A Vampire's Promise (14 page)

My fingers were shaking as I fumbled the key in the front door. I wanted to believe it was because the adrenaline was still pumping from the ride home or the effect of the wine buzzing through me. But either would have been a lie. I was responding to Gabriel, who was standing close enough that I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck.

The door key fell out of my hand as he spun me around, covering my mouth with his. This was what I wanted, what I'd been waiting for. His tongue swept over my lips, and I greedily encouraged him to tease and taste me. I had never been kissed like this before, and I surrendered myself to him without hesitation.

As I fisted my hands in his hair, the silky heaviness slipped through my fingers, making me giddy as I imagined how it would feel sliding across my naked skin. Moving his mouth, Gabriel trailed kisses along my jaw and up to my temple before latching onto my earlobe. Applying just enough pressure with his teeth, he made it sting. It was surprisingly erotic, and I couldn't get enough of him.

My hands, moving of their own accord, dropped to his waist and began tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. Slipping beneath the material, I stroked his velvet skin and was rewarded with a low, sexy rumble that seemed to catch in the back of his throat.

“Rowan . . .”

My name became a pulsating sexual vibration, and reclaiming my mouth, he swept me into the middle of a storm, a raging tempest that demanded my complete surrender. As if I had any other choice.

Gabriel was hot and hungry. Pressing myself against him, I felt the hard length of him pushing back, and hoped he would let me come up for air before I passed out. But I didn't really care if he didn't.

He pulled his face away, his breath a ragged gasp, and there was a strange, almost iridescent glow in his eyes. I told myself it was nothing more than the moonlight reflecting off his contacts.

“Are you all right?” I asked, my own voice a barely recognizable breathy whisper.

He kissed me again, slowly this time, allowing me to savor the taste and feel of his tongue as it gently caressed mine. He nudged my legs apart with his knee, and I willingly opened myself to him. Settling himself inside the space I offered, he pushed his hips against me, and I gasped.

Gabriel pulled my blouse free with a lot more skill and grace than I had used on his shirt. The small pearl buttons slipped loose seemingly of their own volition, eager to welcome his hands inside the opening. I shuddered at the feel of his fingers brushing over my skin.

One hand moved to the small of my back, while the other remained at the opening of my blouse. Leaning into me, he pressed his mouth against my throat, the tip of his tongue tracing little circles along my collarbone as his clever fingers opened the front clasp of my bra. Pushing aside the satin cup, he caressed my breast, making me moan and glide toward the edge of something potentially explosive. He rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and I jerked my hips forward.

Pulling his head back, Gabriel moved his hand away, making me groan in frustration as he released my breast. Running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, he swiped the moist fullness. I looked up at him. His eyes were incredible, framed by lashes so thick and long, they almost touched his cheek. I could feel myself drowning as he stared at me, my body irresistibly drawn to him, knowing he was everything I could ever want in a lover.

All the heavy petting I had indulged in prior to this moment was suddenly reduced to a series of crude fumblings perpetrated by manboys unable to give me the ultimate satisfaction. I had always made them carry the blame for their inability to take my virginity, but now I knew that wasn't fair. Or true. I carried more than my share of blame. Some instinct, hidden deep within me, had always risen just long enough to ensure any serious attempt at sex would fail. Somehow I'd known that the man I was destined for was holding me in his arms right now. Gabriel was every sex act I had ever imagined, rolled up with others I was more than wanting to try.

With trembling fingers, I undid the buttons of his shirt. Pushing aside the fabric, I placed my hands on his chest, able to feel strength and power moving beneath my hands. I devoured him with my eyes, taking in everything from his thick neck to his flawless pecs to the tight ridge of his abdominal muscles. Shamelessly I flicked out my tongue and traced a path up his sternum, tasting the maleness of him as it exploded on my tongue and relishing the growl of pleasure he uttered at my touch.

Grabbing a handful of curls, he pulled my head back. I could see the hunger in his face, a hunger so intense and raw I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare me. A lot. But, scared or not, every muscle in my body was ready to propel me forward into uncharted territory. I was fully prepared to drag him up the stairs to my bedroom, even though I had serious doubts my legs would make it that far. I might just have to lose my virginity in the hallway or on the kitchen floor if I could make it that far. Either would have been a good second choice.

Burying his face in the curve of my neck, Gabriel growled again, and I felt him drag in a great rush of air as he inhaled the scent of my skin. My own personal blowtorch kicked into forest fire range. I reached for him, my hands ravenous to feel his smooth flesh against my own.

And then, with an abruptness that shocked me . . . he let me go.

