Unbitten (34 page)

Roxanne was totally turned on. Now we’re talking, she
thought. Paris might have been a complete drag with no
money, but this train ride is definitely looking up.

“I have a private room at the end of the
train,” he whispered in her ear with that rough
voice.

She found herself really loving the French accent. It made
words sound like water going over rocks in a stream. She
arched her back just a little in reply.

“Small coffee,” Roxanne said to the girl at the
cash register. “And a croissant, please.” She
took the little cardboard box with her things, and again,
had a quick look at the man. He was tall and muscular, his
pants were tight and she could see he was hard. She gasped
at his boner, then gave him a crooked grin.

After he had gotten his drink, he guided her to the back of
the train and into his private room. It was very small, so
small they could barely stand without touching. But that
was not the idea, in any case, as the minute the door was
closed, they put down their snacks and forgot all about
them, their lips greedily meeting, their clothes flying
off, and the rest of the train trip spent fucking every
which way, all to the helpful and soothing rhythm of the
train, as it clackety-clacked its way along the route,
taking Roxanne to a possible new life in Mourency, and the
man to parts unknown.

In the hotel bathtub, Jo went over and over her ride,
picking it apart, trying to understand where things had
gone wrong. But she could not understand it. About a third
of the way through, Drogo had gotten upset, and Jo had not
been able to calm him or turn his attention back fully to
the course, and they had ended up being disqualified.

Disqualified!

She was mortified at her failure. She did not want to face
David, Henri, Thierry, or even Drogo. It had been her job
to win that event, and she had not even been able to stay
in the running. The hotel room, small but quite nice, with
a view of the ocean, made her feel undeserving.

She dragged the soap over her body, not paying any
attention to its lavender scent or the soothing warm water,
but stuck back in the moment of her humiliation, when the
judges made their pronouncement over the loudspeaker. It
was not that disqualifications were that unusual. But it
had never happened to her before, even during her first
shows when she was very young and unseasoned.

She rinsed off and stepped out of the tub, letting the
water run off her body and soak the bathmat. She swept her
wet hair back from her face, and then, still wet, put on
her nightgown, a thin cotton one that Marianne had given
her that was more suitable for hot summer evenings than
November, but which Jo had considered lucky.

Ha, she thought. Not lucky this time.

A knock at her door.

She had not called room service and had no idea who it
might be. And she did not want to see anyone–she had
an important night of moping ahead of her, and did not want
it interrupted. Jo sighed and walked to the door, slipping
on a bathrobe as she went.

She cracked open the door, keeping the chain in place.

“Yes?” she said, allowing her displeasure into
her voice.

“Jo,” said Henri.

She looked up into his eyes, his blue glinting eyes. She
struggled to understand. Henri was standing just outside
her hotel room. Her first thought was that he was there to
fire her. Or maybe to yell at her. Then she collected
herself, realizing that Henri was not a man who would do
either of those things, not without warning, no matter what
the circumstances.

“Henri?” she said, because she had no idea what
to say.

“May I come in?” he asked. His voice was
gentle, yet there was something in it, something Jo
wasn’t sure of. He sounded as though…her
answer mattered to him.

She stepped back and slid out the chain, then opened the
door wide.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, grinning.
She realized, to her surprise, that she was very glad to
see him.

He strode in, grinning back at her, then pulled off his
coat and tossed it on a chair. He turned to her and put his
hands on his hips. “You were magnificent,” he
said, smiling at her, and looking at her intently.

“You were there?”

“Yes,” he said. “For…part of it,
anyway.”

“Do you know…”

“About the disqualification? Yes. It doesn’t
matter. I had no idea what it was that you did
exactly–I had never been to a show jumping event
before, never seen anything like that.
It–you–it was astonishing.
You
…were astonishing.”

Jo felt her usual blush start to rise up from her neck. And
as usual, she cursed it to herself. With Henri’s kind
words, some of the bad feelings she’d been wallowing
in began to lift, just a little.

“You’re good to say so,” she said, moving
farther into the little room, and then sitting on the edge
of the bed. “It’s never happened to me before.
It’s…well, it’s really embarrassing to
me.” With that, the memory flooded back, and to her
even deeper embarrassment, tears sprang to her eyes. Henri
had come to see her, to watch! And she had failed, right
there in front of him.

He said nothing, but his expression was very warm and very
loving. “Oh, Jo,” he said finally, taking a
step closer, and then pulling her up to stand beside him.
He reached his hand to her face, brushing a tear from her
cheek.

“Henri!” she sobbed, and broke down crying,
feeling such a crazy mixed-up bunch of emotions she
couldn’t even begin to sort them out.

He gathered her into his arms and she let her head drop to
his chest. He held her close while she shook with crying,
and before too long she was quiet. Henri stroked her hair,
murmured, “It’s OK, it’s OK. I’m
here, Jo,” and felt her relax in his arms.

Jo lifted her head and looked into Henri’s eyes. She
felt her blush intensify, in fact, felt her blush ignite
throughout her body, as she stood there with her arms
around this strong and absolutely sexy man who was her
friend, their bodies touching. Her arms tightened around
him.

