But that’s not what he said. That was a little heavy for a first date. He frowned, as if he was pondering the question. “It’s a tossup between the blood of virgins and blood of infants.”
Her mouth dropped open. It was a glorious thing to see. She had what she wanted and didn’t know what to do with it. When she spoke, each word was far apart. “You—are—shitting—me.”
“You’re right, I am.” Mistrust on her face now. Lovely. “Babies aren’t worth the effort and virgins are boring.”
Now she laughed, and even clapped her hands together with delight. “I’ve always wondered—always wanted—this is fantastic! You’re not shitting me? Really? Tell me, are there werewolves too? Demons? Can you turn into anything you want? Are you dead?”
Gregor grabbed onto the last question like the last car on a passing train. “Dead? How could I run a nightclub if I were dead?”
“Undead, I mean.”
“Undead. I fucking hate that term. You’re either dead or you’re alive, and the difference is pretty obvious. Being undead is like being a little pregnant. Impossible.”
“I’d like to think there are all sorts of in-between states, places we don’t know, or understand.”
“Maybe there are such places, Madelena, but I don’t know them.” As he spoke, he watched the sadness take hold of her again. He would do anything to bring back her smile, but he didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, the sadness did not linger long before her curiosity got the best of her. “And your brothers are…too?”
“Yep, the whole family.”
“So you were born the way you are? It’s an…inherited thing?”
“That’s right. We’re all natural. Organic, even.”
The smile was back. Thank God. “Wow. Just think, bratty little vampire kids. What a nightmare that would be.”
Gregor rolled his eyes at a few choice memories. Alex projectile vomiting an entire bucket of popcorn on their Aunt Sophie. Or Mikhail dragging a Mormon missionary into their house, the plan being to hide him in their room and use him as a convenient snack dispenser. Gregor had made his own misguided attempts to fly. But that had been Mikhail’s fault. “Talk to my mother about it. She’s a little nuts, and that’s probably why.”
“When—”
“Hey, I think I get to ask a question now.” This vamp stuff was turning out to be great Madelena bait, and he wasn’t going to blow his wad all at once.
“Just one more.” A blush spread up her cheeks. “When we are together, do you want to…I don’t know how to put it.”
“Taste you.” His voice was so hoarse it was embarrassing, and he knew there was no hiding the truth from her. “Yes. But I’d only do it if you asked for it. And it’s not like I’d kill you or anything. None of that movie crap. It would just be…nice.”
“I see.” Her blush turned deeper. He ought to have been pleased to see her so shaken up, but he was just as confused, or embarrassed, or whatever it was. It was not pleasant. He felt like a lecher for wanting her as much as he did.
“Now can I ask my question?” he asked and she made a faint gesture of agreement, keeping her eyes on her beer. “Would you ever consider dating a vampyr?”
She burst into tears.
Chapter 5
“Madelena?”
Vampire or no, Faustin was like any man, which meant that tears horrified him. She glanced at his face, stricken and helpless at the sight of a crying woman, and knew that in a way he was worse off than her.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to put a lid on the tears. “It’s just been a long day, and I’m tired. I’d like to go home now.”
“Of course.” He pulled out his phone. “Honey? Will you have my car sent to a bar called O’Sullivan’s on Madison and East Forty-first? All’s well? Later.”
When he hung up, a terrible silence fell between them. Why did he have to be so great? Even if he weren’t a friggin’ vampire—subject of many of her erotic fantasies—Gregor Faustin would fascinate her. And the good Lord knew she was attracted to him. The sound of his voice, the grace of his fingers, this new, strange kindness in his face-all these things were devastating. So she cried, like an idiot, over what she could never have.
“Can we wait outside? I need some air.” More like she needed to move away from those deep-set, questioning eyes of his.
Outside, the awkwardness continued. They shuffled their feet on the sidewalk, white puffs of breath hanging between them. The tears kept leaking out. She wiped her eyes and nose on her scarf and considered taking the train home. A nasty, cold wind was whipping up the avenue.
“I’m sorry.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“It’s not you!” she cried, frustrated, knowing that’s what everyone said when they meant exactly the opposite.
“Come on, stand here.” Taking her by the shoulders, he positioned her against the wall of the pub and put his body between her and the wind. It was too sweet. She wished she’d just keel over there and then and get it over with. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to tuck it behind her ears. “Tell me what this is all about.”
“I told you, I’m not dating. I can’t be in a relationship right now.”
Faustin cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe you should know that vamps are disease proof. We can’t carry or transmit.”
Maddy blinked through her tears, thinking that was an odd thing for him to say. Then it hit her. “Jesus, Faustin! I don’t have herpes—or worse.”
He spread his arms. “Well, what am I supposed to think when I know how much you want me? Why the static?”
“Oh, you know I want you?”
It was a stupid thing to say, of course, and she should have known what would happen. She recognized that hungry expression—the same one he had just before he jumped her in the cab—and threw out her hand, bracing it against his chest. It seemed a very little thing to stand in his way.
“No,” she whispered. “Please.” She just couldn’t take it.
Very gently, very deliberately, he reached over her blocking arm, removed her glasses and tucked them away in his breast pocket.
“Don’t.” A fresh tear ran down her cheek, hot against her skin.
“I need to see all of you, Madelena.”
A fine, answering tremor spread through her whole body. He tugged off her beret and stuffed it in another pocket. With continuing, infinite gentleness he traced his fingers over her face and down her neck. Then he cupped his hands around her neck and drew them upward, gathering her hair up as he went, piling it on top of her head.
Between the no glasses and the stinging tears she could barely see at all, but his gaze warmed her skin. He turned her face one way and then the other. Her teeth chattered, her insides wound so tight she thought she might be sick all over his shoes. That would serve him right.
“You look like a queen,” he whispered. Still holding her hair up, he bent down and gave her a kiss. Just one. A prince’s magic kiss.
Oh God, her poor heart, now it was broken in every way possible. Her entire body ached from shaking. “Gregor, I want to. But I can’t.”
He kissed her eyelids. He caught her tears on his tongue. But when he returned to her lips, he was not so gentle anymore. Each kiss was like a lapping flame. An answering hunger broke free in her and the trembling stopped. She slid her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. His cat’s tongue swept into her mouth and she sucked the salt off it. She wasn’t so addled that she didn’t know that she was making a mistake. This would be a disaster, no doubt about it. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when she was kissing Gregor Faustin.
She had no idea how long they kissed, but gradually she became aware of the polite hum of an engine and the slow blink of hazards.
Gregor broke from her lips to trail kisses along her jaw to her ear. At her ear he murmured, “The car is here. What do you want to do?”
While she thought about it, his tongue curled around her earlobe, ensuring that the only sensible answer, which was to have a cold shower and a stiff drink, never made it out of the suggestion box.