by Mari Mancusi
Thankfully I managed to restrain myself from that ridiculous notion and I realized he was waiting for me to say something. You know, like in a normal conversation between two people where they both talked and one didn’t stare at the other like a slobbering mess. I cleared my throat.
“Well, thank you for coming,” I managed to squeak. “It’s a very worthy cause.”
“Indeed,” he said, letting the word hang there for a moment, as if it were a gourmet dessert to be savored before swallowed. Then he added, “But you haven’t answered my question.”
For a moment I stared at him dumbly, trying to rack my brain. Had he asked me a question? Then suddenly his opening line came raging back to me and I felt my cheeks flush.
“I don’t dance,” I said.
He gave me a skeptical look. “You don’t like to dance?” he asked. “Or you don’t know how to dance?”
“Um…” My brain raced, trying to decide which option would best dissuade further follow-up. Or, you know, an actual dance. “I really don’t know how.”
His smile widened and I realized I should have picked door number one. “There’s nothing to it,” he assured me. “Just let me lead.” He put out a hand, giving me an expectant look.
I stared down at his hand. I didn’t want to take it. At the same time, I wanted to take it so badly it hurt. What was wrong with me? Finally, I gave in, slipping my hand into his own, which was so large it practically swallowed mine up entirely. Electricity sparked instantly, as if we really were in a romance novel and I almost knocked over my champagne for the second time. (For the record, I would have made a very lousy romance heroine.) Instead, I tipped it back, taking a large slug and draining it dry. (Classy, right?) Then I allowed myself to be led to my doom…or, you know, the dance floor. Same thing, really.
He pulled me into his arms with a determination that startled me, his hand secured at the small of my back, the other sliding into my own. I let him do it, barely able to breathe as I dared to look up into his eyes again. He looked dark, dangerous. Sexy as hell, too, if we were being honest here. And yet there was a slight amusement dancing across his face as well.
I frowned at this. He clearly thought I was out of my league. And while he wasn’t wrong, of course, I wasn’t about to let him take pleasure in my discomfort. And so I drew in a breath and tried to recall all those ballroom dance lessons my mom had forced on me as a kid. Maybe they hadn’t been good for nothing after all.
The steps came back quicker than I had hoped and soon I was keeping up with him, gliding across the dance floor with a grace that surprised even me. I met his eyes, my expression bordering on defiance. As if to say, who’s laughing now?
“And here I thought you couldn’t dance,” he remarked in a low voice. “Turns out you’re a regular Ginger Rogers.”
I shrugged, hoping I wasn’t noticeably blushing under the dance floor lights. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s been a while. But I guess it’s like riding a bike.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’ve never ridden a bike.”
The music swelled then and he spun me around, then pulled me back into his arms. His hand burned at my lower back, causing my stomach to flip flop like a fish out of water. It’d been so long since I’d been in a man’s arms, I’d forgotten what it felt like. And while I knew in my heart I should pull away, put distance between us, it was as if my body had transformed into nothing but iron shavings while he had become an industrial strength magnet, drawing me back to him every time I managed to squeeze an inch apart.
I cleared my throat. I had to break this spell somehow. This wasn’t me. I didn’t do dances with strangers. Even if they did have an uncanny resemblance to my vampire hero.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I found myself blurting out.
His lip curled. “Hosting a benefit to your favorite charity, of course.”
I stopped in my tracks. Stared at him in disbelief. “What?” I squeaked. “This is your benefit?”
He shrugged. “Did I not tell you?”
“No. You did not tell me. Of course you didn’t tell me!”
“Then why did you come?”
A blush rose to my cheeks. “It was for charity.”
“I see,” he said, nodding. “But this is not your scene.” It wasn’t a question.
I snorted. “This is about as far from my scene as you can possibly get and still be a scene at all. I don’t like public places. I don’t like people.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What about adoring fans?”
“That’s different,” I insisted, angry that I’d let him put me on the defensive. “That’s for work. Not for fun.”
“And what do you do for fun?”
Now my face was on fire. I knew if I told him the truth, he would laugh at me. Think me pathetic and small—well, more than he probably already did.
“Hang gliding,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to my head. Which was actually pretty odd, since I’d never in my life gone hang gliding.
He laughed, a low rich laugh that danced like music across my ears, despite my best efforts. “You hang glide?” he repeated. “Now that is unexpected.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t have me all figured out after all.”
Anger burned in me now. Anger at him for laughing at me. At myself for falling for any of this. It was all a set-up, I realized suddenly. The whole event, orchestrated by this rich asshole to get me here. Would my charity even receive the money it was promised? Or was that just another ruse?
“I know all I need to know,” he replied smoothly. “After all, I read your book.”
Wait what?
“You actually read it?” I demanded, despite myself. So much for playing it cool.
“Yes.”
“Did you…like it?”
“Not particularly.”
