Tall, Dark & Hungry

"I don't understand why this is such a big problem," Bastien said into the phone with forced patience. He couldn't believe that the important matter Meredith had needed his attention for was to call the florist about the arrangements for Kate and Lucern's wed¬ding. He supposed Kate, as the bride, would think this was important, and he did understand that, but the problem in question seemed rather petty to him. Yet the florist, a fellow with an unfortunately high-pitched voice and an equally unfortunate lisp, was acting as if it were a major catastrophe.



"I've already explained, Mr. Argeneau," the florist said in exasperation. "Our grower's entire crop of Sterling roses was hit by--"



"Yes, yes. Aphids ate them."



"Not aphids, sir," the florist corrected with exag¬gerated patience. "It was--"



"It doesn't matter," Bastien interrupted, his own patience beginning to slip. The man was making this more difficult than necessary. The answer to this dilemma seemed simple enough. "Your grower's roses are gone. So go to another grower."



There was a brief pause, followed by a long-suffering sigh. "Mr. Argeneau, one cannot just drop down to the local nursery and buy several hundred Sterling roses. These are rare flowers. They're snapped up before they've even finished growing."



"So substitute a different rose, then," Bastien suggested.



"The Sterling rose was the centerpiece of the whole wedding!" the man wailed. "All the arrange-ments and colors were chosen to offset it. One can't just--"



Bastien frowned, his ears straining as the fellow suddenly fell silent. He was sure he'd heard a catch in the florist's voice before he'd stopped talking. The guy was really upset. He must be one of those emo¬tional artist types, Bastien decided--though he would never have thought of a florist as an artist. The guy certainly had the temperament, though. "Hello? Roger, was it?"



"Roberto," the man snapped, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. My assistant just handed me a fax with more bad news. This time about the urns Ms. Leever chose."



"Yes?" Bastien asked warily.



"There was a fire at the plant where they're pro¬duced. It's caused delays. The urns won't get here in time for her wedding."



"Of course they won't," Bastien muttered. He pushed one hand through his hair and sighed. "Look, just put in roses that are as close in color to the origi¬nals as possible, and use urns as close in style and everything will be fine." That seemed a reasonable solution. He gathered by the stony silence that fol¬lowed this suggestion that the florist didn't think so.



"When does Ms. Leever return to the city?" Roberto finally asked.



"I'm not really sure," Bastien admitted. Kate hadn't been too clear on the matter in her rush to get moving, and he hadn't thought to ask when Lucern called to let him know they'd arrived safely. Person¬ally, he almost hoped the couple would be gone the whole two weeks until the wedding. Bastien was pretty sure Kate would hog Terri's time when she came back, and he had plans for doing that himself.



"I simply must talk to her. Either you'll have to have her call me or give me the number where she can be reached. These problems must be resolved now, to be sure we have the supplies we'll need on hand to have the arrangements made for the church and reception on time." It wasn't a request, but an imperious announcement.



Bastien scowled at the phone, then glanced at the clock on his desk. It would be midafternoon in Cali¬fornia. He doubted Kate would be in her hotel room just now, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to call and find out.



"Hold," he barked into the receiver, then put the man on hold. He next buzzed Meredith's desk, hop-ing she hadn't left for the night.



"Yes, sir?"



Bastien sighed in relief. "Put me through to Kate's hotel in California please, Meredith," he ordered. He added as an afterthought, "And thank you for not leaving yet."



He didn't wait to see if she knew what hotel Kate was in; Meredith knew everything. Besides, she'd told him that Kate had called the office earlier that day to leave a contact number in case they had to reach her.



"Miss Leever on line two, sir," Meredith an¬nounced a moment later,



"Thank you." Bastien pushed the button for that line, and was immediately greeted by an anxious Kate.



"Meredith gave me a quick rundown of the prob¬lem. She says you have Roberto on the other line. Can you conference-call us?"



Bastien blinked. He wasn't surprised that Mered¬ith had given her a rundown; doing so saved him some time and trouble, which was what his secretary did best. And fortunately, to ensure that someone would call him back, Bastien knew the florist had explained the problem to Meredith when he'd called earlier that day. His surprise was at the panic appar¬ent in Kate's voice. She had always seemed a per¬fectly sensible woman to him. This kind of reaction to the loss of one stupid type of flower and a silly urn seemed a bit excessive. Was the whole world going mad? Spring fever, he thought wisely. That was probably the explanation for his fascination with Terri, too.



"Bastien? Can you conference-call us?" Kate re¬peated impatiently.



"Er... yes," he said. "Hang on." He pushed the necessary series of buttons, then said, "Hello?"



