Chapter Three

“Of course he’s going to call you.”

As Rubes threw that one out across the clinic break room, Ivie nodded, but didn’t say anything. It had been three nights since The Date, as she had come to think of it, and she hadn’t heard from Silas.

For the first night, she had been relieved he hadn’t reached out. For one, it preserved the perfection of the time they’d had, that kiss, that floating feeling she’d had afterward. Even though she didn’t like to admit it, she had put that moment when she’d stood against him in a mental snow globe, her recalls of the memory the shake that brought the golden sparkles down all over her once again.

For another, she hadn’t wanted him to be desperate to see her. Everything was so charged between them, from their chance meeting to the date to the kiss, that a quiet, reasonable part of her brain was sending out warning signals to pump the brakes, slow down, stay tight. The fact that he hadn’t rushed to contact her suggested he might be feeling the same way.

Plus, she had to work anyway, her four-night-on, two-night-off schedule forcing her to focus on other things.

“I am so proud of you, Ivie.” Rubes took a bite of her tuna salad sandwich. “You stuck your head out, and you took a chance, and look how it all went well.”

“I think the jury is still out, cuz.” Ivie split open her single-serve of Lay’s. “And that would be true even if he had called me.”

The second night after the date? Her memories had still been sharp, but the physical sensations were starting to fade, each thought of Silas or recollection more an echo of the passion than the sizzle itself. Optimism had still been high, though, and she had expected, at any moment, for him to hit her up. It had made her breaks when she could check her phone exciting, a spring on her step taking her into this break room like she was about to win a lottery.

Now, with night three, doubts were starting to creep in, even as she pointed out to herself that that was ridiculous. People got busy, even those who were, by their own admission, rich for a living. Besides, like he owed her anything?

Ivie looked at the clock on the far side of the tiled room. Two more hours and her shift was over, another eight-to-four in her rearview mirror. And then she got to go back to her apartment and do laundry. Yay.

“So are you going to move over to VIP?” she asked before popping another potato chip in her mouth. “I mean, more money is always good.”

Rubes tilted her head to the side. “Are you changing the subject?”

“Nope.” She crammed her fingers into the tiny bag. “I’m just going to miss you, is all.”

“Aww. I’m going to miss you, too.”

“So is that a yes?”

Rubes nodded. “I told Havers I would start next week. The raise is good, the shift hours are longer, though. I’ll be three nights and days here, four off.”

“You’re sleeping here?”

“In the bunkhouse. But I’ll be making an extra five hundred a week.”

Ivie recoiled. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t know it was that much.”

“The rich can pay for sure.”

Havers was the race’s only healer, and his subterranean clinic, which was at its new site across the river, treated everything from stubbed toes and bad hangnails to the most complex of cases including births, which were all high risk by definition, and advanced elderly care. Nobody was ever turned away, even if they could not pay, and there was one standard of care for all: the very best Havers and his nursing staff could give.

There was, however, a special unit for people who, by virtue of their wallet size and bloodline, could afford to be indulged—and Ivie had long supposed that that restricted-access part of the clinic was what paid for the many who were too poor to afford what they needed. Havers was running a business, after all, one with fixed costs like drugs and employees and expensive equipment that broke or needed maintenance—and then there was the reality that the massive facility had to be heated, cooled, and lighted.

So yes, if the rich wanted to check in, either because they had a problem or thought they had a problem, Havers and his special team put on their kid gloves and did what they did for the rest of the commoners, and charged the aristocracy an arm and a leg.

Rubes was going to be a perfect addition to that part of the clinic. She was beautiful and cheerful and so positive, you couldn’t help but be uplifted. She was also wired, so working round the clock and catching sleep when she could wasn’t going to affect her performance.

And yeah, wow, two thousand extra a month.

That was a whole lot of Zappos.

“Don’t worry, Ivie, I’ll still be around lots. I can come out and we’ll take our breaks together.”

“I’d like that.” Ivie collapsed her empty bag in her fist and got up, the chair squeaking over the clean floor. “I really would.”

“And you didn’t hear from that private job again?”

“Oh, I don’t expect to.”

Ivie snagged her empty sandwich bag and Coke can and headed across to the trash can. The break room had a kitchenette and three round tables with chairs, along with lockers, a sofa in front of a TV that was usually off, and a lending library of mostly current People magazines and not-as-current hardcovers and paperbacks. A door toward the back opened up to a bathroom that had showers and toilets, and then there was another one that led to the bunkhouse, where the bedrooms for the nursing staff were lined up one by one as if in a hotel.

“How’s your patient in four?” Rubes asked as she got up and ditched her trash, too.

“Getting better. Bone has set beautifully and her hellren came in and fed her again, so she’ll be out by tomorrow night at the latest.”

“Don’t you love a good outcome?”

“Yes, Rubes, I do.”

---

And this was why you didn’t let males you’d just been on a first date with take you home.

