by Lynsay Sands
Chapter Four
"Damn," Bastien muttered, hitting the button to lock all the doors as he sat back in the driver's seat. Galling as it was to contemplate, Vincent might have a point. Bastien didn't have a single, solitary friend who was not of his own kind. He had human business acquain¬tances, but only out of necessity; and he kept them at a distance as much as possible, dealing with them only to the degree that business required.
And no, he hadn't taken the trouble to learn Mrs. Houlihan's first name, or anything else about the housekeeper. Why bother? She'd just die eventually anyway and have to be replaced like the last one. And the one before her. And the one before her. As all hu¬mans died.
Did he treat mortals like cattle, despite the fact that he no longer needed to feed off them directly? Bastien hated to admit it, but perhaps he did.
"Damn. " He let his breath out on a slow sigh, then gave a start when a tap sounded on his window. Turn¬ing, he peered out at Vincent, who was gesturing for him to roll it down. Bastien hit the button to do so.
"I just thought I should mention, you might want to check with Sleeping Beauty and be sure she isn't vegetarian. She looks the type. " On that note, Vin¬cent straightened and started back off down the street.
Bastien hit the button to roll the window back up, then reached grimly for his cell phone. He punched in the number to the apartment, not at all sure that either Terri or Chris would answer a phone that wasn't theirs. Fortunately, Terri did, picking up the phone on the third ring and saying politely, "Hello, Argeneau residence. "
"Hi, Terri, this is Bastien Argeneau. " He paused and grimaced at the pompous ring that had. The Ar-geneau part hadn't really been necessary, had it? He plowed on: "I was thinking of picking up some subs for supper. Is that all right? You aren't a vegetarian, are you?"
"That sounds great!" Terri said. "No, I'm not a vegetarian. Can you pick up some chips and pop with that, too? Barbecue chips, Dr Pepper, and make my sub an assorted, please. Everything on it, includ¬ing hot peppers. "
"Er. . . yes. Assorted. Everything. Hot peppers," Bastien repeated, tugging out his small notepad and pen to scribble down her order under Chris Keyes's address. "Barbecue chips and Dr. Who?"
"Pepper. Dr Pepper," she repeated. "Shall I check with Chris and see what he wants?"
"Er, yes. Sure. That would be good," he agreed, then winced as she set the phone down, apparently on a table, because the clack in his ear was almost painful. Several moments passed as he waited; then she was back.
"Hello?"
"Yes, I'm here. "
"Chris wants a meatball sub, plain chips, and Canada Dry ginger ale. "
"Meatball, plain chips, Canada Dry," Bastien mut¬tered, then stilled. "A meatball sub? Like what they put in spaghetti Bolognese?"
"Yes. "
"Oh. Okay. " Silence reigned between them briefly; then he cleared his throat. "Is everything okay up there?"
"Fine. Chris is watching television, and I'm un¬packing," she said. "Where are you? You can't have gone far. You didn't leave long ago. "
"No, I'm downstairs in the parking garage, just leaving actually," he admitted. "I just thought I should check and be sure you weren't a vegetarian or anything. I wouldn't want to bring home a sub and find you couldn't eat it. "
"Nope. Not vegetarian. I love meat. "
Bastien smiled at her enthusiasm. At least there was something Vincent had got wrong.
"Are you a vegetarian?" she asked curiously, then gave a laugh. "Well, I guess not, or you wouldn't be suggesting subs. Well, I suppose you could be," she corrected herself. "You could like vegetarian subs. But you just don't seem the veggie type to me. "
"Don't I?" he asked with a grin. "What kind of guy do I seem to you?"
"A steak man. Rare," she said firmly. Then, "Am I right? You like your steak rare?"
"Very rare," he said solemnly. She responded with a tinkle of laughter that helped ease some of the tension he had been feeling since talking to Vincent. As Bastien listened to the sound, he was suddenly aware of a dis¬tinct reluctance to hang up the phone. He'd rather sit and talk to her than take care of business. Mind you, he'd rather talk to her in person, where he could watch the way her eyes danced with humor when she spoke, and the way her face became expressive and animated, and how her hands flew about like two birds as she de¬scribed things. He'd found her charming and quite distracting on the way home from the airport.
