How arrogant. I roll my lips in and breathe out through my nose. I’m annoyed again. And thrilled. And the combination bothers me.
“There! Beautiful and presentable. Come along. Your carriage is waiting.”
I follow Brad to the carport, and a black Bentley is waiting for me. The partition is down, and I see the same person who has been, so far, driving me around with Blake. Brad hands me inside and then waves at me until I turn around. I imagine he’s still waving, but I don’t look again. My nerves have picked up. What if I had just stayed at the house? I frown. Brad would have probably tossed me into the Limo, anyway.
The Limo pulls up in front of the same restaurant where I had met Blake’s—friends? It parks under the carport, and the valet opens the door for me. I take whoever’s hand and steady myself as I straighten out. I release the hand with a thank-you and stare up in awe at this place. I hadn’t really viewed it last time since I had been nervous. But this place is expensive. It is a restaurant that I would have pressed my nose to the glass for one glimpse inside. There are thick curtains over these windows, and even though they are drawn back, I still can’t see inside because of the tint on the glass.
I reach the door, and it’s opened for me by the doorman, who smiles and nods his head at me. He holds the door, and I imagine he’s staring at my ass as I walk by. I glance over my shoulder—he’s not. I make it a few steps inside and stop taking in the grand foyer and the expensive furnishings. A lady greets me with a bright smile, and I tell her who I am here to meet. Her face registers surprise for a moment before she scurries to help me, apologizing for keeping me waiting, even though I have only just walked in. She leads me with quick steps, and soon I reach another semi-enclosed dining area, a table set for two. Blake is already sitting, and he rises when he sees me. The appreciation in his eyes is intense, and I blush.
I hesitate for a moment as his blue eyes look me over. My nerves are threatening to shake my whole body. But he crosses to me and takes my hand.
“Thank you for joining me,” he murmurs and leads me to my seat.
He holds my chair and scoots it in for me. Then he takes his seat and hands me a menu, making some recommendations, which I ignore. I choose something I know I will only pick at. He pours me some wine, and I observe a water glass beside that, decorated with a lemon slice. He has some sort of darkened glass set by him, similar to the ones from the other night. Again, I wonder what is in there.
I glance at him and note how handsome he looks in that dark tailored suit. Another suit that molds to his body, and I wonder what he looks like without the suit on. I almost gasp aloud at those thoughts, and I reach for my wine glass instead. My nerves haven’t settled down, and the glass shakes slightly. I take a sip and set it back in its place. Of course, the wine is excellent, and it makes me wonder how expensive the bottle is. A waitress enters and takes our orders. Once she leaves, he maintains the silence for a moment.
“You look lovely today.” He smiles gently.
He is sincere. I hear it in his voice. “Yeah, well, Brad picked it out,” I mutter, not really knowing what to say. “He thought it would be perfect for this place,” I ramble. Of course, it would be perfect for this place. Brad’s tastes don’t falter.
“He chooses well. Always. Normally I wouldn’t choose one such as he for my employment needs, but he is—different.”
He looks contemplative when he says this, and I draw back, brows knitted together. What’s wrong with Brad? I snag my wine glass and gulp it. I glare at Blake once again, and he looks surprised by my actions.
“What’s wrong with him?” I challenge. Brad is a perfect gentleman, smart, witty, knowledgeable.
And fun to be around, I note, frowning.
“There is nothing wrong with Brad,” Blake says, studying me. “Not in the way you were just thinking.” He picks up the darkened glass and sips. He sets the dark glass away from me, and I wonder what he’s drinking. It looks like wine, yet... if my suspicions are correct. “Are you feeling better today?” His voice is pleasant, concerned.
“Yes.” The answer comes from me before I can be snarky about it. Blake is throwing me off today. Part of me wants to grasp hold of that olive branch, and the other part of me wants to protect myself. I war with myself, my emotions in turmoil.
“Good. I hope you enjoy the food here.” Again, he seems sincere. And I can tell by the tone of his voice that he hopes I enjoy the food.
“Is it to die for?” I ask.