As Ivie shut her apartment door and dead bolted it, she thought back to the magic float she’d been rocking when she’d come home after The Date. Yeah…nope. Right now, she was pulling a pathetic polar opposite of that happy fizzy buzz, her feet plodding their way down to her bedroom, her back aching from work, her head thumping in a dull way that made up for its lack of magnitude with tenacity.

“It’s fine,” she said into the silence as she flopped down on her bed. “All good.”

After kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag, she fell back onto the duvet and stared at the ceiling. Man, she’d definitely made the right move not getting into that car with that guy. Things had been so electric between them, she might have done something stupid like invite him up here, and then where would she be with all this he-isn’t-calling—

Her phone went off in her purse and she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Right on schedule, it was her dad calling to make sure she’d gotten home safely from work. And she was tempted to let it go into voicemail, but that was cruel because he would worry.

With a grunt, she sat back up and dropped her hand into her bag to fish around—

Unknown Number. And not “unknown” as it was ten digits that were not entered into her contacts list, but literally the title Unknown Number.

Accepting the call, she said, “Hello?”

“I can’t wait any longer. I did the best I could.”

Ivie smiled so wide, she put her hand up to cover the dopey expression even though she was alone. “Well, as I live and breathe, Silas, son of Mordachy.”

His deep voice was raspy in a fantastic way. “I didn’t want to come across as overeager. So I waited. And waited. My goal was to make it to tomorrow so I didn’t look weak and clingy, but I cracked.”

“I’m glad you called. And if you’re brave enough to admit you broke down earlier than planned, I’ll meet you on that playing field and tell you I was starting to worry you wouldn’t be back.”

Oh, that laugh. “Not a chance. I can’t stop thinking about you—but not in a stalker way, I promise.”

“A stalker wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

“Exactly, so I’m a safe bet. How’s work been?”

Now, as she lay down again, she was back in the float-zone. “Good. One of my patients is going home tomorrow night after a complicated surgery, so I feel like I did my job. How’s being rich?”

“Oh, you know, I gold-leafed my toenails tonight, got the paws on my leopard rotated, and topped things off by burning a couple of Picassos in my fireplace. Same ol’, same ol’.”

There was a pause, and then his voice got even lower. “May I come over.”

Ivie closed her eyes as her body went loose. “It’s so close to dawn.”

“I won’t stay the day. I promise. I just want to see you for even an hour. The night after tomorrow is a long time.”

“I feel the same way. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Talk about hustle. The second she ended the call, she was up on her feet and in the shower, going through her soap, shampoo, and conditioner routine at a dead run. She spun through it all so fast, she could confidently relate to socks in a dryer.

Twelve and a half minutes later, she was dry, in yoga pants and a loose shirt, and out in the kitchen, shoving her First Meal dishes into the sink and making an orderly pile of the two days of mail she hadn’t opened.

The buzzer went off six minutes after that.

Not that she was counting or anything.

Hitting the release for the downstairs door, her heart went Mayweather in her chest as she waited for the knock.

“Screw it.”

Opening her door, she leaned out into the carpeted corridor…and there he was, coming down to her, his smile as big as hers, his body just the same, his face just the same.

His scent just the same.

No suit this time, and that was good. Instead, he had on a black cashmere sweater and a set of slacks that were dark gray. He looked polished, expensive…delicious.

“Hello, stranger,” she said as he stopped in front of her.

“Hi.”

They stood there, her hanging off the jamb of her door, him out in the hall for about twenty-five years.

“Do you mind?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, what?”

But then he was taking her face in his hands and lowering his head—and she was pulling him down to her mouth, his lips the only thing she wanted in the world.

It was quite possible she moaned as he kissed her. Or maybe that was him. Who cared.

They shuffled inside and she closed them in, and then she was against him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It was a long while before they eased back, and even when they did, it was just their mouths. Everything else stayed close.

Silas’s eyes were heavy lidded and glowing as he stared down at her. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Guess that’s all we’ve got for vocabulary, huh.”

“Mmm-hmm. But words are overrated, don’t you think?”

“If I can be kissing you instead? Absolutely.”

His mouth dropped down to hers again, his lips plying at her, his tongue coming out and licking for permission to enter. Broad, warm hands slipped around to her waist, and her breasts got tight as they met the wall of his pecs.

It was clear he was aroused.

And that got her even hotter.

But then he was cursing and putting her back from him. “Damn it. I promised myself I wouldn’t—”

“Do I look like I’m complaining over here?”

Silas smiled, but then went on a pace. Which lasted all of about four steps away to the sofa. With his back to her, his hands disappeared in front of his hips and she could guess what he was rearranging.

She closed her eyes and swayed at the thought of touching him.

“This isn’t a booty call.”

Ivie opened her lids and discovered he’d turned back around. “You know, I’m impressed an aristocrat knows that saying. Very vernacular.”