"Well, give us a call if you have trouble finding Chris's apartment, and I'll put him on the phone to give you directions. "
Bastien nodded. She was telling him to get off the phone and get moving. It felt almost like a rejection. It seemed she wasn't as eager to sit there talking as he. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I'll do that. Bye. " He disengaged the phone before she could re¬spond, embarrassed and a touch angry at his eager¬ness to talk to her. She was only a human, he reminded himself--not really worth wasting time on. She'd be around for another thirty to fifty years, then drop dead, be put in the ground, and turn to dust as Josephine had.
Bastien swallowed hard at the memory of the one love he'd had in his life. He'd been young at the time, only eighty-eight, and had spent his life until then sewing his wild oats but not caring very deeply for the women he'd sown them with. Until Josephine. He'd fallen for her hard. So hard, in fact, that he'd ig¬nored that he could read her mind: a sure sign, his mother always said, that a couple would make bad life mates. He had revealed himself to her, begging her to join him in eternal night--or what he had thought was eternal night back then; they'd had no clue in those days that they would eventually be allowed to walk in sunlight thanks to the advent of blood banks and the safety they offered.
"Josephine. " The name was a whisper on his lips as he put the cell phone away. The great love of his ex¬istence. He'd offered her eternal life and all his riches, which was no small sum. But, repelled by what he claimed to be, she'd turned him down cold. Josephine had believed him soulless. She'd been so terrified of him, she'd dropped to her knees and begged God for immediate deliverance. She'd feared jeopardizing her own soul by even knowing him. Bastien had been forced to wipe her memory and give her up. He'd stood by and watched her fall in love with a human, marry him, bear his children, age, and die. It had bro¬ken his heart.
A sudden honk from behind made Bastien stiffen, then glance in the rearview mirror. Someone was leaving work late and wanted out. He was blocking the way.
Forcing himself to move, Bastien shifted the car into drive and eased out onto the street, turning right to avoid having to wait for the traffic to clear. He drove up several streets without really thinking, then decided he'd better soon figure out what he was do¬ing or he could end up driving around all night.
His first priority was Mrs. Houlihan, but he didn't have a clue where to start looking. As Vincent had made him realize, he didn't even know her first name, let alone if she had family to go to. He presumed she did. The woman would hardly be walking the streets, homeless and hungry and cold just to escape him. Would she?
Bastien grimaced to himself. For all he knew, she would. He didn't know a thing about his ex-house-keeper. Which meant the woman was not a matter he could deal with at the moment. He'd have to leave her for now and put his secretary on the matter to¬morrow. Meredith had several dealings with Mrs. Houlihan, and might know more than he. If not, she could find out who had hired the woman and what was known about her. Bastien couldn't even recall how long the woman had been working for him. She'd been just another faceless employee until today. With that issue on hold, Bastien decided to head to. . . What the hell was that editor's name again?
"Chris!" He spoke the same triumphantly as his memory kicked in. Christopher. Keyes. He'd see to getting the man some clothes from his apartment, pick up some subs from. . . whereever they sold subs, and head back to the penthouse where he could relax and figure out what to do with his houseguests until he had a new housekeeper to take care of
them.
Even with his efficient secretary on the job, finding a replacement for Mrs. Houlihan could take days, even weeks. Because of what the family were, employees for any job with the Argeneaus had to be vetted very carefully.
"Hmmm. Weeks without a housekeeper," he mur¬mured thoughtfully as he glanced at the address on his notepad. He turned the next corner to head in the right general direction. Weeks while he would be re¬sponsible for his guests. At least for Terri. The editor wasn't really his responsibility. He hadn't actually agreed to the man's presence in the penthouse; he was just suffering it at present. But Terri--he had agreed to take her in. In his book, that made her safety and well-being his responsibility. Which included keep¬ing her out of Vincent's clutches.