“I’m not sure I would go that far,” he says, a quirk of a smile at his lips. “But it is wonderful. I own this restaurant.”
I remain silent, understanding why he wishes I am pleased with the food. I sip at my wine as Blake tries for more small talk, but honestly, I’m nervous about being around him, and anger seems so much easier, even if it’s getting deflated by how nice he is being. I am granted a slight reprieve when our orders are placed before us. But, when the lids are removed; the aroma seems to drift automatically to my nose, and my mouth literally waters. I pick up my fork and take my first bite. My eyes close, and a sound of pleasure emits from my throat. So much for me picking at my food. I open my eyes, and Blake is staring at me with... longing? The food catches in my throat, and I swallow with effort. I put the back of my hand to my mouth.
“I’m glad you like it.” He picks up his fork and acts like he is going to eat.
I observe him, wondering what he is going to do, and then he sets his fork down. He takes his dark glass and lifts it to his lips—lips I hadn’t really noticed before until just now. They look strong, too. Everything about this man is strength. He near exudes it, and it’s... something I cannot think about right now.
“What happened the other night? When we met your friends?” I ask him and catch him off guard. In truth, it was a strange evening with cloaked words and those four looking at me like I was the main dish.
“Business acquaintances. Not friends.” He sets the dark glass down. It’s half-empty now.
“I don’t remember passing out, and I don’t think I drank that much.” It’s been bothering me because I know I didn’t get drunk. I also remember Blake telling them that he fulfilled and did something the Council had asked.
“Inara and Natalia said you threw up in the restroom and passed out.” He tells me easily.
He’s lying. I stare at him, working my jaw in annoyance. “I didn’t drink that much.”
I would bet my life on it. I had only drunk about half the glass. That is not enough to knock me on my ass, let alone puke all over. Not like my wedding day when I downed Champagne like it was water.
He looks away and says, “I picked you up and carried you home.”
He did much more than just that. “You carried me home?” I raise an eyebrow, my attempt at subtle humor.
He grins at me. “I brought you to the Limo and then inside our home,” he says, and I think he looks embarrassed. “You were quite out of it. I was concerned about you. I thought you had a fever.”
I swallow—our home. I busy myself with a forkful of food. I wanted to make a scene here, but the food is way too good. So is the wine. I finish my meal in mostly quiet. I am intensely aware of Blake and the fact he lied to me. Now, I want to know why.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more to that? Sometimes I catch glimpses of the bathroom and those two.” It’s true, although the flashes are just that. Nothing substantial, and I can’t make sense of them. On the heels of those flashes are more glimpses of Blake and I in the Limo—kissing?—and those thoughts are even more disconcerting.
“It’s just what they told me,” he says and looks away for a moment.
I let it go. It’ll come to me, and whatever he knows, I can tell he is keeping it to himself to spare me, and that thought makes me feel—well, I’m not sure. I haven’t wanted to identify any of these feelings because I still wish to—don’t I? I’m not sure just what I want anymore.
“Who is the Council?” I ask. Now that we’ve been tal
king, it seems I can’t stop with the questions. I seem to startle him a bit.
“No one.”
I bite my lip and look away. “But the Council was mentioned a few times. Is it something that will harm me?” I can’t help thinking this. Blake leaves me confused because I had wanted an end, thinking it was my only way out. But now I’ve met Brad, and I’ve spent time in Blake’s world and... I’m not so sure now.
“I will not let them harm you,” Blake assures me.
I reach over and put my hand on his. He seems startled, looking at our hands for a beat and then at me. “Tell me, please.” Suddenly, I don’t want to be left out. I don’t want to be in the dark about his life.
He slips his hand around mine and brings my knuckles to his lips. Shivers race down my spine, and I hold my breath at his touch. He smiles at me as if he knows just what he’s done to me. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks.
“The Council granted me a loan when my business began going under because of a great catastrophe. Certain stipulations had to be met. Conditions. I met those conditions and did so before the appointed time. If I had waited even two more weeks, I would have been in default, and they could have taken my livli—everything I own.”
