Page 5 of Sanguine
Old habits have me glancing around, although we’re in the far corner of the covered restaurant patio and well out of earshot of any other diners. When I look back to Bastien, his mouth is curled up at the edges.
“Worried the villagers will come knocking with torches and crosses later?” he asks, amused.
I make an affirmative grunt, and then I look down at my wineglass. “I didn’t need any more wine.”
“Yes, you did,” Bastien says, the smile still toying at his lips. “How else will I get to know your deepest, darkest secrets?”
He’s got a point. We’ve made it through the walk up to the restaurant and ordering our meal with me barely speaking at all. Because of one very embarrassing fact that I decide is best to confess to him now. “I don’t have secrets. Or things to talk about. I’m not—I’m not interesting. Like you.” I look down at the sunset-colored ocean below us as I say this, so I don’t have to see the moment he decides this is a terrible, boring date and he’s going to leave.
But he doesn’t leave. And when he finally speaks, his richly musical voice is pitched very low and very soft, in a way that sends heat licking in my belly. “A former priest—a former vampire hunter—who saw a vampire being wicked and decided to get closer to wickedness instead of further away … that sounds very interesting to me.”
Closer to wickedness… I almost shudder with the accuracy of his words. When I saw him kissing that man last night, when I saw the pleasure on the man’s face as Bastien held him close and buried his mouth in the man’s neck, I felt longing like I’d never felt it before. I felt the first real jolts of arousal since I’d left the priesthood.
I wanted it. I wanted kisses and biting. I wanted this vampire to do to me what I’d vowed I’d never let any vampire to do me, and drink my blood. In fact, I’d even worn a long-sleeved sweater—very, very thin, mind you, because even with the constant breeze, Hamilton Island is warm—because it has a low rounded collar that completely exposes my throat. I don’t have the words or eloquence to tell Bastien what I want, but maybe he’ll know it without me having to tell him. Maybe he’ll take it without asking. Maybe he’ll pin me in some dark corner somewhere and make me moan with pleasure the way he did to the man last night.
I dare to look back at Bastien. The smile is still there, but it’s no longer a signal of amusement. It’s a signal of something else …
An invitation, maybe?
Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see. Maybe it’s pity. Maybe I’m pitiable and pathetic, a clumsy, eager fool who wanted to get closer to something dangerous and beautiful and who’s now made himself ridiculous.
I suddenly wish I’d worn a collared shirt. I look like a vampire’s version of a tart.
Bastien sees I’m lost in my own mind, and he reaches for my hand. It takes me a minute to understand—it’s been so long since I’ve been touched in kindness—and then even longer to accept. Bastien sees my hesitation but attributes it to something else. “We’re safe here,” he says softly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His meaning is clear; this bright, touristy place does feel very safe, but safety is always conditional on whose hand you’re holding, and where I grew up, this could still be dangerous. It’s a particular kind of fear I didn’t have to feel as a priest, but now it’s here, as real as my desire for Bastien. I didn’t realize I was afraid until he offered to help hold the fear with me.
I look down at our hands as he speaks, and then I have to look away. The sight of our fingers and palms—big and square and obviously male—touching is the most wonderful and the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. And his words …
“Thank you,” I manage to get out. The warmth and pressure of someone holding my hand, promising to keep me safe, is making my throat ache, and the words come out rough. “I’m not used to someone thinking they need to protect me. Because I’m so big,” I add in order to explain, and Bastien laughs.
“I can see that. You areverybig.”
The words are flirtatious enough that I feel myself blushing. He laughs some more.
“You’re very easy to tease, you know,” he points out. “I’ve made you blush like a virgin all day, and it’s starting to make me wonder how long it’s been since you’ve been on a date.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I admit in a mumble.
He grins, eyes sparkling. “A date with a vampire? I imagine not.”
“No, Bastien.This.” I look down at our hands and then to the wine and the table and the view.
A small line appears between his brows. “Aaron. Please tell me I’m not your first date.”
I can’t tell him that, so I don’t say anything at all.
Bastien’s grin fades, but his eyes remain intense. “Are you a virgin?”
I make a noise that could mean anything, but Bastien doesn’t let me wriggle out of answering.
“I know it’s an invasive question, but I’m a vampire, so humor me. How untouched is my laconic priest?”
The possessivemyinmy laconic priestmakes my pulse thud a little harder, and Bastien’s eyes rove over my exposed neck as I reply honestly. “Very, um, untouched,” I admit.
He lifts his eyes back to mine and tugs his hand free. “Well then.”
I stare down at my now-empty hand, feeling stupid, and I slowly pull it back into my lap. Maybe he doesn’t like virgins. Maybe he doesn’t like the reminder that I was a priest. Maybe—