Henri leaned his face closer to Jo’s. Then closer. He
wanted more than anything he had ever wanted to touch his
lips to hers, but he was fighting the desire, telling
himself that even if she wanted him to kiss her, it would
be a mistake.

Her mouth opened, just a little. Her eyes, still wet with
tears, dared him to do it.

Henri leaned in again, and kissed the woman he loved. She
was eager. She opened her lips a bit more, and he darted
his tongue, just barely, touching hers. He brought his
hands up to her face, holding her, pouring himself into the
kiss, feeling his whole body leaping up, alive for the
first time in so long.

Jo let her hands roam over Henri’s back. She held on
to his muscular arms, then his hips, unable to keep still,
shocked by what they were doing and how incredibly good and
right it felt. The kiss went on and on and on.

And his scent–what was that? He smelled like
fresh-cut grass, like old garden roses, and somehow the
rosy part was manly and deep. He smelled to her like the
place she had always yearned for and been looking for her
whole life, and never found.

Uh oh, thought Jo.

They broke the kiss and looked into each other’s
eyes, and for a long moment, they were both at peace, both
ridiculously happy, both filled with desire and satisfied,
all in the same instant.

But then the moment ended. They blinked. Henri pulled away
first, arguing with himself, criticizing himself for doing
the one thing he had sworn to himself not to do. And Jo was
thinking that the last thing she should be doing was
getting involved with anyone. She was terrible with men, a
disaster! Henri seemed like the most decent guy in the
world now, but if she started seeing him, something would
go wrong. It always did.

For one thing, she thought, backing up, he could be about
to bite me.

“I’m sorry,” said Henri in a low voice.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Jo, and she meant
it. At the same time that she was telling herself
she’s no good with men and should just leave it
alone, another inner voice was drowning that first one
right out. She felt safe with Henri. She knew that whatever
else happened, even if he turned out to be a vampire, that
he would never do anything to hurt her.

Jo realized, as they continued to look into each
other’s eyes, that she knew this because it was true,
not because she
wished
it to be true.

If he wanted her, he could have her.

And he did want her. Badly. Painfully. But he was not going
to let his self-control fail now. Not just for his own
sake, but because he was thinking of her. What kind of life
is it for a human to be with a vampire? The secrecy alone
made people bitter. He needed to sleep all day, and she,
all night. And what about her friends and family? If they
found out his status, he would be risking his own
family’s security. And Americans, to top it off. A
totally different culture, she could never feel at home
here at the Château, and I certainly can never leave.

It was impossible.

Henri looked lovingly at Jo, and put his big palm alongside
her face. “I’m not sorry,” he said,
correcting himself, “but I will go now. My train
leaves soon,” he said, “and I will see you back
at the Château.”

Jo’s face fell. She closed her eyes for a moment to
brace herself. “See!” said the unpleasant
voice, the one that seemed to rejoice when anything went
wrong. She wanted to reach out and hold on to him, to
breathe in fresh-cut grass and old roses again, and not let
him go.

“And Jo? Please, do not give the show another
thought. There will be others. I saw how extraordinary you
were out there, and Drogo too–and I have no doubt
that in the future, we will have so many trophies we will
need to build a new room to hold them.”

And with that, he moved to let himself out. Jo reached out
to him, unsure of what she meant but not wanting him to go,
and he turned back around, just as her bathrobe fell partly
open. Henri caught a glimpse of her sleek body under the
damp nightgown, her lush breasts showing through the thin
fabric.

He swallowed hard, and fled.

Part of Pierre Aucoin’s routine was strolling past
the train station after the evening train came through, in
case there were any tasty morsels getting off with no one
to meet them. To Pierre, there was something a little
mournful yet appetizing about that, a solitary person
standing lonely at a train station. And to his mind, which
was rather twisted from all the years of solitude he had
endured, having a bite and a drink and maybe a quick fuck
was a way of welcoming the stranger–hopefully blonde,
hopefully skinny–to Mourency.

He left the bar where no one was including him in the
conversation anyway. He had gotten tired of soccer about
fifty years ago, and the endless chat about the last game
had bored him to the point of anger. He walked faster than
usual, taking his favorite route down by the river, pulling
his coat up around his neck to keep out the cold.

The train had already arrived and was sliding out of the
station, on its way south. Pierre could see the blank faces
of some of the passengers, looking blankly at yet another
village, probably thinking about going to get some snacks
in the snack car, or whether to wait another half hour.
Dull thoughts for dull people, thought Pierre.

But oh! He suddenly felt…a tingle. A little zippy,
zingy feeling in the small of his back, that he only got
when at the Château, near Henri. He looked around at
the few people there. A old man in blue coveralls sweeping
the sidewalk. Walking quickly in the opposite direction, a
young woman he recognized, the daughter of the baker on the
next street over.

And then he saw Roxanne. She was wrestling with her bag,
which was refusing to roll. She swore at it. Then she
walked around behind it and kicked it as hard as she could,
swearing more loudly. She was not like anything he had ever
encountered before.