by L. T. Kelly
All this even though he had his back to me.
My tongue spread across my parted lips. I willed my fangs to stay put as I inspected the section of sun kissed skin amid the starched pale blue collar and the damp tendrils of dark brown hair lying against the nape of his neck.
After following him for quite some time, I allowed my gaze to flit from his body for a moment noticing a street sign indicating we were now in Mayfair.
I’d remained at least ten metres behind him.
The man turned to enter a bar with a bright, fresh, lime green and black painted exterior. He stood in the doorway between the strategically placed topiary cut trees speaking in Italian with the doormen outside.
I slowed my pace and waited for his next move, relieved when he stepped inside before I had to pass by.
Sashaying up to the same entrance, I flashed a smile at the heavyset guy as he held the large glass door open for me.
The lime green and black theme continued on the interior. The black walls brightened by cheery lime coloured leather stools and chairs placed around chrome tables. The bar spanned the back wall, the counter hummed with a low white-blue light.
I tried not to scan the room; too nervous to make eye contact with the man I had followed. I kept my focus on the bar, making my way through the perspiring crowd without having to pay attention to any of them, my body intuitively bending around them just before contact.
I reached the glowing bar top, noticing my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. The glass was artistically moulded to look like blocks of ice, making it a clever display area for a vast array of available drinks.
My eyes reflected back at me, momentarily unrecognisable, they were sparkling and bright, the violet flecks had expanded to take over my irises.
“What can I get ‘ya?”
I blinked turning to the barman, trying to prevent the quirk of my mouth from turning into a smirk. I wasn’t used to the cockney accent, yet.
“Glass of the house red, please. Providing it’s decent?” I said cocking my head to the side.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said, though his words didn’t exactly reassure me. He rubbed his preened goatee beard as he waited for my response. His eyebrows were plucked to perfection and his hair was so black that it had to have come out of a bottle. ‘Gay’, I thought.
Warmth wrapped around me. The human’s blood I’d taken rushed to my face, producing a beet red colour. I took a nervous sideways glance, knowing full well the mysterious, heavenly scented man must be standing close by; the smell bounded off him in reams and flooded my eager nostrils.
He was right next to me, staring straight at me. I gasped at the sight of him standing within an inch of me. He appeared to be waiting for me to speak, from the expectation I could see in his eyes. One of his rounded ebony eyebrows rose as I gaped at him.
“Hello,” I finally managed to breath.
“The house red is ok, but get her a glass of the Rioja, would ‘ya?” he told the barman without taking his liquid chocolate eyes away from me. The barman made a move towards the back of the bar, following the order without question.
The man I’d followed leaned against the bar on one elbow, the skin on his etched features smooth as silk, portraying nothing except for the tic of a muscle along his squared jaw.
I snapped my mouth closed when I realised it was hanging open. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said as he cocked his head to the side, the bar top illuminating his high, defined cheekbones. His lips widened to reveal his Hollywood smile that nearly made my legs turn to jelly. I had to tighten my grip on the counter for support.
“I just moved here,” I said mirroring the cocking of his head, perfectly attuned to his movement, flowing with him.
“Their loss, our gain.” His chiselled jaw tightened making his expression appear slightly more serious, more thoughtful.
I laughed at the cheesy comment, breaking the electric gaze between us and dipping my head shyly.
A chuckle escaped his throat. I got the impression he’d been thinking out loud.
The bartender returned with my wine. I made an attempt to pull my credit card out of my jeans pocket but he went to serve another customer without even asking for payment. The beautiful man just shook his head, a look of mirth spread across his face from his eyes to his mouth.
“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Marc.”
“I’m Teagan,” I said, holding out my hand. As the sweltering heat of his substantial palm slipped over mine, I noticed he flinched a little, probably from the coolness of my skin in comparison with his. His eyes were staring into mine and he wasn’t letting go of my hand, turning a handshake into blatant handholding.