“Am I part of the condition?” I whisper, and pull back my hand.
He hesitates. “Yes.” I slouch and look down and feel his knuckle under my chin. “But I didn’t know you were going to be that condition. When I met with your father, I went there hoping to see you as well.” He removes his knuckle and meets my eyes without wavering. “Your father has had several other loans before this one.”
My lips part. I had no idea. I mean, I knew about the loans, of course, but I had not known where he acquired them from. “Did you help him with those as well?”
“No. One of my staff members did. The manager brought this loan to me for approval because of the sizeable amount. I saw in your father’s past documents that you were mentioned. Nothing that would make you liable, I want you to know. Just on some standard form documents.”
Well, that makes sense. I look away and take a breath. “And then you saw me and wanted me, so you took me.” My voice is low, whispery. There is silence for a time, and I finally look back at him. The intensity in his eyes makes me shiver once again, and yet I’m—safe.
“I saw the bruises, Marina. I knew that if the loan wasn’t granted, your father would be angry.” His voice is low, melodic once more.
It’s in that tone I want to tell him everything. “I wanted to die.”
“I know.” He leans into me, his hands on my cheeks, his eyes on mine. “I will never harm you. I will never kill you, no matter how many dresses you destroy, how much you drink, or what you say to me.”
He releases me, and I rock back a bit. He means it. I see it, and all my plans for death leave. I want nothing more than to—live. I want to live with him because in this short amount of time I’ve known him, he’s done more for me than my father has done for me in the eighteen I had lived with him. And the three years I had been on my own had been exhilarating and—scary. If I had not made a plan to escape, then I would have lived in fear for those years leading up to marry Blake. I am at a loss for words. I knew he had seen the bruise on my arm, but I had hoped he would have thought I had just been clumsy. My eyes turn to my plate with only a few bites left.
“This was very good. Thank you.” I meet his eyes.
Have his eyes always been that blue? I could get lost in eyes like that. I shake myself out of it. He has a natural sex appeal that exudes from him without effort. I see he has finished whatever it was in his glass, and he has not touched his meal.
“That seems a waste,” I say, indicating his food. And it is in this moment that I know that I know—and it doesn’t bother me in the least. If anything, it increases my interest in him. Who he is, how long he’s been here and what kind of man builds an empire the way he has. I want to know it all.
“I’m afraid I am not as hungry as I thought I was.” His voice is apologetic. “Are you ready for Friday?”
His question catches me off guard. I had forgotten. My dress is supposed to be delivered today. In fact, it might be there now. Brad will take care of it, I know. I tell him that the dress will be here today, and he nods, pleased. Strangely, I’m pleased that he is pleased.
“Did you want to see it?” I don’t know why I asked. It definitely wasn’t for his approval, but suddenly I want his approval. Suddenly, I want to be what he wants me to be and to please him. Not just for him, but for me as well. Suddenly, I want to discover what I can be—with him.
“No.” The single-word answer hangs there.
Huh? No? “Why not?” I’m not sure if I’m hurt by his answer or not. I hadn’t expected a refusal.
Blake smiles gently. “Surprise me. I’m sure you’ll look lovely in whatever you picked out. It will be nice to see you in something glamorous. I hope you do not destroy that one.”
I flush and see the twinkle in his eyes. He is joking with me, and I want to wear that dress, and I want to make him happy. I do not want to push any of his buttons and make him angry or upset. And suddenly, I’m frightened of these feelings, and I feel the familiar anger rise because I’ve used it to protect me for years. If I was angry, I couldn’t be sad. Which is a lie since the anger only hid the sadness and lay over it like a wet blanket. I gulp and reach for my water with shaky hands.
The dress is beautiful, and Brad helped me pick it out for that night. It had never crossed my mind to destroy the dress, but then, I’m more afraid of what Brad would do to me if I destroyed that ballgown. I give him a shaky nod, and he seems—pleased. The cool water slips down my throat, calming me. I reach to set it back on the table, and I hit the tip of my spoon. The glass tumbles and spills across the table, back into my lap. I jerk up even as he does. Blake hands me his napkin, and I press it to my silk blouse and pants. The pants are black, so at least it’s not evident that I’ve had a mishap.
