Dark Carousel (Dark #30)(23)

“Where did these clothes come from, Tariq? Because I didn’t buy them.” She touched the striped royal blue bra and the matching lace panties. She could never afford anything like the lingerie he gave her. The jeans were soft and fit like a glove when she drew them up over her hips. The thin camisole was formfitting, a little tighter than she was used to wearing, and emphasized her curves while drawing attention to her narrow rib cage and smaller waist. She didn’t want to point out that, although beautiful, the camisole fit in a way she was certain drew attention to her hips and butt.
“A friend owns a boutique. I called her with your sizes last night. I was worried about you going back to your house in order to get more clothes so I had some delivered in your size, Genevieve’s and Lourdes’s. That way, your three stalkers as well as Fridrick won’t have the chance of trailing you back here. They aren’t going to think to look for you here. Without you going in and out often, that minimizes the danger to everyone else.” 
She hadn’t thought of that—bringing danger to the others who lived there. She didn’t like the very real possibility nor did she like that she hadn’t thought of it herself. She actually felt the color drain from her face. “Maybe I should . . .”
“Don’t say it,” he chastised, slipping his arm around her waist. “Fridrick and Vadim are after the children and Emeline. By being here, you haven’t increased the danger. And no, I’m not reading your mind, but your expression is transparent. You aren’t paying for the clothes, either. It was my decision to purchase them. I didn’t consult with you, so that’s on me.”
He nuzzled her neck, and truthfully, every protest died just like that, with his lips on her. He took her hand once she was dressed. Strangely, she hadn’t seen him dress, but he was back in his immaculate suit as they went downstairs together.
7
Bella was a beautiful little girl, just as short as Lourdes, who had the Vintage disadvantage of being in the lowest percentile for height, but not so much for weight. The two little girls were instant best friends and right now they were each clinging tightly to one of Tariq Asenguard’s hands and chattering a mile a minute about hunting for trolls or zombies down by the lake in very excited voices. Charlotte loved that for Lourdes. The child had lost her father and had been placed with her aunt and then moved over and over before they could set down roots anywhere.
The property couldn’t have been any prettier. To a child of three, the trees, shrubbery and flowers along with the gleaming blue lake and fairy-tale outbuildings had to be a wonderland. There was a covered patio with an outdoor kitchen and comfortable chairs, but it was the old-fashioned carousel that caught her eye. This one was an early Herschell-Spillman Company carousel made in the United States, and it was amazing. Completely restored. Clearly it worked, and she longed to rush over and take a good look at it, but to her shock, she found watching Tariq with two three-year-olds took priority.
“Oh. My. God. You are so far gone it isn’t funny,” Genevieve said. The teasing note in her voice disappeared. “Seriously honey, I’m happy for you. I am. But you have to be careful. He’s . . . experienced, and you’re not. You don’t let people in. Especially men. I’ve gotten to know you very well, and you’re the type of woman who will give her heart completely to one man and if he breaks it, it will stay broken. You haven’t known him more than one night. You didn’t take the time, and you’re falling too fast. Way too fast. You’ve already broken every single one of your rules. You don’t sleep with a man casually, and you’ve already slept with him.”
Charlotte ducked her head. Genevieve wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. She even nodded a couple of times to indicate to her friend that she heard and agreed. “I know,” she admitted, and risked a quick glance at Tariq again.
He had his head turned, looking back at them as if he knew what Genevieve was saying to her. The expression on his face made him look dangerous.
It is the beginning of us.
She took a breath and pressed her hand to her suddenly churning stomach. It was a declaration inside her head. A decree. A red flag in the mind of a modern woman who would define him as a textbook dominant stalker type. His voice was implacable. He had flicked a glance at Genevieve that frankly chilled Charlotte.Bella said something and he instantly turned his attention to the child, crouching down to her level, circling her with one strong arm and nodding his head at something she said. “Of course I can take you out in the boat, but not tonight, my little Bellarina.”
His name for her sent Bella into laughter, which made Lourdes laugh. Charlotte had wanted this for the child. She was naturally upbeat and happy, but the events of the last few months had taken a toll on her.
“Stop looking at him as if he’s the greatest thing in the entire world and start listening to me,” Genevieve insisted. She put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “You’re getting in over your head. We met the man last night under extreme circumstances. He was heroic and gallant standing up for us. He offered a place to stay and I have to say the accommodations are perfect, and the security seems tight, but still, Charlie, we just met him. I don’t know what happened after I went to bed, but it happened fast and that means he’s a very smooth operator with the emphasis on very.”
Why do you allow her to go on and on? You know we are good. I am not the man she claims I am. Send her away.
Charlotte risked another glance at him. He wasn’t looking at her this time. He had taken the girls to the small playground on the property and was pushing them on swings. His home had everything they could possibly need—or want. Although his jaw was set and he looked dangerous, his voice was gentle as he answered each child when she shouted orders to him. There was even a note of laughter in his voice as the girls continued to yell for him to push them higher.
She sighed. She was going to have to answer him and that meant speaking intimately, on that strange pathway that he’d evidently forged between them. She knew every time she used it she was bound closer to him. She didn’t understand it and when she was apart from him, it didn’t make sense to her, but the connection between them was stronger—and better—than anything she’d ever shared with anyone. When he was touching her, holding her, it all made sense, but then logic and reasoning crept in when he wasn’t right there.
Tariq, what can I say? Everything she says to me is the truth. She’s my friend and she’s trying to look out for me. As my friend, she should point these things out to me. That’s what true friends do. They try to keep you from falling too hard.
Do you believe I would hurt you? Break your heart? Sielamet, you are everything to me. I would never harm you. It is impossible for me to do so. I know this happened far too fast for you to believe strongly in it or in me, but you promised to give me a chance. 
She was in his mind and there was something there, a hint of danger, of warning she couldn’t quite catch, as if she was missing a very important piece of a puzzle, but it was so small it seemed inconsequential. Whatever it was made her uneasy.
I’m giving us a chance. I’m still here. If I didn’t plan to give us a chance, I would have already packed up Lourdes and we’d be gone.
She had nowhere to take her niece that was safe. Nowhere. They had enemies, and they had no idea why. A serial killer and three stalkers who went around staking their victims, so they were serial killers as well.
They believe in vampires.
“Are you paying attention, Charlie? Because we have to discuss this,” Genevieve persisted.
Carrying on two conversations was a bit disorienting, but what Tariq said made sense. The three men from the club staked their victims while they were alive, as if that was the only method of killing them. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. She should introduce them to Fridrick. He had admitted he’d killed Genevieve’s grandmother and the others in Paris in a bizarre blood-taking fashion and then gone to the United States to kill Charlotte’s brother. What is going on? How could she remove Lourdes from Tariq’s home when it was the only place she’d been so far where she felt safe at all?
“Charlie,” Genevieve snapped. “I’m telling you, he’s a player. That’s straight. I didn’t want to say it like this but you won’t listen. He’s going to find another woman tonight, or some other night, and bring her home and make her feel like she’s the only one. You can’t invest in him like this.”
He hadn’t brought another woman into his home. Her sense of smell was heightened, very acute. There was no way he could have removed a woman’s presence completely—especially her scent. He had said he had never brought a woman there and she believed him absolutely. Still . . . Genevieve was not wrong that she was investing too much in him too soon.
“I’m listening to you, Vi, I am,” Charlotte said. “But it’s already too late. I’m so far gone on him there’s no turning back. My heart is already involved. I don’t know why or how this happened so fast, but I’m going to ride it out and see what happens. I would like to have you close for support no matter which way it goes.”