Intimate. God, she loved the way he talked. She used to think he was just extremely proper, but now she realized it was also a function of his age. He’d come from another time, arriving here long before her own ancestors had even set foot on this soil.
The whole situation was a hundred-and-one kinds of crazy.
“I’m sorry to worry you,” he said, still stroking her face. “I didn’t think to explain before things… escalated.”
Charley blew out a breath. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s good. About the… not having to worry about… It’s really good.”
Really good? What the hell was wrong with her? When had she turned into a nervous teenager?
Right about the time you started fucking a hot vampire and shut off half your brain…
She closed her eyes, forcing the spin of her mind to stop. She didn’t want to think about the impossibility of it all right now.
But hell, how could she not?
She’d just had the most intense, amazing sex of her life… with an immortal fucking vampire.
She was standing in the luxurious marble bathroom… of an immortal fucking vampire.
A sinfully hot man had brought her to ecstasy like no man had ever come close… and he was an immortal fucking vampire.
“You’re an immortal vampire,” she blurted out, the reality smacking her in the face again. “Jesus Christ, Dorian. You’re a fucking vampire! You have fangs and you’re insanely fast and stronger than a freight train on steroids and you… you drink blood, for the love of God!”
“God has nothing to do with this, Charlotte. I assure you.”
“But you’re not human!” She pushed against his chest with her fists, suddenly desperate for space. For air. But the steam from the shower was quickly filling the room, and Dorian’s presence was so imposing, so all-consuming, she felt like the walls were closing in.
“Call me a monster if it eases your conscience, love, but we both know the truth.” He fisted the back of her hair and tugged, forcing her to look at him. “You sing a very different tune when the monster shoves his tongue between your thighs.”
Her knees weakened at the memory of his demanding mouth, taking and taking and taking until she was a hot, trembling mess.
Charley’s fists uncurled, her palms flattening against his chest, his skin warm and slick in the steamy bathroom. His cock was already hard again, nudging her belly, ready for more.
She was so close to giving in, so close to climbing into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips, and letting him take her any way he wanted. On the bathroom sink, against the shower door, under the water… She could think of a million fantasies, each one more delicious than the last.
But her head was too heavy, her body spent from their battle between the sheets, and suddenly all she wanted to do was melt under the hot shower and evaporate into nothingness.
“I’m sorry, Dorian,” she said softly, lowering her eyes and taking a step back. “I need to think, and I can’t do that with you here.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to leave.”
“You’re telling me I can’t use my own shower?”
“Are there no other showers in this mansion?”
“A dozen, actually, but—”
“Then find a different one!”
“Charlotte—”
“I can’t breathe, Dorian!” She turned her back on him and stepped into the shower, losing herself for a moment under the rush of hot water.
When she opened her eyes again, Dorian was gone.
The bedroom was too quiet.
With a towel wrapped around her head and Dorian’s robe wrapped around her body, Charlotte crept out of the bathroom, scanning the bedroom for signs of her vampire.
The bed had been remade with clean sheets, the splintered night table and stakes cleared away. Her ruined dress and undergarments were gone, along with Dorian’s clothing.
And the vampire himself was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment settled into her stomach.
“Careful what you wish for, girl,” she muttered.
On an antique bench at the foot of the bed, she spotted the overnight bag she’d left in Travis’ car and her purse, but her phone was missing. Just as she’d feared, she probably dropped it while she was careening down that hill, trying to avoid becoming a vampire snack.
Someone had also left a silver tray on the low dresser. It looked like a fancy room-service tray, with a teapot of hot water, a small basket containing at least ten different kinds of teas, and a porcelain sugar-and-creamer set that was probably older than Dorian. Beneath a silver dome, she found a bowl of fresh berries and grapes, and a selection of gourmet cheese and crackers that had her stomach grumbling.
She hadn’t eaten since she’d left the hotel in town, too nervous about the job to keep anything down.
With a surge of gratitude, she plucked a strawberry from the pile and popped it into her mouth.
Behind the fruit bowl, tucked into a tiny pewter place card holder, was a note written in elegant script.
I thought you might like some refreshment.
Sweet dreams, Charlotte.
—Dorian
She pressed the note to her chest, shaking her head as if that alone could erase all the craziness from her brain.
Dorian fucking Redthorne.
How dare he be so kind, so thoughtful? He was supposed to be pissed at her for kicking him out of his own bedroom. He was supposed to be cold and distant. He was supposed to love her and leave her, just like the rest.
He was supposed to be a monster. One she could hate. One she could justify stealing from. One she could easily walk away from.
But instead, he’d taken care of her.
He’d given her space.
He’d cleaned up the mess.
He’d brought her a midnight snack.
And, she realized, he’d left the bedroom door ajar.
Charley didn’t know if it was a test or a show of trust, but right now, she didn’t care. She was too exhausted for an escape, too overwhelmed to snoop.
After indulging in a cup of lavender vanilla tea with cream and a big helping of everything else, Charley pushed the door closed, crawled between the cool, black sheets, pulled Dorian’s robe around her body, and waited for the darkness to take her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The scent of coffee pulled Charley from a decadent dream, the effects of which still lingered between her thighs. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, the dream vision receding as she took in the sight of her unfamiliar surroundings.
Dorian Redthorne’s bedroom. Annandale-on-Hudson.
She was alone in the king-sized bed, the sheets cold and smooth, the coffin-like decor no less imposing in the daylight.
Kings… Coffins… Vampires.
Everything came back in a rush.
It hadn’t been a dream. More like a waking nightmare.
Liar, she thought, scolding herself. If last night was such a nightmare, why was her body still begging for his touch? Why was the burn in her thighs such a delicious reminder of what had transpired in this very bed?
“Because you’re certifiable,” she whispered. “That’s why.”
Slowly dragging herself to the windows, Charley slid open the tapestries. Outside, the lush grounds were velvety green carpets, mist rising from the river like steam from the bath.