10
The World Council for the Equal Treatment of the Undead was created to protect the rights and interests of vampires of all ages. If you are summoned by a council official, it is in your best interest to respond promptly and answer all questions honestly. Hiding from the council will only work against you.
—From The Guide for the Newly Undead
I expected the local council to be a cross between the Lions Club and a Scorsese-esque panel of mafiosi. How mafiosi would end up in Kentucky, well, I hadn’t really thought that through.
Any self-respecting mafioso wouldn’t be caught dead at Cracker Barrel at nine on a weeknight. Yes, the council, the grand overseers of justice and decorum among the vampires of Region 813, held their secret meetings under an old metal sign advertising Lux soap. Generally, you don’t find vampires in well-lit places surrounded by unpleasant human food smells and an aggressively homey atmosphere. Gabriel explained that meeting in such a neutral, crowded environment was the only way to ensure that nothing would be overheard. Humans tend to be pretty focused when it comes to comfort food. The panel ordered Mama’s Pancake Breakfasts and pushed the food around their plates. They were no different from any other customers, except for leaving healthy tips.
Gabriel found the council members at their usual table. The panel consisted of:
Peter Crown, pale, gaunt, dyspeptic. It was clearly communicated that he did not like me. Or Gabriel, or the other panel members, or the people eating pecan waffles at the next table. I think someone turned him into a vampire as a punitive measure. They wanted him to be pissy for all eternity.
A Colonel Sanders lookalike improbably named Waco Marchand. He didn’t speak to Gabriel but greeted me with a polite kiss just over my wrist. My hand smelled like peppermint and hair tonic for the rest of the night.
A blond lady with a slight British accent, who went by Sophie. Just Sophie. That was as close to Cher as we got in the Hollow. She was turned in her mid-forties. Her face was unlined and unpainted, leaving a plastic sheen to her skin that was beguiling and disquieting at the same time. She was confident enough not to wear any accessories with her rather fabulous black pantsuit.
Ophelia Lambert, a willowy brunette, was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a locket that was probably three hundred years old. Ophelia could have been three hundred years old, but she appeared to be about sixteen. Her dewy, youthful looks conflicted with the imposing presence, a sort of “Yes, I look as if I read Tiger Beat, but I can remove your spleen without blinking” attitude. She was almost as scary as some of the girls from my high school.
Council members were assigned to their precincts regardless of origin, so Ophelia and Sophie’s “Continental” presence wasn’t all that strange. I did, however, believe I recognized Mr. Marchand from a Confederate memorial statue downtown.
Ophelia, who was apparently the head of the panel, motioned for us to sit at the crayon-scarred round table. A brown-aproned waitress named Betty arrived promptly to take our orders—Mama’s Pancake Breakfasts all around—and we wouldn’t see her for another forty-five minutes.
Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn’t concentrate on the members of the council. Sitting in a crowded human environment was an assault on the senses. Conversation from other tables hovered around us in needling mosquito clouds. And the bacon, which I had loved so much in life, kind of smelled like baby vomit. I concentrated on my silverware, shredding the paper napkin ring into tiny strips and twisting them into long coils.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Ophelia finally asked, her eyes as flat and still as a shark’s as she spoke to me.
I hesitated. If there was ever a time for me to cure my chronic babbling, this was it. “I was told that you have some questions for me.”
Gabriel inclined his head slightly, as if to tell me I was off to a good start. We’d agreed that if I was being inappropriate or started to jabber, he would tap me with his foot under the table. Head nodding was a sign that I’d said or done something appropriate. It was demeaning, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. The council stared me down, clearly expecting more.
“I’m told that a vampire was killed last night,” I said.
“A vampire you attacked just hours before he was locked in his trunk and set on fire,” Sophie pointed out.
“I contend that it’s possible Walter did that to himself.”
No response from the panel beyond quirked lips from Ophelia. Gabriel kicked me under the table.
“Now, why was a nice young lady like you tussling with some no-account like that?” Mr. Marchand asked, shaking his head in fatherly distaste.