Perhaps he'd take some time off work for the next little while and stick around the apartment to keep an eye on her. Yet the idea of taking time off was so alien to Bastien, the mere fact that he considered it was startling.
Time off work. He contemplated the matter seri¬ously, and it did seem to be the best move if he was to keep Terri safe. Bastien was sure Kate would never forgive him if he allowed Vincent to bite her. He himself certainly wouldn't be happy about it. The very thought of his cousin's lips and teeth on the ten¬der flesh of Terri's neck--or anything else--was re¬pugnant! Yes. He'd take time off work and--well, sitting around the apartment would be boring. He couldn't see himself doing that. He'd never sat about in his life. He was constantly on the go, his life con¬stantly busy.
He stepped on the brake as the light ahead turned red, then glanced idly about until his attention was caught by a large sign in what appeared to be an empty lot, advertising the hours of a flea market. Bastien stared at it with interest. It was the weekend, and spring had arrived, which meant flea markets and street fairs would be springing up all over the city. He wondered if Terri might enjoy attending a couple of those while she was in New York. Then he spotted a taxi driving by with a Metropolitan Museum of Art sign set on its yellow top.
She might like to go there, too. Bastien hadn't been to the Met since its grand opening in Central Park back in. . . 1880, he thought it was. Had it been that long? He frowned over the date, but was pretty sure he was right. He'd always intended to go back, but had never really been able to find the time.
Dear God, it had been over 120-some years since he'd managed a couple of hours out to visit a mu¬seum? Well, it was about damned time he did, Bastien decided. He'd take Terri there. That's what he'd do. She'd enjoy it. But he wouldn't want to take her there on the weekend. The museum would be terri¬bly crowded then. Perhaps Monday was a better day for a trip like that. He considered as the light changed, and he eased his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. Yes, he'd take her around the flea markets and street fairs this weekend, then take her to the mu¬seum on Monday. After that? Well, there were tons of places to take her and things to see in New York. Plays for instance. He hadn't seen one of those in--
Bastien's mind shied away from the calculation. He was pretty sure it had been longer than since he'd been to a museum. The idea of going just hadn't seemed all that interesting before now; but with Terri to entertain, and imagining it through her eyes, it did.
The thought reminded him of Lucern's words ear¬lier that day. "Everything seems more vibrant and interest¬ing now. I find myself seeing things anew, seeing them as Kate must see them, rather than with the jaundiced eye I've cast over everything for ages. It makes a nice change. "
Bastien slammed his foot down on the brakes and sat frozen in the driver's seat, ignoring the sudden rush of honking behind him. He was causing a traffic jam, but he just didn't care. His mind was racing. Everything seemed more interesting when he con¬sidered showing it to Terri. He had an unusual con¬cern for her well-being, and was distracted with the idea of keeping her and Vincent apart that--in truth--had nothing to do with what Kate might think or say. He doubted she'd be pleased if the edi¬tor got bit either, but that didn't really bother him. No. He wanted to keep Terri away from Vincent be¬cause the very idea of his cousin wooing her under his nose made him sick, because. . . he was interested in her himself.
A banging on the window drew his distracted gaze. A driver had gotten out of his vehicle and was now yelling and pounding on Bastien's door. He couldn't hear what the man was shouting--the honking from behind was too loud--but Bastien gathered the fellow wasn't happy with the holdup. He watched the man's mouth move for several min¬utes, then put the suggestion in his head to shut up and get back into his car. The moment the fellow did, Bastien eased his foot down on the gas pedal and set his Mercedes moving again.
The incident set his mind going in another direc¬tion. He had put the suggestion in the angry driver's mind without any effort. Could he control and read Terri's mind? If he could, she wasn't for him. It he couldn't. . . He'd have to wait till he got back to the penthouse to see.
Eager to get home, Bastien put on some speed, cursing the fact that Chris Keyes lived in Morning-side Heights in the Upper West Side, far from his own expensive area of town.