"Yes," Lucern's fiancee said at the same time the florist squeaked, "Mr. Argeneau?"



"Oh, Roberto!" Kate cried with relief, apparently recognizing the man's voice.



Bastien sat back and twiddled his thumbs as the two went into crisis mode, both wailing in distress about the lost Sterling roses, then exchanging horri¬fied exclamations over the delayed urns. It was all just too much, they agreed. Horrible. Ghastly. Tragic.



"Tragic," Bastien agreed, just to keep them from thinking he wasn't listening or interested. He wasn't really, though. He wished they'd hurry up and settle down to discussing what had to be done to repair the damage, rather than wasting time lamenting over how this could positively ruin the entire wedding.



"Good Lord!" Terri gaped at the crammed kitchen cupboards. They had gone from completely bare to overflowing in the space of two days. Anything and everything a body could want now filled the shelves. If nothing else, Bastien's secretary was certainly thor¬ough, Terri decided as her gaze slid over the rows of neatly stacked and organized food. There was so much now, she couldn't decide what to have.



"Do you feel like anything specific, Vincent?" she asked.



"Are you on the menu?" he asked.



Terri laughed, not taking the comment seriously. Vinny was an actor. She had no doubt that flirting was second nature to him. He probably wasn't even aware when he did it anymore.



She closed the first cupboard and opened another, her brow knitting as she looked over more food. It had never occurred to her that confusion would be the result of so much choice. It was, though--which was a pain, because Terri wasn't even really hungry, but knew she'd be starving halfway through the play if she didn't have a little something now. But what to have? Vincent obviously wasn't going to be any help. Perhaps C.K. would be more useful.



Closing the cupboard door, Terri smiled absently at Vincent as she stepped around him and moved back out into the living room.



"What do you feel like having to eat?" she asked Chris, who had relocated himself from his guest room. He glanced away from the television to raise a questioning eyebrow.



"Nothing. I'm stuffed," he said. "I've been eating all day, ever since the first food began to arrive."



"Oh." Terri sank down onto the edge of the couch next to him to contemplate the matter.



"How was the Met?" C.K. asked politely after a moment.



"It was fun." She perked up slightly at the mem¬ory. "They have lots of cool stuff there. We didn't get to see everything, though. It's so huge! But Bastien said we can go back another time."



Chris nodded. "It's probably better to go a couple times than to try to cram it all in one day anyway."



"Yes," Terri agreed, then asked, "How was your day?"



"Oh, you know. Long. Boring." Chris sighed, then his gaze landed on the stacked manuscript on the coffee table. "I did try to work, but the pain is distracting."



"Hmm." Terri nodded sympathetically as he rubbed his leg above the cast. She'd never had a bro¬ken bone in her life, and had no real idea how painful it must be. But it seemed best to keep him off the subject, so she asked, "What did you eat?"



She hoped that his answer might help her decide what to have, too. But the young man's answer brought a grimace to her face.



"Chips, cheese, and sausage." He shrugged.



"That's hardly a healthy diet," Terri chastised.



"Well, there was no one to cook for me. I had to fend for myself," the editor said defensively, then pat¬ted the set of crutches Terri hadn't noticed leaning against the couch. "Fortunately, Bastien's secretary brought these babies up half an hour ago. I can get around on my own now."



"Good," she said, aware that Bastien and Vincent had been helping the man get to and from his bed¬room each day. She didn't know if he needed help dressing and undressing, but thought he would prob¬ably want some more fresh clothes soon, too. She'd have to mention it to Bastien, Terri decided, then al¬lowed her mind to return to her problem.



She glanced to Vincent, who had followed her out of the kitchen. "You're sure you can't think of any¬thing special or specific you'd like to snack on?"



The man gave a desultory shrug. "You smell good enough to eat."



Terri laughed and shook her head. His flirting was kind of nice. And she was sure he was basically harm¬less. Unlike his cousin, who didn't flirt but lulled a girl into a false sense of security by talking about this and that and life in general for days on end, fascinat¬ing and amusing her with tales of past antics and present life, until her jaws ached from smiling so much and laughing so often. Bastien hadn't passed a single flirtatious comment since her arrival, leaving her to simply enjoy his company until, boom! He took her by surprise by suddenly grabbing and kissing her with an ardor that had brought her own passions to abrupt and startling life.



Passions she hadn't even known she had, Terri ad¬mitted unhappily, moving back into the kitchen to check the contents of the fridge. Bastien was defi¬nitely the more dangerous of the two men. At least to her heart.