Suddenly Gabriel was staring at me from the other side of the porch. The look on his face was pure agony, almost as if he thought he was doing something wrong, only he didn't want to stop. If he was concerned about our being spied on by neighbors, I wanted to reassure him that there were none close enough to see my house, much less what happened on my doorstep. But before I could say anything, he raised his hand to his mouth, his long fingers shuddering against his lips.

Bewildered and confused, I had no idea what was happening. He wanted me. I knew it. I could feel it. And it wasn't just his cock. Every fiber in his body, every muscle, every sinew was screaming for me. I could hear it.

You know who I am.

Well, if I didn't, I certainly wanted to! God knows, I was more than willing and had no intention of refusing him. So what had just happened? What had I done wrong? The only thing I could think was that somehow Gabriel had guessed the meager extent of my sexual experience. In my eagerness I'd revealed exactly where it stopped, disappointing him. A wave of despair unfurled itself, threatening to wash through me at the unfairness of it all.

“No.” Gabriel's voice cut through my mental ranting like a knife. “That's not it.” He ran his hands through his hair before his eyes latched onto mine, glowing weirdly. “I know you haven't given yourself to a man. That only makes me want you more . . . not less.”

I gave a little gasp as one hand clutched the edges of my blouse and the other flew to my mouth. I
knew
I hadn't voiced that particular concern aloud, but perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that he could tell what I'd been thinking. He was able to read me far too easily, especially when I didn't take enough care in guarding my emotions. I took a few breaths and regained part of my equilibrium.

“At least now I don't have to worry about how I'm going to tell you,” I said, feeling an unexpected lift.

Gabriel flashed me a startled look. “You were worried about telling me you were pure?”

My mouth went suddenly dry, forcing me to nod my head as the heat of embarrassment burned my cheeks. I didn't think
pure
was an accurate description of my current state. To my mind it implied someone who'd never been touched in any way, and that wasn't me. But at least now Gabriel knew.

Yeah, he knew all right, and that made him want me
more
? How could that be when he was backing away from me? It didn't make any sense. Something had changed in the past ten seconds. I just didn't know what.

“If I were to ask, would you give yourself to me? Asking no questions, demanding no promises?” He sounded weirdly disconnected. His voice held none of the passion he'd just shown me. I wasn't sure if he was expecting an actual answer, but I gave him one anyway. The “yes” that managed to slip out of me was thick with need and desire, and I saw the blue of his eyes deepen, becoming almost black, making his gaze unfathomable. “I have to leave you.”

His words hung in the air. The abruptness of them punched their way past my rib cage and squeezed my heart with an icy grip. I heard quite clearly what he'd said, as well as what he hadn't. Gabriel hadn't said “I have to leave” as in it's time for me to go. He'd said “I have to leave
you
.” Huge difference. Significant, life-altering difference.

No matter how much you tell yourself you know it's coming, you're never actually prepared for the pain of being rejected. There's a moment right after the words have been spoken, before realization hits you, when everything seems to stand still. A crystal-clear hiccup in time when you tell yourself denial is still possible. The words
can
be yanked back, you
can
pretend you never heard them. Only that moment is a lie. No matter how it's phrased, or how carefully it's wrapped, the words can never be taken back.

“Why?” I blurted, hating myself for my weakness in needing to ask. What possible difference could it make?

“Because this is all wrong.” Turning his head, Gabriel looked away.

“What is?” I asked, as the horrible sinking feeling churning in my stomach began to grow.

“I can't ask this of you . . . not now.”

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but I recognized the desperate, almost angry tone in his voice. He sounded as if he were fighting a battle, one that he was losing, and could do nothing to even the odds. I might be inexperienced in a lot of ways, but I knew where this was heading, and I didn't want to give up without my own fight.

“Tell me you don't want me.”

“Ah, Rowan, please . . . don't.”

“Tell me.” I clenched my fists at my sides. “Say the words, and then you can walk away. I won't try to stop you.”

“Rowan, you don't understand—”

“—then make me understand!”

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. He was talking nonsense and I could feel him slipping away. Turning my back, I quickly rebuttoned my blouse before leaning my hands against the doorframe, in need of some sort of support.

“If you knew the truth about me, you would not want me, not like this.” The resolve in his voice was firm, telling me his mind was already set on its course. This was it, the big kiss-off. I could feel my insides ripping apart. How was it possible to hurt so much when I had known him only a few days? Was I already in love with him? Was it even possible? “Rowan, look at me.”

“You'd better go. I don't want to keep you from anything.”

For a moment I thought someone else was speaking because I didn't recognize the colorless monotone of my own voice. But I understood the reason for it. Self-preservation had kicked in. No way in hell was I going to let him see me distraught, hiccupping words, heartsore, and barely coherent.

