A Vampire's Promise (11 page)

“Show me.”

Gabriel held out his hand. I gave him mine, feeling his strong fingers clasp my palm against his.

“Excuse us,” I said. He might have forgotten the other two people sitting at my kitchen table, but I hadn't. Leading the way, I stifled a chuckle at the dumbfounded look on Laycee's face.

Upstairs, Gabriel was all business as he examined the contents of my first aid kit. I leaned back against the sink while he gently dabbed a wet cotton ball against my face. His mouth became a serious line as he assessed the swelling beneath the harsh glare of the bathroom light. I placed a hand on his hip.

“I like it better like this,” he murmured, taking both my hands and wrapping my arms firmly around his waist, moving himself closer to me.

The heat of his body pulsed through his T-shirt, and this close, he smelled good. Really good. His cologne or soap or whatever was a subtle fragrance of spicy undertones and a splash of something that I couldn't quite put my finger on but seemed annoyingly familiar. I stopped trying to guess what it was. It would come to me eventually.

Dropping the cotton ball in the trash can, he examined my face with his fingers. His touch was much lighter than Jake's had been, barely whispering across my skin as his fingers probed the area around my eye. I don't know why, but it didn't surprise me that, like Jake, he also had some experience with black eyes. Finally he let out a small, satisfied grunt.

“Your cheekbone isn't broken, and your eye will be okay once the swelling has gone down, most likely in a day or two. I don't think you need a doctor, but you should probably rest tomorrow and not go to work.”

“Okay.”

His physical proximity made it hard to disagree. I looked up, my good eye involuntarily squinting. Turning, Gabriel reached out and flipped the switch on the wall, plunging us into darkness. His hands grazed my hips as he grasped the edge of the sink, imprisoning me inside his arms.

“Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?”

He brushed his lips against my ear, and the sweet warmth of his breath fanned my neck. His voice was a sensuous caress that sent shivers down my spine, and the image I'd had of him earlier, the one where he was taking up so much space on my bed, suddenly jumped into the forefront of my mind. Talk about lousy timing. This so wasn't the right moment to explore that option. I made myself push it away.

“You don't happen to have a pint of rum raisin ice cream in your pocket, do you?” Humor is a great deflective tactic, I have learned, and it seemed the best approach in such a small space in the dark when I wasn't sure if I should accept what was being offered.

“Regretfully, no.” He laughed softly, moving his head so his lips could brush mine a little more firmly than they had before. “And I think your friends are about to leave.” He stepped back, releasing me from his embrace. “I can leave also, if you wish it,” he said as Laycee's voice called out my name.

Catching my hand, Gabriel lightly entwined his fingers with mine. I suddenly felt like a teenager with her first big crush. I shook my head. “No, I'd like you to stay,” I told him, seeing his teeth gleam brightly in the dark as he brushed his lips over my knuckles.

“I'd like that,” he whispered huskily.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Laycee let me know by her expression that my face was as red as I imagined. Her eyes flickered over my shoulder as the reason for my blush silently followed me.

“Jake and I are gonna head out,” she said with a grin.

“Okay, well, you take care,” I said, giving her a big hug.

“You gonna be okay?” She didn't need to look at Gabriel; I knew what she meant.

“Everything's fine,” I assured her.

Together we watched Jake and Gabriel do the guy head-nod thing. That weird communication gesture that is only understood by those born with a cock. I have no idea why guys do that instead of actually verbalizing, but it seems to work for them. I put it down to one of those men-are-from-Mars things. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabriel go into the living room as I steered Laycee toward the front door. We hugged again, and I was surprised when Jake also put his arms around me as he said good-bye, taking care not to make contact with my face.

“I'm gonna call you first thing in the morning,” Laycee yelled, standing next to her car. “And I'll drop by as soon as I get off work—you're not going in, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, I think I'll spend the day on the couch, watching soaps and eating ice cream,” I called back. “But thanks for reminding me. I need to call Angela and let her know.”

