Was this how Richart had felt about Jenna? Why he had pursued her even when he thought a happy ending impossible for the two of them?
The door across the hallway opened.
Étienne’s heart ceased beating for several long moments, then began to slam against his ribs.
Was Krysta coming to him?
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped she would.
Alas, no. Nearly silent footsteps took her down the hallway and up the stairs.
Tossing back the covers, he rose and donned the sweatpants he’d laid out in case Krysta needed him for anything. (Somehow he didn’t think creeping up behind her naked would send the right message.) Then he opened his door and went in search of her.
He found her in the living room.
Why was it, he wondered as he paused in the doorway to admire her, that pajamas made men look geeky, yet made women look incredibly alluring?
The pajamas Krysta wore were made of some silky burgundy material. Having been raised in far different times, Lisette sometimes complained about constantly having to dress like a man. To compensate, she wore feminine things like this when she wasn’t hunting.
Her back to him, Krysta leaned forward over a chair to peer through the window, out into bright sunlight.
Étienne, too, had been born in a different time. He wasn’t like men today. He didn’t need to see a woman’s breasts shoved up to her neck in a push-up bra and spilling out of her blouse to take notice. He didn’t need skirts so short the women who wore them couldn’t bend over without showing their underwear or exposing their vaginas. He didn’t need pants cut so low that thongs and butt cracks peeked out at him.
If it was out there, it was out there. No surprises. No anticipation. No fun.
Étienne was more titillated by what he couldn’t see. He liked being kept guessing. He liked imagining what that silky material might conceal, how it would feel to peel each layer back and reveal what no one else could see. What no one else had even glimpsed.
The pajama pants covered Krysta from hips to ankles. Her feet, smaller than he had imagined, were bare. The long sleeves of the top had been rolled back almost to her elbows. Her hair was loose and rumpled.
Utterly delicious.
“What are you looking at?” he asked softly.
Gasping, she spun around. “You startled me.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t intend to.”
“I was just looking at the guards. They seem very formidable.”
“They take their job very seriously and will give their lives to protect us, should such become necessary.”
“They’re that devoted to you?”
He strolled into the room, uncomfortable with the question. It made the guards seem subservient. “I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s more that we’re brothers in arms. Soldiers all fighting a common enemy. It bonds us, even if we don’t know each other.”
She glanced back at the window. “You don’t know those guys?”
He stopped beside her and, avoiding the golden rays of sunshine that poured through the filmy curtains, peered outside.
“Careful,” she said, touching his arm and nudging him farther away from the light.
He smiled, warmed by her concern. “It’s all right. I won’t burst into flames. I’ll just sunburn in record time.”
“Will sunlight kill vampires?”
“Yes. Vampires can’t tolerate any level of sunlight. Immortals have greater tolerance to it because of our advanced DNA, but younger ones like me are still vulnerable.”
“Oh.”
He studied the faces of as many guards as he could see from this perspective. “I believe I’ve seen one or two of these men before, but have never spoken with them.”
“And yet they would die for you.”
He nodded. “It isn’t a one-way street. They know we risk our lives every night, hunting and destroying vampires who would prey upon them. There was a night not long ago when Richart, Lisette, and I, along with the other immortals you will meet later, risked our lives battling not vampires, but humans who would have killed or tortured every man you see out there.” He drew back from the window. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
She shook her head. “I always have trouble sleeping in a new place.”
“And the past few hours have been difficult.”
“Yes. So much has happened.” She shrugged. “I’m still having trouble processing it all. My mind is racing. And I keep obsessing over the stupidest things. Like how Sean and I are going to explain the crater in the living room floor and the bullet holes Sheldon said riddled every wall to our landlord.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll take care of it. We’re very good at cleaning up our messes.” He touched her shoulder, the silky material cool beneath his fingers, and guided her toward the sofa. “What you need right now is something that will take your mind off of everything so you can relax.” She sat down at his urging, the V-neck of her shirt giving him the briefest glimpse of shadowy cleavage. “And what I need is something to take my mind off of you in those pajamas.”
She smiled and fingered the neckline. “They really aren’t my style. I’m more of a sleep-shirt kind of girl.”
He groaned and sank onto his haunches to examine the DVDs lining the shelves beneath the large flat-screen TV. “Don’t put that image in my head.”
Krysta stared at his broad, muscled back and narrow waist, bare and totally drool-worthy, as was his chest when he faced her. “Tit for tat. I lost my ability to concentrate as soon as I turned and saw you wearing nothing but those sweatpants.”
Surely, he had heard her heart’s crazy antics.
He laughed.
She liked his laugh. Smooth and deep.
He chose a DVD and slipped it into the player. Rising, he grabbed the remote and joined her on the sofa.
And he didn’t leave any space between them. His hip pressed against hers as he draped his arm across the back cushion. “I keep telling myself to keep my distance, but . . .”
She nodded, leaning into his side. “I’m too tired to worry about it right now.” She smiled at the television. Monk?
He nodded. “It’s smart. It’s funny. And it advocates true love.”
“It’s a tragic love, though. His wife is dead.”
“Don’t most love affairs end tragically?” he asked, frowning at the screen.
“I don’t know. Your brother seems pretty happy.”
His face lightened. “Yes, he does. I didn’t see that coming.”
“If you tell me you’re psychic, too—”
He laughed. “I’m not.” Still smiling, he glanced down at her. “I didn’t see you coming either.”
Manic butterflies invaded her stomach as she licked lips suddenly gone dry.
The amber glow returned to his eyes as he followed the motion with his gaze.
The TV brightened with the menu for Monk.
He looked toward it.
Krysta sighed. She had been sure he was going to kiss her.
“I thought I would be pushing my luck if I did,” he murmured.
“Oh.” She didn’t even care that he was reading her thoughts again.
“I also thought you might need a little distance.”
She fought the urge to laugh. Their sides were glued together and his arm now rested across her shoulders, his fingers toying with her hair.
His lips twitched as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Note I said I thought you needed some distance. Tonight I find myself needing the opposite, so this was my compromise.”
She smiled. “I’ll take it.”