Silent Doll (14 page)

He leaned back and looked at me, as though trying to figure out how I really felt about what I just said.

“It must be scary,” he said quietly. “Knowing you have all that time and not knowing anything more than that.”

Just then, the waiter arrived with our food. I stared at the steaming ravioli, trying to look anywhere but at DJ while I composed my face. It
was
scary. It was horrible not to know even the basics about your…species. I hated that word. I looked and felt mostly human, had done all my life so far. This knowledge had been like the worst birthday present ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said when I hadn’t looked up for a long time. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

I raised my head finally, looking him in the face. “No, you’re right. It is scary. It’s very scary.”

He reached across the table, placing his hand over mine; his hand was very large, very warm, and very dry. His touch made me feel protected, which was a strange feeling to have.

DJ was a very handsome man, muscular to the nth degree; he ran his own business, he was sweet, he was kind. On more than one occasion, the sight of his bare skin had made my libido hop up and down. So why, when I looked at him, couldn’t I see myself in a relationship with him? He was exactly the kind of man I should go for, but part of me—a very loud part—just didn’t want him.

It was stupid, and I kept saying that over and over again in my head; but still I pulled my hand away from his, picking up my fork.

“The food will go cold,” I said, barely an excuse, then occupied my mouth by eating very slowly.

We didn’t talk much after that, and despite telling him I would be fine by myself, he insisted on walking me home, like a real date. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t an actual date, as I’d not consented to it outright, but I had to admit it wasn’t the worst night of my life. DJ was not a bad person to be around. He didn’t make me nervous or feel threatened. He held his hand down by his side, palm facing toward me for the whole walk, as though half hoping that I might take it, but I kept my hands to myself.

When we reached my building, I turned to face him and started to rattle off the pleasantries that you do when saying good night at the end of an evening. I stopped halfway through. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something and not listening to a word I was saying.

“Well, good night, then,” I said finally, and turned to head up the steps.

His hand caught my arm; he dragged me back and bent his head down to mine. Then he was kissing me, like he had before when he’d had me pinned on the ground, except that this time I was pinned against his big body—which was starting to show signs that it was happy to have me there. The kiss was gentle at first, probing, unsure; then, because I was so shocked by the suddenness of it and didn’t pull away, it became more demanding.

His mouth was warm and tasted spicy from the peppercorn sauce he’d slathered all over his steak. He smelled like really good cologne, all manly zest, but beneath that I could smell the wolf, the woods, the wild. I swear I heard the rumble of a growl come from his throat. Just as I was thinking about stopping the kiss, because I really hadn’t meant for there to be one at all, my back hit a wall so that he was pressing against me in that way that set my hormones to hopping.

His hands ran up my arms, cupped my face, breaking the kiss so he could kiss down my neck, then he was back at my mouth again, so fast I barely had time to catch a breath. His hands were firm as they mapped out the curves of my breasts and then down to my hips, yanking me up so that my feet were off the ground. I felt that another part of him was firm as it pressed against my thigh. I had to dig my heels into the back of his legs to support myself as he started to make little rocking movements against me, which were undeniably pleasant.

The position, however, hit far too close to home for my comfort. Aram and I had done this only days ago, something I had sworn I wouldn’t do, and afterwards that I wouldn’t do again. I felt the demanding bump of hips and knew I had to make it stop, it had to stop. I tried to pull my mouth away but his hand flew to my hair to grip it, to keep my mouth pressed to his as his tongue tried to find purchase. He wasn’t going to let me tell him to stop—not, I think on purpose, but he was lost in the moment, in the feel of me up against him.

I started to panic and when I panic, my reflexes kick in to protect me. The fire started at my fingertips and like a flash burn raced up my arms. He cried out, stumbling back, leaving me to try to land on my feet without falling over. I huddled against the wall, gasping for breath, while he put out the smaller fires on his shirt sleeves. He looked at me, his breath ragged too, watching the flames as they danced along my skin, burning through the sleeves of my dress.

He stepped forward as though to help me, but I motioned him away. Slowly, the flames receded, but my dress was ruined. DJ tried again to move closer. I held up a hand in warning.

“You stay where you are.”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra; I didn’t plan on jumping you like that. You just smell so good and you taste even better,” he said, his eyes glazing over as he thought about it. He shook his head as if trying to call his brain back to its senses. I could still see the line of him through his slacks.

“Just point that somewhere else, will you?” I snapped.

His cheeks flushed. “I won’t apologize for wanting you.”

I shook my head, stepping back. “I’m not doing this.”

“I know, you’re right. Not on a first date.”

I stared at him bewildered. He was considering this our first date? Did he normally get that handsy with a woman on the first date? I took two more steps back.

“This wasn’t a date, DJ. You didn’t ask me out and I wouldn’t have said yes. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. You’re going to have to accept that.”

“That’s what your mouth says,” he said, grinning as he looked me up and down.

I turned away from him to march inside my building, gathering my hurt and my pride around me. “Good
night
, Mister Tanner.”

Chapter Fifteen

I walked into my bedroom, throwing my purse down on my makeup table, and pulled my dress over my head. I was staring at the burnt cloth when a knock came on my balcony doors. I spun around, holding the dress to me because the curtains were wide open. Jareth raised his hand in greeting.

I grabbed my robe from the corner of my closet door and pulled it on, belting it tight. I headed over to the balcony door and pulled it open.

“Jesus, Jareth, lurk much?”

“I was not lurking. I was waiting for you. May I come in?”

