Taking it, letting the warmth of his flesh sear hers, stabbed at her heart. “I guess that’s not such a couple thing. Lot’s of uninvolved people look at stars together,” she said, keeping her tone breezy and light.
The air was heavy and moist with the possibility of another snowfall. The sky dark streaks of purple and slashes of lighter grays. Archibald knocked on the glass, holding up a Styrofoam cup with steam pouring out of the top. “Hot cocoa, miss.” He looked up at the sky and sniffed. “I believe more snow is on tap. This will keep you warm.” He bowed his way out of the sliding glass door after Wanda thanked him.
“It’s really raw out here tonight,” she commented, wrapping her fingers around the cup Arch had given her.
Heath took a deep breath, blowing it out in a frosty stream. “Yep, and I can feel it. Means I’m alive.”
She stood next to him against the black railing of the fire escape, their elbows touching, watching as he took a long pull of his beer. “I’m going to take a wild stab here, but I’m guessing you like being human again a whole lot more than you thought you would.”
He looked surprised and amused that she’d brought something personal up again, but he didn’t snark her for it this time. “I do. I’d forgotten how much until I ate a chicken wing and a whole bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I didn’t realize how many things I missed about being human.”
Wanda cocked her head, her hair ruffling as the breeze picked up, the shoulder-length strands blurring her vision. “But all of your stuff . . .”
Heath shrugged his wide shoulders with disinterest. “It was just stuff.You can always get more stuff. I just bought some stuff today.” He cocked his head toward Archibald in the kitchen.
His incredibly well-adjusted attitude about losing everything made her heart shift in her chest. Yeah. It was just stuff, and the saying that you can’t take it with you was crazy true. “So you don’t miss anything about being a vampire? Nothing?”
Heath’s expression was contemplative. It was almost as if being a vampire had been a weird-assed dream he’d just woken up from. “Not a whole lot, no. Sometimes I miss not having to struggle, but I didn’t ask to be a vampire. Though Arch and I joke a lot about it and how I became one. I tend to think it was a wake-up call for me. I lived a life of excess, and Arch was always bailing me out for it. I didn’t just pay by way of hangovers and angry husbands, so did he—because one of the angry husbands I pissed off ended up biting him, and I always regretted that he had something stolen from him, too. Arch didn’t ask to be a vampire. He became one defending my honor and saving my ass. I was long past the point in my life where I should have been boozing and womanizing.”
“Womanizing?” Yes, dumb ass. You know sort of what you’re doing to Heath, only in reverse? Don’t play ignorant—it isn’t in your color wheel. It’s like manizing or something.
He swallowed a gulp of his beer and held her gaze. “Yep. I took advantage a lot more than I care to admit. So I kinda get your push to be uninvolved—no strings thing. I’ve done that more times than I can count. I just don’t want to do it anymore.” He let his last words sit between them—they hung in the air like helium balloons, hovering, floating.
When she didn’t respond, because defending her position would only make things worse, he said, “I think having eternity handed to you is a lot like that divorce you spoke of.You go one way or the other. Either you behave as though you’re untouchable and wreak havoc, or you become more guarded—cautious. I became more cautious.”
Her hair blew in her face again, and Heath brushed the strands away with cold fingers. “Being a vampire kinda breeds caution, no?”
“It breeds a lot of things. Things I wasn’t prepared for. Some things I miss. I tend to forget that I can’t just conjure something up in my mind anymore. If I think it, it won’t necessarily materialize. But I kinda like knowing I earned the cup you’re drinking from right now.”
She sipped the rich, frothy chocolate from her cup while she pondered materializing things. Nina couldn’t do that . . . “You could make things materialize?” It was out before she could stop it. She was at home with conversations like these. Flying, shifting, friggin’ drinking blood. Even though she had confirmation from Nina that what Heath said was true—that he’d really been a vampire—she found herself more than hesitant to reveal why she was so comfortable. It was personal—her friends and their paranormal-palooza experiences weren’t supposed to be his business if they were just . . . God, she couldn’t even think it, let alone say it. The phrase fuck buddies was such an ugly description—not just about how she was coming to feel, but it negated the conversations they’d shared late into the night, the arm she’d tucked under his possessively when they’d napped the other day.
