A Vampire's Promise (15 page)

If I had slept with him, would he still have dumped me? Probably. Maybe. Who knows? But I grudgingly gave him a brownie point for doing it before jumping my bones. Still, I had to agree with Laycee about one thing. It would have been worth it just to see him naked.

It took time, but eventually I resumed my life as a normal functioning member of the human race. Even my internal flamethrower got with the program and stopped roaring into life every time I thought about long blond hair, great biceps, or Vikings. It was hard, but what's that old saying? Time heals all wounds? Well, maybe not heal, not completely, but at least it let me cover the hole with a big enough Spongebob Band-Aid so it didn't leak as much. I would be okay as long as I didn't try to take it off.

And so . . . life went on.

I
envy people who live up north, and not just because winter is my favorite time of year. I'm especially envious of the folks who live in Vermont and get to experience a true fall. Having your senses dazzled by nature's spectacular kaleidoscope of changing leaves must really be something. One day I'm going to experience firsthand those weeks that mark the end of summer.

Where I live, the trees are mostly pines, but you can always find a handful of deciduous ones growing among them, like gate-crashers at a party. I've always felt they don't truly belong. And they know it. In their greenery they can blend in, pretending to be some sort of evergreen hybrid, but the minute the season changes, the game's up. It seems to me the swiftness with which they shed their leaves is almost indecent. On the drive to work Monday, they're still mostly green but curling slightly at the edges. Come Tuesday and Wednesday they've turned an all-over sickly yellowish-brown. On Thursday they start to shed, really getting into the swing of it by Friday, so when the weekend arrives, all you're left with is a naked tree trying not to be noticed. Not exactly what I would consider a positive herald for the onset of cooler temperatures.

Halloween fell on a Saturday, and I optimistically prepared for some trick-or-treaters to call. I live too far off the beaten track for little kids to come to my house, but I can usually count on at least one group of teenagers to hit me up. So I get the good candy. No suckers or bubblegum and not a single gummy anything. Strictly chocolate at my house because whatever is left, I'm going to eat.

What none of us had counted on was the rain. It began late in the morning and continued on through the afternoon and evening, showing no sign of letting up. It was the wettest Halloween since, well, I couldn't remember, but at least since I was old enough to get dressed up and go trick-or-treating.

Those parents who prefer that their kids not go door-to-door have the option of attending the Fall Festival, an annual event put together by local churches of all denominations and held in the volunteer fire hall. The kids still get to dress up and are encouraged to indulge in a free-for-all sugar high. There are the usual games, raffles, and bake sales, as well as contests for most original, most frightening, and funniest costume. Anyone under ten gets a prize, no matter how they're dressed. Personally, I think they should just give each kid a handful of sugar cubes and a big glass of Kool-Aid as they come through the door.

The Sheriff's Department has always been heavily involved with the festival, and for the past couple of years it was Suellen DuPree's task to organize the event. This year she declined, which was no huge surprise to anyone, but even Laycee agreed that asking her had been the right thing to do. After all, it wasn't as if she and Jake were actually divorced yet.

However, with Suellen's refusal, everyone looked to Laycee to step up and take charge. The fact that she was the sheriff 's girlfriend was conveniently overlooked, as long as she was willing to pitch in. Surprisingly, everything went off very smoothly. Everyone else involved—deputies' spouses, significant others, and various church members—appreciated Laycee not trying to take over and run things single-handed. She was more than willing to accept help wherever she could find it, and I don't think Suellen was missed at all. Except maybe by Bobby Wilkins's mother.

Of course I attended the Fall Festival in order to show moral support for my best friend. Despite popular opinion, the witch costume I wore had not come from the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog. Laycee helped me pick it out at a store in the mall after deciding it was time for me to live up to the expectations of those folk who, despite the fact that Jake and Laycee were now living together, still believed Jake had slept with me at least once. Fishnet stockings, high heels, and a push-up bra certainly helped reinforce such beliefs. Still, my outfit was greatly appreciated by most of the men in attendance. Their wives and/or girlfriends, not so much. Go figure.

