing you. I’m fortunate my sire is here with us, though he is largely a recluse.” Perhaps that explained why Nic was the vampire lord rather than his sire.
Another cocktail appeared at my elbow. I grabbed it in both hands.
Nic pulled it from my grip, brought my hands to his mouth and kissed the back of both hands. “I’m over three hundred years old.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a smile to show how much I appreciated his honesty. I assumed he was telling the truth. He would have distracted me if he didn’t want to answer. The man sure was distracting. I tried to think of a few dry, dusty facts from history to quell the quivers and clenching between my legs. I failed miserably. “I bet your family history is interesting.”
He gave one of his throaty laughs. “You could say that. Eastern Europe, France, Canada, and finally here. A story for another time.”
A tuxedo-clad man tapped Nic on the shoulder and whispered into his ear. Nic’s eye’s tightened and he stood. “I’m sorry, business calls again. Shouldn’t take too long.” He kissed the palm of my hand. “I will catch you later.”
Good timing. I could have ended up in his lap. Private snogging was one thing, public displays—especially in front of my students—a different thing entirely.
He strode away, greeting the dancing party-goers as he passed them. Every woman in the place swiveled her head to follow his movements. When he stopped to converse, the person preened him or herself at his attention. The men either stood taller and tried to match his confidence, or seemed to deflate in his presence. The women gazed at him in open admiration. I couldn’t blame them. There was a lot to admire.
Dammit, I was in over my head. The rush to intimacy with Nic didn’t feel wrong, but hells bells, this was the fastest I’d ever gone from kissing a stranger to wherever we were going next.
A slow prickle tickled the back of my neck. I spun to try and catch whoever was staring at me. Jake sprawled on one of the sofas, his arms spread across its back, a charming smile on his handsome face. He lifted his glass as if to toast my presence, and I had a feeling Imogen would soon find out I’d attended the party. I did the same with my cocktail. I had nothing to hide after all, even if the kid had seen my flirting with Nic. If Imogen queried me, though she had no right to, I could pass it off as harmless chit-chat. Getting to know the frenemy, so to speak.