“Some things, yep.”
Wanda flashed him a grin. “That’s a pretty cool gig to have. My friend Nina can . . .” Oh, snap. Christ and a sidecar. Next time she was with Heath, she was bringing the duct tape and wrapping it around her head and over her big, freakin’ mouth.
“What about her?”
“Uh—I bet she’d love to make stuff materialize. She’s very, very materialistic. Very,” she added for good measure. Nina was the last person on the planet who cared about anything remotely materialistic. Now Marty . . .
His forehead creased, and he jammed a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “You know, I just have to say this once more. I haven’t said anything for a while now because I’m still not sure what to say. But I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
“That you don’t think I’m crazy—or at the very least, a liar.”
Wanda let her head hang for fear he’d read her thoughts. She fought to keep her voice impersonal and carefree. “I think you can think you were once whatever you want to. I’m a firm believer in the power of the mind.”
“It’s not like I told you I was once a doctor or a lawyer,Wanda. I told you I was once a vampire. A vampire.”
“Uh-huh. I heard you last night, and I still hear you tonight.”
He nudged her shoulder with his. “I guess I should just be glad you accept my explanation—but it’s definitely been the cause of some deep thought.”
“I say you should just call yourself lucky and shut up before reality sets in and I wake up from this fugue-like state and really freak out on you,” she joked, nudging his shoulder back.
He caught her with one hand around the waist and pulled her under his arm. The shelter he provided, the broad width of his chest pressed to her side made her bite the inside of her cheek. She found herself just wanting to spill her guts. Right at his feet. She wanted to tell him she knew he wasn’t lying.Why she couldn’t let this thing between them get too deep. Why she kept herself at arm’s length. But what would that do? Ruin it. Who wanted to wonk a dying chick?
No one.
Heath wouldn’t be so eager to get involved if he knew she had one foot in the grave. He’d probably do some of that freaking out he worried she’d do. Telling someone you were dying beat telling them you were a vampire probably every time.
“Penny for them,” he whispered against her cheek.
She smiled, closing her eyes and letting his cologne penetrate her senses. “You don’t have a penny.”
His laughter vibrated against her cheek. “Not after that damned meal Arch is cooking in there, I don’t.”
Her laughter tinkled on the frosty air totally uninhibited. “We could have had hot dogs and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I would have been okay with that.”
Arch waved to them from the big glass window, signaling dinner was ready.
“No one eats my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups without my permission. It’s the one thing I don’t share well.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose before dragging open the stiff, creaky glass door. The delicious scent of dinner invaded her nostrils, but when they entered the kitchen, her chest felt empty. Keeping their conversation impersonal left her feeling unfulfilled.There was so much she wanted to ask�
�so much she wanted to share with him.
That’s because this kind of relationship just isn’t for you, Wanda Schwartz, her conscience nagged.
How long could she keep this up before her guilt ate a hole in her gut?
DINNER was incredible. The duck crisp on the outside, succulent and tender inside. Wanda was still savoring it as she helped Archibald clear the table while Heath began to wash the dishes.
“So do you like the new apartment, Archibald?” Wanda asked, passing him the paper plate of leftover potatoes.
Archibald’s smile was broad, crinkling the lines of his already deeply lined face. “I daresay it’s better than where we were, miss. I don’t need much. I do, however, enjoy not having to hoard my personal belongings like a squirrel hoards acorns to keep those heathens at the shelter at bay.”
Wanda chuckled, giving him a warm smile. “I bet there’s some big plusses to that.”
Archibald rolled his eyes, throwing the kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Oh, miss. If you only knew the things I’ve seen—been forced to endure for my Heathcliff.”