“Rowan, please—it mustn't be like this, not between us.”

Like what? Gabriel's voice had changed also. It was charged with frustration, and he sounded even angrier than before. I was shocked. How dare he?! What gave him the right to be angry with
me
? Suddenly my vision blurred and I blinked my eyes. Shit! This was not the time to start crying. I felt a wet trickle along the side of my nose and I needed to sniffle—badly—but I didn't dare because then he would know for sure I was losing it. I heard him sigh. It was a weary sound, filled with despair.

“Rowan . . . turn around and look at me.”

The familiar liquid silk wrapped itself seductively around me, settling in my belly and producing a heat I desperately wanted to extinguish.

“Rowan . . . please?”

Stubbornly I shook my head. If I looked at him, he would see how pathetic I really was. Bending down, I picked up my keys from where they had fallen. All I had to do was insert the correct one in the lock and give a turn. Move the mechanism forty-five degrees to the right and push. I would be inside. I could shut the door on him. But Gabriel, sensing my intention, closed the distance between us before I had a chance to blink back the next wave of tears.

Turning me around, he pulled me into his arms, kissing me so hard I could already feel the bruises he was leaving on my lips. And then, as the tip of his tongue tasted the salty wetness at the corner of my mouth, I heard a noise. It was indescribable. Something I'd never heard before, but I recognized the volatile mix of rage and despair. It was primordial and made my eyes fly open. The sound was emanating from Gabriel. Rushing up his throat and out between his lips, it coiled itself around me.

Before I could take a breath, he was back on the far side of the porch, his head lowered, his face obscured by his long hair. I was stunned and now even more confused.

What had just happened?

“Gabriel . . . ?”

Torment looked back at me from brilliant, dark blue eyes. It was an agony that pierced me to the core. This was suffering, a pain whose origins I couldn't begin to fathom, but I could see the anguish ripping through him. Taking a step forward, I reached for him, but he moved first. How could he move that quickly? Catching hold of my wrists, he pressed his lips fiercely against the inside of each one.

And then he was gone.

U
nsure of what to do, I waited until the following day before calling. My call went straight to voice mail, as did the next one and the one after that. In all I left five messages, each more wretched and pitiful than the last.

Gabriel didn't call back.

I decided to give him forty-eight hours with no contact from me. Surely that would be long enough to work through whatever it was he needed to deal with?

He still didn't call back.

When I tried calling again, it didn't go to voice mail. Instead a disembodied voice said the number I had dialed was no longer in service, but if I thought the message was in error to try again. There was no error. I continued making excuses for him until the end of the week. It took me a little longer to stop making excuses for myself.

I'd been dumped. Discarded. Cast off. Forsaken.

Staring at my tear-stained reflection in the bathroom mirror, I recalled every conversation we'd ever had, starting with running into him outside Rosie's and ending with the last time I whispered his name on my front porch in the moonlight. Like a scientist with a microscope and a boxful of slides, I examined and reexamined every sentence that had dropped from my lips, every nuance and inflection in each word uttered, looking for a sign to explain his complete and utter abandonment of me. Had I been too eager or too hesitant? Was it my hair, my clothes, the stubborn ten pounds I couldn't seem to lose?

My mind kept taking me back to the beautiful Katja, showing me how painfully unsophisticated I was by comparison. But if Gabriel wanted someone like Katja, why had he been at Rosie's that night? Slumming? Wanting to see how the not-so-gorgeous people lived? And why would he say he was waiting for me? It wasn't as if I'd backed him against a wall and twisted his arm.

Wallowing in self-pity wasn't a pretty sight. The way we had parted, the intensity of the emotions flowing from both of us, had given me false hope. I told myself that, once he had thought things through, Gabriel would regret his decision. I had not pushed him away. He had left of his own accord, and with words that still made no sense. Knowing I was a virgin made him want me more? For God's sake, what did that mean?

And still he kept his silence.

Heartsick and despondent, I eventually reached the only conclusion left to me. The one Gabriel had triggered by implying that if I knew the truth about him, I would not want him. The truth about what? His life? The
this and that
he didn't want to talk about? Whatever the truth was, he believed I couldn't handle it. And that hurt worst of all. Not giving me the chance to decide for myself.

I told myself I'd been a fool. A complete idiot. He'd been playing me. Except I didn't believe it for one second, and deep down I knew it wasn't true. There was no question about the physical desire Gabriel felt for me. His body made all the right responses, responses you couldn't fake, but was that all there had been? There had to have been more, or else why not just sleep with me? Unable to speak for Gabriel, I could only speak for myself. All I knew, with any certainty, was he made me feel things no other man had ever come close to eliciting. He had unlocked my very own Pandora's box, except for me it was worse. At least Pandora had been left with hope. My box was empty.