“I objected to the way he was holding Norm, the human bartender, upside down and shaking him like a piggy bank,” I said with as little irritation as possible. “Walter and I disagreed. Dick Cheney intervened. Walter drove away. I drove home. Andrea Byrne, whom I believe is well known in the vampire community, stayed on my couch, and…she can’t tell you much because she was essentially passed out drunk during the fight.
“I need to find a new way to tell stories,” I added lamely.
“Listening to the words in your head before you say them might help,” Sophie suggested kindly. She stretched out her hand. I felt compelled to take it. As soon as I was within range, she clutched my wrist and dragged me close, wrenching me against the table.
“Hey—” I grunted. Something was wrong. My hand itched. Sophie’s fingers were burning into my skin. I gasped, frantically trying to jerk away from her grip. Gabriel’s fingers slid under the table and clutched my other hand. His head shook. I was supposed to accept this treatment quietly.
“Don’t interfere, Gabriel,” Ophelia warned. Gabriel’s hand slipped away, leaving me adrift.
“Look into my eyes,” Sophie commanded, her voice stripped of the charm she was slathering on just a few seconds before. Hoping that I could still glower effectively through the pain, I met her gaze. Her irises flared to black, and then I was plummeting, dropping through bottomless space. My head seemed so heavy, too heavy to lift. Images of people and tables whizzed past without form or focus.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled, my tongue thick and heavy. My voice sounded far away. I wanted to open my eyes, but the lids wouldn’t budge. My stomach pitched. Oh, please, please, don’t let me throw up in the middle of a Cracker Barrel.
“Sophie is what you might call a walking lie detector,” Ophelia said, her tone cheerful. “Her gift allows her to search through your thoughts, sift the truth from what you want us to believe. It will be a difficult, painful procedure if you resist. Now, I want you tell us again. What happened to Walter?”
The sting from Sophie’s grip was wildfire, scorching from my arm to my chest. Hot iron claws were digging into my throat, scraping out words. I don’t remember what I said. I just know I said it quietly. Overall, I’d have to rank the experience just under “unanesthetized root canal.” That settled it. Gabriel was officially my worst date ever.
On the upside, I was able to relocate my tongue as Sophie’s grasp loosened.
“Let go of me,” I wheezed. My mouth tasted odd, like rusty nails. I smacked my dry lips and stared angry holes through Gabriel.
“Oh, don’t make a fuss,” Sophie said lightly. “I’m going to let you go now. You did well.”
I wish I could have pulled enough words together to respond with appropriate scorn, but I think I was better off silent and nauseated. Gabriel tried to rub a hand across my shoulders, but I growled at him. If the humans at the next table noticed, they didn’t look up from their waffles.
Sophie said, “She’s telling the truth, or at least what she believes is the truth. She’s so young. Sometimes it’s hard for them to tell the difference.”
Crown smiled at me, more nasty mockery than friendly gesture. That pissed me off. And I had just gained enough control over my limbs to jerk my hand away from Sophie.
“This is not how people behave in a Cracker Barrel!” I hissed. I snarled at my sire, who had turned the gentle pressure on my foot into an all-out toe stomping.
“We did tell you that the process can be unpleasant,” Sophie said with a small smile of apology. “It could have been much more painful.”
“We have already spoken to Andrea Byrne,” Ophelia said in a tone perfect for pronouncing judgment. “She is one of the few humans whose word could sway our opinion. We are willing to believe your account for now, but you should be aware that we will continue to investigate Walter’s death. If the attack was justified or we find that you are innocent, you will have our deepest apologies. However, if we learn that you have lied to this council, you will be severely punished. Andrea will be punished along with you.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I croaked, “if you were going to use Ms. Polygraph over there, why did you ask me to tell my side of things before?”
Ophelia offered the barest of shrugs. “To see if you would tell us the truth without assistance—if your version of events is, in fact, the truth. Also, we enjoy scaling the punishment to fit the depth of your deception.”
