A Vampire's Promise (13 page)

“Rowan Harper?” The delivery guy held out a clipboard while he gawked openly at my face. “Um, sign on line fifteen, please.”

I signed where he pointed, feeling slightly irritated by the openmouthed gawking; his sympathetic smile told me he'd drawn the wrong conclusion. Obviously he thought the flowers were an apology. A really big apology.

Angela stared at the bouquet for a long moment before turning her head toward me. “How big of a mistake did you say it was?”

I felt myself squirming. Not much gets past Angela, and even I didn't think Suellen would send me flowers as an apology, certainly not red roses. Angela busied herself looking over the flowers.

“Ah, here you go,” she said, handing me a small white envelope. I opened it, pulled out the card and read
No freesias. Hope you will forgive the substitution. G

Happiness exploded inside me like a cork from a champagne bottle.

Angela arched an eyebrow waiting for me to reveal the identity of my admirer, and good-naturedly resumed her fussing when she realized I wanted to keep it a secret. “Well, you need to tell whoever it was they got ripped off,” she declared.

How did a florist rip you off unless you specifically asked for, say, roses and they sent daisies instead? I didn't see how that could apply here.

“Aren't long-stemmed roses sold by the dozen?” Angela asked, giving me a look.

Never having received them before, long-stemmed or otherwise, I had no idea. But in all the novels I've read, when the hero sent something other than a single bloom, it was usually a dozen. Or a roomful. “Um, yes, I think so.”

“Aha!” she yelled triumphantly. “Well, there's only eleven in here.” Her hand reached for the phone. “Want me to call the florist and have that cheeky kid come back? I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't lift one to give to his girlfriend. Bet he thought you'd never notice.”

I hadn't, and truth be told, I didn't really care. “It's okay,” I said, smiling at Angela, “Perhaps his girlfriend needs it more than I do.”

As beautiful as my flowers were, they took up far too much space at the front counter, but they would be the perfect finishing touch to my window display. An hour later my cell phone jingled. It was Gabriel.

“Thank you so much for the flowers,” I gushed, before he had a chance to say anything.

“You're very welcome.” He seemed surprised by my enthusiasm. “So, may I take you to dinner tonight?”

I hesitated. In such a public setting, people would no doubt stare at my eye and, like the flower guy, assume I was in an abusive relationship. They might also think Gabriel was my abuser, and I certainly didn't want that.

Picking up on my indecisiveness, he jumped in. “I want to take you somewhere very quiet, very discreet, where the food is excellent.”

I melted. “Okay then, but just so you know, I do have an eye patch I can wear.”

Unlike Angela, his laugh was one I wanted to hear. Rich and warm, it rumbled in my ear. “I can't wait to see it. I'll pick you up at closing time.”

You know who I am.

The words jolted through me as I snapped my cell phone closed. I was beginning to get annoyed at this nagging little declaration that seemed to pop into my head every time I was around Gabriel. If this was some sort of puzzle that I needed to solve, then goddammit, I needed more clues.

A
ngela was fit to be tied. A phone call from a frantic teenaged babysitter meant she was going to have to leave before giving Gabriel the once-over. Sadly, he couldn't compete with a puking six-year old who'd also had gum cut out of his hair by an older brother. It was difficult to tell which incident was the more upsetting.

I'd just finished balancing the cash drawer when the sound of tapping on the door made me look up. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and it was that beautiful time of day when it's no longer daylight, but still not quite night. Gabriel cast a huge shadow standing in the doorway. I unlocked the door and let him in.

“I just need to get my purse,” I said, relocking the door behind him.

He caught my arm and pulled me close, leaning down so he could kiss me. His mouth felt wonderful on mine, and I relished the feel of his tongue as it sweetly invaded my mouth. My internal flame ignited. Naturally.

“I need to . . . go get . . .” I was dangerously close to babbling when he finally let me go.

He was wearing a smug smile and looking way too pleased with himself, and I felt his eyes following me as I made my way to the far end of the store. I slipped the day's receipts into the night safe in my boss's office and retrieved my purse from the small cubbyhole that Angela and I jokingly refer to as the Employees' Lounge.

Coming back to the front of the store, I noticed he was taking in my morning's effort in the front window. The flowers he had sent were prominently displayed.

“Please don't be cross,” I said hurriedly, “I'm sure it was just a mistake by the florist.” I didn't know if my order being short a flower would matter or not, but I really didn't want the delivery guy getting in trouble.

Gabriel looked at me as if I was speaking in Swahili. “What was a mistake?”

“The roses. I know I'm missing one.”

He looked back at the deep red blooms. Thanks to the heat from the window lights they would be completely open by morning, making the display even more impressive. Gabriel shook his head, the curtain of white hair a moving invitation to run my fingers through it.

“No, you're not,” he assured me.

“But aren't there . . . ? Shouldn't there be twelve?” I suddenly felt ridiculous questioning him.

“Yes, but I told the florist to take one out.”

“Oh.”
Why would he do that?
“Why would you do that?”

