I need to find a way to get there, and I’m now determined, given that Nicholas has confessed in his journals that he is attracted to me, that if I must use my feminine wiles, I will.
“Nicholas,” I put down my fork.
He looks up in surprise and, I think, delight. I rarely start conversations with him.
“Yes.”
“I want to be able to go outside. I want to walk around the estate.”
“No.”
“I can’t go anywhere,” I frown, screwing up my nose, “you have the gamekeeper on red alert.”
“It is not wise.”
“Why not?”
“Josephine, please,” he smirks, “we both know you will try to run away again.”
I turn my head to the side and smirk at him.
“I thought you liked the chase.”
He smiles back, a genuine, wide smile, and I glimpse his fangs in the candlelight. I know my pulse is racing. He is a scary, scary bastard.
“You know me well,” he murmurs, “and yet I think we are beyond that now. I missed you while I was away. Did you miss me?”
I frown. I did miss him, but I don’t want him to know that. I missed food, real food, that was for sure. Thinking of the stodge I had been forced to eat by Butler suddenly makes me see red.
“No, I didn’t miss you – I missed food, and I missed my freedom even more than I usually do. If you think you are going to endear me to you by starving me to death, think again – this is not a re-enactment of the Taming of the Shrew, you psycho.”
I wonder as I say this if he wrote that.
I see the little muscle in his cheek tense, as though he is biting his tongue, and something in me hopes he will retort, get angry, just do something, anything, to upset this cycle of eat, chat, sleep, cook, eat, chat – I can’t take any more of it.
Rising, he wipes his mouth with his napkin and makes his way towards me, slowly, with purpose, his eyes never leaving mine.
I keep hold of my fork, just in case I need a weapon and have to plunge it into him. I wonder, idly, watching him stalk closer, if that is why we are eating from gold, rather than silver cutlery, and decide, probably.
Reaching me, he leans down and releases my grip on my cutlery, pulling me in one swift motion up from my chair and into his arms.
Before I can say anything, his mouth covers mine, and as I tense and put my hands to his chest, to push him away, his kiss softens, his lips roaming, rather than ravishing. Although my brain is screaming at me not to succumb, my body responds, because this man wants me, really wants me, and this is becoming more and more evident as the kiss deepens, and his tongue explores my mouth. Suddenly, the fact that he is 500 years old, and a monster, is of no concern. Every nerve in my body is thrilled, exhilarated, as I taste him. I feel his mounting arousal, and press myself tighter to him, winding my hands in his hair. Maybe this is what I wanted all along, a release of all this tension, this anger and frustration – this attraction.
Groaning, he pulls away and holds me at arms-length as I stare at him, panting.
“Will you say the moon is the sun and the sun is the moon, Josephine?” he murmurs to me, his own breathing slowly coming back into control.
I narrow my eyes at him and push him away, disgusted once more at my traitorous body’s reactions to him.
He makes no move to stop me as I head for the door but calls my name, and I pause, momentarily.
“Yes?” I mutter, my fingers on the handle.
“Your hair looks lovely.”
I say nothing, just walk out and down the long hall to my room. My knees don’t stop shaking until I reach my door, and I know my pulse is still racing, my face flushed. That was possibly the best kiss I have ever had in my life, and I’m pretty sure if he had decided to throw me on the table and take me, I wouldn’t have quibbled. I feel thankful but also embarrassed that he was the stronger of us, and stopped when he did. Shaking my head at my weakness, I open the door and see a gift-wrapped box sitting on my bed.
“Let me guess, the head of my enemy,” I mutter, shuddering when I think it actually could be something like that, knowing Nicholas.
