"I thought about how when I get into bed tonight I'm going to smell you in those sheets, and how absolutely tortuous that is going to be. You have been an agony for me for weeks." He closed his eyes and she watched in awe as he looked as though he was experiencing that torture, taking in a steadying breathbefore he opened his eyes again, and the nearly black look he gave her made her blood heat.
She couldn't move, could hardly think, and felt like her knees were going to give out on her for the second time in hours with this man.
This vampire.
Who was looking at her like a meal as he had her pressed against his hallway.
"I'm not angry, Tilly," he said, rough voice whispering over her face in a caress. "I'm in agony that my fantasies will be that much more real, and yet that much still not reality." He ran the tip of his nose down the side of her face but without touching her. He drew her into his lungs, slowly, deeply.
The only place he touched her was his hand on her waist but everywhere else he held back, like he'd placed an invisible force between them and he was barely holding onto his control.
She was having trouble breathing, small sips of air as her mind was taking in this heady moment, her body responding so easily, telling her to press against him, begging her to do something.
Finally, after ages, he pulled back and looked down at her again.
"And I'm certainly not angry that you got my bed dirty. Though next time will be a different kind of dirty."
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in shock as her body nearly combusted.
But then he pressed off of the wall and took two steps back. The air between them was sparking and she didn't know what to do or what to say.
"Come on" he said. "Food." And then he turned and continued down the hallway. She watched for a few moments, melting against the wall until he called her name halfway down the stairs.
"What just happened?" She whispered this to herself as she peeled herself off of the wall and followed the chief's command down the polished wood staircase on shaky legs.
She took everything in as she slowly descended. The foyer was a large, open space with a chandelier that looked like dripping icicles caught in the glow of the sun. The polished wood floor had rugs in rich colors of reds, golds, greens and navy blues. The wood paneling was polished and had sconces of gold leaves holding light throughout both the foyer and hallway that led to the kitchen.
Which was also large, and somehow both cozy and airy. Her eyes took in the navy walls, warm wood cabinets and the white marble counters with four lights dropping like little stars over the island. The airy feel came from the large skylight above the island that she imagined would bring in the sunlight the forest around the house allowed in and it would be lovely.
But the true eye-widening feature in this kitchen was the man between the island and the large stove. The chief had lemon print oven mitts on both hands as he set a steaming tray on two trivets.
He looked up and nodded his head to a wide doorway at the other end of the kitchen. "Set up in the dining room. Go ahead and have a seat. Would you like wine?"
"Uh," she was trying to process what was happening. "Yes. Yes, thank you." As she walked past the island she saw a discarded apron matching the oven mitts and had to fight a smile. That was a nice mental picture.
She walked into the dining room and saw the two place settings with water and thin china plates with folded fabric napkins. She took a seat slowly, wondering if she was still sleeping as she took in the room which was lighter than most in the house. This room had almond cream-colored walls and asimple, though softly effective, light fixture hanging in a large globe from the center of the wood-beamed ceiling.
She took the navy napkin and shook it out to lay gingerly on her lap feeling odd at the juxtaposition of this lovely dinner and her jean shorts and muddy legs. She didn't fit in this room with the crystal glass of iced water and the two forks.
Wine was placed in front of her and she tensed at feeling him behind her, still not having processed the scene from moments ago in the upstairs hallway.
A little pie was placed on her cream plate and then he was sitting across from her, wine in hand and napkin slipped from the table to his lap in a smooth movement.
"It's lobster pot pie."
She looked up at him in shock. "You made this? Or bought it while I was out cold in your bed?"
The smallest smile formed and not for the first time she admired it. He didn't often smile and he didn't say much, but that made every expression and every word that much more.
"I cook. I like the art of it."
She picked up one of the forks and slid it into the pastry. Steam bellowed out so she blew on it and when she closed her mouth around it, nearly let out a moan. It was buttery, creamy, with just a hint of sweetness and sherry with shallots and perfectly tender vegetables. The lobster was not scant and its flavor was succulent.
He watched her intently, sipping his wine and relaxing in his high-backed chair like sitting there and watching her was exactly what he needed. She might have felt insecure having this man stare at her eating and mooning over food, but she was overcome by the food itself and that he had made it for her.
"Ohmygod. That is incredible."
He dipped his head in appreciation.
