I flush, half annoyed and half turned on, which only irritates me further. “Will I?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t sound smug or cocky, just matter-of-fact. He sets his paintbrush down and closes the space between us in measured strides, until he’s leaning over my place on the window seat, one arm braced on the wall. “If I could get my hands on you, Nora…” He touches the inside of my knee with a single finger, nudging me and, after a moment’s resistance, I let my legs slide apart. “I would have you desperate,” he murmurs. “Begging.” His finger traces up my thigh, and his touch is a cold fire on my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. When I look up at him again, his lips are parted, revealing the tips of his fangs. “I would unravel you piece by piece, and you would love every moment of it.”
I swallow hard. My skin is on fire, my heart beating wildly. I lean back against the window, reach up to push my hair off my neck and reveal the bare curve of it. “Prove it.”
He leans in closer. Closer. I feel the prick of his fangs, touching my skin but not breaking it. But then his nose brushes up the curve of my neck, and he whispers in my ear, “No.”
As he pulls back, I stare at him, lips parted in wordless, growing outrage. The sting of rejection is harsh, but worse ismy anger, because… “Why?” I snap. “It’s obvious we both want this.” I cast a pointed look at his tented trousers, which he does nothing to hide. “Why should we deny ourselves?”
“Because we are under contract. And there is a certain intimacy clause that is quite explicitly laid out.”
I sigh, brushing my hair out of my face. The damn contract. “Is that what this is about? You want me to admit I was an idiot for claiming I didn’t want intimacy?”
“No,” he says. “I’m sure you had your reasons. And…” He hesitates. “If you recall, it was me who insisted on putting it in the contract.”
I fold my arms across my chest. It pushes my breasts up, which I notice him noticing. “Thenwhy? Explain.”
“The contract,” he says. He reaches forward and carefully pulls up the sleeve of my robe where it’s fallen. His fingers graze my bare skin, and I shiver. “Like I said. It’s important.”
I frown. “I understand, but… Do you think I would go running to Benjamin and tattle? You think this is all some ploy by me to… get out of our agreement, or something?”
His gaze drifts back to me, slowly, as if against his will. “No,” he says.
“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell anyone, so what’s the problem?” He hesitates, and my eyes narrow. “Wouldyou tell someone?”
“You are aware of the relationship between a vampire and his sire, yes?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, impatient at the apparent non sequitur, but then I pause. “You would tell Lord Ambrose?”
“Ambrose could…compelan honest answer out of me.”
“But why would he ask? Does he know about the intimacy clause?”
“Of course he does. He’s the one who suggested it.” I try to wrap my mind around that. I thought Claude suggested itbecause he thought it was the only way I would agree to this, but it came fromAmbrose? “He thought it was for the best. He was worried that you would distract me.”
I roll my eyes. “What, distract you from all of the painting you were doing before?” He winces, and I bite my lip. “Sorry. I’m just trying to understand why Ambrose is involved in this.”
“LordAmbrose,” he says, a gentle chastisement, “is involved in everything I do. He made me, and he had such great hopes for me. He is always trying to find new ways to… inspire me.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and his shoulders slump. The humor is gone from his expression now, leaving him somber. “But inspiration has not found me today, I’m afraid,” he says. “I should go. I’m sorry.”
He leaves me there, half naked with my head spinning.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m too embarrassed to leave my room for dinner. Instead I lie in bed, all bundled up in pajamas after shedding that sexy robe, staring at the ceiling and feeling… I don’t even know how to put a name on it. Hurt, confused, disappointed.Rejected.
It seems so unfair that Claude and I can both want each other so badly, but be held back by the contract IthoughtI wanted. Now we’re trapped in a way I still don’t fully understand, withLordAmbrose somehow involved.
My ceiling holds no answers, so after a while, I scroll through my phone instead. I want to vent to someone, but who? My mom still hasn’t been in contact for months. I don’t want to talk about the details of my sex life—or lack thereof—with Benjamin. And Sophie and Elaine… they have real problems to deal with. I won’t burden them with an issue that is entirely my own fault.
But a memory bubbles up from the depths of my brain. A certain valentine blog that went viral recently. Ananonymousblog, that takesanonymousconfessions and offers advice. I roll onto my stomach as I open the web page. It feels odd to pour my heart out to a stranger. But that’s whatAnonymous Confessions of a Valentineis for, after all. A place to vent to someone who might understand, even just a little bit, how I feel.
It’s hard to get started. But then my fingers start darting over my phone screen.Dear Anonymous Valentine, I say.My patron sees me as his new muse, but I want to be more than that…
By the time I hitsend, it feels like I just purged a poison from my soul. I sigh, drop my phone, and rest face-down on my pillow. It’s good to get it out, but I still feel hopelessly at a loss.
Now that my embarrassment has faded, I can admit that Claude was right to reject my half-baked proposition. One night of casual sex isn’t the solution to this confusing mess of feelings.
Especially since I was the one who insisted that I didn’t want our relationship to be romantic. I hate to think I would’ve woken up regretting what we did.