“If I may be so bold as to question the council further, what could ‘punishment’ mean?” I asked.
If I didn’t know that my toe bones would regenerate, I would have been very upset about the crushing pressure Gabriel was applying to my foot.
Ophelia smirked. “You could have a choice of being locked in a coffin full of bees or having a red-hot silver poker shoved up your—”
“Ophelia.” With an apologetic glance my way, Mr. Marchand interrupted her. “That’s enough.”
“She’s only joking,” Sophia assured me. “The silver poker is actually at room temperature. Ancient vampires called it the Trial.”
I asked, “Why?”
“Because it sounds incredibly scary.” Sophie nodded.
I was dismissed before my pancakes were served, which was better in the long run. I probably would have found uneaten pancakes singularly depressing. Gabriel escorted me to the car before I could say anything else incriminating. And by escorting, I mean he dragged me across the parking lot like a caveman and ushered me none too gently into the front seat.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled. Having fully recovered the use of my arms and legs, I seized the opportunity to swing at him as he slid behind the wheel. “Did you know they were going to do that to me? And a coffin full of bees? What the hell?”
“Calm down, just calm down,” he said, catching my wrists. I thought he meant to stop the hitting, but he was examining my reddened skin, poring over the marks left by Sophie’s truth-seeking expedition into my brain. I remained quiet long enough to watch them evaporate away. I had a feeling it would sting for a while longer.
“What is wrong with you people?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me they were going to go digging around in my brain? You know, I was raised to believe the contents of someone’s brain are that person’s own business! And have you noticed how often I yell at you?”
“Jane, I know you were frightened—”
“I was terrified, you ass!”
He was across the front seat with my face between his palms before I knew what hit me. Despite being extremely pissed, I’m not going to say I didn’t like kissing him. Or that I didn’t kiss back. Because, damn. I mean, damn, he was some kisser. If our first kiss was sparklers and fireworks, this was a full-scale nuclear detonation. My whole body was involved—face, lips, hands, thighs, legs. I don’t think he was actually touching all of those parts. I just know they were involved.
The sweep of his tongue across my lip was subtle at first, then increasingly demanding, until I couldn’t tell where his mouth started and mine ended. He pulled me onto his lap, anchoring my ankles on either side of his thighs with his hands, stroking exposed skin with his thumbs. I tugged at his hair, pulling his head back so I could kiss that little thumb-shaped depression in the middle of his chin. Gabriel grunted, protesting my mouth leaving his. He brought me back to his lips, one hand cradling my head as the other kept my hips pinned to his.
A minivan pulled into the spot next to ours. I could hear the gasps and then giggles of the three teens who were piling out with their parents.
One of the kids yelled, “Jeez, get a room!”
I broke away from Gabriel, moving across the seat, ignoring the snickers of the kids as they walked away. I stared at him for what I’m sure was an alarming amount of time. I hadn’t had a kiss like that in, well, ever. I’d finally found something simple and natural about my relationship with Gabriel: making out with him.
Yay for me.
Just as I’d managed to produce that coherent thought, he was back on my side of the car again and giving me a repeat performance. It caught me off guard, and I accidentally bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The good news was he liked that, so I came off as provocative, not inept.
“If that was an attempt to shut me up, screw you,” I panted after he’d let me go a second time.
Through my hair, where his face was buried, he muttered, “I did it because I wanted to. Shutting you up was an added side benefit.”
I shoved at his shoulders. “Ass.”
“You said that already,” he said, his fingers tracing the lines of my jaw.
“Meant it this time, too.”
“Jane, I know you were frightened. I know their methods of questioning can be a bit brutal, but that was necessary,” he said, pulling me tighter against his chest. I rested my forehead against the hollow of his throat, happy to find comfort even for a few moments. Having your brain scoured is an emotionally unsettling experience.
“I know you’re angry with me for bringing you here,” he murmured. “But failing to answer the council would have caused far more problems. And as your sire, I’m responsible for presenting you to the panel. I’m responsible for watching over you in these first weeks. Obviously, I haven’t been doing a very good job.”
