“A kitchen?” I cried as we walked into the room, not able to hide the astonishment in my voice. “Why on Earth does a vampire coven have a kitchen?”

And it wasn’t just any kitchen either. It was huge, with all Viking stainless steel appliances and expensive looking quartz countertops. I thought back to my barely functional kitchen at home and shook my head.

“You guys don’t even eat!” I added, running my hand along the smooth countertop.

“But some of us love to cook.”

I turned to Logan, surprised. He shrugged. “I was a sous chef at a Michelin starred restaurant in New York City back when I was human. Old habits die hard.”

“Wow.” I gave a low whistle. “I had no idea.”

It was crazy, actually. I mean, not the chef thing. But the fact that he’d had this complete life before becoming a creature of the night. A normal human life—having lived more years that I had before turning. Here I kept pressing him on his sire, who had made him a vampire. As if that moment was all that mattered—and what came after it. But there was so much more to him. And that had to be part of him still.

“Well then, Chef,” I said with a smile, sidling up to the breakfast bar. “What’s on the menu?”

“I can whip up pretty much anything you like,” he said. “But you have to assist.”

Oh no. I shook my head. “Trust me, dude, you do not want my help. I, like, burn water when trying to boil it. I’d die of starvation if it weren’t for delivery.”

“Perhaps you have never had a good teacher,” Logan said smoothly, walking over and handing me an apron. I reluctantly slipped it over my shoulders. He walked around and tied the strings. I tried and failed not to notice how his hands felt, working against the small of my back, sending a delicious shiver up my spine.

I swallowed hard, stepping forward when he had finished. Mostly to remove the urge to lean back and grind up against him. Cause that would be weird. We were cooking! There was no sex in cooking!

Also, no sex in general. Of course. Definitively none.

Though I had to admit, this guy looked pretty hot in an apron. Like disturbingly so. And here I had thought a tux was his thing. But now, looking at him moving gracefully around the kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans, I saw that he was truly in his element. He loved this kitchen. He loved making food.

My stomach growled. And I loved eating it. Time to get this show on the road.

We settled on omelets and waffles. Mostly because it felt like morning, even though it was actually nighttime. I cracked the eggs (using a trick Logan taught me to avoid getting shells in the bowl), while he chopped peppers and tomatoes.

He didn’t talk much, just offered a few helpful suggestions here and there or asked me to retrieve an ingredient or two. But the silence felt comfortable rather than awkward. He was in the zone. And he was loving it. I couldn’t help but keep stealing peeks at him from the corner of my eye as he worked, admiring the confidence he exuded as he deftly worked the waffle batter. As he poured it into the waffle maker and shut the top, he turned to me with a grin.

“I could have made something much fancier,” he said.

“Trust me, this is perfect.”

“And just think—no water was harmed in the making of this breakfast.”

I laughed. “Like you said, I have a good teacher.”

“The best,” he agreed. Then he reached out, dragging a finger down my cheek. I gulped at the feel of his cool hand against my skin.

“Logan…” I breathed.

He pulled his finger away, holding it up for my inspection. “You had flour on your face,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Oh. I felt my cheeks flush bright red. Right.

He stepped closer to me. Meeting my eyes with his own. He reached out again, cupping my chin in his hands, staring down at me with intense eyes.

“More…flour?” I managed to squeak out, my knees practically buckling from under me at the intensity of his gaze.

“No,” he said.

Oh God. Oh God.

His hands dropped to my shoulders, massaging them gently. I bit my lower lip, so hard I probably nearly drew blood. Which, wouldn’t be good in front of a vampire. Though maybe it would inspire him to kiss me.

Not that he looked as if he needed much inspiration…

“Hannah,” he breathed, his full lips forming my name as if it were an actual caress. I sucked in a breath, trying to calm myself as my heart pitter-pattered like a crazy schoolgirl.

“Logan…”

BEEEP! BEEEEEEP!

We jumped apart. Logan swore under his breath. It took me a moment, in my half-dazed state to realize what was going on. What that noise was from. Then I saw the smoke.

The waffle was burning.

Logan opened the waffle maker. Sure enough, it was black. He groaned and threw it in the sink, then turned to the omelet, which wasn’t in any better shape. He threw it in the sink with the waffle.

“Well,” he said turning to me. “So much for your cooking lesson.”

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. For a moment Logan looked a bit offended. But then a smile spread across his face, too. And soon we were cracking up so badly we could hardly stand up. It was all so crazy, so absurd. Yet, so normal. As if I wasn’t in a vampire coven, scared for my life. But on some crazy dating reality show with hilarious hijinks galore.

Finally, we settled down. Logan gazed down at the blackened dishes in the sink. “So,” he said. “Shall I start again?”