There was genuine tenderness in his words when he said Heath’s name. Two hundred years of it, Wanda supposed. “I take it you’ve done a lot of that for Heath. I bet he’s in good hands with you.”
“He’s in his rightful hands, miss. I served his father and then young Heathcliff.”
“So I heard.”
He lifted his chin. “And you believe, miss. Forgive my forwardness, but I find myself astonished that you haven’t refused to see Heathcliff ever again after he’s told you of our—our past.”
Wanda nodded her head and smiled again. “Yeah.” She thumbed a finger over her shoulder. “He says the same thing.”
Archibald paused for a moment, sending her a grave look she didn’t quite understand. His sage eyes held fire. When he spoke, he kept his voice low, almost a whisper, but his tone was unyielding and no-nonsense. “I don’t understand your acceptance of us, Miss Wanda. It makes no earthly sense. And not for a minute do I believe you’re the kind of woman you’d like Heathcliff to believe you are. I never interfere in Heathcliff’s affairs—or I haven’t until now. But do take note.You’re not who you wish us to believe you are. I know women like you’re pretending to be. I’ve known many in my lifetime. Whatever it is that’s keeping you from my Heath is of course your business and I would never meddle. I will, however, take no shame in telling you I have never seen my Heathcliff this way with a woman before. And it would trouble me greatly if he were to be in any way pained by your relationship. Do we understand each other, miss?” His last words were part ominous, part protective, and all kinds of filled with warning.
And now she knew what Heath wanted—or at least what Archibald thought Heath wanted.
Her.
She could no longer dismiss the jokes Heath made about their relationship—she could no longer pretend she was blind to the fact that Heath wanted more. She could no longer fool herself into believing that he was only in it for the wonking, and the snide cracks he made about their not being involved were just that—snide cracks. Because they weren’t—not if what Archibald said was true.
And that meant she now officially had mad callous-like skills. Her throat grew so tight she nearly choked.
Heath came up behind Arch, thumping him on the back. “What are we understanding?”
Wanda’s stomach sank, but she pasted on a conspiratorial look, sending it in Archibald’s direction. “The fine art of roasting a duck as fabulous as Archibald’s.”
Archibald ever so slightly tipped his head back at her, letting her know he was pleased she’d covered for him.
Heath barked a laugh, making her jump. “You can keep the secret, old man. I’ll stick to chili dogs and chicken wings.”
Archibald’s face instantly lightened. “Thank heaven for chili dogs, sir.” He took the rest of the paper plates from the table and swept them away.
Wanda stooped to snatch up a paper napkin that had fluttered to the floor when her stomach clenched. She gritted her teeth to thwart a groan, her hand going to her abdomen to press against it in the hopes that the sharp stab would pass.
Heath kneeled down beside her, curling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Those damned workout DVDs again?” He asked the question, but she wasn’t sure if she heard skepticism in his tone, or if he was taunting her.
Her intake of breath shuddered and whistled. “Yeah. It’s killa.”
Heath’s smile was flirtatious, flashing his white teeth. “I don’t know if I told you, but I like your abs. Maybe you should lay off the working out thing. I have much more, uh, fun ways to work ’em out.”
Her head bent low, tears stung her eyes from the throb in her belly. This past week, she’d experienced them more frequently, and there was nothing she could do to ease it but go home and take the painkillers her doctor had prescribed and she’d finally filled. “I think I have to go,” she stuttered. She rose on legs that didn’t want to hold her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Heath’s concern, just a flicker in his eyes, made her nod her head harder.
She had a well-practiced answer for just such an occasion. She was a liar—but breaking a commandment didn’t seem so bad knowing why she was breaking it. Wanda leaned in to whisper in his ear, pausing for a mere second to let her nose rub against his silky hair. “I think it’s, you know, a woman-thing. Some aspirin and a hot bath and all’s good.”
“I’ll grab my coat and walk you out to your car.”