The pendulum controlling my emotional arc swung perilously from one extreme to the other. I was either crying in my coffee or snapping and snarling at anyone who came near me. Apologies fell from my mouth with such regularity, they quickly became meaningless. Laycee and Angela, the only friends I had, stoically bore the brunt of my mood swings. Guiltily, I knew they deserved far better than I was giving them. It wasn't their fault I dealt with rejection so badly.

You know who I am.

That nagging little voice kept up its litany, rolling the words around in my head until I felt like screaming. I
didn't
know who he was. We had
never
met before. Believe me, I
would
have remembered. But as the words kept repeating themselves inside my head, I heard something else. A whisper that told me not to jump to any rash conclusions. Things weren't always as they seemed, and maybe there was a good reason for Gabriel's leaving me as he had. Yeah, and maybe Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy were kissing cousins.

After a month of complete Gabriel-silence, I finally decided to deal with the problem the only way I knew how. Calling in to work, I didn't even pretend to be sick. Angela sounded profoundly relieved when I asked her to cover for me. I couldn't blame her. I'd been particularly bitchy lately. With my pendulum stuck at the
incensed fury
end of my mood swings, I'd managed to supplant her all-men-are-scum theory with one of my own. Men, especially tall, fantastically built blonds who looked like Vikings, weren't only scum, they didn't deserve to breathe the same air as women. Fortunately, Angela recognized I'd never been through this before, so she cut me some major slack.

“It's about time, Rowan,” she said brusquely on the other end of the phone. “I don't care what you do. Get drunk, cry your eyes out, make an effigy and stick pins in it, but don't let me see you again until you've got this man out of your system!”

Weighing my options, I decided getting shit-faced was the way to go. Crying was exhausting and made my eyes puffy, and I didn't possess the necessary skills to make an effigy. Not that I wouldn't enjoy sticking pins in it. And ripping the head off.

As there didn't seem much point in saving it anymore, I started with the bottle of Hungarian wine. I was on my third glass when Laycee showed up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in surprise as she swept past me into the kitchen. It was Saturday afternoon, her busiest time in the salon.

“Having my period and cramping.” Dropping her purse on the counter, she got a glass out of the cupboard and then took the wine bottle out of my hand.

“Do you want some Midol?” I asked solicitously.

Laycee shot me a look of exasperation before snorting, “I'm not really having my period, you idiot. That was just the excuse I used to get off work. Angela called and thought you shouldn't be alone, especially if you plan on getting wasted.”

Her eyes fell on the counter, where small pieces of cork lay scattered next to a knife with a serrated edge, and a screwdriver and hammer.

“Don't have a corkscrew,” I mumbled. I'd tried to dig the cork out, which explained the knife and shredded pieces next to the sink, only it was taking too long. So I figured it was just as easy to push the damn thing in as it was to get it out. Which explained the screwdriver and hammer. Pleased with my problem-solving skills, I watched as Laycee eyed the butchered cork bobbing gently in the wine. “Doesn't affect the taste,” I assured her.

“Looks like I've got some catching up to do.” She poured a generous amount into a glass, took a healthy swallow, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, this stuff is pretty good.”

“Yeah . . . I know.”

I wasn't sure whether I should be grateful or pissed she was here, but I did know I owed her big-time. I had been particularly brutal when she'd called a day after Gabriel did his vanishing act.

“Are you going to get drunk?”

“That's the plan,” I said, as if getting wasted at one-thirty on a Saturday afternoon was akin to finding the cure for cancer. It was a cure all right; at least I hoped it would be.

“So, it's really over then?” Pulling out one of the chairs, she sat across from me at the kitchen table.

“Looks that way.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Yeah you do.” Her mouth twisted in a quirky smile. “It's time, Rowan.”

I flashed what I hoped was a menacing look, warning her not to go down this path, but she blew me off. What did I know? This was my first breakup that had teeth. It made no difference how long the relationship had lasted. The hurt was real enough.

“Have you tried calling him?”

“You can leave if you're going to ask stupid questions.”

Ignoring me, Laycee repeated herself. At times she was like a dog with a bone, and the only way to get her to shut up was to just go along.

“No longer in service,” I muttered sourly.

In all my misery I'd never actually told either Laycee or Angela what had happened with Gabriel, at least not in any meaningful detail. All they knew was that Gabriel had taken me to dinner, brought me home, and . . . dumped me for reasons unknown. And it was bad.

