Page 44 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

He kisses me, slowly at first. Then not slowly at all. I slide my hand under his jacket and around his waist. He makes that low sound again, the one I discovered last night and have thought about an unreasonable number of times since.

His mouth moves over mine, cool and hungry. I lean into him until there’s no fog between us, no town, no porch, no anything except the hard line of his body and the fact that I know exactly what will happen if I keep kissing him.

I want to. God, I want to.

Julian breaks the kiss first. Barely. His mouth stays close enough that I feel the words.

“Penny.”

“Don’t say goodnight.”

His eyes close for one second.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to ask whether you wanted me to come inside.”

Every part of me answers before my brain does. His gaze searches mine.

“And,” he says quietly, “I think we should both understand that if I do, I am unlikely to sleep on your sofa.”

He’s not being coy. He’s giving me a choice.

I put my hand flat against his chest. I want him. I also want this. But for once in my life, I would rather not sprint at something just because I can see where it ends.

“Not tonight,” I say.

Julian’s expression doesn’t close, and he doesn’t step away. He doesn’t make me regret saying it. He simply nods.

“No,” he says. “Not tonight.”

I’m relieved. I’m also, immediately and unhelpfully, sorry.

“Ask me again.”

His eyes darken.

“I intend to.”

“Good.”

He kisses me again, deep enough that my knees reconsider their responsibilities, brief enough that I know he’s doing it on purpose. Then he steps back. Our hands stay linked until the last possible second.

“Goodnight, Penny.”

“Goodnight, Julian.”

He walks into the fog, and I watch until he’s gone.

Then I go inside my dark little house, lock the door behind me, and stand there with my back against it.

I already knew I wanted Julian Volkov. Today I discovered something worse. I like having him in my kitchen. I like his hand finding mine in the fog. I like knowing that when I open a door, sooner or later, he’s going to walk through it. And I think I’m beginning to understand why he keeps coming.

Because I keep asking. Because he keeps saying yes.

And somewhere along the way, those have stopped feeling like two different things.