“Do you have any Cheerios?” I asked. “Cause I’d be fine with that.”

“I would not be fine with that,” he shot back, giving me a scolding look. “Now sit down and let me cook for you, woman.”

I obeyed, plopping down on a stool behind the breakfast bar, watching Logan start all over again. I felt bad for him, having to work to feed me. I didn’t want to be high maintenance and really would have been fine with Cheerios. But I could tell he wanted to do this. And hey, who was I to turn down a home cooked meal?

It didn’t take long for him to recreate the feast. He’d also added bacon this time. The extra crispy kind that I preferred. He set down the steaming plate in front of me and I breathed in the heavenly scent.

“This is amazing,” I said.

His cheeks colored. “It’s a simple breakfast.”

“Simply amazing, you mean.” I took a bite. “Oh my God,” I cried. “This is so freaking good!”

He sat down next to me. For a moment he was silent. Then he said, “Do you mind if I watch you eat?” He shrugged. “I know that probably sounds weird. It’s just…well, eating was one of my biggest pleasures back when I was human. And it’s probably the thing I miss most.”

“Ugh. I can’t even imagine not being able to eat.”

“Well, as I said, I can eat a little,” he amended. “I mean, if I needed to keep up the appearance of being human, for example. But it all tastes like cardboard. I have no living taste buds. And I would probably throw it up later. My stomach can’t digest food—only blood.”

He looked so sad as he told me this. Longingly watching me put the fork to my mouth. My heart ached for him, trying to imagine what that would be like. To never taste food. Especially for someone whose life had revolved around food when he was alive. It seemed incredibly sad and incredibly unfair.

It was also something I never really considered when writing my vampire books. My vampires were so old, they barely remembered—or cared to remember—their previous lives. But for Logan, that life hadn’t been so long ago. And in a way he still seemed to be grieving his humanity.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asked, looking at me with concern. “You’re not eating.”

“Sorry,” I said, taking a big forkful and shoving it into my mouth. I closed my eyes, rejoicing in the deliciousness. “I just…feel bad, making you sit there and watch me eat.”

His mouth quirked. “Are you kidding? I am getting far too much pleasure watching you eat.”

I blushed again. God, he had such an ability to make me blush. But I pushed on, making a playful show of my next bite. He laughed and I almost choked on the bite I was laughing so hard, too.

He reached out, taking the fork from me. The laughter died on my lips as he cut a piece of waffle, then slowly dipped it in the maple syrup. Turning to me, he reached out, presenting it to me, as he met my eyes with his own. I involuntarily licked my lips, then leaned forward, taking a bite. The sweet syrup hit my mouth, almost causing me to moan in deliciousness. Logan smiled, pulling the fork from my mouth.

“You like?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” I replied. And, I suddenly realized, I wasn’t just talking about the food.

I liked this. I liked all of this.

And it was fast becoming a problem how much I did.

---

I finished eating—way more food than I’d meant to and we put the dishes in the sink. I offered to wash them, but Logan assured me the Blood Coven had servants to take care of that. And why not? This place had everything else. Of course they would have help as well.

“Where to next?” I asked.

He pursed his lips together. “Do you need to write?” he queried. “I don’t want you to get behind on your work on my account.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised he’d thought of that. Surprised that mattered to him. Usually no one took my deadlines seriously. I was touched that he considered this—and cared enough to ask.

“I don’t have my laptop,” I reminded him.

“I can get you one.”

“And where would I write?”

He grinned at the question. Evidently he had something in mind. “Follow me,” he said.

I did as he asked, walking with him down long underground corridors until we reached a glass door. Logan reached for the handle and pulled on it, bowing to me as it swung open.

“After you,” he said.

I stepped inside the room, my jaw dropping at what was on the other side. I had assumed it would be a workspace of some sort. A vampire hotel business center, if you will. But it was so, so much more.

An indoor, underground garden. Lush and colorful with plants winding around every surface, flowers blooming brightly under artificial light. There were cobblestone paths, weaving through the greenery and little benches to sit on along the way.

“It’s gorgeous!” I cried, turning back to Logan. “I had no idea!”

“It’s one of my favorite places here,” he admitted, stepping in behind me and closing the door. “Besides the kitchen, of course. Sometimes I come here and sit for hours, leaving the real world and all its problems far behind.”

“I would totally do that,” I agreed, practically skipping down the path. “How big is this place anyway?”

“It covers an entire acre.”

I let out a low whistle. “That is one big secret garden.”

“So you like it? Do you think you could write in here?”

“This would only be the best writing spot ever.”

“Great. Then let me go get you a laptop so you can get started.”

