My Reluctant Warden (7 page)

I almost fell off the chair when he tugged it away from the desk to get a look at me. He caught me, his hand gentle as it gripped my shoulder and kept me in my seat. His eyes roamed my face, and he swore under his breath. Or at least, I assume he swore. By the tone of his voice and the anger he put in those two syllables, it sounded like a swearword. It just wasn’t any language I knew.

“Angelina. Can you hear me?”

I tried to nod, but my head sort of flopped to one side. The next thing I knew, he was picking me up and carrying me out of my suite. I could guess where he was taking me, of course.

“Don’t… want.”

My body felt as heavy as lead, but I managed to move a little in his arms. He held me closer to his chest, and as hard as it was to breathe, I could smell his intoxicating scent, a hint of cologne and something masculine and enticing and so very much him.

“Neither do I,” he said without looking down at me. “But it doesn’t look like either of us has a choice. Unless you want me to let you die?”

No, I didn’t want to be left to die, but at the same time I couldn’t let him think he had a free pass to my body.

“Please. Don’t force—”

Don’t force me to have sex was what I meant to say, but he looked down at me, and when our gazes met, I lost my voice. His eyes were full to the brim with anger, but somehow I knew, even in the state of agitation I was in, that he wasn’t mad at me. He was angry for the same reason I was, and his anger was directed toward the same person: Miss Delilah.

“I won’t
force
you to do anything,” he said in a low, growling voice. “I won’t lay a finger on you. Lilah told you to sleep in my bed, didn’t she? So that’s what will happen. That’s
all
that will happen. Sleep.”

Could I believe him? I wanted to, but I was also afraid to. In my state, if he wanted to take advantage of me, there really wasn’t much I could do to stop him, which wasn’t a pleasant realization.

And yes, I know, I’d had naughty thoughts about him. There had even been that shared X-rated fantasy in which we’d done a lot more than ‘sleep’ together. But fantasizing about him was very different from being compelled to have sex with him. I’ve had fantasies about a few movie stars or artists over the years, but I’d never get in their bed if the occasion presented itself. Not without a few dates and clear mutual attraction. Just like I would never have had sex with Mr. Ward on that balcony in reality. Or at least not mere minutes after we’d met.

In moments, we reached his room. It was a bedroom, not a suite like mine. The bed was unmade, and he set me down right on it, pausing only to slip the ruby slippers off my feet. He then drew the sheet and blanket on top of me, walked around the bed and climbed in on the other side—on top of the covers. The bed was large enough that there was room for a third person to lay down comfortably between us without any elbows touching.

I turned my head on the pillow. I could move a little more easily now. And breathing wasn’t so difficult. I watched him for a few seconds. His arms were folded behind his head, and he was staring straight up at the ceiling. I didn’t know what to say or even do.

“Can you breathe better?” he asked in a cool, almost careless voice.

My throat felt dry. I swallowed hard before I answered.

“Yes. Does that mean I can leave now?”

“You can try. My guess is, you won’t get far. She said sleep, didn’t she? Take a nap. When you wake up, you’ll be free to go.”

A laugh burst out of me; it sounded dry, brittle—and a little hysterical.

“Nap?” I sat up, and the covers fell into my lap. “You think I’ll be able to fall asleep? When I’m in some strange man’s room and he’s a …”

I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say the word vampire. I’d have felt absolutely ridiculous if I had.

And my fear would have ratcheted up, too.

“You think I want to be here?” he shot back. “I just got out of bed. I have more pressing things to do than just lie here.”

“Yeah? Like what? Breaking into someone else’s apartment?”

He sat up as well, turning a thunderous expression toward me. For a few seconds we glared at each other. And I tried very, very hard not to let myself fall into his gaze again.

Finally, he hissed, “I should compel you to sleep. That way I wouldn’t have to hear you complain anymore.”

“Why don’t you?” I shot back. “If I’m that much of a burden, why did you even bother saving me?”

“Because whether I want you here or not,” he snapped, “you’re still my guest. As for compelling you, out in the hallway you were scared I’d force myself on you. How is compelling you any different?”

I opened my mouth. And closed it again without a word. After a second or two, he lay back down against the pillows. I remained sitting a little longer, my eyes running over the room. I’d have expected it to be furnished as decadently as the rest of the house, but instead it was rather plain.

The walls were painted a deep teal that made the room feel smaller, more intimate, although it was scaled perfectly to fit the oversized bed. There was no art on the walls. A window was covered with dark drapes. Two identical closed doors faced each other on opposite walls, and nothing indicated what they might open to.

The clean lines of the wooden headboard and matching dresser felt a lot more modern than the carved furniture in my room or in the rest of the mansion. It was odd, like doing a puzzle and finding one piece whose color and shape didn’t fit anywhere with the rest. I wondered what it meant, but I didn’t ask anything. I knew he wouldn’t answer.

I finally lay down again and pulled the covers back up. My fingers clutched the edge of the sheet, and I looked straight up at the ceiling. Maybe it would have been easier to find sleep if the light, as muted as it was, had been turned off, but I wasn’t going to ask. This was uncomfortable enough; I didn’t want to be in the dark with Mr. Ward.

He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing. I could almost have forgotten he was there, right in the same bed I was.

Almost, but not quite. He had a presence, some sort of… I don’t know. An aura, I guess. It was impossible not to be aware that he was there, inches away.

According to the alarm clock on the bedside table, an hour passed. It felt like at least ten.

“I can’t sleep,” I muttered, addressing the ceiling.