I thought about it for a minute, then stood aside. “I suppose so.”

He tilted his head with a slightly disappointed air. “I’m going to need more than that, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,
please
won’t you come in, Jareth?”

He bowed his head in thanks and stepped over the threshold. Apparently, dripping with sarcasm or not, it was still an invite. Magic didn’t discriminate. He looked around. As far as I could recall Jareth had never been in my apartment. After a brief survey, he took a seat on my chaise lounge couch.

“What do you want, Jareth?”

“To talk to you.” He patted the empty space next to him.

I took the seat, crossing my legs and arms to indicate my impatience. He placed his clasped hands over his knee and gave me a fatherly look.

“Do you know that engaging in intimate acts with someone and then running away can be considered a mixed message?”

I let my mouth hang open. This couldn’t be real. “Usually,” I said, “when I have this dream, I’m naked.”

“You are not dreaming, Cassandra, and if you want to be naked I will not object; but I am trying to be serious.”

I slapped his arm. He looked down at it and then back up at me. I guess he didn’t understand the gesture. I did hope that he could sense how uncomfortable I was, as he was supposed to be empathic.

“You lured him out,” he said. I put up a hand to stop him.

“I did no such thing. I got tickets just the same as him. I thought at first that he’d sent them, then maybe that you had.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Another one of your clever plans to get us back together. Like pretending to hit on me…”

He smiled at me, flashing a little fang. “Clever plan? Oh, no, I truly desire to bed you, but as you wish only to couple with my brother I will respect that. Unless that display with the wolf was you changing your mind.”

“You saw that?” Mortification, thy name is Cassandra.

“It was a little hard to miss, just the lust alone.” He inhaled deeply, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Admittedly, it was mostly his lust. You seemed confused.”

“I am, more and more it seems. It would be nice if something made sense for a change.”

I pushed up from the couch, no longer comfortable sitting near Jareth. I had really been hoping that our little drunken snog had been a brilliant plan of his to enrage his brother enough to reclaim his “bride”. Technically that’s what I was to Aram, his “bride”. It basically meant we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and other vampires weren’t allowed to feed on me. It had been the only way to get Aram out of trouble after he’d overfed from me in our attempt to drive a demon from my body. That moment had been the start of everything.

“What is going on with you and my brother?”

“It’s complicated.”

Jareth reached into a pocket to bring out a silvery shiny pocket watch. He clicked open the cover and examined the face. “I have time. Explain.”

“I’ve been going through some changes,” I said, dropping down on the end of my bed. “I wanted to take some time to be on my own, get to grips with it all before I tried to continue in a relationship with someone I could literally be with forever.”

“Do you not love him?”

“Of course I do,” I said, outraged. Why was everyone so interested in hearing about my feelings all of a sudden?

“Then for what other reason than self-punishment, or punishing him, makes you think that you must go through this alone?”

I let my shoulders slump and stared at him. No one had ever put it that way to me before. “I just…”

“Cassandra, you will find no reason. He loves you. All he does when he is not working is mope, and from what I can tell you are not faring much better. Being apart is detrimental to both of you. Why can’t you see that?”

Aram was moping over me? Aram, for a vampire, was incredibly lively; he had always had an easy boyish charm that even I had been loath to fight. When I’d given into it, I found that it was more than that. Aram made me feel at ease in a way that was unnaturally natural. No one had ever made me feel like that.

Even around Magnus, who I had slightly more in common with—a pulse, a love of movies, solid foods—I’d always been on edge. When I had to tell Magnus about the two worlds I’d been scared out of my mind that he would reject me. Telling Aram had been comparatively easy. I rubbed my temples and sighed deeply.

“This really isn’t about our relationship,” I tried again. Jareth quirked a brow at me. “Lower that brow, mister.” He obliged.

“This is about me knowing who I am, what I am, what I can do, what I can expect to become. It’s about me learning to be comfortable in my own skin before I start sharing it with someone else.”

I gave up on words and tried to push my feelings, all of them, into a wave that could wash over him so that he would understand. He closed his eyes; I could tell that he was taking it in, letting each ounce of love, fear, confusion, self doubt, loneliness, bitterness, sadness, and hope wash over his senses. He was perfectly motionless for a long time. At last he stood up and walked over to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and, leaning down, kissed a tear on my cheek that I hadn’t even felt escape my eye. He looked me in the face. I swallowed hard.

“I will convey this to my brother. I feel an assurance that your heart is still his.”

I didn’t acknowledge his words; I didn’t even watch as he let himself out my balcony doors and disappeared into the darkness outside. I’d buried my face in my hands and began to cry.

Chapter Sixteen

I ran myself down with the crying. There is something cleansing about a good long cry. Of course, it’s not pretty, and is something more often than not better off done alone. By the time I was finished my eyes were red and puffy, my lips dried and cracking, and I was bone tired.

Sleep is a luxury of the innocent. I had my eyes shut for less than half an hour when my phone started its merry jig.

You’ve got bones in your closet. You’ve got ghosts in your town.

My ringtone trilled until I couldn’t ignore the county song I’d chosen and answered the damn thing, grumpy as hell.

“This had better be good.”

“Well, that depends on your viewpoint. Do you mean good as worthy excuse for waking you, or good as in overwhelmingly positive?” Hamilton said. He sounded as if he’d either had a good nap or enough coffee to wake Rip Van Winkle.

“If you’re calling, I have a feeling it’s not going to be that second one.”