Page 3 of Hot Blooded
I draw another breath as Mrs. Potts pats my arm yet again. “I am sorry about your nap. I know how tired you’ve been lately.”
I give her a dismissive wave. “I’ll manage.”
Even as I say these words, I wonder if they’re true. I don’t recall a time in the last fifty years of feeling this thrown off, but the last thing I need is her fussing over me as much as Alastair has been lately.
What’s so wrong about a vampire who enjoys a little peace and quiet? Maybe a nice mug of tea. Is that too much to ask? I’ve earned it haven’t I, enduring the last lonely millennium.
Mrs. Potts crosses the room to pull open the heavy drapes casting shadows in the bedroom. I don’t protest, because I don’t need the darkness now that I won’t be sleeping.
“Show her around. Give her a tour. Walk her through the library. I’m sure she’ll be eager to see it.”
“Okay,” I grumble, still angry and bitter.
“And tell her that dinner will be served promptly at seven.” And with that last bit of instruction, Mrs. Potts exits my bedroom, leaving the door ajar as I do up the final button on my shirt. I’m quite aware that she is waiting for me, so after another grimace, I make my way into the hall.
Let’s get this over with.
As I approach, the young woman fidgets uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one side to the other.
She’s of average height and has a slender waist, but the rest of her is overtly feminine. From her full, rounded breasts that push and strain uncomfortably against the front of her sweater, to the curve of her hips which any man alive—or undead, as it were—will be lucky to grip onto as he ruts and thrusts into her perfect body.
Bloody hell, Reign. She’s not here to ride your cock.
“Reign Tryst,” I introduce myself, extending my palm in her direction. “Welcome to my home.”
She places her hand in mine, and a bolt of warmth shoots through me at her touch. We both pull back suddenly.What—and I can’t stress this enough—the fuck?
“What are you?” I utter, flexing my hand—my filter has worn off a long time ago.
“I’m—” She inspects her palm, turning her hand over. “What wasthat?” Her pulse jumps, skittering wildly and her eyes widen.
I clench my jaw and shove my hand into my pocket. If she notices the cool chill of my skin against her warm palm, she doesn’t say, but that electricity thing between us is really odd. Static buildup or something, I’m sure.
“I’m Tressa… Tressa Porter,” she says, recovering. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for the opportunity.” Her voice has a slightly girlish quality to it. It’s sweet and pleasant-sounding.
Now that I’m closer, her scent is even more maddening, and the soft, steady rhythm of her pulse even more distracting.
Let’s just say, if I had a beating heart, it would be pumping double-time. If I’m not careful, all my control is bound to snap. And where will I be then? I’ll have let Mrs. Potts down again, a scenario I really don’t want to relive.
I’ve overcome obstacles more difficult than this. I once convinced an entire coven of ancient vampires to let me live, after inadvertently stumbling into their turf in New Orleans.
“I’ll show you around if you like,” I say after a pause.
“Yes, that would be wonderful.”
The tone of her voice causes a zip of pleasure shoot up my spine.Well, that’s rather inconvenient.
I begin with a tour of the first floor, which houses the living room, formal sitting room, kitchen, breakfast nook, dining room and an office that I use occasionally.
Tressa is mostly quiet as I show her around, but she does make an effort toward small talk.
“You live here all alone?” she asks.
I nod. “Well, me and the staff.”
“Why do you need a house this big?” she asks, and then slaps a hand to her mouth, suddenly a bit embarrassed.
Lucky for her, I find her brazen question humorous. Actually, I find a lot about her engaging. “You know, I’ve never really thought about it before, but I suppose it’s because I like my space and my privacy.”
