Page 37 of Don't Bite the Botanist
She narrowed her eyes, almost as if the information carried more weight than something so simple should. “You’re allergic? To pears?”
Ethan shrugged. “And apricots. Could be worse, though. I could be allergic to something I love, like apples.”
He didn’t think his answer was anything surprising, but Tressa’s eyes grew comically wide. He would have to ask her what the big deal with fruit was.
She climbed off him, and it wasn’t until her weight disappeared that he realized how much he’d enjoyed having her in his arms. She held out a hand, and he took it, blinking at how easily she pulled him up. Someone as strong as her would definitely be wasted in a kitchen. In fact, he was more than a little disappointed she didn’t join him and the others for training. He’d love to see what kind of fighting skills his little Sunflower was hiding.
Wait, since when did he use nicknames? And when the fuck did he start thinking of her as ‘his?’
Shaking his head, he brushed off the bits of powder and lemon that had transferred to his clothing.
“So, I take it you’re done training?” she asked, eyeing his pants and shirt that had been clean moments ago.
“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his still damp hair. Three months without a trim had been annoying at first, but he was getting used to the longer strands and how they curled slightly at his shoulders. “I wanted to go until dinner, but Saiden is a bigger hardass than you when it comes to not pushing myself. He gave me some stretches to do for ten minutes every other hour to keep things loose, but otherwise I’ve been banished from the gym for today.”
Tressa laughed. “Well, since I’ve been banished from the kitchen, how about we go check out your new room? I had some of the staff make up a bed for you.”
“Sounds good,” he said, taking her offered hand. His skin tingled when her fingers laced through his.
More static electricity? It had been happening to him a lot the past couple days.
She guided him through a series of long halls, making a few familiar-looking turns. When she pushed open the door to the room beside hers, he arched an eyebrow. “You trying to keep an eye on me, Tress?”
He could have sworn he saw an embarrassed grin before she hurried inside. “It was just the easiest room to prepare. The rest are all pretty dusty and need a lot of cleaning.”
“In that case, I guess we’re neighbors.” He stepped through the door and paused for a second to take in the gothic room. The four-poster bed with gossamer crimson curtains, rich mahogany furniture, and wine-colored velvet drapes made his beige spartan apartment seem downright depressing in comparison. Well, former apartment, that is. This new space that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle was apparently his home for the time being.
Oddly enough, the unique decor wasn’t even the most bizarre aspect. The strangest thing was how the bed was pushed up against the east wall. It felt… out of place. Like the room had been designed for the bed to be smack in the center but the housekeeping crew had forgotten to move it back after cleaning the rug beneath. He could even see four slight depressions in the thick weave.
“Can’t say I would have chosen the creature of the night vibe,” he said, turning to Tressa. “But I guess it makes sense. Get inside the mind of the vampires you’re hunting and all.”
“Uh, right,” she stammered. “That’s exactly it. Anyway, I’ll let you get settled in. Our staff went into town and got you some clothing, so you can change if you like.” She pointed to an assortment of bags tucked off to the side. “Everything should fit, so you won’t have to borrow from Saiden anymore. There are also some toiletries in the bathroom just through that door.” She gestured to the back of the room. “If you’re missing anything, let me know and I can send someone to pick it up.”
“Thanks,” he murmured. He pulled a plain blue T-shirt out of the bag closest to him and held it up to his chest. She was right, her staff got the correct size. He set it on the bed along with a pair of gray sweats,then turned back to Tressa. “I just realized I haven’t properly thanked you. And I don’t mean for the clothes, I mean for all of this. You could have left me in that hospital and taken care of the rogue on your own. I know I’m a liability to your well-honed operation, so the fact that you’re letting me help is… well, I appreciate it. More than you know.”
He stepped closer and dislodged another piece of lemon, his fingers lingering in her silky black hair for a second longer than was necessary.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, her attention focused on the chunk of fruit in his hand. “And I know what it’s like to want revenge but not be able to make it happen. How could I deny you yours?”
He frowned, wondering just what revenge Tressa had been denied.
She plucked the lemon from his hand and backed out of his room. “I should go get cleaned up. Dinner’s in a couple hours, so I’ll come knock on your door then.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t prevent her from leaving. “Sounds good. And thank you again, Tress. I mean it.”
She gave him a small half-smile, then pulled the door shut.
And maybe he was imagining things, but he could have sworn he heard her mutter, “Don’t thank me yet.”
Chapter nineteen
Tressa
“Sleep well,” Tressa told Ethan, then closed the door behind her, fighting the urge to barge back into the room and tackle him onto the bed.
Dinner, at least, had been a wild culinary success with the chef preparing a meal big enough to feed an army. Most vamps only indulged in human food occasionally out of nostalgia, so the poor man typically spent his time making standard American faire for their human staff despite his Michelin star status. That was probably why he’d been more than happy to jump on her request for corned beef palusami, even though he was still a little bitter that she’d coated his kitchen in lemon and flour—who knew mixers needed a lid?
While most of the cadre joined them for dinner, talking and laughing enough to hide how they weren’t really eating much, Tressa had gotten to hang out alone with Ethan on the patio afterward. They’d spent hours just chatting about his life growing up in Seacliff and his time in Fiji while she ducked every question about her own life like a champion dodgeball player. If Ethan caught on to the fact she hadn’t revealed anything more than her favorite hike—which was agamble since she had no idea if the trail still existed after three hundred years—he hadn’t let on. Every time the conversation drifted toward her past, she expertly steered it back to his life.