“I’m sorry!” I back away from him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.” The last is in a whisper of despair.
My father is shouting at me. Telling me I’m clumsy. Yes, I spilled the soda and broke the glass. The patron is apologizing and trying to tell my father that it is okay. I suffer a hit from my father. He strikes my lower back, causing me to jump, and that action silenced even the patron. He insists again that it was an accident, and I’m told to get to the kitchen to get something to clean it up. I rush away, knowing my father’s fists will find their way to my flesh.
I return quickly, and the patron is still explaining to my father that it was an accident. He even goes so far as to tell my father that he bumped into me—a lie. There are no accidents in his restaurant! No mishaps. This man’s meal and his guests’ meals will come out of my paycheck. The patron sends me looks of pity and assures my father it is okay. It’s not okay. It won’t be okay—for when the patrons leave, my father’s wrath will come.
“Marina!”
I blink into focus, and Blake is kneeling before me. I’m sitting on the floor against the partition. I try to focus and breathe, and Blake shakes my shoulders a bit to get my attention on him.
“Hey. Right here. You’re right here—with me. Come back to me, please.”
I’m not sure what it is. His tone, his words—please? I focus, seeing his blue eyes. The ones I want to lose myself in—forever. The ones I want to die in. The ones I want to live in. He is concerned about me. It is etched on his face. His grip on me is light and firm at the same time—supportive.
“There you are,” he whispers, as my eyes focus. “Come on. Let’s get you standing.”
He steadies me and holds my elbows, peering into my face, making sure I’m okay. Lucid. I blink some more, shaking off the memory and what happened after. I grip his forearms and stare at the suit covering those muscles, the ones I feel through his suit. My fingers curl into the fine fabric. He’s so strong and capable.
Safe.
I step back, but h
is hands are under my elbows, making sure I am steady—making sure I can stand on my own. I look into his blue eyes and lose myself in the depths of them. I’m embarrassed, but he is concerned, and I see it in his face. His touch is gentle. He is not angry about the spilled water.
“I think—I think I need to go now.” I want to run, but I also do not want to leave. A fresh wave of embarrassment flushes my skin. His fingers curl around my elbows in concern. He grips me but does not hurt me.
“Of course, Marina. Whatever you wish.” His fingers relax. “I cannot go with you, but the car will be out front waiting for you.” His tone is low, soothing.
My eyes slide to his once more. I see compassion there, and once again, I want to bury myself in his embrace. But beyond that, I hear in his tone that he truly is upset that he cannot go with me. It’s the middle of the day, and I can only nod. I know he can’t come with me and I understand why. It is even more transparent than before, and strangely, it still does not frighten me. He walks me to the front of the restaurant and sees me off, his touch lingering on my back. His eyes hold a promise and I war with emotions inside of me. Yes, I’m running, but not from him.
I refrain from looking back and crawl inside—into the comforting embrace of the Limo. Leaning back against the seat, I press my forehead into the cool glass of the window—my finger presses into the lingering dampness on my pant leg. There is no evidence I spilled any longer other than the fabric holding onto the last of the liquid before it evaporates off. I stare at the streets whizzing past and close my eyes.
Blake.
Blake was there to hold me. Not my father. Blake was looking into my eyes. Not my father. Blake helped me stand. Not my father. Blake steadied me. Not my father. Blake made sure I was all right. Not my father.
Blake was there.
Blake
I KNOW, SHE THOUGHT, at my words, that I wouldn’t have hired Brad because of his—orientation. However, that is not the case at all. I do not care. What he does on his own time is his. When he’s on my clock, he works. He’s been faithful and, I have to admit, invaluable. I hadn’t thought it would work out since we are so different, but it has—wonderfully. The man has a fashion sense I couldn’t even hope to gain a fraction of. He dresses me—not literally. He decorated my home, my office and always has an eye on what I may require ahead of time.
A Vampire's Love Page 10