“No!” She lowered her voice. “I mean—it’s okay. It’s cold, and my car’s right outside. I’ll be fine.You can watch me from the fire escape.”
But Heath wasn’t deterred. “Nope. I can’t. Now stay put for two seconds, and I’ll get my coat.” He went to the small closet in his entryway and threw on his old, navy blue suit jacket.
Wanda slipped on her own coat and grabbed her purse. “Thanks again, Archibald, for everything. It was wonderful. I haven’t had a meal like that in forever.” Or a warning like that either.
Archibald bowed with a slight bend to his waist. “It was the greatest of pleasures, miss. Please, come back to our humble abode again, and again. Good evening.”
Wanda could barely focus on Heath when he opened her car door, turning the key in the ignition for her as he started the car and cranked up the heat. The pain in her gut worsened while she waited. It took everything she had to keep her face placid, her body relaxed. When Heath took her in his arms, planting a light kiss on her lips,Wanda made it a point to memorize the warmth of his mouth—despite the growing pain in her stomach. The taste of him, his scent, the way her fingers fit at his lean, tapered waist.
“So I’ll see ya when I see ya,” she mumbled the words that had become their mantra each time they parted.
“See ya when I see ya.” He kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment, then tucked her in her car.
She pulled away before Heath had the chance to say anything more.
As she drove home, Archibald’s words banged around in her head. He was just looking out for Heath. She couldn’t expect anything less than that from a man who’d taken care of him for almost two hundred years. She deserved every word of warning he’d given her.
No, she wasn’t typically the kind of woman who laid down the kind of rules that implied sex was her only wish, but she was doing her damnedest to win an Academy Award trying.
And she was failing—miserably.
Not only that, she was doing exactly what Archibald had warned her, in his own cultured, well-mannered way, not to.
Setting Heath up to be hurt. If what Archibald said was true, that he’d never seen Heath behave this way with any other woman—and surely there had to have been plenty in almost two hundred years—then she was the worst kind of bottom-feeding scum.
And she’d give almost anything to not have to do what she knew she had to do.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and her teeth chattered. The pain that
had begun in her stomach flared upward to her chest, now tight and constricting.
The thought of her prescription brought some comfort. It would not only take away the pain, but it would knock her out cold. A deep, dreamless sleep promised no lingering thoughts of Heath.
And death.
It promised eight hours without the guilt that had latched onto her and clung with no hope of letting her go.
TWO hours later, a dose of pain meds, and no such luck in the forget your guilt by passing out gig, Wanda got up from her bed and cocked her head at the TV. First to the right, then to the left. Finally she gave up and lay at the end of her bed, letting her head hang off it upside down to get a better perspective on what she was watching.
And upside down seemed to be the way to do it—at least it made sense of the tangled limbs, gyrating hips, slick, spray tanned bodies, and screams of “Oh, yeahhh, oh, yeahhh, oh yeahhhhh!” in decibels that just might have broken her mother’s china.
She popped back up, fighting the head rush, and reached for her ever-growing Fuck It list—considering entry number twenty-two, while yet another easily attained mission was officially ovah.
Wanda clicked the Off button on the remote, ending her foray into blockbuster hits such as Rodzilla, ET-The Extra Testicle, and Ghostbusties.
She drew a line through entry number twenty-two with a firm pen to paper.
Hookay, so porn sooooo wasn’t in her color wheel.
“Is Miss Wanda all right, sir?”
Heath ran a thoughtful hand over his jaw. “You know, I wanna believe she is—but something’s just not sitting right with me, Arch. I think she’s full of shit. Not just about the no involvement thing. It’s more and she sucks at hiding it.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Archibald clearly wasn’t hesitant in saying.
“So I think it’s time I do something Wanda’s going to shit foundation and lipstick tubes over.”
“Or, I, as your manservant could do it for you,” Archibald offered dutifully.
The Accidental Human Page 22