I groaned. Of course.
“Then why are you doing all this? Why would you hold a big crazy charity event for an author you don’t even like?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like the author.”
I pulled myself out of his grasp. “Sorry buddy. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t insult my book without insulting me.”
This wasn’t remotely true, of course. In fact, I had pretty much made it my life mission not to read reviews or deal with haters. I knew full well once I put my art out into the world I was giving up control over how people consumed it. Those who trashed me online might be having just as much fun hating on my books as those who loved and adored them. And who was I to dictate how my work should be consumed by strangers?
Or as Darla put it: don’t feed the trolls.
But that was online. A web browser I could click closed at a moment’s notice. A computer I could turn off and walk away from. Even at book signings if we had a heckler show up we could have security whisk him away. But now, here I was at this fancy ball, supposedly thrown in my honor to support my favorite charity, by a man who hated my work and wasn’t afraid to tell me so to my face.
“Excuse me,” I managed to say. “I’ve actually got to…Yeah.”
I broke free of his grasp, which was surprisingly strong, bolting across the room in search of an exit, my heart pounding in my chest as the walls seemed to close in around me. It was suddenly all too much, too weird, and I needed to get some air. Maybe it was stupid not to bring Darla with me—or have some other chaperone. I thought I could handle myself alone. But now…
My arm itched. As I ran, pushing past people, I found myself reaching down to yank up my sleeve. Just a tiny bit—so as not to be noticed, my thumbnail scratching against the inside of my wrist. Trying desperately to calm myself down the one way I knew I could. If I could just get somewhere alone I could dig out the blade I had buried in my purse. Give myself some real relief.
Finally, I managed to locate an exit and I burst out the door into the warm night air, sucking in a much needed breath. Thankfully it was quiet out here, most people were now inside. I looked a
round at the beautiful manicured gardens, trying to steady my pulse. I had to admit, the place was beautiful. Expertly lit so you could still see the stars above proudly showing off a celestial portrait spread across the night sky.
I reached into my purse, digging deep. Looking for—
“Hannah!”
I looked up with a groan. Of course. I should have known there was no way Mr. Tall, Dark and Asshole would have just let me make an easy escape. I took my hand out of my purse, my heart stuttering in my chest. Now, standing alone, away from the crowd, I felt stupid for my earlier reaction. All he did was say he didn’t like my book. And I, like a child, had literally run away from this perceived rejection.
Pathetic, Hannah. Truly pathetic.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as he approached, looking, to his credit, legitimately concerned. “I just…needed some air.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to anger you. I just wanted to be honest.”
“Well, mission accomplished. Now leave me alone.”
“Don’t you want to know why I didn’t like the book?”
“Actually I couldn’t care less.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so angry in there.”
“Uh, maybe I just don’t appreciate being told my book sucks?”
“I didn’t say it sucked. I said I didn’t care for it.”
I closed my eyes frustration washing over me. “Fine. You didn’t care for it. Couldn’t you have just left a GoodReads review like everyone else? Or sent my publisher a scathing letter? Why the whole crazy party ruse?”
“Because I wanted to get to know you better,” he said simply.
My eyes flew open, realizing he was now standing in front of me. Standing too close, invading my space. I tried to stumble backward, but I hit the trunk of a tree. He smiled at this, looking smug, the cat that ate the canary. Then he stepped closer still, his thigh brushing up against my own, sending crazy chills all the way to my extremities.
“Don’t come any closer,” I managed to scrape out. “I’ll scream.”
He complied immediately, stepping back, bowing his head respectfully. Which should have made me feel relieved. Instead, I felt a weird shimmer of disappointment fluttering inside me. As if his unexpected advance had fired something up in me, only to be snuffed out again. Which sounded insane, but was par for the course tonight.
He reached out and my breath caught in my throat as he swept an errant curl from my face. His eyes had softened now and the smug smile had vanished. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d say he almost looked…sad.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forget myself. Please. Allow me to escort you back to the party.”
“No,” I said, hating how flushed my face felt. “I think I’ll stay out here.”
His mouth dipped to a frown. “Do you not like the party?”
“It’s a great party,” I admitted. “Just…I don’t really do parties. Even great ones.”
He laughed. “Perhaps next time I should arrange for us to go hang gliding instead.”
I groaned. “There’s really no need. Seriously, next time you get the urge to hate on my books, just go online like everyone else. Or hold a book burning—that could be fun.” I snorted. “Or better yet, don’t read any more of them. They’re clearly not to your taste.”
His eyes settled on me, dark and piercing. As if he were reaching out, stroking me with deft fingers, even though in reality he remained a respectful distance away.
“What?” I demanded.
“I have a question.”
I sighed. “What?”
“How do you…research your books?”
“They’re about vampires, dude. I make shit up.”
He looked incredulous. “Off the top of your head?”
