Page 149 of Bleed

“Isn’t it?” I tilt my head, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Not even a little,” she insists.

My brows lift. “You’ve apparently studied my hands extensively enough to reproduce the veins across my knuckles.”

“That’s…” She shifts the sketchbook against her chest, adorably flustered. “An artistic observation.”

“I see.” My gaze drops to the book, then lifts to meet hers again. “And the four separate drawings of my mouth?”

Her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink, knuckles whitening around the edges of the binding.

I almost laugh.

Instead, I reach for the decanter, deciding I’ve tormented her enough for the moment.

“Have some wine.”

Her eyes narrow, clearly recognizing the diversion for what it is, but she doesn’t protest. She just glances at the decanter and sighs wistfully.

“Well, I won’t turn that down.”

Setting the sketchbook down on the edge of the counter– closed, this time– she drifts toward me as I start pouring two glasses.

“Is this the good stuff?” she asks.

“It’s a 1971 Romanée-Conti.”

She squints at it as I pour, clearly not understanding the magnitude of that statement.

“Very rare,” I add, handing her a glass.

“Oh.” She brightens, fingers wrapping around the stem. “So it is the good stuff.”

“Yes.”

Someday, I’ll teach her to appreciate wine properly. Not because there’s anything particularly wrong with the way she enjoys it now, but because I find myself wanting to share the experience with her. To show her the regions, the vineyards. The subtle differences between vintages she currently dismisses as my bougie vampire shit, as she so eloquently puts it.

Perhaps we’ll travel. Select the bottles ourselves from France, Italy, Spain, Argentina. Visit the vineyards together and restock the cellar she’s spent the last month systematically pillaging.

Beatrix takes another sip and wanders toward the living room, completely oblivious to the future I’ve begun construction for us in my head.

My gaze instantly drops to her ass. The shirt she’s wearing barely covers it, shifting with the easy sway of her hips as she walks away. Heat gathers lower in my abdomen, my cock stirring at the thought of being buried deep inside her last night.

She abruptly stops, her shoulders stiffening before she whips around so quickly that a damp strand of hair sticks to her cheek.

“Were you just checking me out?”

“Yes.” I’m not sure why she’s surprised by that, considering how often I do it.

She stares at me in bewilderment. “Elliott, I felt it,” she breathes, pressing a hand to her belly. “Out of nowhere, I just got hit with this wave of being turned on.”

Understanding dawns, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Also normal.”

“Wait, what?” She blinks. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I confirm, the equation slotting together in my own mind. “Taylor and James reported the same phenomenon. Bonded pairs experience some degree of emotional transference.”

Beatrix blinks at me a few more times before her brow slowly furrows. “Well, that feels unfair.”