“That’s pretty insulting,” I said, poking his ribs.
Gabriel finally said, “I’m sorry.”
“Excuse me?” I said, cupping my hand around my ear. “What was that?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry for being so abrupt with you at your house. I’m sorry for blowing up at you over spending time with Dick. I’m sorry for being so…unsettled around you. I’ve never spent time with a childe I’ve made. There are complications I didn’t expect. I have this overwhelming need to protect you, and you’re making it very difficult.”
“Why haven’t you ever spent time with a childe?”
“It hasn’t been possible,” he said in a voice that brooked no further questions. “And even if you weren’t my childe, I would feel this way. We’re connected, you and I. That’s why seeing you with Dick tonight was so unnerving. He’s always had a way with the ladies, and you’re exactly the kind of woman he enjoys corrupting. The idea of some other man touching you, kissing you, smelling him on your clothes, your skin. I couldn’t take it. Between that and the council summons, I overreacted.”
“So, it’s not that you like me, it’s that a biological function is making you jealous,” I muttered.
“Yes, wait—no!” he howled. “Why do you always reduce me to a blithering idiot?”
“This is blithering?” I grinned.
“For me,” he admitted.
I had to concede that one.
“You smell him on me?” I asked, sniffing my shirt. “What does he smell like to you? To me, it’s all lust and bergamot.”
“Uselessness,” he grumbled. He tipped his forehead to mine and kissed my temple, my forehead, the bridge of my nose. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I do enjoy your scent, though, and I like you. Very much. I want to protect you. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.”
I lifted my head to eye him warily. “You’re not going to do something weird with my dryer lint, are you?”
“I never know what is going to come out of your mouth,” he said, staring at me. “I enjoy that, in a morbid way. I am saying that even before I turned you, your scent was part of what kept me close to you.”
“What did I smell like?”
“Mine,” he said, kissing the hollow of my throat, the tip of my nose, and finally my mouth. “You smelled like you were mine.”
“Can you take me home now?”
“Are you tired?” he asked. “Sophie’s methods can take a lot out of you.”
“No, I don’t want more people to see me making out with some random guy in the Cracker Barrel parking lot.”
“I’m hardly random,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’m your sire.”
“Well, people don’t know that, because they don’t know I’m a vampire,” I said, rubbing my wrists. “I’ve already got ‘jobless’ and ‘publicly drunk’ going. I don’t need to add ‘parking-lot ho’ to the list.”
“One day, you will explain to me what that means, and I don’t think it will make me happy,” he muttered, turning the ignition.
Just when I thought our “date” couldn’t possibly get worse, we arrived at my house to find my Daddy waiting on my porch swing with a Meat Lover’s Pizza. I hadn’t had fatherly approval for a “gentleman caller” since I was a senior in college. This was not going to go well.
Gabriel nodded to the porch. “Do you know this man?”
“That’s my dad,” I said. “I still haven’t told him.”
“I know,” he said. “I can leave now.”
“No, the two most influential men in my life are going to have to meet sometime.”
“Hi, baby,” Daddy said, kissing my cheek between bites of pizza. “Your mama had a sales party thing tonight. Makeup or lotion or home decor or some such thing. I never can keep them straight. I don’t object until they try to talk her into hosting the things herself. I thought I’d surprise you, but it seems you had plans for the evening.”
“That was sweet. Gabriel Nightengale, this is my father, John Jameson,” I said, waving him and Gabriel in through the front door and leading them to the kitchen. “Daddy, Gabriel is my—”
Sire? Interfering pseudo-mentor? Guy most likely to be my first ugly undead breakup? I settled for “Friend.”
“Pizza?” Daddy asked, opening the box to display his cholesterol-laden treat on my counter.
“Oh, no, thanks, I couldn’t,” I said.
Daddy arched a brow as I pulled out a counter-height barstool for him. I never turned down pizza. Ever. “You’re not going on some crazy diet, are you?”