His hand suddenly tensed over mine and his shoulders hunched. His eyes closed for a second as he let go. I furrowed my brow at his odd reaction to nothing that was apparent.
“Sorry, I have to go. Will you wait for a while?” His voice sounded as smooth as glass, an English accent, with a hint of Italian curling through some of his pronunciations.
“Sure, I’ll try,” I said, following his gaze to the entrance of the bar. He was looking at a woman standing by the glass door, glowering at us, her arms tightly folded across her figure-hugging black tank top, her dark curly hair tumbled down over her shoulders. Before I could utter another word, he’d glided over to her and taken her by the arm. She examined me by peering around his body, which was purposely blocking her view, narrowing her eyes at me. He forced her to turn around and leave the bar.
I sat on a stool, feeling a little stupid, unsure why I cared about who the woman was. So what. He smelled good. Ok, exceptionally good. He was also absolutely gorgeous. Breathtakingly so.
Wherever I’d been, I’d always been the strongest person in the room, apart from when I was with others of my kind. But, the emotions I’d experienced with Marc just then had made me act like a demure, meek and mild human woman, pathetically giggly and silly in the presence of a man I was obviously attracted to. It’s a reaction I’d never encountered in my long life. Not in one hundred-seventy two years.
I assessed the nervous reaction I’d had when he approached me, the tingle I’d experienced in the pit of my stomach leading to the wetness throbbing at the apex of my legs. I started to wish I’d bothered to put underwear on.
As a human, I’d had no sexual urges, I had sex when forced to, and I complied for my own well-being.
As a vampire, I never bothered with sex. It just wasn’t something that ever interested me.
I sipped the wine as the realisation hit me. I wanted to have sex with Marc. Having never had that sensation, it took me a while to recognise what I was experiencing.
My stomach lurched as I observed him coming back through the entrance, his face pinched until he saw me sitting on a lime green stool by the bar. His expression smoothed out in an attempt to hide his satisfied smile. He raked his hand through the thick—stylishly messy—ebony hair before walking back over towards me. I greedily eyed his long legs, the strong muscles flexing against the dark blue denim with the fluidity of his movements.
“Sorry about that,” he said abruptly as he rested his forearms on the bar so that his body pointed towards the black glossy wood holding up the lit counter.
I swivelled around on the stool so that I faced the same direction.
Marc sucked a breath through his teeth. “Why did you follow me?”
My mouth hung open again. “What?” I asked trying to buy time to imagine a response.
“You followed me here. I—” he stumbled on his words. “I thought someone was following me in the park.” He stared into the mirror behind the bar, assessing my reaction to his question without having to meet my eyes.
I took a large gulp of Rioja. It tasted lovely, no burn as I swallowed.
“I didn’t follow anyone,” I said, my voice soft and quiet. Denial was the best policy in this circumstance.
<
br /> He waved a hand around, laughing nervously. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I must be going mad.”
I smiled softly, the kind of pitying smile you give someone when they have just said or done something stupid, or you’re about to commit someone to a mental institute.
“Is that why you’re speaking to me? Because you thought I’d followed you?” I asked pointedly, my smile vanishing.
“No—no, not at all.” He shook his head quickly holding his palms out, his broad shoulders hunched up in a shrug. He leaned forward to rest on the bar again, closing his eyes. “If you had, say, been following me.” He glanced towards me, his eyes peering up at me, his head bowed. “I would be glad, and, of course, ever so flattered.”
I took another slurp of wine, trying to hide my satisfaction with the glass. I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, sounding high-pitched and unfamiliar. “Um…thanks. I think?”
A grin crept over his lips. He turned around, reached out and dragged a stool close to mine. After perching on the seat he turned to face me. “So, you’re American, huh?”
“Well, I was born in Ireland, but I moved to America at a young age.” The best way to explain my accent, I thought. I’d picked up an American accent soon after moving to Montana, because otherwise I would’ve stood out too much.
