“Wait… what about demons?” She looked up at him again, her heart sputtering.
“You’ve got questions, I’ve got answers.” Dorian’s mouth curved into a smug, sexy smile. “Perhaps I can tempt you with another deal.”
Charley shook her head, but she was already smiling again too. “State your terms, Mr. Redthorne.”
“I’ll allow you to return to the city this afternoon, if you’ll allow me to take you on a brief detour first.”
“Where?”
“A place I think you’ll love. It’s not far.”
“Hmm. So you can murder me and drink my blood?”
“Charlotte, I don’t need to leave the comfort of my own home to drink your blood, nor do I need to murder you.” His eyes glittered with mischief, despite the warning lurking beneath the surface.
Still, he had saved her life. Not just last night, but that night in Central Park too. Maybe he wanted to scare her, but Charley’s gut told her he didn’t want to hurt her.
Just the opposite, actually.
His eyes softened, and he let out a deep sigh. “You have questions only I can answer. I’m offering to do just that. But you need to show me a little trust too.”
“I know. It’s just… a lot to process. You’re a lot to process.”
He reached across the table and took her hand, stroking his thumb over her skin, sending ripples of heat up her arm. “Spend the day with me, love. Let me show you my favorite place in the world.”
“Just talking, right?”
“If that’s what you wish, then yes. Just talking.”
Charley drained the last of her coffee, then set her mug down on the table, decision made.
“Fine. But I’ve got a pre-condition.” She smirked and nodded toward the door beyond the breakfast nook—the one that led out to the garage, where Dorian’s collection of priceless automobiles awaited. “I’m driving.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sitting in the passenger seat of his red 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO, Dorian wiped his damp hands on his pants.
I can’t believe I agreed to this.
“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said, downshifting smoothly to take the next curve. She reached over and patted his knee as she accelerated into the turn. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“But it’s not a rodeo, is it? No.” Dorian removed her hand and placed it firmly back on the wheel. “It’s a priceless piece of machinery careening down a mountain road with a driver who may or may not be plotting my demise.”
“Careening? Please. I’m in complete control.” Charlotte laughed, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze. She took her hand off the wheel to brush away a few strands that had blown into her mouth. “I’m surprised you actually let me drive it.”
“No more than I, believe me.” When he’d led her into the garage, she’d headed straight for the classic red Ferrari, admiring it with such reverence that when she finally turned to ask for the keys, Dorian swore there were tears in her eyes.
There was no way he could’ve turned her down. Not about the car. Not about anything.
And that, frankly, scared the hell out of him.
Dorian opened his eyes as the engine whined, Charlotte waiting until the last possible second to shift into fifth gear.
“This car is unbelievable,” she said. “So responsive. I feel like I could drive it with my eyes closed.”
“I’d really prefer you didn’t.” Dorian’s heart rate skyrocketed as they glided into another curve, the sun-dappled road cutting through a swath of eastern red cedars and paper birch trees. The power in the engine was unmistakable, and when Charlotte flashed him another smile, her whole face lit up.
He’d never seen anything so pure, so radiant.
They reached a long straightaway, and Charlotte gave it more gas. The car wasn’t built with a speedometer, but from the blur of scenery along the road, Dorian guessed they’d hit eighty.
“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Redthorne?” she asked.
As nervous as Dorian was, Charlotte's enthusiasm was contagious. He couldn’t help but appreciate her skill. She handled the car with such ease, such unrestrained joy, it was as if she’d been born driving it.
Not only that, but every time she wrapped her hand around the gearshift, a bolt of heat shot straight to his cock.
“No,” Dorian said, forcing himself to relax. He curled his hand around the back of her neck, stroking her earlobe with his thumb. “Apparently, I trust you.”
“How much longer? I mean, until we get there, not until you stop trusting me.”
“The turnoff is round the next bend.” He trailed his fingers down her arm, then down along her thigh, wishing she’d worn a dress instead of the tight leggings. Still, there was something soft and sweet about her casual clothing, her messy hair, her makeup-free face. It was another facet of what he now understood was a deeply complex, contradictory woman—one he wanted to know. To care for. To keep safe, just like he’d vowed last night.
“Right here, love.” He pointed at the nearly hidden turnoff up ahead. “Make the right at the tree trunk, then drive all the way to the end.”
Charlotte downshifted, navigating them onto the rough road. A few moments later, they arrived at the end, no more than a small dirt clearing among the trees.
They were, as he knew they would be, alone.
“Dorian, this is incredible.” Charlotte stepped out of the car and walked a few dozen yards to the edge, a rocky ridge that sloped down into the valley a hundred feet below. Beyond, the Catskill Mountain range stretched out before them, red and gold in the autumn morning light.
“Why do I recognize this place?” She turned, hitting him full on with that bright, copper-eyed gaze. “It’s like a painting come to life.”
“Precisely.” He pointed at a rocky outcropping several feet away. “That’s where Cole Diamante sat to paint—”
“Fall of Secrets! Of course! I’ve seen that painting a hundred times at the Met. It was Diamante’s last landscape. After that, he moved on to portraiture, but he never achieved the same level of critical acclaim before his death. Too bad, really. His portraits are exquisite too.”
Dorian laughed at her exuberance. “Is there anything about art you don’t know?”
“I didn’t know this place was here.”
“Well, there is something else you don’t know about Cole Diamante, but if I share this secret, you must promise not to tell a soul.”
“I swear it.” She made an X over her heart, her eyes sparkling.
“Cole hasn’t passed on—he’s only retreated from the public eye.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Quite. He owns this land, and he’s a former associate of mine, though he doesn’t venture out much anymore.”
“But that would make him over a hundred and fifty years old!” She narrowed her eyes. “Vampire?”
“Wolf shifter, actually.”
“Seriously? So wolf shifters are a thing?”
“Yes, though they’re increasingly rare. They mostly travel in packs and stick to their own kind, generally preferring the forests to the city. Cole is a lone wolf—always has been.”