For a brief, wonderful instant, Gabriel looked stricken. I laughed. “No, we already ate, smart alec.”
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Gabriel said, disappearing out the kitchen door.
“Gabriel Nightengale, that name sounds familiar,” Daddy mused, chewing on a pepperoni. I could tell from the look on his face that he was searching his massive but not quite reliable memory banks for information.
“Um, he has a lot of family around here,” I said, not bothering to add that most of them were in the cemetery. “They’ve been in the Hollow a really, really long time.”
Daddy returned to chewing. Leaning against the counter, I asked, “So, what’s new with you?”
“Same old, same old.” He grinned, snagging a second piece. “Summer classes. Started writing another textbook I won’t finish. Your mama’s already getting ready for next year’s historical tour.”
“I’m not putting River Oaks back on the tour,” I said. “Aunt Jettie wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Mama’s not going to ask,” he said. “To be honest, she wouldn’t know how. Your mother is at a loss for how to handle this job thing, pumpkin. She’s upset and scared for you, but she’s embarrassed, too. She worried about you being single and living on your own, but she’s never had to worry about you on the job front. She never thought you’d be in this…position. She wants to help, but you’re refusing to let her just swoop in and take care of everything. She feels as if she’s lost her…bargaining power with you.”
I snorted. “Subtly put, Daddy. Try using fewer pauses. They imply you’re searching for the word that will hurt me less than the ones she actually used.”
“Your mother is a complicated woman,” he said simply.
“And by ‘complicated,’ do you mean ‘manipulative’ and ‘emotionally crippling’?” I asked.
“Air-quote fingers aren’t attractive on anyone, honey,” he said, using his authoritative teacher voice. “She may be a little high-strung, but she’s still your mama.”
Daddy wrapped his arm around me. My head fell to his shoulder, in that hollow made just for me. “You know she loves you,” he said quietly.
I sighed. “Yes, I feel the crushing weight of her love from here.”
He cleared his throat, which I could tell meant he was trying not to laugh. “She doesn’t know how to handle a situation unless she’s in charge. Just don’t expect me to pick a side between the two of you.”
“Even though you know I’m right?”
“Janie.” There was the authoritative voice again.
I looked up at him, making the doe eyes. “It was worth a shot.”
So, we talked. Eager for normalcy, I savored the mundane details of the life that I’d been missing. None of the freshmen in Daddy’s summer class could write a complete sentence, which was nothing new. My second cousin Teeny’s face-lift had gone wrong, which just went to prove that plastic surgery is one area where you shouldn’t bargain-shop. My future grandpa Bob, Grandma Ruthie’s fiancé, was in the hospital having his hip worked on—which meant it was time for his monthly weeklong hospital stay. Why was this sweet man engaged to my grandma? I could only imagine that after surviving gall-bladder removal, knee replacement, dialysis, and chemo, Bob actually wanted to die, and he saw marriage to her as a legal form of assisted suicide.
While Daddy described Grandma Ruthie’s legendary surgical-ward histrionics, Gabriel returned to my kitchen door lugging a ratty cardboard box. I sincerely hoped vampires didn’t substitute pig pieces for flowers and chocolates. But I couldn’t smell anything bloody, just the musty scent of old cigarettes and B.O. With his amazing vampire speed, Gabriel managed to shove the box into a nearby coat closet without Daddy’s realizing it existed.
Daddy went into suspicious-father mode, managing to question Gabriel without making it look as if he was interrogating him. And Gabriel, far more accustomed to lying than I, performed beautifully. He deflected all possible vampire giveaways without an iota of irony. He complimented my father on raising such a “fascinating” daughter. He even praised Daddy’s textbook.
“I see now where Jane gets her inquisitive nature,” Gabriel said. I suppose I should have thanked him for saying “inquisitive” and not “nosy and spastic.”