He turned back to the door. I watched him, feeling a slow warmth grow in my stomach. How thoughtful he was to want to let me work. To understand that I needed to write, even under these circumstances. His consideration was unlike any I’d ever gotten from a guy. And it made me want to both laugh and cry.

I swallowed hard, sinking down onto the bench. Okay, I scolded myself, you really need to slow your roll. Stop getting carried away. This isn’t some romance novel. This is real life. And it’s becoming a real problem.

The thought sobered me and I clasped my hands on my lap, trying to get my emotions back in check. Yes, this had been a delicious fantasy. But the reason we were here was because we were in danger. There were people out there—no, not people—vampires out there—who wanted to kill us.

But, I realized, that wasn’t really the biggest problem. The far bigger problem was how my feelings were growing for Logan. I had just met the guy, for God’s sake. And suddenly I was feeling all warm and gooey every time he opened his mouth. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was exciting. Yes, he was sweet and tender and kind. And considerate. But he was practically a stranger. Also, an immortal vampire. A vampire capable of vampire scent—which could draw a person under his thrall. For all I knew that was all this was. Me, seduced by a supernatural predator. Lulled into a false sense of safety and security. I barely knew this guy but I had put my entire life in his hands. I had allowed myself to feel for him more than I’d felt for anyone in years.

It was dangerous. It was stupid. It was what I’d sworn off for good. And I needed to keep that promise for myself. Or I was sure to get hurt. And I didn’t know if I could take any more hurt.

Logan returned a moment later, carrying a very nice laptop. I took it from him, muttering a thank you, but refusing to meet his eyes. I could feel his frown as he looked down at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a worried tone.

“Nothing,” I shot back. I pursed my lips together. “Um, I actually prefer to write alone.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll, um, let you get to it then.”

I could hear the hurt in his voice, mixed with confusion. He could clearly feel the change in the air, in my demeanor and it killed me to disappoint him. But at the same time, it was better for both of us. Better to rip off the Band-Aid now than let this—thing—whatever it was, fester between us.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he said, his voice stiff. “I hope you get a lot of writing done.”

And with that, he left me, going deeper into the garden. I watched him go, then turned back to my laptop, pulling it open. I clicked on Microsoft Word and started to type.

But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t lose myself in my fantasy world. Not with my real one pounding at the edges of my brain. Not with Logan wandering just out of sight in this beautiful underground garden.

For years all I cared about were my stories. They’d been more important to me than my actual life. But now, there was something else. Something more captivating than words on a page.

Make that someone.

I didn’t take risks. That was what I always told Darla. It was my mantra. Wrapped in stubborn pride. As if that made me an interesting person—my lack of being interesting. Really, it had been nothing more than a shield. To protect me from any possible hurt. Yet at the same time, my shield had also been my prison. And in addition to not getting hurt, I didn’t get better, either. That night Jake had violated my body. Now, years later, he was still violating my mind. Taking away my freedom, my chance at happiness. Forcing me to push away people who cared about me.

Logan had done nothing but treat me with respect and care. And I had treated him like he was just another Jake. I tried to tell myself it was because he was a vampire, but I knew deep down that wasn’t truly it. It was because he was a man. And I had allowed Jake to lock me up in a tower, a willing damsel in distress.

Which wasn’t fair. It was so not fair.

I set down the laptop. I rose to my feet. Took a step, then another. Slowly at first, then quickening. Until I was running down the path, my eyes darting down every turn or fork. My heart was in my throat. Tears were streaming down my face. But I kept running.

I found him standing in front of the most beautiful fountain. Made of stone with elegant carvings of fairies and flowers. Crisp, clean water cascaded from a bucket above, into the small pool, making a loud splashing sound.

I stood there for a moment, watching him watch the water. Taking in his broad shoulders, his trim waist, his powerful torso and muscular legs. But that wasn’t what sent the shiver of desire driving through me. Yes, he was a perfect physical specimen. But he was so much more than that, too.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Feeling suddenly stupid and hot and dumb. What was I going to say? How was I going to explain? Was he going to get annoyed with me? This hot and cold thing I had going on with him? How could I convince him that this time I really meant it. Especially when I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I did?

I turned and started to walk away. This had been an ill thought out idea, I told myself. I needed to reassess before I did something I would regret. Get a handle on my emotions. Come back to my senses again.

But as I took a step I accidentally kicked a rock, which rolled into another with a loud knocking sound. I froze. Then sheepishly turned around. Logan was staring at me.

“Did you…need something?” he asked in a tight voice.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing with a million things to say. The fear pricking at me, telling me I had one last chance to wimp out. To walk away.

But I shook my head. No. Not this time.

“Yes,” I said simply. “I need something.”

“And what, may I ask, do you need?”

I met his eyes. “You.”