Bastien listened idly to the chatter on the phone, his mind wandering to Terri and their shared kiss. She'd tasted of the strawberry smoothies she'd been drink¬ing, sweet and delicious. That kiss--while far too brief, thanks to those squawking birds--had been po¬tent. Bastien had quite forgotten himself. He'd been right there, in front of the museum where anyone might have seen, but he didn't care. He'd have liked to continue forgetting himself, too--and would have, if not for those stupid birds.



"Damned pigeons," he muttered.



"What pigeons?" Kate asked.



"The ones who interrupted my kissing Terri."



"You kissed Terri?" Lucern asked.



"I told you he was falling for her, darling," Kate said with glee.



Bastien blinked in confusion, realizing that he had somehow joined the conversation again and flowers were no longer the topic at hand. "Luc? When did you join this phone call?"



"I picked up the other phone when you put Kate on hold. It's my wedding, too," he said by way of ex¬planation. "Now, stop changing the subject. How was it?"



"How was what?"



"The kiss."



"I--" Bastien paused, floundering. The kiss had been wonderful. Passionate and sweet, it had made him hunger for more. But he wasn't telling them that. He was saved from trying to figure out a re-sponse by a most unlikely source: Roberto.



"Ahem. Might we get back to the issue at hand?" The florist sounded pretty prudish all of a sudden. Gone was the drama and wailing.



"Oh, yes, Roberto. Of course." Kate sighed. "I think your idea is the best. Do you have Bastien's address?"



"What does he need my address for?" Bastien asked in dismay. What had he missed while he'd been mooning over that kiss?



"To send some sample arrangements to you so that you can take pictures of them with your digital cam¬era and send them to Kate via e-mail," Lucern said. "You weren't listening, were you? Mooning over Terri would be my guess."



"I liked you better when grunting was your com¬munication of choice," Bastien told him grimly. He was surprised to hear a chuckle from his older brother.



"Very good," Roberto inserted, sounding as prim as an old woman. "Yes, I wrote down the address. I'll start right now and have them delivered first thing in the morning for Mr. Argeneau to take pictures. Please, please, please choose as quickly as you can, so we can be sure to get what we need in time."



"Yes, Roberto. I promise I will," Kate assured him. "Either Lucern or I will check every hour to see if he's e-mailed the pictures, and we'll choose at once."



"Good, good." Roberto took a moment to expos¬tulate again on what a terrible tragedy this all was be¬fore saying good-bye and hanging up.



"Well," Kate murmured once he'd gone.



"Yes, well, Bastien?" Lucern queried.



"Well, I'll be sure to send those photos to you the minute the arrangements arrive," Bastien said quickly. "Now, I'd better get going if I want to be ready in time to take Terri to the theater tonight. Bye." He hung up before either Kate or Lucern could protest, and grinned at the fact that he'd man-aged to avoid the grilling he would surely have got.



Whistling softly, Bastien stood and crossed the room to the bar in the corner of his office. There were two fridges behind it: one unlocked and a smaller locked one. He unlocked the smaller fridge, retrieved a bag of blood, and relocked it. He then opened his mouth, extended his teeth, and slammed the bag into them as he walked back across the room.



Bastien checked the messages on his desk while in¬gesting the blood. None of them seemed to be ur¬gent, which meant either he had some damned fine people working for him who were capable of taking care of matters on their own, or he wasn't as indis¬pensable as he'd always thought.



Perhaps that was a good thing, Bastien thought as he tossed the now empty blood bag in the wastebas-ket under his desk and left his office. He said good night to Meredith, who was gathering her things in preparation for leaving, then walked to the elevator to the penthouse.



Bastien considered the night ahead as he rode up¬stairs. He had about an hour to get ready for the play, which was plenty of time. And he'd made late reser¬vations at a nice little Italian restaurant not far from the theater. He hoped Terri liked Italian. As he re¬called, it had always been one of his favorites back... well... a long time ago, when he still used to find food interesting.



He was debating whether they should take a taxi to the theater, or go by car, when the elevator opened onto the penthouse. A taxi, he thought, would be the better option; he really didn't want to be bothered with finding parking.



"Do you like cheese on your salad?" Terri asked as she finished slicing celery. She'd decided that salad was the smart choice to snack on: healthy, quick, and light enough to tide her over until the meal after the play; and it wouldn't leave her uncomfortably full. "Whatever you like," was Vincent's answer. He was leaning back against the counter beside her, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles in a relaxed pose as he watched her work. They'd been chatting amicably about her stay so far. Vincent seemed curious to know where Bastien had been tak¬ing her, and if she was having a good time.