It was past eleven and still raining hard when I got back home. I made a mad dash from the POS to the front door, grateful not to twist an ankle. If witches wore stilettos like the ones I had on, then it wasn't surprising they also rode brooms. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I eased off one of the torturous shoes so I could rub some life back into my foot. I didn't think anyone, even teenagers, would be dumb enough to be out in this weather, but the loud knock at the door proved me wrong.

“Just a minute!” I yelled, stuffing my aching foot back into the high heel and grabbing the dish of candy off the counter. Anyone braving this downpour deserved the full effect of my saucy witch outfit. And that included stiletto heels.

I swung the door open wide, and felt my smile turn into an O of complete blow-me-away surprise. I stared, transfixed, waiting for the figure before me to vaporize into thin air or something. But it didn't, and I was stuck with my deer-in-the-headlights imitation.

He was soaked through. The denim of his jeans was rain-black, and his T-shirt clung like a second skin, emphasizing the build of his chest and shoulders.

Had he been working out or was he always that big?

Although wet, his hair was still a glorious waterfall of white, and as I gazed at him in total shock, I realized he was still the most gorgeous man on the planet.

This was the moment I should have shut the door on him. A gentle push would suffice, something with enough force to secure the latch, keeping him on one side and me on the other. Except I didn't do that. My hand and arm were inexplicably paralyzed.

“G-Gabriel?” Unfortunately, his name wasn't the only thing I stumbled over.

As I took a step back, the narrow heel of my shoe got caught in the fringe of the rug, throwing me off balance. As though it was a cinematic dream-sequence shot in slow motion, I saw the dish of candy fall from my hands and roll between Gabriel's legs, disgorging more of its contents with each revolution. It struck me, as I fell backward with my hands clutching at thin air, that soggy Snickers were the least of my troubles.

At least that's what I thought happened.

In reality, the dish never made it to the ground. Seeing the bowl slip from my grasp, Gabriel caught it with one hand. His outstretched palm balanced my trick-or-treat dish with barely a jostle, while his other arm snaked around my waist, saving me from an undignified sprawl on the floor.

I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

Leaning forward, he buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply as if reminding himself what my skin smelled like. The warm exhalation of his breath raised gooseflesh on my skin and triggered an explosion in my solar plexus—an emotional storm that couldn't decide if its course should be a deluge of joy at finding myself in his arms once more or a torrent of fury at his desertion. Apparently, I hadn't let go of him as completely as I'd thought.

“Gabriel.”

This time I delivered his name smoothly, although my vocal cords had been convinced they would never utter it again. He pulled his head back and gazed down at me. The same cobalt-blue eyes looked at me, glowing with the promise of something I was too wary to acknowledge.

“Hello, Rowan.”

The deep, rich timbre reverberated inside my head, exactly as I remembered it, although I thought I heard a hint of uncertainty in the tone. It occurred to me that perhaps he was thinking he'd made a mistake—that showing up uninvited wasn't such a great idea after all. My inner bitch offered her own warped sense of reassurance.

Puh-leeze! This man doesn't make mistakes. Uncertainty is strictly your domain.

So . . . invite him in or send him away?

My brain was having enough difficulty processing the fact that he was here in the flesh and not a figment of my imagination. My body, however, was having no such problem.

Behind my ribs my heart was pounding like a jackhammer, creating all sorts of complications for my lungs as they tried to inflate. And I could feel my blood, hot and sizzling, racing through my veins. Like Old Faithful, my very own personal blowtorch roared into life, persuading everything south of my navel to wake up and hold a parade.

How could he do this to me?

And the voice I hadn't heard in quite a while, the one I was certain had taken up residence in someone else's skull, suddenly came roaring through the barren landscape of my mind.

You know who I am.

My temper flared, making me snap back on the same mental wavelength.

Oh yeah? Keep telling yourself that if it makes you a happy camper, but I don't think so. Here's an idea, why don't you get over yourself, and just tell me who the fuck you are?