“So, why did you move to England?” he inquired frowning.
“My father wanted to move back. He’s English.”
“You live with your parents?” His frown deepened.
My cheeks reddened, only possible from my earlier feeding, the blood still running around my system.
“Well, um, yes, he has a few problems. I’m his caregiver.” I put my head down, inspecting the humming white light of the bar trying to make my statement appear authentic, a poor young girl caring for her sick father.
“Oh, sorry,” he said raising his large smooth hand to my shoulder. “Are you cold, Teagan?”
“A little,” I smiled, still attempting to seem forlorn.
“Anyway,” I said, brushing off the inquiry as he removed his hand. “It seems as though you’ve completed you’re interrogation, officer?” I asked followed by an uneasy laugh.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, a smile pulled back over his teeth, his eyes wide and his palms raised. “I don’t even realise I’m doing it.”
“No problem,” I said still laughing. “I guess I can ask you a question, now?” I didn’t wait for his response, I just dove right in. “Who was that woman? Your wife, girlfriend?” I narrowed my eyes. Another new sensation; I cared about the answer.
He sighed before he answered. “She’s a family friend. She keeps her eye on me, that’s all. I’ve got a large family and they are—” he hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words. “Well, to put it bluntly, they’re wary of strangers.”
“So, let’s get this straight.” I moved my face in dangerous proximity to his. An orange tinged lock of my hair fell on his tanned arm. My nose was an inch from his. His scent overwhelmed me, forcing a swirling sensation in the pit of my stomach followed by further pooling in the crotch of my jeans, but I didn’t allow my gaze to falter. I kept my voice low. “Your family are overprotective and irrational?” I flitted my eyes down to his mouth, his lips parted, full and soft.
I ripped my face away from his before I could kiss him. I wanted to so badly but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He didn’t move an inch, as if the chance for a kiss might still happen.
“In that case, Marc, we have something in common,” I finally managed to complete my point in a breathy sentence while glaring dead ahead at my eyes, glowing a strange purple in the mirrored wall. I spotted my empty wine glass. I shouldn’t have finished the whole glass. About a year had passed since I had last drunk alcohol. Liquor does funny things to me, well, to all of our kind. Things that make it inadvisable to drink too much in public.
I shuddered and straightened my posture, vacuuming myself back to here and now. I’d been so involved with our conversation I’d imagined that Marc and I had been sitting together, completely alone. In reality, the situation was the exact opposite.
Madonna sang ‘True Blue’ at an ear splitting volume through the speaker system. I hadn’t noticed a thing before now, not even the throngs of people with strange make-up on, crimped hair and bright clothing. I raised an eyebrow as I looked around the bar.
Marc grinned, shrugging. “Eighties night.”
“Ahhh.” I nodded. “I think I’d better go.”
His forehead creased. “You don’t like eighties music?”
I laughed. “Nothing to do with the music or the company. I have to go. My father might worry. New place, and all.” I waved my hands around. “He forgets I’m twenty-two years old.”
His face brightened, making it obvious that I’d answered a question he’d been desperate to ask. It would be funny if I told him my real age, one hundred and seventy-two, including my human years. I was twenty-two when I was turned, so I generally stuck with that if the question ever arose.
“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the bar. “Do you really have to go? Will you come back tomorrow?”
“What, here?” I said, patting my hand on the top on the illuminated bar top.
“Yes. I’m always here.”
I didn’t probe for an explanation why. I slid off the stool with reluctance, mostly because I didn’t want to leave but also I was a bit afraid that a damp patch would be evident in the crotch of my jeans.
“Shall I walk you home?” he asked, suddenly concerned with my welfare.
“No, I’ll be fine.” I smiled, retaining the knowledge that I’d love for someone to try to harm me. I’d drain them dry for their stupidity.
“At least let me get you a cab. I don’t know where you lived in America, but London—well, you need to be careful.” He slipped off his stool, the top of my head didn’t even come up to his shoulder he was so tall.
