Page 84 of Blood and Buttercups

“If he wants to eradicate vampirism, why does he aid with that sort of research?”

“He wants vampires to live as human a life as possible.”

“It seems like you know him well—he even called you Noah—but neither of you were particularly friendly.”

“We were at one time, but I don’t like his methods, or that he has so many connections—he knows someone in almost every imaginable profession, in almost every state. And he’s good friends with the director who resides over the western region of NIHA, and he’s been using his money and influence to push his agenda for the last fifty years. Our organization relies on government funding and donations, so…”

I nod, trying to wrap my head around the fact the man is far older than he looks. “I understand.”

Noah’s finger twitches on the steering wheel. “And I don’t like that you’re connected to him.”

“It doesn’t sound like he’s the type to go around making monsters. How could I possibly be from his line?”

“It would be rare for a vampire his age to have a skeleton-free closet.”

“How old is he?”

“He was born in the 1700s.”

“He looks good for his age,” I joke nervously.

Noah grunts, watching the road. It’s obvious he’s done talking about Cassian.

I don’t ask him anything else, but a question continues to burn inside me: how am I connected to this elite, philanthropist vampire? And is he going to kill me because of it?

I stareat the contents of my closet, feeling like I didn’t prepare for a test. But instead of a test, it’s a maybe-date with Noah.

If my outfit is too casual, he won’t think I’m interested. If it’s too nice, he’ll think I’mtoointerested.

I walk down the hall and knock on the closed door. “What are you wearing?”

A minute later, Noah appears. He rests a sculpted arm on the doorframe, taking up a good deal of it, and smiles down at me with partially hooded eyes. His hair is dark and damp because he just took a shower.

I look like a drowned rat when my hair is wet. Noah looks like a victorious gladiator who just emerged from some elite Roman bathhouse.

The man is delicious. I feel small next to him, and for unknown reasons, my body likes that. Sure, I’m a strong, mostly independent, kinda-capable woman, but every inch of me wants to know what it would feel like to have him carry me off into the sunset.

“What I’m wearing?” He lifts an eyebrow. “That game is usually played over the phone.”

“I meant tonight.”

“Are you agonizing over your outfit on my behalf?”

“No. I just, you know, don’t want to make you look bad.”

A smile stretches across his smug face. “That’s considerate of you.”

“I try.”

He lifts his brows suggestively and lowers his voice. “What do you want me to wear?”

“This conversation is getting weirder than I anticipated.”

Chuckling, he steps away from the doorway and extends his arm, inviting me in. “As you can see, my options are limited. If you want to go somewhere nice, we’ll have to stop at my parents’ place first so I can change.”

“And even weirder. Remind me not to friend-date a grown man who lives with his parents again.” I walk into his room, and my eyes catch on the bed. The bed Noah slept in last night. The bed I used to sleep in when I’d spend the night here.

Noah chuckles, crossing his arms as he watches me.

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