I tried telling myself that the reason I had remained so closed-mouthed, especially with Laycee, was because I didn't want to put a crimp in her happiness by wailing about yet another romantic failure on my part. Yeah right, like she was going to believe that.

Nevertheless, she was right about me wanting to spill my guts. I was halfway through my last glass of wine before I began to pour out my sad, sorry tale. Spilling everything, down to the last detail. I think she was more disappointed than I was, though for completely different reasons, about my not getting Gabriel horizontal between my sheets.

“D'you think he was gay?” she asked with a sympathetic twinge.

“Absolutely not!” I exclaimed, tilting my wine glass in her direction. “Trust me, I can tell when a guy is interested, and he was plenty interested.” I recalled with perfect clarity just how interested he'd been with my hand pressed against his fly. “There are some things the human body, excuse me the
male
human body, can't fake.”

“Then do you think he was married?”

I opened my mouth, ready to issue another denial, but snapped it shut. It was a legitimate question, and I was glad Laycee had been the one to raise it. The possibility had crossed my mind more than once when I'd been crying into my pillow, but other than looking for a wedding ring, I had no way of knowing. The only cheating married man I knew was Jake, and he wasn't much of an example. In hindsight I should have hit Laycee up for tips, but that's the thing about hindsight. It's always twenty-twenty.

“Bastard,” Laycee muttered.

“Bastard,” I agreed with a shrug, staring at the glass I didn't remember emptying. I went in search of something else to drink. If all else failed, I had some cooking sherry in the pantry. Thankfully, lurking in the back of the fridge were the beers Jake had brought. Two cans later and I was well and truly in the “poor me” groove. I told Laycee about Francesca.

“I thought you said his car was called Francine?”

I told her about the Ferrari.

“What a fucking whore!” Waving her arms, Laycee decorated the floor with a generous splash of beer.

“I thought only women were whores,” I said, thinking she had overtaken me on the inebriation highway.

“Not in this day and age!” Five minutes later my knowledge of whores was greatly expanded. “Hey, let's see if we can Google the bastard.”

I shook my head morosely. “Already tried.”

“Oh . . . and?”

“Don't have a last name,” I said with a sigh. “You have any idea how many results you get just with Gabriel?”

“Fuck it!” She was genuinely put out by my admission because now she couldn't ask Jake to utilize the resources of the Sheriff 's Department on my behalf.

“Good idea, though,” I said in an effort to cheer her up.

I don't remember very much about the rest of the day, except when the beers were gone I found a bottle of Jack Daniels I'd forgotten about in the back of a cupboard. It was at least three-quarters full when we started, and between us we emptied it. At some point I can remember being undecided whether I should bawl my eyes out or smash every piece of crockery I owned. As if destroying all my dinner plates and cereal bowls would punish Gabriel for leaving me. Laycee persuaded me crying would be more cathartic. She didn't want to have to sweep up broken dishes.

I can safely say that crying while drunk as a skunk is even more exhausting than crying while sober. When my eyelids became unnaturally heavy, I knew I had to lie down before I fell down, but managing the stairs wasn't going to happen. I'd have an easier time climbing Mount Everest in high heels. Laycee helped me to stumble into the living room, where I fell, face first, on the couch. She left me muttering drunkenly about what pigs men were and making snorty, grunting sounds. Or so she told me later.

I vaguely recollect Jake coming to get his girlfriend and saying something pithy about the dangers of women drinking without proper supervision. He was, however, thoughtful enough to bring me a bucket from the utility room and set it next to the couch in case I needed to upchuck. The last good guy on the planet, even if he was already taken. I managed a sloppy “thank you” before passing out completely.

I returned to the land of the living around noon the next day, convinced any sudden movement would make my head explode. I promised myself I was never going to drink like that again. However, I'm not sure making such a pledge while kneeling in front of the toilet holds much weight. Nevertheless, the binge had the desired effect. Having to deal with my hangover made me realize what an unbearable misery I had been to everyone around me. It wasn't their fault that my latest foray into the world of romance had ended in disaster—again. I think the screw-up fairy must have heard the only way to make me truly happy was to totally fuck up my life. Not wanting to disappoint, she determined this to be the pattern of my days.

But the reality of my situation was very simple. No matter what I felt, no matter what had been said, Gabriel was history. It was time to move on. I owed it to my friends. I owed it to myself. And despite Laycee's protests to the contrary, I was glad I hadn't had sex with Gabriel.

Even though my feverish imagination assured me it would have been the most mind-blowing experience possible between two consenting adults, I would be feeling worse than I already was. I told myself I was grateful Gabriel had left me when he did. If I kept repeating it enough times, I might actually come to believe it.