Terri had enthused about everything she'd seen and done, and how kind and amusing and smart Bastien was, and how he seemed to make everything more interesting, when she heard herself and realized she was gushing. She sounded pathetic--like a woman falling in love.



She'd quickly cut herself off and asked about the cheese to change the topic.



"I haven't seen Bastien like this in a long, long time."



Vincent's announcement drew Terri's curious gaze. "Like what?"



"Happy."



Terri felt a leap of hope and excitement, but quickly stifled it. Ducking her head, she turned her attention back to what she was doing. "Oh?"



"Yes. We were a lot younger then. Practically boys compared to now." There was an irony in his tone Terri didn't understand, but she forgot all about it when he added, "And he was in love."



Those words had the oddest effect on Terri. First she was hit by shock. That was followed by a twinge of pain in the vicinity of her heart. Stupid reactions, the both of them, she thought faintly. A man would hardly reach Bastien's age without falling in love at least once. Terri hadn't yet asked, but she was assuming he was her age or a little older. Besides, she didn't "love" him, she assured herself, so she had no right to feel anything about his having loved before.



"That woman broke his heart," Vincent an¬nounced. "I'd hate for you to do the same."



Terri was so startled by the comment, and the as¬sumptions it made in regard to Bastien's feelings, that she jerked her head around to gape at him in the middle of slicing the last bit of celery.



Vincent's eyes didn't meet hers; they were on the celery she was cutting. Terri saw concern flash across his face as he called, "Be careful, you're going to cut your--"



"Ouch!" Terri jumped and dropped the knife as pain radiated up from the pointer finger of her left hand. Reacting instinctively, she caught the wounded digit in her right hand and pressed it close to her body, holding it tight in an effort to end the pain, not to mention cut off the blood that was probably cours¬ing from it.



Vincent rushed over to her. "Here, let me see it."



Terri hesitated, then raised both hands and forced herself to open her fingers and reveal the wound, then flushed with embarrassment. It had hurt like the devil, but was really just a small cut she saw with self-disgust. She'd reacted as though she'd lost a limb.



"Sometimes the smallest cuts are the most painful," Vincent commented, as if he'd read her thoughts. He was examining the wound, and the small bit of blood leaking from it, with a fascination that was a little un¬settling. Especially when he suddenly inhaled, as if smelling a wildflower.



"Vincent!"



The crack of Bastien's voice made both Vinny and Terri jump in surprise. Retrieving her hand, Terri turned to smile uncertainly at her host. He didn't even notice the effort, let alone appreciate it. His eyes were focused on his cousin.



"Hello, Bastien. Rough half hour at the office?" Vincent teased lightly. Then he gestured to Terri. "She cut herself slicing celery. I was just looking at it for her."



Bastien immediately started forward, his expression softening with concern. It was a relief to know the blood he'd smelled upon entering the kitchen hadn't been from a bite. That scent, combined with the way the two had been huddled together, had led him to think Vincent had bitten Terri. He was glad he was wrong. "Is it bad?"



"Fortunately, no." Vincent stepped aside to let him take his place examining Terri's cut. "A bandage should take care of it. I'll go see if we have any."



Bastien was aware of the other man slipping from the room, but merely clasped and lifted Terri's hand to examine the injury for himself. Much to his relief, his cousin was right and it wasn't a bad cut. It was small and shallow enough that it didn't even really need a bandage, but the smell of the few drops of blood that had slipped from the wound was strong enough that Bastien was almost heady from it. He supposed it would have been worse for Vincent, who hunted at night so had yet to feed today. Which meant Bastien probably owed him an apology. He had just ingested a bag of blood, yet was hard pressed not to stick Terri's finger in his mouth and suck away the small bit of blood. Yet, Vincent had been manag¬ing to resist, despite likely being ravenous.



"It should be fine, but I'll go see how Vincent is making out finding that bandage," Bastien said gruffly. He released her hand and left the kitchen quickly, fleeing the temptation in search of his cousin. He found Vincent in the office at the back of the penthouse, prowling like a hungry tiger.



"I didn't bite her," he said at once. "We were just talking about you."



"I know. I'm sorry," Bastien began; then he paused and blinked. "About me?"



Vincent relaxed and nodded. "She likes you, Bastien. I mean really likes you. But there's something else there. Some fear is keeping her from giving in to her feelings. She may not be an easy conquest."



"I don't want to conquer her, Vincent. She isn't a foreign country with riches I covet."



"Then what do you want from her?"