Stuffed to the gills with imitation Italian-style meat products, Daddy rolled out the door sometime later. I only had to drop seven “Wow, it’s really late” hints. I think the phone call from my mom was the only thing that could have pried him away from cross-examining my new “friend.” Daddy hadn’t had the opportunity in a long, long…long time.
“I think Daddy likes you,” I squealed to Gabriel in mock giddiness. “I only hope you ask for my hand before my skanky younger sister runs off with a scoundrel and ruins my reputation and hopes for happiness.”
Gabriel grimaced. “That’s not funny.”
“Pride and Prejudice references are always hilarious. What’s with the box full of funk?” I nodded toward the closet. Gabriel retrieved the box and opened it with a flourish.
A heretofore unknown and disturbing factoid: When you best a vampire in battle (no matter how sad and circumstantial the evidence of that battle may be), you take all of his stuff. No matter how icky that stuff may be. I was the unhappy recipient of the personal effects of Walter the Whitesnake fan: a silver-plate lighter engraved with “Screw Communism,” several concert T-shirts with discolored armpits, forty-two copies of Knight Rider, season two, and the complete works of Def Leppard on cassette tape.
“Walter’s mother was eager to have her basement back,” Gabriel explained. “She was glad to be rid of this. She brought it down to the council office this morning. No one else will want it, so Ophelia wanted you to have it. I believe it’s a reminder to stay on your best behavior.”
I tossed the cassette single of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” back into the box. “If you beat somebody up, you take their stuff? Wait, what’s to keep someone from challenging another vampire to a duel just because they like their car?”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “As long as the vampire can find some reason for the duel, even if it’s a contrived reason. Some petty perceived slight. The restrictions loosen a bit as you get older. The goal is to keep newly risen vampires from developing a taste for random killing, which is the only reason the council is taking such an interest in Walter’s death. They’re trying to make an example of you.”
I must have made my “that sucks” face, because Gabriel assured me, “There’s always been a pecking order, a demand for reason. Even more so now that we’re trying to appear civilized for the humans.”
“This is a stupid system.”
“Yes, so much less civilized than your corporate takeovers and mega-chains,” he said, hefting the box. “Where would you like this?”
“Not in my house,” I said. “Take it to the mudroom, and I’ll burn it later.”
Once again displaying that amazing vampire dexterity, Gabriel shifted the box to one arm and reached for the nearest doorknob. It would have been impressive had he not opened the door to the wrong room.
“No, don’t go in there!” I cried as Gabriel stepped into my library.
“You have a lot of unicorns,” he said, his voice shadowed in both awe and horror.
One of the few things I’d done to make the house my own was installing my collection of unicorn figurines on the library shelves. My late grandma Pat, who had been the oatmeal-cookies-and-Ivory-soap type, bought me a unicorn music box when I was six. I played that thing until the little motor wouldn’t tinkle “You Light Up My Life” anymore. So, unicorn figurines, music boxes, and stuffed animals became the gift for unimaginative relatives to get me for birthdays, Christmases, Valentine’s Days, graduations, Arbor Days. In fact, I’d just received two ceramic unicorn bookends the previous Christmas from my uncle.
For reasons even I couldn’t explain, I could not throw the little suckers away. The majestic sweep of their horns, their imperious painted eyes, held some sort of strange, unholy thrall over me. So, I stashed them in the library, where nobody goes but me. Except, of course, for the one person I really didn’t want to see them.
“A lot of unicorns,” Gabriel repeated.
I tried to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the jamb—most likely to get a better look at my ten-inch ceramic unicorn lamp with the revolving-color, fiber-optic tail. “Fine, fine. You know my secret. I have a unicorn collection.”
“That’s a very sad secret,” he said as he allowed me to shove his foot from the door.
“Strong words coming from someone who was ‘devoured’ by a sea lion.” I snatched the box out of his hands and tossed it into the laundry/utility room. Then I locked both doors with a decisive snick.