When he got there, Bastien found he didn't need the keys C. K. had given him. The door to the apart¬ment was wide open. An old lady stood inside, hands on hips as she nattered at a pair of workers carting out chunks of plaster and wood--clearing away the rub¬ble from the fallen ceiling, was Bastien's guess. He entered and approached the woman, presuming she was the landlady. Wasting a good deal of time, he tried to explain to her that he was there on Chris's behalf; then he got tired of reassuring her and slipped into her mind to suggest she not notice his presence at all. Bastien then had to do so with the two workmen as well before being free to move into the bedroom.
He should have done so in the first place, Bastien thought with irritation as he slipped out of the apart¬ment several minutes later. He had a haphazard col-lection of clothes stuffed into a gym bag he'd found on the bedroom floor. Tossing the bag on the passen¬ger seat of his car, he started the engine, then paused. The next stop on his list was to collect subs, but he had no idea where those would be sold. Bastien al¬most got out of the car to ask the nearest passerby where he could find a shop that sold subs, then changed his mind. He'd wait till he was closer to home to ask directions. If the subs were usually heated, which he suspected a meatball sub would be--and for all he knew Terri's assorted sub might be too--he didn't want them to be cold by the time he returned. They sounded disgusting enough without being presented cold.
Unfortunately, it appeared that sub shops were scarce in the elite section of the city that housed Ar-geneau Enterprises; and the directions Bastien even¬tually got made him backtrack quite a fair distance to find what he was looking for. It also appeared that such shops were quite popular, because the line inside was atrocious. Bastien was tempted to leap into peo¬ple's minds to cut to the front of the line, but forced himself to be patient and wait like everyone else. This wasn't an emergency. He had no excuse for such manipulation.
Half an hour later, and well over two hours after he had set out, Bastien rode up the elevator to the pent¬house suite, carrying the gym bag with the editor's clothes, and a paper bag holding three subs, plain chips, two bags of barbecue chips, two Dr Peppers, and a Canada Dry ginger ale. He'd double ordered Terri's selections, to give himself something to pick at so she wouldn't wonder why he wasn't eating.
"The conquering hero returns," Vincent said as Bastien strode into the living room.
Bastien ignored him and focused his attention on his two charges instead, then gaped. "They're asleep!"
"Well, what did you expect?" his cousin asked in amusement. "You took forever. I've been back for an hour--and I was on foot and actually had to hunt down my meal, not pick it up from the corner sub shop. "
Bastien turned a suspicious glance his way. "You did feed outside? You didn't--?"
"No, I didn't bite your houseguests," Vincent assured him, then gestured to the editor who was sound asleep in a sitting position, his head bobbi
ng on his chest. "That one's sleeping thanks to his painkillers, I think. And Terri's had a terribly long day. And it is late. "
Bastien's gaze narrowed at the way Vincent's ex¬pression and voice softened. "It's only"--he lifted his watch to check--"nine. "
"Nine here, two in the morning in England," Vinny pointed out.
"Oh yes. " Bastien glanced from the sleeping woman to the bag of food in his hand. Despite how disgusting it sounded, the subs actually smelled good. "Do you think I should wake her up to eat?"
"No. " His cousin shook his head. "She's been up since four A. M. England time. "
"Four A. M. ?" Bastien asked in dismay. He set the bags down on the coffee table.
"Her flight left at ten. She had to check in three hours before that, and Huddersfield is more than an hour's drive from Manchester Airport. Between all of that and the seven-hour flight turning into a nine-hour one thanks to the delay in Detroit--not to mention the long drive into town--she's had a terri¬bly long, wearying day. Best to let her sleep. "
"Hmmm. " Bastien nodded in agreement, then scowled at Vincent. The man had obviously been talking to Terri before she'd drifted off. That an¬noyed him. "How long ago did she fall asleep?"