“And the bottom of my dark, dark twisted soul. Yes.”
“No wonder you get them wrong,” he muttered.
“God, are we back on this? Look, dude, you may be pretty, but you’re clearly deluded. Let me set you straight. The books I write? They ain’t memoirs. They’re fantasy. Those vampires I talk about? They’re not real. Because vampires don’t exist.”
My voice rose to slightly screechy levels as I said the last part and my arm itched in frustration. I wanted to get away, to find a dark corner, to calm my nerves. But this guy couldn’t take a hint.
Sure enough, he shook his head. “That is where you’re wrong, Miss. Miller.”
“Excuse me?”
“Vampires do exist.”
“No, dude. They don’t. Trust me. Jonathan and Maisie? I made them up.”
“Yes. That is obvious. But there are vampires out there.”
I sighed. “There are people who play at being vampires, yes. And yes, some of them drink blood. But they are not mythical creatures of the night. They’re just people—really bored people.”
He regarded me for a moment. As if considering what I was saying. Then he spoke. “I would like to propose a little wager,” he said.
“Wager?”
“On whether vampires are real.”
I laughed out loud. “Ri-ght. Sure. And what do I win if I take this bet?”
“I will donate one million dollars to RAINN. No strings attached, no questions asked.”
I stared at him. “That’s a lot of scratch. You sure you want to lose that much?”
“I’m not going to lose.”
“Right. Okay, so let’s pretend that’s possible. What do you get out of the deal if you somehow manage to magically convince me there are bloodsuckers amongst us in real life?”
“One weekend.”
“Excuse me?”
His eyes locked on me. “You will give me one weekend. You will come to my house. You will stay with me. And I will teach you about vampires—real vampires. And,” his lips curled. “Real men.”
“No way dude.”
He gave me a patient look. “Don’t look so shocked. You’d sleep in the spare bedroom. And I would never touch you…unless you asked me to.” He chuckled. “Besides, you are positive there are no vampires, right? You’re not going to lose this bet?”
He looked at me expectantly and my heart pounded in my chest. Of course he was right. There were no vampires—I was sure about that. So what did I have to lose? And to get my charity one million dollars—if he was serious! How could I pass that up?
“What kind of proof are you going to give me?” I asked. “You can’t just show me someone sucking someone’s blood. I mean, anyone can do that if they wanted to.”
“Fine. I will not only show you. But I will convince you that vampires exist. If you are not utterly convinced by the end of tonight, I will respectfully lose the bet. I will drop you home and I will write you a check and you will never see me again.”
It was ridiculous. A completely indecent proposal. And certainly nothing that someone like me would ever agree to. I mean, I was practically a recluse. I barely went to the library. I’d already been dragged out tonight against my will. And now he expected me to just take off with him—a practical stranger? So he could show me that the creatures I wrote about every day actually exist?
I opened my mouth to say no. To laugh it off. To tell him I was going back inside. But for some reason, my mouth refused to form the words, my voice stuck in my throat. His dark blue eyes drove into me, like laser beams. And I stood there, completely mute, with no idea why.
“You will come with me,” he said in a deep, throaty voice, so low it made me vibrate a little inside. “Hannah.”
“I’ll come,” I found myself saying. The opposite of what I was trying to say. Yet somehow there suddenly didn’t seem another choice. I didn’t know how, but I knew I would go with him. Like it was a fact, etched in stone that I was merely repeating.
His gaze softened. A small smile ghosted his lips. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand away from the party.
“My limo awaits,”
he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “You want to go now?” I guess I expected we’d wait until the party was over.
He didn’t reply, probably because the answer would be obvious. Instead, he slipped a strong hand against the small of my back, possessively leading me down the stairs toward the parking lot.
4
I peered out the window as the driver turned onto a darkened street, far away from the city center and toward a much seedier section of town. My breath fogged the pane, but I swiped it clean with my hand.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, turning to Logan. “Transylvania?”
He snorted. “You really do know nothing about vampires, do you?”
“Are we really going to start this again?”
“I’m curious,” he said. “What made you decide to write about vampires in the first place? No offense, but you don’t exactly seem the type.”
“What, you think you have to be goth or something?” I demanded. This wasn’t the first time I had gotten this question. And, honestly, I didn’t blame people for asking. I had never had much interest in horror or vampires or anything of the paranormal sort. Until the dream, that was.
“I didn’t say that,” Logan replied easily, stretching his arms above his head. I tried not to notice the way his shirt lifted with the movement—exposing a small ribbon of muscled flesh. He dropped his hands again and it disappeared. Which was definitely for the best. “I was just curious,” he said.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I reminded him.
“Lucky for me, I’m a vampire, not a shifter.”
“So there are shifters, too? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
‘The Otherworld is vast,” he assured me. “There are all sort of things lurking under the skin of the world that you know. Vampires are just the beginning.”