His expression grew serious. “I don’t understand.”

“Vernacular? Like, common talk.”

“Not that.” He came back over to her. “I don’t understand how I can miss someone I just met.”

She reached up and touched his face, tracing her fingertips over his jaw, his chin…his jugular. She had to consciously stop herself from thinking about what his vein would be like. If she immolated now, she would never know the reality of tasting him again.

“It’s called infatuation,” she joked. “Also known as the chemical attraction created by the Scribe Virgin to ensure propagation of the species.”

As a shadow passed over his face, she felt badly. “I’m sorry. Were you trying to be romantic and I just ruined it? I’m bad at romance, Silas. It’s another thing you might as well know about me up front.”

He was quiet for so long, she started to wonder if she had ruined things before they’d begun. But then he shook his head. “I love your honesty. And I feel like I owe some back to you.”

Now, her heart beat hard, but not from sexual anticipation. “Is this where you tell me you’re actually mated—”

“Not at all. I swear on the soul of my dearly departed mahmen, may she rest in peace unto the Fade, that I am totally single and seeing no one except you. But can I kiss you again? Because that is the only thing I want to concentrate on right now.”

She laughed. “Yes. Please.”

They ended up on the couch. She had no idea how they got there.

One minute, Ivie was standing against him, the next she was on her back and Silas’s weight was pushing her into the cushions. And then, when she parted her thighs, he accepted the invitation, settling himself between them, the hard ridge of his arousal stroking at her core through their clothes.

Rolling her hips, she arched into his body, and the groan he let out registered as a caress that went down into her abdomen.

When he pulled back, he was panting, his eyes at once glazed and hyper-focused. “Ivie…”

There was a question in the way he said her name, and her first thought, because he was an aristocrat, was that he was asking The Big One.

“I’m not a virgin.” She brushed his hair back, the strands thick and cool between her fingers. “I don’t know whether it matters to you, but either way, that’s what’s up and I am not ashamed of it.”

His smile was wry. “Well, neither am I. A virgin, that is. I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me.”

“Not at all.” She laughed. “After three centuries, you’d have to be a eunuch.”

“I haven’t been celibate. But I don’t have a rotating door to my bedroom.”

“If you look down that hall”—she nodded to the left—“you’ll notice that I don’t have one of those as part of my decor, either.”

“Something else we have in common. What else can there be?”

“I’m pretty sure you want to have sex as badly as I do right now.”

He closed his eyes. “Female, you are…”

“Too up front, right?”

“No. Never that. I…it’s what I like best about you—and let me tell you, that’s saying something. Because there is a lot I like about you.”

His eyes did another of that roam thing they tended to do, as if he wanted to memorize her features—which suggested he, too, might have been snow-globing their time together, just like her.

“I thought I loved him,” she blurted. “Just so you know.”

“The male you were with?”

She nodded. “There was only the one, and I really thought we were going to be together forever. But it was just—you know, two young people, crashing into each other, trying to figure life out. I was with him for a year and I have no regrets. He’s a male of worth, just not for me longer term. He lives down in South Carolina now, and if he comes to town to visit family, I will see him and wish him well. But there’s not…you know, there’s not anything there.”

Silas brushed her lips with his own. “So you’re telling me I don’t have to worry about any competition?”

“I’m afraid to answer that.”

“Why?”

“Guess.”

To stop the conversation, she slipped a hand behind his neck and brought him back to her, their mouths re-fusing, that fire breaking free of all constraints even though there were so many reasons to be more…well, reasonable.

She had never had a one-night stand before. But as a fully independent adult, she was not going to be bound by social expectations in the still-conservative vampire community. After all, she couldn’t get pregnant, because she wasn’t in her needing. And he certainly didn’t know her parents—so unless she chose to introduce him to them, no one would ever know. Sure, he’d met Rubes that first night, but if Ivie didn’t blab, her cousin wouldn’t be the wiser.

This was private.

“I want to see all of you,” he said. “Please…just let me…”

He didn’t have to ask twice. As he moved back, she was the one who took her loose shirt up and over her head, her plain cotton bra nothing special—because she hadn’t really thought this through to lingerie.

Not that she had much of the silk-and-lacey.

Silas’s eyes clung to her breasts. And then he was dipping down and running his lips over her collarbone. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m still covered,” she moaned.

“But it doesn’t matter what you look like.” He lifted his head and stared at her. “The details of size and shape don’t matter to me. The fact that it is you…that is what makes it beautiful to me.”

Time slowed and then stopped altogether.

Shaking her head, she whispered, “Why do you always say the right thing.”

He mumbled something she didn’t quite catch.

“What?” she gasped as he kissed down to her sternum.

“Nothing.”

And then she forgot all about talking because his lips were traveling over the thin cotton of her bra, brushing over her tight nipple, sucking her in through the fabric.

“Oh, God…Silas.”