“Okay, well, 'bye.” Batting her eyes, she beat the flat of her hand dramatically on her chest. It was her seal of approval regarding Gabriel. I hoped he wasn't watching out the window.

O
nce my father realized my love affair with literature was serious, he turned one entire wall in our living room into a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. It was one of the best presents he ever gave me. Leaning against the open doorway, I watched Gabriel slowly perusing my library. His long fingers danced over the spines, his mouth critiquing my taste with either a smile or a grimace. One title in particular seemed to warrant further inspection, and he pulled it from the shelf, turning it over to read the jacket cover before wrinkling his nose in apparent distaste. I made a mental note to check it out later.

“Want another beer?” I asked.

“Please.” I felt a warm glow, watching his hair sweep over his shoulder as he turned toward me. Women would kill for hair like that. I would kill for hair like that. “Do you mind?” He gestured to the books.

I shook my head. “Not at all, help yourself.” I paused. “I need to make a phone call.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “About missing work tomorrow.”

“Good.”

I scuttled back into the kitchen, taking a few minutes to rehearse what I was going to say to Angela before dialing her number. Thankfully I didn't have to provide a detailed explanation, but she did sound a little dubious when I said I'd run into a door. I could tell she didn't quite believe me, but she finished up by telling me to take care and let her know if things got worse.

I went back into the living room carrying a glass of beer in each hand, and suddenly feeling nervous about being alone with a man. It was stupid because I'd not only invited Gabriel in the first place but told him he could stay when Jake and Laycee left. Still, the last time I'd been alone with a man in my house, it had been the state trooper who came to tell me my father had been in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. The drunk had walked away, my dad hadn't been as lucky. I hadn't been alone with another guy since. Not even any of my dating disasters had warranted an invite, which should have told me something right there.

I wasn't nervous in a bad way. It felt scary-good watching Gabriel move about the room, touching my things. Only now that it was just the two of us, I realized I didn't know very much about him. I had no intention of revisiting the whole deranged serial killer routine again, because I'd put that one firmly to bed. I mean, if he wanted to hurt me, he'd had plenty of chances to do so already. No, my anxiety came from being worried that I would say or do something brainless, and I really didn't want to screw this up.

“Did you find anything you like?” I asked, handing him his glass and taking a seat on the couch as he made his way down to the far end of the bookcase.

“You have a lot of books.”

Talk about stating the obvious. Maybe I wasn't the only one who was nervous.

“Well, it's silly not to take advantage of my employee discount.”

“I suppose.” His fingers tiptoed across the shelves, flirting lightly with the occupants. “You seem to like romance,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice even with his back to me.

“One of the perils of being single. Besides, don't you know the men in those books are always so much better than reality, even when they're bad?”

“As long as you remember they're only fiction.”

“Of course.” It seemed an odd remark to make.

“Who is your favorite romantic hero?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow as he turned to look at me.

That was too easy. “I have two actually, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rochester.”

“Ah, Miss Austen and Miss Brontë. Why doesn't that surprise me?”

I opened my mouth to comment, but he turned his back and continued to study the shelf in front of him. “I am, however, surprised you would like this.” Retracing his steps, he pulled out the volume that had made him wrinkle his nose, holding it up for me to see. I looked at the familiar cover of pale hands cupping a red apple.

“Well, it is still hugely popular, and I do have a wicked soft spot for vampires.”

“Really?” The eyebrow arched again, in surprise this time. Glancing down at the book in his hand, he shook his head and looked back at me. “Even so, I just don't see you reading this.”

“Okay, I confess. It was given to me as a gift.” I laughed a little self-consciously. “And I must admit I had to constantly remind myself the heroine was only seventeen.”

“Why was that?”

“Because I kept wanting to slap her.”

Gabriel grinned as he replaced the book in the open slot on the shelf. He looked thoughtful for a minute and then leaned down and pulled out another book. “What about this one?”