He reached for my hand, entwining our fingers before gently brushing the fingers of his other hand across my bruised cheek.

“Don't you know?” he asked in a seductive whisper that made my legs feel weak. I shook my head. “You're the twelfth rose, Rowan.”

Oh boy, wait till Angela heard that.

 

I looked for Francine but didn't see her anywhere. Instead, parked right out front, in the no parking zone, was a bright red sports job that sat very low to the ground. It looked foreign—and fast. With his hand at the small of my back, Gabriel guided me toward it.

“I thought this might be a little cozier,” he said with a grin. “Now I won't have to reach so far to hold your hand.”

I snorted. With the length of his arms, he'd be able to reach right out the passenger-side window without too much difficulty.

“What is it?” I only asked so I could slot the information away to use as pizza conversation with Jake. I recalled how covetous he'd been of the Fairlane.

“A Ferrari.” His grin expanded as if he knew I was just as clueless about this car as I had been about his other one. “Want me to write it down for you?” he teased.

“No, I think I can remember that.” Even I'd heard of Ferrari. I walked around the car as if I was in a showroom and interested in buying it. I nearly kicked the tires but thought better of it. Each one probably cost more than my monthly paycheck. “And what do you call this one?”

“Francesca.”

Why did I even bother to ask?

“Well, she's very flashy and looks fast,” I commented.

“Oh, she is.”

He was grinning so wide it was a wonder his face didn't split in two. He opened the door for me, and I almost fell into the seat, slightly unnerved by the realization of how close my ass was going to be to the road. That thought, however, was put on hold as I waited to see how Gabriel was going to pretzel himself into the driver's side. He pulled it off with ease and grace—damn him! Heading out of the parking lot, he turned right, and for a minute I thought we were going to the same all-night diner as before. I could just imagine the look on the waitress's face if she saw my black eye. But we passed the diner, turning down a series of small side streets before stopping in front of a restaurant.

Gabriel quickly came around and helped me out, which was a good thing because, left to my own devices, I would have resorted to crawling on my hands and knees before trying to stand up. As it was, I almost tripped over my feet trying to get my legs out.

“I have no idea how they do it,” I muttered, tightening my grip around his steadying hand.

“How who does what?”

“How any woman gets out of something like this without falling flat on her face!”

“It just takes practice.”

I made a rude noise that drew a laugh. It was nice knowing I could do that. The building before us reminded me of a Swiss chalet with its leaded windowpanes and window boxes overflowing with colorful summer flowers. And the interior looked just as I imagined it should. Thick black beams broke up a whitewashed ceiling and walls, while heavy, rustic furniture completed the picture. I could hear soft music playing, something with a lot of violins. If asked for my first impression, words such as
discreet
and
intimate
would have figured prominently in my description.

However, minor anxiety came in the form of a stunning blonde with an elegant up-do, wearing a black, figure-hugging sheath that she had to have been poured into. And the smile on her face was more than the usual hostess greeting. Clearly she knew Gabriel, and jealousy flared in my chest as she took his hands in hers and kissed him on each cheek. Good Lord, what was wrong with me? First I'd felt resentful when Gabriel had noticed Laycee, and now I was getting all green-eyed over the hostess.

I pulled myself together as introductions were made, and immediately felt ashamed of my insecurity. Like everyone else I seemed destined to meet these days, the hostess had an accent and only one name, Anasztaizia, but the greeting bestowed on me was warm and filled with genuine friendliness. Yanking the leash on my jealousy, I made it go sit in the corner. Anasztaizia seated us in an alcove off the main dining area, and I was grateful for the privacy.

“I'm going to ask you to forgive me,” Gabriel said, reaching across the snowy white tablecloth for my hand, “but I'm going to talk with Anasztaizia in her own language for a few moments.”

This was the second time he'd apologized for having a conversation that didn't include me. Idly, I wondered if his talk with the soldier had been in Russian. Any further speculation on my part was disrupted by an unfamiliar, but still lovely, cadence that now flowed around me. Unable to understand what was being said, I occupied myself with my napkin. Unfolding and smoothing the heavy square of linen, I laid it across my lap while surreptitiously checking our hostess's body language as she exchanged words with Gabriel.

Not understanding a language isn't necessarily a hindrance when emotions and gestures can speak volumes by themselves. I might not have known what was being asked, but I could tell when Gabriel was posing a question. And every response from Anasztaizia was accentuated by a lift of her shoulders, a hand gesture, or a display of emotion on her lovely, expressive face.

The sudden change in her tone, however, caught my attention. Whatever Gabriel was saying seemed to annoy her, and she was doing her best not to be rude. I think she decided to redirect their conversation because I suddenly felt the weight of their eyes on me. I stared back at both of them as I heard Gabriel's voice soften. He was apologizing to the stunning blonde for something. Tilting her head, Anasztaizia gave him the kind of smile that said all was forgiven.

“What was that all about?” I whispered across the table at Gabriel as soon as we were alone. “The last part I mean.”

