He blinked, his body relaxed and his hand slid into my hair on the pillow where he started to twirl a lock around his finger.
“A flamethrower is unnecessary,” he whispered, his eyes warm, his face soft and even the air around us in our bed felt snug and safe.
“Of course,” I whispered back, sliding into his mood, the look on his face, in his eyes. “You could probably take on the lot.”
“Without a doubt.”
“So I have nothing to worry about.”
That thing drifted through his eyes again even as he murmured, “No, my pet, you have nothing to worry about.”
I didn’t like whatever was drifting through his features but, even so, I decided to trust him.
“Good,” I whispered.
His gaze moved over my face then his head dipped and even as his fingers kept twisting my hair, his lips moved on my neck. Lazy. Sweet. Nice.
My arms circled him. “Are we done talking?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are we going to sleep?”
“Absolutely not.”
I grinned. Then I twisted my neck, his head came up and our mouths met.
And we absolutely didn’t sleep.
Not for a long time.
And when we did, we did it close. Our bodies snug.
And, for my part, I did it feeling safe.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Attack
I turned the faucet off, wrung out the washcloth, smoothed it over the edge of the basin and looked into the mirror as I grabbed a towel to dry my hands.
Lucien and I had just made love and he’d fed. It was beautiful. As good as always. Ecstasy.
I’d cleaned up and was wearing nothing but a short, ivory silk nightie. In the mirror, I could see the angry pink wound at my neck morphing, fading, healing. It didn’t take long now, less than half an hour, then it would be gone.
I watched the wound grow fainter for long moments thinking that was wild and totally freaking cool.
I folded and returned the towel to its loop and looked back at my reflection the mirror.
It had been a week and a half since we had the visits from our families. I was surprised but definitely not displeased that Lucien spent that entire time with me. We made love. He fed. We cooked together. We ate together. We walked to the lake and swam together. Ditto in the pool. We lay in bed or on the couch in the comfy seating area off the kitchen and whispered to each other or napped, doing both holding each other close. Lucien took me out to dinner twice. He took me shopping once. I made him watch a movie with me snuggled on the couch. I learned about his life, his family and vampires. I also learned he knew most everything about me but still, he liked hearing me tell my stories anyway.
The outside world intruded, of course. Edwina was there, quietly taking care of the house, stocking the fridge, sometimes clucking around us like a mother hen but usually making herself scarce because she felt the mood. My mother called, Aunt Nadia too, Stephanie, my sister and a couple of my cousins. They were worried about the nightmares I assured them (truthfully) I was no longer having. But I made short work of allaying their fears so I could get back to Lucien.
He also received calls, mostly business which he would take with me close. Sometimes they were about other things. Those he would take elsewhere. I was curious and wanted to ask because I sensed they were about me. But I didn’t because if it was bad, I didn’t want to know. Not then. Not in that golden time I fell in love with a vampire.
I stared at myself in the mirror, smiling.
There it was. Proof.
I was demented. Totally.
I was in love with Lucien.
I couldn’t have him, not like I could one of my own, to take vows with, make children with and grow old with. I also couldn’t have him like in the time before The Revolution, to take vows with, not make children with but to spend eternity together.
And I didn’t care.
I had him now. I loved him now.
And I knew it was in a way that I would love him for my forever.
To put it simply, there were not many girls who got the chance to fall in love with a vampire. To have his attention, his protection, his body, his humor, his generosity, his gentleness. He could be bossy and annoying but that was just him and he was hot doing it so although we exchanged words because he was who he was and I was too, it never amounted to much. I had been right, as crazy as it sounded. He had all the good stuff down pat and was the best boyfriend ever.
I didn’t know how long it would last, what we had. And I no longer cared.
Because I had it now and I would have it for a while and even when it was gone, I’d always have the memories we were making. And the moments we shared that would make the memories of years to come were so much better than anything I’d ever experienced, anything any woman would ever experience, were enough for me.