I tilted my head to check out the novel in his hand, although I really didn't need to. I pretty much knew what was on each section of shelving, and I knew by heart the titles of everything housed on that particular shelf.

“Ah, well, if I was ever going to be tempted into immortality, then those are definitely my type of vampires.”

“Tempted into immortality, eh?” A sly look glinted in his eyes. “So you like vampires with questionable ethics and near-insatiable appetites?”

I'd never quite thought of it like that, and the look in his eye said I could please myself about which appetites were insatiable. I wondered how he knew what the book was about. My job has given me some pretty accurate insight about the type of fiction a person reads. Just a few questions and I can tell if you're a secret Regency romancer or a murder and mayhem addict. I definitely wouldn't have guessed Gabriel to be a J. R. Ward fan.

“If you're gonna put it like that, then yeah, I guess so,” I answered, “but there's really no comparison. It's two completely different takes on the same subject.”

He was staring at me, the sly look replaced by something unfathomable that made me feel uncomfortably warm, though I had no idea why, because my personal blowtorch was behaving itself. I tipped the glass to my mouth and took a long swallow as Gabriel slid the book back into its open slot. He walked over to the entertainment center, looking at the framed photographs clustered on top.

“Your father?” he asked, picking one of them up.

I put down my glass and joined him, taking the frame out of his hand. Out of all the frozen moments captured on film, he'd picked my favorite. Dressed in summer clothes, we were sitting on the back porch steps holding hands and laughing at each other. It was one of those wonderful, unscripted moments when we were both caught totally off guard. I have no idea who took the picture, but it was a real Kodak moment.

“Yes.” I put the frame back, standing it among the others.

“How old were you when that was taken?”

“Oh, I don't know for sure. Probably eight or nine.”

“I don't see any pictures of your mother,” Gabriel observed, scanning the collection a second time.

“That's because there aren't any.”

I resumed my seat on the couch, sitting cross-legged and clasping my ankles with one hand. I tilted the glass to my mouth, letting the cold beer slide effortlessly down my throat. Gabriel joined me, sitting at the other end and taking up a lot of room. I didn't mind.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “Did she die?”

Our conversation in the diner had touched briefly on the lack of family we shared, but not in any detail, so his question wasn't unreasonable or unexpected. I rested my glass on the inside of my knee. The icy bottom made me flinch a little, but it felt good. I don't normally talk about my mother, not even to Laycee, but for some reason I wasn't at all hesitant discussing her now.

“I don't know if she's dead or not. She went to Louisiana to visit family when I was three years old . . . and never came back.”

“Perhaps she couldn't,” Gabriel said quietly.

“She was my mother.” I could hear the reproach in my voice, criticizing her even now, after all these years. Some things you just don't get over. “I would never abandon my child like that, not without a single word.”

“Maybe she had an accident, or lost her memory.”

I shook my head. “She didn't. After my dad was killed, I found a box where he kept letters that she'd written. She wrote one a month for the first two years after she left us, and then she just stopped.”

“Did she say why she left you?” he asked.

I swigged my beer. This was really personal stuff, and I had no idea why I felt compelled to open up and talk about it right now. I'd never told anyone about finding the letters, or the pain that twisted inside me because my dad had kept them from me. I had questions, questions only he could answer. Like any parent, I'm sure he had a good reason for his secrecy, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

“No, she didn't,” I replied. “All she did was ask our forgiveness and say she had to leave.” I glanced at him. “I thought we were her family, but I guess I was mistaken.”

The bitterness souring my words said I'd been carrying this particular piece of baggage around with me for some time, and I couldn't believe I was bringing it up now. Maybe it was time. After all, sometimes it's easier to unburden yourself to a stranger than to a friend.

“Anyway,” I continued, “I sent a letter to the return address on the last letter she'd sent, telling her about Dad's passing. I never got a reply.” I shrugged and forced myself to smile, not wanting my mood to taint the atmosphere any more than it already had. “It's all ancient history now.”

“And your father never remarried?” Gabriel queried softly.

