A Vampire's Honor (3 page)

“I should have known,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, “that this was going to blow up in my face.”

“What was?”

Picking up the bottle of merlot, he refilled my glass. “I thought you might like a place of your own.”

“Whatever for?”

“For your . . . stuff.”

“My what?”

“I don't like the idea of all your possessions being boxed up and sitting on a ten-by-twenty slab of concrete surrounded by corrugated metal walls. You don't seem to want to bring anything to the penthouse, so I thought if you had an apartment of your own, you could get everything out of storage.” He paused.

“What?”

He sighed. “And I thought perhaps Laycee might be more comfortable visiting you in a place that felt like it was more you and less . . . me.”

He had a point. Had I become involved with a regular non-vampire guy and moved into his penthouse apartment, my BFF would have already found a way to get invited for an extended stay, just so she could see how the other half lived. I loved Laycee dearly and always would, but if I thought my introduction to the presence of vampires had been shocking, her experience had been brutal.

Katja was the only female vampire I'd met so far. Gorgeous enough to be on the cover of any high-end fashion magazine, she was also obsessed with Gabriel. When her attempt to get me to dump him failed, she took it upon herself to reveal the truth about my boyfriend. It wasn't the ideal way to learn I'd been sleeping with a vampire, but it didn't have the outcome Katja had been hoping for. Being Gabriel's Promise meant more than just a casual fling. The beautiful vampire wasn't about to give up, however, and decided to use my best friend as coercion. But after hearing that her psychotic abductor was a vampire, Laycee's knee-jerk reaction had been to laugh. Which was not appreciated by Katja. In retaliation, she broke Laycee's wrist with a squeeze of her fingers, something hard to believe from a girl who looked as if she'd have difficulty opening the packaging inside a cereal box. But a flash of Katja's dental work had sealed the deal, and when the realization hit Laycee that I'd been sleeping with a vampire. . . well, it was asking a lot for anyone to accept. Even if they had known you since second grade.

When Laycee and I finally discussed the events of that particular night, we both knew there was no going back. Laycee wanted a normal life. One that involved marriage, children, and PTA meetings. What she didn't want were supernatural creatures that might tag along with me. So the only way she knew to protect herself, and her new family, was by letting me go. It might have been the right thing to do, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. On both sides. You don't just walk away from someone you've known since you were six years old. A fact Gabriel recognized.

“Having a baby changes everything,” Gabriel said in a voice that told me he'd given the matter some thought. “I can't imagine Laycee not wanting to share this with you. I understand her concerns, especially about me, but I don't think it's going to be possible for her to shut you out of her life completely. No matter what either of you think. Perhaps having your own place will make it easier for both of you.” I hoped he was right because I really missed my best friend. “I'm sorry. I should have discussed this with you first. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

It was a wonderful gesture and another example of how well Gabriel knew me—sometimes better than I knew myself. “I don't know if she'll . . .” I let the rest of my sentence stay unspoken. We both knew if Laycee and I were to resume anything close to a friendship, she had to be the one to make the first move. The decision to put some distance between us had been hers; the olive branch had to come from her also.

“She just needs some time,” Gabriel said as he sat down next to me. “But if it makes you feel better, do this for me. I really don't want your possessions kept in storage, and there's a spare bedroom that you could use for your father's things.”

He had a point about my belongings. Apart from my clothes, the only other items I'd brought to his penthouse were a few books and one or two photographs. All of which I kept in the master bedroom, because somehow pictures of my dad didn't look right perched on a shelf next to a vase that was probably from the Ming dynasty.

“I realize what you've given up for me, Rowan. It's going to take time getting used to being with each other—”

“You mean it's going to take me some time,” I amended quietly.

He sighed. “I don't ever want you to regret the decision you made.” Raising my hands, he turned them over and kissed the inside of each wrist. It was a gesture filled with tenderness and warmth.

“Can I ask you a favor?” There was a lump in my throat, and it took a couple of swallows to dislodge it.

Gabriel's long, slender fingers tightened around my hand, and his face took on an earnest, yet guarded, expression. “Of course, anything you want.”

“As we've already christened the bathroom . . . do you think we could do the rest of the apartment now?”

It really was too bad that a few days later my wonderful, thoughtful vampire lover proved he could be just as stupid as anyone else on the planet with two legs and a cock.

I
stared down at the colorful array of silky material that filled the drawer before me and didn't recognize a single item. “What the . . .” I muttered as my hand rifled through the contents. Hitching my towel a little higher, I closed the drawer and opened the one below, and then the next. All of them were filled with the most exquisite items of lingerie, and none of them were mine. Trust me, a woman recognizes her own underwear.