Mr. Ward made a sound in his throat. Agreement, maybe? Or frustration?

“What will happen if I don’t get any sleep at all tonight?”

“The same thing that happened on the balcony last night. The same thing that started to happen in your bedroom. Your body stops working, and then you die.”

Delivered in that cool, level voice, it sounded like he didn’t care if I died. I knew better than that. He’d saved me twice, hadn’t he? And in the bedroom, before he’d picked me up, he’d looked worried. Why did he try so much to pretend that it didn’t matter to him? Why did he play the unfeeling, jaded act? And it was an act, I was sure of it.

If he truly didn’t give a damn about me, he wouldn’t have gone to grab my things—gone himself, I might add, rather than sending a lackey. He wouldn’t have arranged for my shoe-shopping afternoon, either. And when Miss Delilah had called him, he wouldn’t have rushed to my room to check on me.

All of those things made me think of the sweet, lonely man I’d met in my fantasy. It would all have been very different if I’d been in the same bed as that man. And in fact… maybe I could be.

I turned my head on the pillow and watched him for a moment, working up the courage to speak. Why was it so much easier to talk to him when we were getting in each other’s faces?

“Closing your eyes might help with the whole falling asleep thing, you know.”

As quiet as he was, he startled me enough that I shuddered.

“You know what else might help?” I said, stumbling a little on the words in my haste to get them out. “You… you could do that mind thing again. Make me believe that I’ve fallen asleep, like you made me believe I… I hadn’t been rude to you.”

He looked at me, then. His expression was inscrutable.

“It’s not that easy. To fool the compulsion, it must be something that feels true to you. Something your mind will have trouble distinguishing from reality.”

I knew exactly what he meant by that, because I’d had to remind myself all day that nothing had happened between us.

“So?” My voice was shaking a little. “You can make it feel true, can’t you? You did last night.”

He let out a quiet huff and looked away again. “You have no idea what you’re asking from me.”

“Is it any worse than being forced to sleep in a vampire’s bed?”

He sat up abruptly, and I thought he’d get out of bed. Instead, he shifted toward me and cupped my face in his hand. His fingers were soft but strong, like I’d known they would be.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he said very low.

Our gazes met. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Just remember you asked for it.”

He leaned forward like he would kiss me. His eyes were as dark as the night and wider than the sky. I fell in.

*

I raised my hand, took a deep breath, and knocked on Mr. Ward’s door.

Mere seconds passed before he appeared, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep. Add to that the pajama bottoms he was wearing—and they were all he was wearing, a part of me noticed with very keen interest—and I realized my mistake. Of course. If he was a vampire, as I was slowly coming to terms with, then he’d sleep during the daytime, wouldn’t he?

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, covering my mouth with my hand. “I didn’t realize you’d be sleeping. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry. Really. I’ll go now.”

He stopped me with a word. One low, rumbling word that felt like a caress down my spine. My name.

“Angelina.”

I froze and met his eyes. They were fully awake now and as deep as ever.

“I was just resting for a while,” he said. “With what happened last night, I didn’t get a chance to lie down.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“You have no reason to be. Truly.” His smile made it easier to believe his words, and I relaxed. “Was there something you wanted?”

A couple of seconds passed before I remembered why I had come to his door.

“Oh. Yes. I mean, I wanted to thank you. For the shoes.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled when his smile deepened. “Did you have fun shopping?”

I smiled back. “It was… unexpected. You didn’t have to do that for me, but yes, I had a lot of fun.”

“Well, that’s all that matters. And it was my own fault for not thinking about shoes when I packed for you.” He shook his head ruefully. “I assure you, I am familiar with the concept of footwear. I even wear some on occasion.”

I chuckled with him. “I know you do. Your shoes last night were very… dapper. As was the rest of you.”

I swear I was only talking about his clothes, but heat crept up in my cheeks anyway. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, and his lips took on a knowing curve.

“Dapper, huh? I can live with that. And if I haven’t mentioned it yet, let me say that you, Angelina, were a vision.”

I ducked my head, but I was pleased. He’d complimented me several times on the balcony, but it was nice to hear him say it again.

Actually, the whole conversation was nice. I’d been afraid things would be difficult after everything that had happened. Our two quick exchanges earlier, in my suite and down on the second floor, had been awkward. This was a lot better.

When I peeked up at him again, he was looking down at my shoes and smiling yet again. I was beginning to enjoy his smile a lot. It made him seem much younger. Carefree. Quite simply happy.

“So… should I start calling you Dorothy?”

I couldn’t stifle the burst of laughter that came to my lips.

“That’s exactly what I thought when I first put them on!” I said. “They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?”

His gaze came back up to my face. “I don’t think I’ve ever called any kind of footwear gorgeous,” he said in a teasing tone. “But you do look gorgeous wearing them, yes.”

If he continued to make me blush, I might end up permanently beet red…

“I trust you got more than these?” he asked.

I nodded, and now my blushing was veering toward embarrassment.

“I did, yes. A few more. Actually…” I took a breath and plunged in. I might as well admit it now. “These make thirty-two pairs.”

He didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Good. I’m glad you found something you liked. Maybe you can show me some of the others. How about at dinner time?”

My heart suddenly started doing a very good rendition of a drum roll.

“Dinner?” I repeated weakly.

Granted, I had tried not to give that much thought to what exactly my host ate. But hearing him say that simple word—dinner—brought back to mind Miss Delilah’s suggestion that he feed from me if he wanted. Was I going to be dinner?