I watch as she reaches around to pull the zipper slowly down her torso. Once it’s halfway, she glances at me over her shoulder.
Will she ask me to stay?
She’s got that look in her eye I’ve seen on hundreds of women—that look that says all the things a man wants to hear—but I don’t know Joanna well enough to interpret it correctly. She could be toying with me, testing her own limits. I know some humans find it thrilling to bed a vampire—they imagine it’s like courting death—but just because she thinks she wants it, doesn’tmean it’s what she needs. And in every other instance, I’ve declined. But right now, with her beautiful brown eyes somehow piercing through my protective shield, I might consider it.
Luckily, I’m saved from having to make that decision by her next words. “I should get changed now.”
I bow my head and back out of the room, closing the door softly.
While she changes, I decide it’s best not to wait for her in the bedroom, so I go back downstairs and pour myself a drink. Today has been an anomaly. My day-to-day life is rather dull, but I’ll admit, sparring with Joanna brings a bit of excitement to the monotony. And after tonight—this is the most time I’ve spent around her, but I don’t find it to be unpleasant. She’s quite funny, and I respect her ability to hold her own in any situation.
I adjust my trousers and realize I’m hard. It was as if my sixteen-year-old self suddenly took over in the bathroom. Staying away from women all these years wasn’t for lack of trying, I just knew there was no point scratching an itch when what I really needed was to heal the wound. I’ve never wanted short term relationships and stolen moments with little gratification. Deep down, I want the one thing I can’t have—I want a companion for life. But I decided a long time ago, it wasn’t worth pursuing, because of my circumstances. I got used to the idea of being alone. I made do with what I had. But recently things have changed. I now have a real friend I can lean on in Jamie. Has this somehow opened up my desire for intimacy as well?
Whatever it was that came over me in the bathroom with Joanna, I can’t seem to shake it. It feels bigger than just lust, but I can’t explain why.
I hear bare footsteps padding back down the wooden stairs, and when I turn to look at her, I’m stunned into submission.There was something alluring about seeing Joanna in a sexy dress, but this…
Her wet hair has been tied into a knot on the top of her head, and her tall, lean frame has been softened by the oversized T-shirt. She’s rolled my joggers a few times at the waist, because I’m so much taller than her, and she’s no longer wearing those thick heels. Her toenails are painted a blood red, and I’m almost certain my cold, sluggish heart just skipped a beat.
Joanna in a dress might be sexy, but this version of her is intoxicating. No fuss, just a flawless woman standing in front of me. Out of nowhere, the image of me ravishing her pops back into my head.
Fuck.
Chapter Five
JOANNA
Aidan is staring at me, slack jawed, and he hasn’t heard anything I’ve said. “Can I toss these in your dryer for a few minutes?” I ask again.
He recovers slowly, as if coming up for air beneath a giant wave. His expression returns to that stoic, unbothered one he’s so good at, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s bemused by his own reaction.
For the second time tonight, I’ve stunned Aidan Ward into silence. And this time I’m wearing sweats and a messy bun. I must have truly underestimated my power over men. I might be dangerous.
Look out, male species. I’m coming for you.
Then again, aren’t there certain blood types that appeal more to mosquitoes than others? Do vampires work the same way? If so, maybe it’s just my blood that’s making him act so dazed. I know next to nothing about vampires, but Aidan’s reactions have me wanting to find out more.
He answers my question—finally—with a forceful nod and goes to grab my dress from me. Only, I’m already stepping forward to hand them over. In one clumsy millisecond, ourbodies clang together like church bells, sending his drink sloshing from the glass. I reach out with my hand to steady myself and meet the hard plane of his chest. It's the firmest muscle I’ve ever touched, and I’m pretty sure I just felt it flex beneath my fingers.
“I thought—I’m sorry.” I don’t know how to make this moment less awkward, so I just shove the dress at him. Only this time, I totally forgot about my underwear. I wasn’t about to walk around in damp panties, so I thought it might be practical to dry them as well, but now they’ve fallen to the floor, and we’re both staring at them like they’re dog poo that neither of us wants to clean.
And now the sour face is back. I never fail to coax it out of him.
Aidan heaves a sigh and takes the initiative, bending down to grab my underwear with his full grip. I expected him to recoil, only touching the fabric with two fingers, but he’s not acting like a squeamish little boy. I honestly don’t know why I thought he would. Aidan is over a century old—why would he balk at women’s underwear?
He exits the living room, assumingly taking my clothes to the dryer. I decide to take a seat on one of his uncomfortable looking sofas. Everything in this room looks like it’s out of an Architectural Digest article. The couch is a soft, black velvet but has zero give when I sit. Beside me is a brocade burgundy armchair.
Ah, the vampire’s throne.
There’s a fireplace full of ash from a recent fire, the mantle the height of my shoulders standing next to it, and even though we’re below ground, for some reason the interior decorator chose a dark gray for the walls, making the room appear even darker than it already is. There are a few table lamps scatteredacross the space, but the moody atmosphere is almost comical in how accurately it matches the vampire stereotype.
I’m still taking in the space when Aidan reappears, no longer holding that glass of dark liquor. There’s a different type of tension between us now that’s never been there before. It’s awkward and charged, like both of us are waiting for something to happen, but we don’t know what.
Instead of trying to figure it out, I focus on the mixed media hung on the walls in gilded frames. There’s a painting of a man and woman whispering and standing closely in a library, and another depicting a heavy crown being removed from a demon’s head. I like the print of Broadway at dusk, when Nashville’s city lights are just beginning to glow.
A thought comes to me. “How long have you been in Shadow Hills?” I ask.
Aidan sits in the armchair. “Since its founding in 1906.”