"About half an hour. "
He nodded. If Vincent had taken an hour finding his dinner, that meant he'd got to talk to Terri for around half an hour. Bastien couldn't decide if he was annoyed that the man had got to talk to her for that time, or pleased that his conversation hadn't been invigorating enough to keep her awake. Deciding that it didn't matter, he moved around the coffee table and carefully scooped the woman up in his arms.
"Going to tuck her in?" Vincent teased.
"She'll get a crick in her neck sleeping out here," Bastien answered in a murmur. He carried her out of the room and down the hall. He managed to get the guest room door open, carry her inside, and set her on the bed without waking her up. Then he went to the master bedroom and tugged the comforter off the bed there to cover her with, rather than possibly wake her by trying to pull the duvet on her own bed out from under her. Once she was tucked in, he straight¬ened and stared for a moment.
When awake, Terri Simpson seemed a curious bundle of contradictions: funny, kind, unconsciously sexy, yet with a wickedly mischievous sense of hu¬mor. Asleep she was pure innocence, her face soft and sweet. She appeared to be a lovely human being, both inside and out. It was rare for him to think so highly of a mortal, or anyone for that matter. Most people he met seemed greedy and grasping. He had learned over time that everyone has an agenda; the trick was discovering what it was.
But Bastien didn't see that in this woman. She had flown thousands of miles and given up her vacation to help Kate with the upcoming wedding. He hadn't known her long, but from what he had seen, Terri was happiest giving and she didn't expect or feel comfortable taking anything from others. Most peo¬ple would have delighted in having these luxurious accommodations rather than Kate's lumpy old couch, yet this woman had been uncomfortable at the idea of staying here. And she hadn't been happy that Bastien wouldn't let her contribute to the pittance for the dinner she now wasn't going to eat. He would learn more in the days to come, but at the moment, it appeared that Bastien had finally met a woman he could like and respect--and not feel that she was out to get something from him.
Terri sighed and shifted on the bed, and Bastien smiled; then he blinked in surprise as a loud snore ripped through the room. He stared at her aghast, covering his mouth to stifle the laughter that threat¬ened to spill out. He backed quickly out of the room.
Well, Bastien thought as he pulled the door closed, no one was perfect. Chuckling openly, he walked back to the living room and took Terri's spot on the couch. It was still warm from her body, and he en¬joyed the sensation before reaching for the food bag.
"What about him?" Vincent gestured to the sleep¬ing editor as Bastien peered curiously into the bag of Subs.
"What about him?" Bastien pulled out one of the packages of barbecue chips and struggled with it briefly before managing to get it open.
"He'll get a crick in his neck, too, if you don't put him to bed," Vincent pointed out.
Bastien shrugged. Peering inside the bag, he saw thin slices of cooked potato with a sprinkling of red seasoning. "So, he gets a crick. He should have taken himself to bed. "
Vincent chuckled, then gaped as Bastien took one chip out and bit cautiously into it. "What are you doing?"
"Trying the potato chips," he stated as he chewed the brittle delectation and pushed it around inside his mouth so that he could get the full flavor. It wasn't bad. Not bad at all. He didn't remember there being anything like this the last time he'd bothered with food.
"Dear God," his cousin breathed.
"What?" Bastien peered over in question.
"You're eating. " Vincent stared in amazement, then added, "Food. You must be in love. "
Bastien swallowed, and gave a bark of laughter. "Being in love isn't like being pregnant, Vincent. We don't eat when we're in love. "
"Every one of us I know that has fallen in love has started eating again," his cousin said grimly.
Bastien considered as he swallowed, then popped another chip into his mouth. Lissianna had eaten. He wasn't sure about Etienne, but he knew Lucern was eating again. His chewing slowed, but then he shook his head and forced himself to relax. He'd only met the woman today. He couldn't be in love. Deeply in like, maybe, but not in love. And two chips did not really translate to "eating"--at least, not in his book.
"Speaking of food, when is the last time you really fed?"
