That smile again. “I never behave.”
She’s flirting with me. Why is she flirting with me?
I waggle my finger at her. “Then no private club for you.”
“Oh dear, how ever will I cope?”
“You’ll find a way.” I press my palm into her back, trying to ignore the way my hand against her cool skin is like a fire engine blaring and racing straight to my cock. “Let me show you your new home.”
I watch Arabella’s face as I walk her along the wide path through the manicured gardens. Her house is built on stilts, allowing space underneath for a shaded garden and outdoor seating area while nestling the main living areas within the ancient trees. The floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the woods back to us, so the house blends into the landscape. I half expect Kevin McCloud to pop out from behind the artisan, wrought iron fence and shout, “By Jove, they’ve done it!”
Damn, I love that show.Grand Designsis singlehandedly responsible for giving me the idea for Sanctus. If anything could turn me from my life of vampiric crime to eco property development, it’s watching a delighted British man spouting poetry about concrete while the posh couple he’s following move into a caravan “for a few weeks”, attempt to build a wall out of horse dung, and stress about the Latvian window company going bankrupt.
My new goal in life is to be the vampiric Kevin McCloud, only without the architecture poetry or illegitimate children. The vampires who’ve moved into their Sanctus homes are awed by this place, unable to believe that they can live in a house with such huge windows after so many centuries being consigned to draughty castles by the courts.
Patrick Stock may have treated Winnie badly, but he was a genius with glass. I am only sad that he couldn’t find it in his heart to take up my generous offer and went and got himself husked.
As we descend the steps to her front door, Arabella regards her new home with the same cool detachment that she’d greeted me with. Not even this majestic piece of architecture could break her facade. I noticea glass and steel enclosure filled with rocks and strange plants built alongside the kitchen and suppress a shudder. It looks like Arabella is still keeping her preferred pets.
I show Arabella how to program her security system. “Input a four-digit passcode into this screen. You can change it any time.”
“Very well.” Arabella steps up to the console. “Turn around.”
“I’m not going to spy on your keycode.”
“Yes, you’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy beyond reproach. Turn around, Gideon. Or I shall rotate your head for you, permanently.”
I turn away as she punches in her new keycode. I don’t bother to tell her that as CEO of Sanctus, I have access to override the security system on any of the houses as a safety precaution. I don’t want to think about what that might tempt me to do, knowing that Arabella is only a few minutes’ walk from my apartment.
A movement flickers in the corner of my eye. It almost looks like a person moving between the trees…
I sniff the air, but Sanctus is too alive with the scents of vampires, the fragrant flowers we use for the gardens, construction materials, and the woodland, for me to pick out a new scent.
It’s just an animal coming closer for a look. Our fences are impenetrable, and there’s no way the security team would allow a stranger to skulk around in the woods inside our boundary.
The door clicks open. I turn back to her. Arabella peers through the front door into the open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area. Her lips form a thin line that anyone who doesn’t know her would take for disdain. But I notice the way her right eye twitches, her brow arching.
There it is. The crack in her facade.
She ismoved. The way she was once moved by exquisite music or the stroke of an artist’s brush.
The way she was once moved byme.
I sweep past her, throwing my arms wide. “Here you are, our first finished home in the executive range, and it’s all yours. All the floors are Norwegian birch, the countertops are the finest Brazilian Preto Agata granite. The walls have been finished and are ready for you to hang artwork. You have artwork, I presume?”
That twitch in her eye again. “A few pieces.”
And with the sultry pull of her voice, I’m back in a moonlit garden in Paris, the only sound the lap of water, the rasp of a painter’s brush, and the soft whispers escaping her lips as I—
I clear my throat. “The inbuilt sound system caters to our sensitive hearing, able to play every nuance of any piece of music, and the windows can be controlled by the panel over there. During the day, you can choose a blackout shade…”
I tap a button, and the windows flick to black, plunging the room into darkness. LED lighting fades in instantly, bathing us in a warm glow.
“Or, my personal favourite, a projection of the world outside with the harmful sunlight filtered away.” I click another button and the trees appear again. “What do you think?”
“It’s sufficient.”
“Sufficient? This is a masterpiece of home building. Kevin McCloud should be writing a sonnet to me right now.”