“I’ll get a cab,” I reassured him with a smile, craning my head back to peer up at his face.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me against him in a sudden embrace. As my head rested against him, I pushed against the hardness of his chest beneath the crisp shirt and breathed in his delicious scent. Fearing my jeans would be unable to retain the leaking fluid any longer, I stepped backwards.
“Tomorrow?” I said as an agreement I’d be back.
“Yes,” he breathed, his eyes glimmering a rich, golden brown colour.
Walking on jelly legs to the door, I turned to wave once I reached it. He seemed preoccupied, drinking in my figure as he held up a hand to return my gesture as I stepped outside.
Relieved at being back out in the fresh air, I grinned and hugged myself for a moment.
I enjoyed the night air and looked forward to a run back through Hyde Park in an attempt to think clearly about what had just happened.
My senses went to full alert when I heard footsteps behind me. The scent was vaguely like Marc’s, though not as intense. I turned without fear, seeing a figure move quickly to hide in the dark doorway of a closed store. The curly dark mane gave her away. I’d spied her hair before she’d managed to dip out of sight. I was sure she was the woman from the bar, the one who had come to visit Marc earlier. ‘She must be some kinda’ crazy.’
I turned and continued along the sidewalk towards the park. ‘If she wants to play games, I can too.’
Her footsteps continued to follow me after a few moments. I was going to enjoy losing her tail.
Turning the corner to the park, I figured she’d be smiling to herself because the park was closed at this time of night. What she hadn’t bet on was that I could scale the huge padlocked gates and be half way across the park in a matter of seconds.
I felt a little triumphant, thinking about leaving her standing on the street puzzled by my sudden disappearance.
CHAPTER THREE
I arrived at my house in Knightsbridge still sniggering to myself because I’d managed to lose th
e crazy lady and I’d probably left her dumbfounded. I pushed open my front door, eager to explore my new home.
Light cascaded from dangling crystals in the alcove to my left illuminating the hallway. Dark wooden shelves set into the walls displayed the colourful spines of hundreds of books. The day staff must have managed to unpack them. I’d failed to notice on my way out in my haste to feed. I felt better knowing my hard-backed companions had been taken out of storage.
I called out to Thomas while climbing the beige carpeted stairs, honing my hearing for any whisper of a movement. He wasn’t in the house, thankfully. I lacked the desire to spoil my excellent mood by discussing our tattered relationship. Living with someone for as long as I had lived with Thomas wasn’t easy. Things had become strained over the last fifty or so years.
The first floor had been taken up by the drawing room, or the lounge as they call it nowadays. Another alcove trailed off the expansive space, giving a home to Thomas’ vast collection of first edition, classic novels.
I strolled through the second level where Thomas’ bedroom and bathroom were. It was a huge suite taking up the entire storey, tastefully decorated in delicate creams and greys and an enviable claw footbath.
A stairway at the far end of the corridor led up to two higher floors, each having a couple of en-suite bedrooms. I had taken the highest floor in the house, the third floor. The penthouse, I’d figured when I chose it. It’s the fourth floor if you count the basement kitchen.
I reached the foot of the stairway leading to my room and peeled my shirt off before pressing the fabric to my nose, breathing Marc’s aroma straight out of the silk. I went through the events of the night in my head. My mind flickered for a moment over the woman. The ‘family friend’ who’d had the nerve to try and follow me. If she really were just his friend then why would she act so jealously, or show suspicion, whichever the motive had been? I shook the thought away and struggled back to more enticing thoughts.
Halfway up the steps, I undid the button of my jeans and worked the zipper down.
Opening the door to my bedroom, I flicked the ballet shoes off next to my unmade bed. I still clutched the shirt and became more and more aroused by the radiating scent. Looking down at my naked breasts, the realisation hit me—only the thin silk material had been between him and I. It sent another surge of lust coursing through me, making my nipples harden and ache for touch.