“Difficult to do when you're still technically someone's husband.”

“But after a certain amount of time he could have divorced her, couldn't he? Her abandonment would have given him grounds.”

I nodded, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. I had no idea why he was so curious. I just accepted that, for some inexplicable reason, he was. “Yes, he could've, but I don't think he ever loved anybody else quite as much. Not even me.”

“I'm sorry, forgive me. Having no family of my own, I tend to pry. It's a bad habit, and sometimes I forget how rude I can be.”

“It's okay.” I gave him a forgiving smile. “Like I said, it happened a long time ago, and I really don't remember much about it.”

“And how long has it been since your father passed?”

“Almost six years now.”

I felt the unexpected hot sting of tears behind my eyes. It happened sometimes when I thought of my dad, especially if I hadn't prepared myself. This was turning into a real sob Sunday for me.

“Excuse me.” I got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen.

I was getting all mopey and weepy, and the timing couldn't have been worse. Standing at the sink, I forced myself to breathe, trying to cap the emotional wellspring that threatened to erupt. As if it had happened only yesterday, it all came back to me.

I'd been sitting at the table, flipping through a magazine and enjoying leftover peach cobbler when the knock on the door came. Opening it, I found myself staring at a state trooper. His gray uniform, looking crisp and very sharp, was bisected at the waist by the heavy black utility belt he wore. I remember seeing the holster on his hip and thinking his gun didn't look real. He asked to come in and followed me to the kitchen, where he told me my dad was never coming home again. The fluorescent ceiling light caught his shoes. They were black and very shiny, the kind that just needed to be wiped clean with a soft cloth, which was a good thing because his words made me vomit chunks of undigested peach all over his feet.

God bless him, he never said a word, and I've never eaten peach cobbler since.

“Rowan?”

I didn't realize Gabriel had followed me until I felt his hands on my shoulders. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean into him and let go. “I'm sorry,” I apologized when my crying fit was over. “I have no idea where that came from.”

“Don't ever apologize for what you feel, not to me.”

Pushing my hair back, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

A real, honest-to-goodness linen handkerchief, which shouldn't have surprised me. So many things about him were different from regular guys. I took it reluctantly. It seemed too nice to use. Sighing, he pulled it from my fingers, opened it up, and dabbed gently at the moisture that had managed to leak from between my swollen lids.

“Better?” he asked after a few moments of silence. I nodded. “Good.” He sounded satisfied.

I tried to smile, but the throbbing in my cheek suddenly kicked in, and I winced.

“You look like you need some more ice on that.”

Refilling my Ziploc bag with fresh ice cubes, I held it to my face as Gabriel moved in front of me.

“It's okay, I've got you,” he said, and in one smooth movement he was holding me in his arms. I thought he meant to carry me back to the living room, but instead he climbed the stairs.

Nudging my bedroom door open with his hip, he put me down on the bed. I could feel the blowtorch cranking up, and despite the huge sexual attraction, this was not what I hoped the first time would be like. Not with him, not with anybody. After being punched in the face, then the embarrassing weepy episode, I was so not ready to tell Gabriel that he was dealing with a virgin who desperately wanted to jump his bones. Anxiety formed a huge knot in my chest, making me sit up.

“No, stay where you are,” Gabriel said sternly.

I lay back down, watching nervously as he slipped off his boots before walking around the foot of my bed. My anxiety level cranked up several notches.

“Lie on your side,” he said gently.

I turned over so I was facing him.

“Your
other
side,” he chuckled softly.

I rolled over and felt the mattress dip as he lay down next to me, answering my earlier question. He took up a lot of bed. I found the arm he tucked around me a comfortable weight. He pulled me back until I was flush against his chest with my butt nestled in his groin. I almost jumped at the feel of his erection, which was impressive, but he gave no outward sign of wanting to do anything about it. Apparently, it was enough for me to know he was aroused. Talk about making a girl feel special when she wasn't feeling so good.