New Leah didn’t know what to say.
As I struggled to come up with a reply, he closed his eyes as if patience eluded him. Then he gave up, walked us into the nearest coffee house (there were a billion), got me a latte, him a double espresso with enough sugar to down an elephant and we were away home.
My third mistake wasn’t a mistake, as such. It was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was in the dressing room putting my fantastic new shoes on the tilted shelves that showed shoes to their strategic best when Lucien walked in and went directly to my purse that was sitting on the dressing table. I turned and saw him drop my cell phone and wallet in the purse, my passport beside it.
Throughout the ride home he seemed tense. He didn’t anymore and I was unsure of his mood and further unsure what to do.
Was this another test?
The phone in the house was one thing but he’d put the keys to the Cayenne on the key holder by the backdoor. Now he was giving me back my freedom, in total.
Obviously, I couldn’t run immediately from the house, he’d catch me. I also couldn’t run at all because, again, he’d catch me.
Still.
He turned to leave, caught me staring at him and stopped.
“Italy,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Italy. That would be your preferred on the run from a vamp destination.”
I felt my lips part and my eyes grow wide.
For some reason, my expression made his guarded face gentle and he walked into my space.
I tilted my head to look back at him and whispered, “How did you know?”
“Fiona,” he answered without hesitation.
“Fiona?” I asked.
“Fiona Hawkins.”
Fiona Hawkins? Aunt Fiona Hawkins? How did he know Aunt Fiona?
And why would she be telling him about me always wanting to go to Italy?
This was just bizarre!
“Aunt Fiona told you I’ve always wanted to go to Italy?”
“Fiona told me a great number of things. Fiona Hawkins was my concubine fifty-one years ago.”
This information rocked me so much it was physical. I took a step back but his arm snaked around my waist and brought me forward so my stomach, hips and thighs were pressed against his.
“Aunt Fiona serviced you?” I breathed.
I mean, I knew she was a concubine. She wasn’t a Buchanan but concubines were friendly (most of the time). I’d known her since forever.
“I throw birthday parties for all my concubines, every year,” he answered.
I felt my mouth drop open again as something occurred to me.
I went to Aunt Fiona’s birthday parties.
Every year.
“Oh my God.”
Lucien ignored my prayer and went on, “I try to attend. Sometimes I can’t stay long. Sometimes I don’t attend the party but visit with them before or after. Twenty years ago I was able to attend. She served fried chicken.”
I felt the pulse of his words shaft through my body and it was physical too. My entire frame jolted with it so much I had to grab onto the sleeves of his shirt at his biceps to stay standing.
“Or,” Lucien continued, “I should say, you made fried chicken for her guests. She told me before I went it would be the best thing I tasted… for eternity.” I kept staring at him as his face dipped closer, his black eyes warmed and he murmured, “She was wrong.”
My mouth opened and then closed. I didn’t know what to say. What I did know was that he’d just given me another earth-shattering compliment.
He kept talking. “After that I went every year. And every year, you made her your fried chicken.”
“That’s her favorite,” I whispered.
“I know,” he replied.
I put my hands on his chest and commented, “I didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t want to be seen.”
“You can do that?”
“When you can control people’s minds, you can do anything. Even disappear.”
I felt my body tense. “You controlled my mind?”
He nodded and said, “I also marked you.”
Oh my God.
That was true!
I’d felt it. That weird drugged feeling, not as strong as he did it now but I felt it. I always thought it was the oppressive heat of Aunt Fiona’s kitchen. She had bad ventilation and frying chicken for seventy-five guests heated up a kitchen, believe you me.
“Why would you do that? There were no vampires there.”
“Yes there were.”
Wow. I didn’t know that. I’d been in the presence of vampires before.
“Really?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Did Aunt Fiona tell you about me?”
“As much as she knew. She liked talking about you. She’s very fond of you, thinks you have spirit. She also kept an eye on you for me.”
Holy crap!
What on earth did that mean?
“An eye on me?” I prompted.
He nodded again.
“What does that mean?”
“She told me what you were up to,” his face grew dark, “and who you were with when you were up to it.”
He didn’t look happy.
I figured I was less happy.
“Are you saying Aunt Fiona informed on me?” My voice was pitching higher.
“Yes.” He was back to seeming unperturbed.
This was unreal!
“So, essentially, she spied on me.”
“Not with that, no. Fiona listened, she watched and she told me. She’d also tell me where you were. Then I spied on you.”
My body jerked again.
“What?”
“It wasn’t exactly spying,” he continued casually, “more like watching. It was highly enjoyable. You’d get up to practically anything and you’ve a very expressive face, pet.”
I couldn’t take this in. The Mighty Vampire Lucien was a stalker!
“Why…” I spluttered. “Why would you do that?”
“It amused me. You amused me.” He studied my face and muttered, “Most of the time, you still do.”
“You stalked me!” It wasn’t a shout. Cousin Myrna wouldn’t shout. But it was pretty damn close.
“You can’t stalk what’s yours,” he returned.
I looked at his shirt. “Yes, I suspect that’s what all the stalkers say.”
He threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
I didn’t feel like putting this in my Why I Might Like Lucien Safe. This went straight into the Why I Hate Lucien Vault, pride of place.
“You’re freaking me out,” I informed him as I pressed against his chest to get away.
His other arm joined the one around me and he drew me closer as his face dipped lower. “The minute I saw you, twenty years ago, I knew you’d be mine.”
Yes, totally freaking me out.
“Lucien –”
He cut me off. “Leah, I’ve been waiting twenty years to have you right here.” He emphasized his last two words with a tight arm squeeze.
Nope, not freaking me out. I didn’t know what beyond freaking out was but whatever it was, he was making me do that.
“I don’t know what to do with this information,” I told him honestly.
“You don’t need to know. I know,” he returned.
I didn’t think that was good.
“Are you going to, um… share?”
He shook his head and then bent to brush his lips against mine.
Pulling away a scant inch, he said mysteriously, “You’ll know when it happens.” Then his arms grew tighter and I was pressed against him from chest to knees. His voice turned rough and his eyes went intense when he asked, “Are you hungry for dinner or should we find something else to do for a while?”