Page 71 of Bite
James moves to the sideboard and pours us each a glass of whiskey from a crystal-cut decanter, returning to hand me one. I eye it warily, resting the glass against my thigh while I debate whether he’d actually poison me for listening in. Then again, if he wanted me unconscious, he could probably manage it with a snap of his fingers.
Or my neck.
He perches on the arm of the chair across from me like some elegant gargoyle, watching with that predatory calm as I take a tentative sip of my drink. For a few seconds, neither of us speaks, the silence stretching taut as a wire.
“So,” I finally say, lowering the glass. “Who were you talking to?”
His mouth twitches. “A business associate.”
“Sounded more personal than that,” I prod, keeping my tone light. “You mentioned my last name…”
His eyes narrow, the blue turning flinty. “Did I?”
“Yeah.” I let the word hang between us for a beat. “Should I be worried?”
Silence again– measured, deliberate. He’s not angry, at least not in any way I recognize. It’s more like he’s parsing every word, cataloging every twitch of my fingers, calculating a hundred possible responses before choosing the one that serves him best.
“Not at all,” he finally says, leaning back and stretching one long leg out. “The man I was speaking with happens to be a scientist, and he’s quite intrigued by the fact that I’ve finally found a donor who satisfies my thirst. I invited him to join us here for dinner next week.”
“A scientist?” I ask, frowning.
He nods, finishing his whiskey in one smooth swallow before setting the glass aside. “Quite a famous one, actually. Perhaps you’ve heard of him– Elliott Faulkner.”
My heart stutters. “Wait,theElliott Faulkner?” I choke, blinking. “The vamp who cured cancer and invented Rapi-Gen?”
“That’s the one.”
“Youknowhim?”
“Our paths have crossed many times over the centuries,” he replies, cryptic as ever.
I gape at him, still trying to process, then remember the last time weentertainedguests at the estate. My pulse spikes. “It’s not going to be like the last time you had friends over, is it?” I blurt.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Do you want it to be?”
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head.
He chuckles low in his throat. “Still denying your taste for voyeurism, little mortal?”
A full-body blush ignites at my chest and burns all the way up to my scalp. “I don’t–,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You do,” he says, voice dark and amused. “You liked watching, and you liked being watched. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
My mouth goes dry, body tensing in ways I wish it wouldn’t. Because he’s right– Ididlike it. But liking it makes me feel dirty.
James rises and advances toward me, the space between us shrinking in an instant. He looms over me, one hand braced on the back of my chair, his large body caging mine in a way thatfeels more possessive than threatening. My breath catches as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“You wanted me to pull you onto my lap and fuck you right there in that booth last night, didn’t you?”
All the air leaves my lungs on a single exhale, brain blanking out, every muscle going tight and electric. His suggestion is both mortifying and so hot I want to scream.
He brushes his lips lightly along my jaw, then straightens, studying my reaction.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, mouth curving in a satisfied smirk.
I scramble for dignity, pushing to my feet so fast I nearly spill my drink. Red-faced and flustered, I pace to the window, staring out at the indigo stretch of sky while I try to piece myself back together.
James’ gaze tracks me as I make a slow lap around the room, pretending to study the art and furnishings, anything to keep from meeting those eyes. By the time I drift toward the piano, my heartbeat has mostly steadied. I trail my fingertips along its smooth, gleaming edge, finally daring a glance in his direction.