When I moved in with Gabriel, I didn't have to ask him to empty a dresser drawer or give up wardrobe space for me. One side of the massive walk-in closet in the master bedroom had deliberately been left empty. Gabriel had never doubted that it would hold my clothes. I had stared, open-mouthed, at what looked like a half mile of empty padded hangers on the rail above my head. I was equally astounded by the custom-built cabinetry below it—empty drawers interspersed with sections of open shelving that I was expected to fill with my shoes, purses, and other fashionable accessories. Hah! My idea of accessorizing was to actually carry a purse. It never occurred to me to see if it matched my shoes or anything else I was wearing.
Fashionable
was not in my vocabulary.

As I began making my way toward the open doorway, my progress was halted by a set of drawers that were partially open. Lined with a pretty floral silk, the vibrant colors caught my eye. I pulled open the drawer a little further, and the light scent of freesias filled the air. “And what am I supposed to put in here?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at Gabriel.

“Your lingerie,” he replied, giving me a smile that was very wolfish and completely alpha male.

But now, as I opened the familiar silk-lined drawers, I was horrified to find there was nothing within that was even remotely familiar. “Oh no, please tell me he didn't,” I said in a voice that clearly illustrated my displeasure to anyone listening.

I pulled out a coffee-colored satin bra. Exquisitely decorated with small bows and tiny seed pearls, it could have qualified as a work of art. I let it fall from my fingers onto the plush carpet at my feet as I reached for another beautiful item. This one was a daring magenta trimmed with black lace. It joined its mate on the floor. My frenzied hands removed one gorgeous item after the other. There were satin bras, wispy camisoles, and lace panties, along with a few other items that looked as if an engineering degree might be required in order to put them on.

I stared down at the froth of aquamarine lace I held in my hand. Any prior admiration for the skill and dexterity required to produce such an item, even if it was done by machine, was suddenly wiped away by another feeling altogether. This scrap of fabric was actually supposed to cover my ass? I snorted in disgust at the garment's complete lack of practical usefulness. There was only one reason a woman would wear something like this. Resentment, as thick and viscous as anything from the La Brea Tar Pits, began to bubble inside me. What the hell had Gabriel been thinking?

My inner bitch sometimes had problems differentiating between rhetorical questions and real ones.

None of this was me. I was a Fruit of the Loom and Bali bra type of girl. Making a purchase from Victoria's Secret was about as exotic as I got. I didn't frequent shops that sold . . . I began checking labels: La Perla—Fleur of England—Agent Provocateur. Agent Provocateur? You gotta be kidding me—what idiot came up with that one?

Probably some guy who hadn't been laid in a while?
my inner bitch offered helpfully.

Yeah, I could believe that.

“Rowan . . . what's wrong?”

I wasn't surprised to hear his voice or note the deliberate mildness of his tone. Always able to sense my mood, Gabriel was only too keenly aware of my simmering anger. I turned around and glared at him.

“Where's my underwear?” I demanded.

“It would appear that you are standing in it,” he answered reasonably.

I didn't want reasonable. I wanted to stomp my foot, but it isn't quite the same when you're standing on plush carpet. “No, where's
my
underwear?” I demanded.

“Rowan, sweetheart, that
is
your underwear. Who else's would it be?” he added in an even voice.

“This isn't mine,” I insisted stubbornly. “It's yours.”

He chuckled and flexed his biceps, which in turn made my thigh muscle twitch. “I don't think I'd look half as good in any of it as you would.”

Oh fuck me sideways,
my inner bitch groaned,
he thinks you're trying to be funny.

It was disappointing to know that male vampire DNA could be just as idiotic as its human counterpart.

I took a deep breath in through my nose and exhaled slowly before I spoke. “This isn't my underwear, Gabriel, this is all
yours.
Everything here is something
you
want to see me wear.”

“Of course it is.” If he was any more agreeable, he'd leave me no choice but to slap him. “But these are all items you would have bought for yourself... eventually.”

I stared at him, appalled by his chauvinistic attitude. What was wrong with my underwear? It had been good enough before I moved in with him, so what had changed? Did he really think that living with him meant he was entitled to make decisions for me? Indignation made me bristle and my temper climb a notch higher. I picked up a hanger and waved the item at him. At first glance, the lingerie appeared to be a black bra and matching pair of panties, joined together in some bizarre fashion with a number of buckled straps. It seemed to me that a contortionist might experience some difficulty putting it on. “You think I would actually buy something like this? For myself?”