“Anasztaizia said she was would kick my ass if I didn't take better care of you.”

Regardless of the amused twinkle in his eyes, this was exactly what I'd been fearful of. People jumping to the wrong conclusion. “Didn't you tell her it wasn't your fault? That you weren't involved?”

“It won't make any difference.” He shrugged and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Anasztaizia is Magyar.”

“Magyar? What's that?”

“The Magyars are the true people of Hungary.”

The significance was lost on me, and I was about to ask him what he meant when our waiter appeared with the menus. He was a short, barrel-chested man with a shiny bald head and the most amazing moustache obscuring the lower part of his face. Handing each of us a menu, he gave a stiff little bow and left. I'd never seen such a thing before and was momentarily stunned.

I looked across the table at Gabriel, but he had opened his menu and seemed to be studying the bill of fare intently. With a sigh I opened my own menu and was filled with dismay. Not only did it seem I'd been given a small book to read, but I didn't understand half of what was written, and most of the choices were completely unfamiliar.

“Have you ever tried Hungarian food?” Lowering his menu, Gabriel looked at me from beneath his thick lashes. He was flirting. I shook my head, not wanting to admit the most adventurous I'd ever gotten was Taco Bell. “Then may I order for you?”

“Thank you, yes,” I answered, relieved.

Our waiter returned with a bottle of red wine and, after uncorking it, poured a small amount into Gabriel's glass. I watched in fascination as Gabriel swirled, sniffed, and then tasted the wine. Raising an eyebrow, he nodded in approval, much to the waiter's delight. It was just like something out of the movies. My own glass was generously filled. I'm not a big wine drinker, so my first sip was a cautious one, taken only to be polite. I changed my mind in a hurry. The wine, whatever it was, was fabulous.

“It tastes the way velvet feels,” I murmured, and the look that came back across the table to me made my internal flame jump up and lick my breastbone.

I have no idea what we ate, although I did recognize the word goulash. Our waiter, delighted to discover Gabriel spoke not only Hungarian but his own particular dialect, insisted on speaking it for the rest of the meal. Gabriel tried to apologize for this perceived rudeness, but I didn't mind. I was too busy allowing myself to be seduced by the rhythm of our server's words, We finished our meal with some sort of pastry torte crowned with a big dollop of heavy cream, and a dark, aromatic coffee that I knew would not be on any Starbuck's menu.

Pleasantly full, I leaned back in my seat, enjoying the light buzz I had going. The wine was absolutely delicious, and I'd had more than a token glass. I think. It was difficult to tell just how much I'd actually drunk as my glass was never allowed to empty. Gabriel did not seem at all affected, and I know his glass was replenished as often as mine had been. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps we ought to call a cab.

“It's all right,” he said, reading my mind or, more likely, the expression on my face. “I'm perfectly okay to drive.” He tapped the wine glass with his fingernail, making a wonderful ringing sound. “Alcohol doesn't affect me in quite the same way as you, and besides, I've been drinking this stuff for a very long time.”

“It's wonderful. Can I buy a bottle?”

He shook his head, making a long strand of blond hair shimmer against the dark silk of his shirt. “It's a house wine that Anasztaizia's family makes themselves. Sadly, they don't market it.”

I was disappointed. “Oh, pity.”

He leaned forward. “You know, I'm still waiting to see your eye patch.”

I giggled. I had completely forgotten all about it because my eye had felt so good, but now I pulled the sequined patch out of my purse with a flourish. “It's the least I can do after such a magnificent meal,” I told him before slipping it over my head and covering my eye. “So, what do you think?”

Putting both elbows on the table, Gabriel rested his chin on the back of his hands and stared at me. His face became a study in solemn contemplation that began to worry me, until I saw the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” I said, slipping the patch off and returning it to my purse. It wasn't designed for any practical purpose, and truth be told, I felt better without it.

“Perhaps if I saw it in relation to the rest of the costume,” Gabriel said, “I'd get a better perspective.”

“Unfortunately it was donated to Goodwill a long time ago.”

“Pity,” he murmured, “I think you would be a most charming pirate.”

He grinned, I laughed, and we finished our coffee. As we were leaving, the lovely Anasztaizia surprised me with a bottle of the wonderful house wine.

“Make sure you bring her back many times,” she ordered Gabriel. I didn't feel at all jealous when she kissed him this time.

“I've never been given a bottle of wine to take home,” Gabriel said once we were outside. He sounded slightly petulant.

“Well, be nice to me, and I might be persuaded to share,” I told him as he helped me fall into his Ferrari.

 

On the ride home, I got a taste of just how fast Gabriel's sporty foreign car could go. It was the most exhilarating, white-knuckle rush, and I held on for dear life as trees and fields blurred past us. I should have been terrified, but I wasn't, although I was pretty sure I managed to leave the imprint of my fingers in the soft leather of Francesca's passenger seat. And I was grateful not to see any cops, but how they would have caught us in order to issue the appropriate citation was beyond me.