There was no hiding his start of surprise at the question. Bastien knew Vincent wasn't referring to hunting, but simply to ingesting blood. And much to his amazement, Bastien suddenly realized that he hadn't done so since early that morning. He'd started to feel the need for blood while waiting at the airport for Terri's plane to arrive, but he hadn't thought of it since she hugged him. He'd been too distracted by everything else that was going on. Bastien refused to even think that his distraction was solely due to Terri's arrival. A lot had happened since then: Vin¬cent's being here, the housekeeper quitting, Kate's ar¬rival with her coworker, then leaving with Lucern. Lots, he assured himself.
Unfortunately that didn't explain why, now that things had settled down, he still wasn't feeling any particular desire for blood. Perhaps he just needed to see or actually smell the substance to stir his appetite. No doubt, once he went to his room and retrieved a bag of blood from the refrigerator built into his bed, he'd have his hunger back.
Bastien closed the chip bag, stuck it back with the rest of the food, and stood to carry it all to the kitchen. It was as he put the bag in the empty fridge that he recalled Terri stating the kitchen was empty of anything but a teapot, one cup, and tea bags. He closed the fridge door and opened a cupboard or two. Mrs. Houlihan had had her own small apartment in the back of the penthouse with a kitchen and every¬thing, and he didn't doubt for a minute that those cupboards were full of food and dishes and whatever else outfitted a good kitchen. This one, however, was completely bare.
He should really see that it was filled up, Bastien decided. As it was, there was nothing to give Terri in the morning but tea. And cold subs, he supposed, closing the kitchen cupboards and tugging his note¬pad from his pocket.
He made a notation as he left the room and started up the hall to the master suite. He would put his secretary on to this task, too--when he called the office on Monday about Mrs. Houlihan, and about his taking some time off. She'd hire whoever was necessary and see that his cupboards and fridge were well stocked by the time they got back from the museum that day. In the meantime, he'd just have to take Terri out to eat. It wouldn't be a prob¬lem, as there were tons of restaurants in New York.
"Whistling and smiling too. Also signs of a man in love. "
Bastien glanced around and found Vincent leaning nonchalantly against the door to Lucern's r
oom. His cousin stood, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, watching him with taunting amusement.
"I wasn't whistling. "
"Yes, you were. "
Bastien didn't bother denying it again. In truth, he might have been whistling as he walked up the hall; he wasn't sure. If so, it had been an unconscious act. He kind of thought he might have been smiling. It was possible. He had been feeling happy, after all; but he couldn't have been doing both. "Nobody can smile and whistle at the same time," he argued.
"You started up the hall smiling, then began to whistle about halfway along. You were also jingling the change in your pocket," Vincent informed him. "A classic happy-go-lucky, man-in-love action. "
"How the hell would you know?" Bastien asked with irritation.
"I'm an actor," Vincent said with a shrug. "Know¬ing the outward signs of emotion is my business. I can't act like a man in love if I don't know what a man in love acts like. And you, my dear cousin, are showing all the classic first signs of a man falling in love. "
"I just met her today," Bastien protested.
"Hmm. Love's a funny thing and often hits hard and fast. As you well know," Vincent said solemnly. "Besides, I said falling in love--not already there. "
On that note, he turned and entered Lucern's bed¬room, leaving Bastien alone in the hall. He'd been re¬ferring to Josephine when he said "As you well know. " Vincent and Bastien had been close friends at the time he'd met and fallen in love with her. Vinny had witnessed Bastien's pain as Josephine had rejected him and called him a monster. Until then, Bastien had enjoyed the social whirl and the wild times the human world had to offer. It was after she broke his heart that he'd lost interest in it all and immersed himself in the family business. He had worked hard at accumulating money ever since. Money was the cor¬nerstone of life; it never let you down or judged you; and money never said no.
Unfortunately, his close friendship with Vincent had been one of the things Bastien had let fall by the wayside in his determined drive to bury himself in the demands of business. He hadn't really noticed its absence until this evening. His cousin's teasing and cajolery tonight had reminded him of what he had been missing these last three hundred years or so. He'd been missing a lot. It was time to make up for it, but cautiously. Bastien had no desire to get his heart broken again.