Bastien was silent. He didn't know the answer. He hadn't been this fascinated by a woman in a long time, perhaps ever. He didn't even remember feeling this drawn to Josephine. He certainly had never felt so comfortable with the woman he'd always consid¬ered the love of his life. There was something so nat¬ural about Terri. She expressed what she felt with a distinct lack of concern for what people would think; she didn't bother to try to act as if she knew some¬thing when she didn't, lest she look foolish. Terri was honest and accepting and made Bastien feel as if he could be himself around her, as if that was enough.



He wanted to be just as honest in return. That was a feeling he was constantly fighting, afraid that if he re¬vealed the facts of his vampirism, she would shun him as Josephine had.



"That's a risk you'll have to take eventually, if you want a serious relationship with her. This is a new era, though. Vampires are 'in' right now. Terri might not react like Josephine at all." Vincent didn't bother to try to hide the fact that he'd been reading his cousin's mind. Wrought with turmoil as he was, Bastien hadn't remembered to guard his thoughts. "Can you read her mind?"



Bastien shook his head. He'd tried while shopping that afternoon and hadn't been able to read a thing.



Vincent nodded solemnly. "You'll have to tell her eventually. Perhaps Kate can help you. They're cousins. Terri might take it better from her anyway." Vincent moved to the door. "I'm going out for a snack. Enjoy your night."



Bastien watched the door close behind his cousin, then stood unmoving for several minutes. He felt restless, empty, hungry. That last thought had him crossing to the locked fridge in his desk to retrieve a bag of blood. He popped his teeth into it, ingested it quickly, then tossed the empty bag away in disgust. It didn't help what ailed him. Bastien still felt empty. Blood wasn't what he was hungry for. What he yearned for. What he really wanted was someone of his own. Someone to complete him. He wanted to belong to someone. To someone who could accept his differences and embrace him with them. He wanted unconditional love. More to the point, he wanted Terri's unconditional love.



"That was wonderful."



Bastien smiled at the enthusiastic smile on Terri's face and the excited color in her cheeks. Thinking she'd enjoy it, he'd taken her to see The Phantom of the Opera, and found he'd quite enjoyed it himself. "Are you hungry?"



"Starved," she admitted with a laugh. "That salad stopped tiding me over about an hour ago. What about you?"



"I could do with a little something," Bastien an¬swered vaguely. He wasn't really hungry, but was looking forward to sitting across a table from Terri, watching her eyes dance and sparkle and her expres¬sions change as she talked. "The restaurant is only a block or so away. Can you walk that far in your high heels, or should I hail a taxi?"



"Walking sounds fine," she assured him. "I'm used to wearing high heels all day at work."



"You look good in them." Bastien glanced down her short black cocktail dress to her legs in their sexy black nylons and high-heeled strapped sandals. Terri looked lovely, and somehow incredibly sexy despite the fact that the dress she wore wasn't the least bit re¬vealing. It was sleeveless and short, but not indecently so, stopping just above the knee. And while it had a V-neckline, it wasn't cut so low as to reveal more than a hint of cleavage.



They chatted about the play as they left the theater, discussing the scenery, the costumes, and the music. Conversation became more restrained once they reached the restaurant. They were shown to their table at once and offered menus. Terri's menu had no prices on it, while his did, and he grinned at her vex¬ation over that fact. She would not be paying for this meal no matter what. Her pride would have to take a backseat this evening. He wanted to treat her as she deserved: to be wined and dined and waited on like a princess.



The food was delicious and the service excep¬tional, but about halfway through the meal, Bastien began to wish he'd taken Terri someplace a little less formal. The hushed, monied atmosphere was a bit constraining, making them both less talkative. Bastien missed Terri's enthusiasm and the tinkle of her laugh¬ter, for she had it well leashed.



The moment she was finished eating, he suggested they walk up the street to another place he knew for their after-dinner drink. The alacrity with which she agreed told him that while Terri had found the restaurant enjoyable, she too would prefer an atmo¬sphere more conducive to their talking. Bastien sus¬pected that trying to behave in such a subdued manner was killing her.



They walked the short block to Maison, a restau¬rant/bar he knew had an atmosphere that would al¬low them to talk more comfortably. The patio was open and filled with people enjoying the unseason¬ably warm night air, and Bastien was pleased when she suggested they sit outside.



Their conversation returned to the play, and Terri's enjoyment of it was so obvious that Bastien decided they should perhaps go to a couple more while she was in town. That thought reminded him that she would eventually leave to fly home to England, an idea that he found made him grimace with displea¬sure. He was enjoying her company and the escape from a life that, until now, had seemed just fine--but in retrospect it seemed dull and bleak with its focus on business and little else.



How had he lived such an empty existence for so long when there was so much pleasure to be had in life?