Of course not,
my inner bitch chimed in,
but you gotta admit, it does look very interesting . . . and sexy.

“Ah, that . . .” Unfolding his arms, Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair and had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “The saleslady assured me Lady Gaga has something just like it.”

I stared at him, aghast. “And that's supposed to make me feel better?”

“It doesn't?” he asked, mildly surprised by my apparent lack of enthusiasm.

“Knowing Lady Gaga has something like this doesn't make me feel better, Gabriel. It scares the shit out of me.”

He shook his head, moving the white waterfall of hair across his shoulders. It was obvious he wasn't grasping why I was upset that
my
underwear, my perfectly good one-hundred-percent-cotton bikini panties and underwire bras, had all disappeared. Replaced, apparently, with ridiculously expensive designer lingerie.

He folded his arms again, and I forced my thighs to behave. “Okay, I'll admit it might have been a little presumptuous of me to get that for you.” He tilted his chin at the Lady Gaga outfit still in my hands.

“But aren't I allowed to give you a gift?”

For someone who was normally so in tune with me emotionally, Gabriel was now being maddeningly obtuse.

“A gift would be a negligee for Christmas or my birthday or Valentine's Day, and it would be a single item. It wouldn't be replacing everything I own with stuff
I didn't choose
.” I forced myself to take a deep breath and push aside my anger. How could I get him to see that replacing all my underwear with lingerie he'd selected made me feel like I was being objectified. “You can't do this, Gabriel,” I said, struggling to keep my temper on an even keel. The fact that I had to actually explain how I felt was starting to piss me off. “Replacing all my underwear is just . . . wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because it's too . . . it's too . . .
Fifty Shades,
” I blurted out.

His eyes narrowed as he considered the frame of reference I'd used. “You think,” he said slowly, “buying you lingerie means I want to control you?”

“Not deliberately,” I said, mentally shushing my inner bitch, “but that's how it makes me feel.”

I watched his brows pull together even further as he considered my words. If Gabriel thought this was covered under “providing” for me, then he and I had very different ideas of what that concept meant. Besides, this had nothing to do with gift buying. It was all about respect. For me. As a person. Any minute now, I told myself, the floodgates would open and comprehension would wash through him, along with a healthy dose of shame for taking so long to grasp what I was getting at. I waited for him to apologize.

He didn't.

Instead his sudden sympathetic expression, coupled with an ever so slightly condescending smile, made me nervous. Whatever he was thinking, I was pretty sure he was way off base. “Are you PMS-ing?” he asked.

Awww—fuck! Tell me he did not just say that
.

“W-w-what?” I stuttered.

A ball of fire exploded in my solar plexus, and I suddenly felt . . . all wrong. I didn't feel ill exactly, but I definitely felt off-kilter. As if I was out of sync with everything around me. Especially Gabriel. I was hot, and not in a sexual fantasy way, even with all the lingerie on the floor. I was hot because my core temperature was rising, and what was worse, I was dangerously close to bawling my eyes out. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why did I feel so bad?

Sometimes my inner bitch really does make sense.

I turned around, heading for the door that would take me back into the bedroom, but a gust of wind across my cheek was a rude reminder of vampire speed. Barring the opening with his arm, Gabriel blocked my exit. I guess the look on my face told him he'd just opened mouth and inserted foot. Big-time.

“Let me out,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Not until we've sorted this out.”

Ordinarily I would have applauded his willingness to discuss a problem between us. Most guys would be only too happy to let their woman pout, sulk, or go shopping just so they could avoid the possibility of talking about their
feelings
. But now wasn't the time.

“If you don't let me by, I'm going to rip off your fucking arm and beat you to death with it!” I snarled. My threat couldn't have been more ludicrous, and how Gabriel managed to keep a straight face was beyond me.

“Rowan, please—”

My legs began to shake. I really needed to start moving while I still had the ability. “Gabriel, listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once. I don't want to sort out anything with you, at least not right now.” Hot tears pricked the back of my eyelids. “Let me by—
now!
”

“At least tell me where you're going,” he said as he let me push by him.

He was a vampire, and it was his nature to be possessive, something I still hadn't quite come to terms with. What Gabriel would grudgingly admit to as being slightly overprotective, I saw as irrational, borderline obsessive behavior. But, as upset as I was, I didn't want to provoke him into doing something we'd both regret.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak calmly. “I'm going to talk to someone who will understand without my having to explain.”

“Anasztaizia?” He sounded relieved.

“Yes, Anasztaizia.”

I could feel his eyes boring holes into my back as I dropped the towel I was wearing and pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt.

And no underwear.