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In the center of my dining area stands the antique oval table I found at a thrift store and had refurbished, and despite only rarely having guests, my housekeepers ensure the table cloth is bright and season appropriate. The set of four chairs are modern with thick, comfortable cushions and removable covers in geometrical patterns. Fresh flowers in a clear vase sit in the middle.
Growing up, my father always kept our homes in neutral whites and grays, so when I began to live on my own, I embraced color and comfort. Colorful rugs soften our steps over the rich oak hardwood flooring.
It’s the same throughout the apartment, and I’ve put in a lot of effort to make sure it doesn’t look like a clashing hodgepodge of color. On the walls, which I’ve painted a pale terracotta brown, is vivid artwork, playful prints that struck my fancy, and some of my favorite photographs.
When we enter my room and I flick on the light absently, I find myself breathing easier.
In here, the walls are a shade of light gray, yet again creating a backdrop for the colorful pieces I’ve collected. It’s a large enough bedroom that there’s plenty of space even with a queen size bed centered against the wall. The headboard is plush and tufted in creamy velvet, but my bedspread looks like it should be in a bed and breakfast according to Niamh. It’s luxurious and inviting, with a floral pattern in a pale pink.
Only Niamh has ever been here; it was one of the issues which contributed to my short-lived relationships. I don’t question how it feels right for Landon to be in here as he slides my jacket from my shoulders after I unbuckle the belt and unbutton it.
I tense as my outfit is revealed, knowing that the lace top leaves the majority of my back exposed and my satin shorts cling to my bottom, the lace frills barely touching the top of my thighs.
Landon makes no move to touch me, instead moving to drape the coat over the chair at my vanity. I cross the room to my bathroom, ignoring my large bed with its assortment of throw pillows in solid vibrant colors. Inside the bathroom, the only place in the apartment with a neutral color scheme, I close the toilet lid and sit, reaching down to unbuckle my shoes.
Lan shadows me, moving to the shower stall and turning it on before crouching in front of me.
My hands are shaking, and it makes my lip tremble as I struggle with the miniscule buckle. His long, deft fingers brush my hands aside, and he does it for me. With an unexpected gentleness, he slides my shoes off and sets them to the side before looking up at me, his hands resting on his thighs.
“Do you need help undressing?” His voice is still quiet, barely above a whisper, like he knows I can’t handle much right now. There’s no lust or hunger in his eyes, and the red ring around the pupil is thinner than when we first got here.
I shake my head, and he taps my knee, a silent admonishment. I wet my lips and croak out a decline. He inclines his head in acknowledgment before standing, looping my heels with two fingers, and steps towards the door.
“Take as long as you need, Little Bird.”
As he steps through, panic grips my throat and I reach out towards him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He stills, turning his head to look at me. “Not yet.”
I nod dumbly, thankfully, and turn my attention back to the shower. He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone for the first time since I headed out earlier this evening.
It’s as if the door closing triggers everything I’ve been repressing tonight, making it burst out of the confines I’d tried to hide it in. Each breath becomes a shuddering half-sob and my throat burns with a promise of tears. The air is warm and humid and I strip down quickly before stepping into the shower, curling my hands under my chin as the warm water flows over me.
My hair, always wild unless tamed with the ferocity of a dictator wielding expensive hair products, has turned the once somewhat tidy French braid into a wild mess. Pulling it out and working my hands through it, I hide under the fall of hot water, eyes closed and trying to let the events of the night wash down the drain under me.
Landon’s display of raw, brutal power frightened me.
Now that I’m home and safe, I can admit to myself that it also turned me on more than it should. More than I’d ever admit to anyone, not even Niamh.
I’ve been protected by security guards my entire life, my father refusing to lose me like he did my mother.
But no one has protected me like Landon did tonight. Like I’m more than a client, that I matter to him. I’ve never experienced that protective, possessive energy. My father obsesses over my safety, in the same way he obsesses over the safety of his relic collection.
Lan’s protection feels personal. Intimate. When he swept me into his arms, his hand cradling my head to him, I’ve never felt so safe.
Even now, knowing he’s still here in my apartment, provides me a sense of security as I scrub the skin where the troll touched me.
Feeling more composed once I’m clean, I leave the shower and dry off quickly before wrapping the towel around me. I squeeze my hair dry with my jersey towel, leaving it to air dry even if it means my curls will be a wild jungle in the morning. I brush my teeth, and when I’m finally ready, I crack the door and look into my bedroom.
He turned off the overhead light but switched on the lamp on one of the nightstands, leaving the bedroom dimly lit. The bedroom door is cracked, enough that I can hear cabinets opening and closing but not enough to see inside. Assured, I leave the bathroom, and a stack of clothes at the foot of my bed makes me pause. Something warm flutters against my ribs as I see a set of my favorite, cozy rainbow and unicorn printed pajamas waiting for me. Beside them is a balled-up pair of fluffy pink and orange socks.
These are the absolute opposite of sexy and exactly what I would have chosen for myself. Dropping my towel, I hurry to dress, wanting to return to who might just become my vampire.
Chapter Twelve
LAN
While Wren is in the shower, I avail myself of her apartment, beginning with her bedroom. Exploring her modest walk-in closet, I find a set of pajamas that are so imbued with her scent it’s clear they are a favorite. I collect them, along with a too-large university tee underneath the pajamas. I lay hers neatly at the end of her bed, and with deft motions, unbutton my own top and slide it off. The tee shirt is yellow with a faded blue logo of her alma mater and just large enough to fit me. I doubt it’s a previous lover’s shirt, as Wren doesn’t strike me as the type to keep such tokens. It will serve my purpose though, ridding me of the bloody shirt. Fortunately, my slacks were spared the worst and the black hides the blood stains well enough.