Nothing but silence.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Acutely aware of Gabriel's arm around my waist, long fingers splayed against my hip bone, I was even more disturbed by the path my own hands had taken. Flattened against his chest, my palms covered his nipples, feeling them through the wet cloth of his T-shirt. The sensation was very arousing . . . and unsettling.

“You're wet,” I commented, demonstrating my flawless command of the obvious.

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes crinkled with humor. “So it would seem.”

“Let me get you a towel.”

He placed the candy dish on the floor and helped me stand. My heel was still caught in the rug. Dropping to one knee, Gabriel took hold of my calf with one hand and the shoe with the other. Standing on one leg, I automatically put my hand on his wide shoulder, balancing myself as he eased the twisted fringe off the stiletto heel.

“Nice shoes,” he murmured, letting his hand drift toward my ankle.

“Thank you.” My eyes flickered beyond the open door. The POS was the only vehicle in the driveway. “Where's your car?” I asked.

“I parked farther back,” Gabriel said slowly.

“That so?” The only way he'd be so wet was if farther back was in the next county. I put enough disbelief in my words to make it clear I knew he was lying. I just didn't know why. A thousand questions were falling over themselves inside my head, but I was determined not to reveal how his presence was affecting me. Taking a firm grip on the roller-coaster ride my emotions were enjoying, I adopted what I hoped was an air of indifference. “Let me get you that towel.”

His eyes followed me as I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. I would have given anything to be wearing something other than black fishnets and a skirt that barely covered my ass. Shapeless, baggy sweats would be a good choice.

Gabriel had closed the door behind him when I returned, and the candy dish was now sitting on the hall table.

“Aren't I supposed to invite you in?” My tone was slightly accusatory as I held the towel out to him.

“Only the first time.”

A warning bell clanged loudly inside my head. There was another, hidden meaning in his words. Something I already knew but couldn't recall at this precise moment. And then I forgot all about warnings as his fingers, reaching for the towel, brushed the back of my hand. A bottle rocket exploded inside my chest. In what alternate reality had I convinced myself I was over him?

As he stood dripping in the hallway I could sense him studying me, trying to assess my reaction to his presence. At least that's what I assumed his look meant. It's what I would do. But I don't think he found me as easy to read as before because he shifted his attention and began to focus deliberately on everything from my neck down. Locking my backbone in place, I did my best to ignore the feel of his eyes sweeping over me, concentrating instead on the puddle of water forming at his feet. Was he going to punish the rug by drowning it?

“You know that works a lot better if you actually use it,” I said, pointing to the towel hanging idly from his fingers, “and it'll save my rug from getting waterlogged.”

He gave me a rueful look and unfolded the oversized bath sheet. My thigh muscles jumped as I watched him wipe his arms. How could he make such a simple, mundane task so blatantly erotic?

“Coffee?”

I'm not sure which of us was more startled by my offer. What was wrong with me? I ought to be kicking his ass out the door, not playing Patti the Perfect Hostess. I told myself it would be a test, a way to prove to myself that my initial reaction to him was all due to shock. Something that would right itself in a more normal setting.

Yeah right, of course it would.

Besides, I was curious to know why he was here.

“I don't want to put you to any trouble,” Gabriel said, pausing in mid-wipe. His voice was quiet, nothing overtly sexual, yet it still managed to wrap itself sweetly around my spine.

“Trust me, you won't.” I looked down at the spreading water stain. “You'd better come into the kitchen. It'll be easier to mop up the floor than dry out the rug.”

I managed to pull all the requirements together to make coffee even as the rational part of my brain wanted to know if I had gone completely insane.

Aren't you keeping track?
the irrational part snapped back.

Allowing Gabriel inside my front door wasn't an automatic invitation back into my life, no matter what my pelvis thought. I consulted my mental checklist, just to remind myself why such an idea was monumentally bad.

He
had
left me with no explanation, hurting me in a way I'd never thought possible.

I
had
spent more nights crying over him than I would ever admit to.

He
was
absolutely one hundred percent wrong for me.

My mouth fashioned itself in a tight smile. My reasoning was sound. There was absolutely no way I was going to let him get close to me again.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
Or something like that.