23

I glanced at the clothing he’d indicated, almost amused to find a selection of pastel colors—not an element of red or black in sight.

He retreated to the bedroom to stand guard once more and leave me to dress in probably the most expensive jeans I’d ever touched. They were soft and fit me like they’d been tailor-made.

“Are you ready?” He looked at me expectantly as I joined him the bedroom. “For a walk outside, I mean.”

I took a breath and nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be nice, actually.”

We walked down the stairs, and not even Mr. Baldwin lurked in any of his usual spots. I had no doubt that both he and Mrs. Ames were around somewhere, but neither of them made themselves known. Sounds from the kitchen told me Chef was already at work, and my stomach grumbled in Pavlovian response, but Nicolas only chuckled.

“Breakfast can be our reward for the walk.”

“Knowing how slow I walk, it’ll be beignets for brunch.” I cast a last longing look in the direction of the kitchen, but Nicolas led me farther back into his house, and we emerged from a door I hadn’t seen before.

We stood on a small, cobblestone patio area, where the branches of four trees had been trained into an old, living awning. A creeper with delicate flowers grew up the trunks, and wires hinted at fairy lights that would turn the space magical at night. An elegant wrought iron bistro table and chairs sat underneath.

“For brunch,” Nicolas murmured, his mouth much closer than I expected, and a delicious shiver of anticipation skittered across my skin.

I almost took his hand as he started walking, following a path that wound effortlessly and easily around large bushes of flowering swamp azalea and trees with deep green foliage, but I didn’t dare touch him. The idea of rejection played heavily on my mind. After all, he’d rested alongside me all night without so much as an accidental stroke across my skin or a kiss.

The air in Nicolas’s gardens was perfumed with citrus, and I inhaled appreciatively. “Everywhere smells like something I could eat.”

He glanced back, his lips quirking. “I don’t think I have any beignet trees yet.”

“But citrus?”

He reached up and tugged a leaf from a branch, crushing it in his hand before holding it out to me. “Yes, but the trees aren’t fruiting yet. Nothing to eat, but the scent permeates even the leaves. I think Chef uses them in his cooking sometimes.”

My stomach grumbled at another mention of Chef, and Nicolas laughed. Then he reached for my hand, hesitating before he took it, his gaze on me as I slipped my fingers into his. Relief relaxed his face, and his hold tightened on me.

“Come on, I’ll show you which trees are in fruit right now.” He led me down more unstructured paths, some of them gravel, some of them stone, and we passed various nooks with hidden benches or statues that watched us with blank-eyed stares.

The smell of rich, damp vegetation surrounded us, and the sunlight filtered through a canopy of green leaves to fall in thin shafts and dappled spots on the grass.

“It’s like a sanctuary,” I murmured. “Like we’re not even in civilization anymore. An Eden.”

He laughed. “Well, just in time, then. I give you the—” He gestured with a flourish. “Fig tree. Suitable for all your hunger and clothing needs.”

I glanced up at the mix of green and dusky purple fruits, and Nicolas broke one of the purple ones from its branch.

“The humble fig,” he murmured as he split it open, exposing the seeds in the middle. “Revered by the Ancient Greeks as a symbol of fertility and love.” He offered the fig to me, and I leaned forward, taking a bite from it as he held it between his fingers.

Some of the seeds spilled down my chin and he caught them on his thumb before pressing them between his lips.

“Also an aphrodisiac, of course.” His gaze lingered on mine as he spoke, and I took a second bite of the fig he held, my challenge silent.

And he met that challenge. I almost had to avert my eyes as he held one of the fruit halves to his mouth and curled his tongue expertly around the seeds, drawing them into his mouth before licking the juices quickly from his lips. My groan stayed in my chest, but my knees almost weakened and gave me away.

“We should take some back for brunch.” I couldn’t bear to stand here and watch him consume figs in such an arousing manner.

“If you like.” The light of challenge flickered in his eyes, but his voice was rougher than usual as he handed me several of the fruits to carry and took more for himself.

Then he paused, his fruit dropping to the ground, and he looked at me, his eyes suddenly a dull red. “Forgive me,” he murmured as he stepped toward me.

“Nic.” His name was a whisper on my lips, my own figs forgotten and discarded on the lawn as he pressed me to the trunk of a tree, his hands in my hair, his sticky lips on mine, my mouth opening to the gentle invasion of his tongue.

He groaned against me as his chest pressed against my breasts, the hard length of his erection against my hip.

“Leia.” He murmured my name as he teased kisses along the edge my jaw, one of his hands on my hip now, his thumb teasing the skin under the hem of my T-shirt.

I thrust my hands into his hair, tugging the silky strands between my fingers.

“Fuck, Leia.” He drew away, his breathing heavy, conflict in his eyes. “We should stop.”

“Why?” I flicked open the button on my jeans, and his eyes widened as I slipped them down my thighs. “Didn’t you once tell me your claim on me would protect me from other vampires?” I tried to appeal to some of his other instincts. Maybe the only ones he’d listen to.