“I like your father,” Gabriel said. “I actually enjoyed speaking to him, very much. In my courting days, meeting a woman’s father could be an unpleasant experience. There was male posturing, vague threats to my manhood. Sometimes a shotgun would be cleaned in front of me.”
“You didn’t by chance meet these girls’ fathers in a hayloft while wearing no pants, did you?” I asked.
“I believe it’s in my best interest not to answer that.”
I snickered. “My dad’s not much of a gun guy, so I think you’re safe. Besides, with today’s fathers, it’s more of a background check and pray-for-the-best sort of thing.”
“Duly noted,” he said, smiling and leaning against the wall across from me. “However, I am glad to have established a friendly relationship with your father, since I have plans for his daughter. Those plans include kissing you again,” he said, crossing his arms. The statement seemed as much a challenge as information. “I enjoy kissing you.”
“Immediately or eventually?” I asked. “And thank you.”
“I haven’t decided.”
I was proud that I managed not to giggle. “Well, I appreciate the warning—mmmph.” The rest of that no doubt brilliant response was muffled as Gabriel decided to pursue the more immediate option.
Again, I say, woo and hoo.
Gabriel pressed me against the wall, grinning as he nipped my bottom lip with his fangs. He traced the lines of my throat with his canines, pressing ever so slightly against my collarbone with his tongue. His fingers slid slowly up my ribcage, stroking the sides of my bra. He drew circles over my shirt, touching every part of my breast except the nipple, teasing me. Since we were being cheeky, I slid my hand down to his zipper and squeezed lightly. I grinned when he jumped.
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” He chuckled, toying with a strand of my hair.
“Inexperienced but willing to learn,” I said, and was disappointed when his face didn’t change expression. “No response?”
“Besides yay?” he asked. I smacked his shoulder.
I was laughing when he kissed me again, lips molding to the curve of my smile. Gabriel’s hand at the small of my back led me down the hall toward the stairs. Were we going upstairs? I wondered. As he cupped my jaw in his hands, I found my feet willingly backing up the first step toward my bedroom.
He pulled away and ran a hand down my cheek. “It’s been a long night. Time for you to be in bed.”
I waited for the little voice in my head to start making excuses, such as I couldn’t have sex with Gabriel, I barely knew him. My room was a wreck. I was caught up in a murder investigation. I hadn’t shaved my legs. And I found I didn’t care about any of it.
I tilted my head and asked, “Will I be going there alone?”
“Tonight,” he said. “You’re not ready. I’ve seen inside your head, Jane. In the jumble of lovely and complicated and, dare I hope, creative thoughts, you’re afraid we’ll have bad sex and then you’ll never see me again. And if you think that way, even with my considerable skill”—he paused for me to finish laughing—“it will be bad.”
“Look, Dave Chandler left me on the ninth floor of our university’s research library without my panties after we lost our virginity together. He never called me again and actually turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction whenever he saw me on campus. Unless you think you’re going to do that, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem.”
Gabriel’s face went blank. I waved my hand in front of his vacant, staring eyes. “Gabriel?”
He shook himself back into the present. “Sorry, something strange happened inside my head when you said the word ‘panties’—the overwhelming urge to kill Dave Chandler combined with a simultaneous loss of blood to the brain.”
I laughed. And yes, I lost my virginity in a library. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Dave and I were both student library workers, and we did have a generous forty-five-minute dinner break. It turned out that while the Russian folklore section offered plenty of privacy (seriously, no one ever went up there), the shelves left really weird bruises on your back. Lesson learned.
Gabriel slid into his jacket and pulled me close. “When you’re ready, I will be the first to run for the bedroom, stripping out of my clothes and singing ‘hallelujah’ at the top of my lungs.”
“That’s an interesting blend of imagery.”
Gabriel played with the hem of my blouse, tickling the skin just above the rise of my slacks. “Besides, when I take you to bed, we’re going to stay there for a long, long time. I don’t want the sun to interrupt us, which it would in just a few hours.”
Did he say hours?
Gabriel kissed my slack mouth and asked, “No response?”
“Yay?”