His hand darts out, impossibly fast, and catches it midair. He glances sideways at me, one eyebrow raised.
Catching myself gaping, I clear my throat and regain my dignity. “You obviously craved my attention. Now you have it. What do you want?”
“Dahlias,” he says.
I blink. “…What?”
“On your dress.” He gestures to the flower appliqués. “They symbolize eternal love, in the Victorian language of flowers.”
I blink again. “Okay?”
“That is to say…” He sits up, fist tightening around my handkerchief. “You know what I want.”
I fold my arms over my chest. My heart is hammering, and I hate that it’s not entirely annoyance that’s bringing a flush to my cheeks. “I already told you no.”
“And I respected your no,” he says. “But did you think that was going to make me sit back and watch someone else have you?”
The heat in my face deepens. “Don’t say it like that.”
His brow furrows. “Like what?”
“Have me,” I repeat. “You make it sound intimate.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “It is.”
“You drink blood every night. It can’t possibly be anintimateexperience every time.”
“Mm, no. It isn’t always.” His eyes seem to pierce right through me. Those breathtaking ocean depths. “But what happened between us was.”
“It-it wasn’t—” I stutter and then look away. If I force the words out, it will only make it more obvious that they’re a lie. “Look, I’ll be honest, that’s the problem. I’m not interested in intimacy.”
Claude shoots me a skeptical look. “You do realize the nature of a valentine is—”
“Transactional,” I finish for him. My face is so hot it’s probably steaming. “My blood tastes good, or so I’ve heard. And I need the money. That’s all this is for me. A job.”
I can’t risk it being anything more,I want to explain, but it’s too embarrassing to say aloud when he’s looking at me so intently.
Claude drops his gaze to the floor. Then he lifts his eyes to me again and stands. He crosses the space between us in three long, determined strides.
I startle at the speed of it, but I don’t step away. Maybe the smart thing would be to yell for Benjamin, but no matter what he’s said, I can’t bring myself to see Claude as a threat. And his eyes don’t have that dazed look from before when he drank from me. They’re clear and focused, and very blue as he looks down at me.
“I can make that work,” he says.
It takes me a second to remember what we’re talking about. Right—a job. A transaction.
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m serious.” He leans closer. Then he pauses, registering the way I automatically lean back from him. It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s just hard to think with his face so close to me. But maybe he misreads my expression, because after a moment he pulls back.
Then he drops to one knee in front of me.
My face heats. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Showing you how serious I am,” he says.
“People are staring!” And whispering. Laughing.
Yet Claude only shrugs, his eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t care. I need to explain—”
