Shrugging, Terri started to remove items from the fridge: onions, cheese, bacon, green peppers. Maybe she'd throw some potato in, too. This was going to be a yummy omelet. And she'd make toast as well. For some reason, she was starved this morning.
Bastien sniffed the air as he walked down the hall toward the living room. He'd slept late, but then they'd been out late last night. He smiled to himself at the memory of his date with Terri. It had been perfect, absolutely and completely perfect. The play, the dinner, the talking at Maison—the night had passed like minutes for him, and that hour of shared kisses in front of the Hilton had felt like mere seconds. Terri was a beauty, a joy to spend time with, and so interesting and amusing that he always felt comfortable in her company. She was perfect to be his
life mate.
According to his mother, only someone whose mind he could not read would make a good life mate; a husband and wife should never be able to intrude on each other's thoughts. Those should be shared willingly, Marguerite said, not poached like chickens from a henhouse. Bastien couldn't read Terri's thoughts. But she did share them freely.
A pleased sigh slid from his lips, and Bastien grinned to himself. Her openness and honesty were what he liked best about Terri. Her passion for life, not to mention the passion she'd revealed in his arms, was priceless. He'd lived long enough to know that such open caring and passion were a rare find nowadays. Most people allowed fear to deaden their feelings and responses. Terri wasn't one of them. She was full of life, she was beautifully and vitally… dead?
He stopped short in the living room entrance and gaped at the sight of Terri lying silent and still on the floor. Her body was splayed like a rag doll tossed to the ground, her luscious chestnut hair a pool around her head.
Two telltale red dots marked her lovely, slender throat.
Chapter Nine
"Oh, my handsome manly vampire.
Achoo!"
That high falsetto voice—not to mention the sneeze—drew Bastien's attention to the two men standing several feet away from Terri's prone body. Vincent and… Chris? He thought it was the editor but couldn't be sure. The man had a sheet draped over his head and caught beneath his chin in Little Red Riding Hood style. Judging from that, and from the really
bad
imitation of a female voice the editor was affecting, Bastien would guess he was supposed to be a woman. For some reason.
"How my heart beats for y—
achoo!
—you, Dracula. You stir my fire, my desire." Chris let the page he was reading drop to his side with disgust. "Who wrote this drivel?" he asked.
"A playwright," Vincent sniffed. "A
professional
playwright."
"Well, I'm a pro—
achoo!
—professional editor. And I—
achoo I
—wouldn't publish this poppycock."
"You just don't understand camp," Vincent snapped. "Haven't you ever heard of a little play—later made into a major motion picture—called the
Rocky Horror Picture Show?"
"That was
good
camp," Chris informed him, then rubbed his nose. "This—
achoo!
—is drivel. God, I wish the drugstore guy would get here with those—
achoo!
—allergy pills."
"Believe me, so do I," Vincent said. He spotted Bastien in the entry and smiled. "Cousin! So you finally decided to join the living, did you?"
"Yes." His gaze shifted back to Terri, who blinked her eyes open, sat up to glance over at him, then scrambled to her feet.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "Did you sleep well?"
Nodding, Bastien moved purposely forward. His curiosity was killing him. Terri's eyes widened in surprise when he paused in front of her, wiped one of the red spots off her neck, and pressed it to his tongue.
"Sauce?" he asked with disbelief. A couple of drops of sauce were what had nearly caused him the vampire equivalent of a heart attack? He'd thought—
"Ketchup, actually." Terri gave a laugh as she wiped off the rest. "We were helping Vincent with his lines. I was Lucy, and Chris is Mina." She glanced toward the editor, who sneezed violently three times in a row. She then leaned forward to tell Bastien in hushed tones, "He's allergic to the flowers. I suggested he go to his room until we can get the pictures done and the flowers out, but he says it won't help."
"I did when they first arrived," the editor complained. "But there are so many—
achoo!
—that the pollen is all through the apartment.
Achoo!
It wasn't much better than being out here." He removed the sheet from around his head and shoulders, and sank onto the couch with a groan.
Bastien slowly turned, only now noticing the flowers that filled the living room and made it look like a bloody flower shop… or a mortuary. He didn't know how he had missed them on first glance, except that the sight of Terri lying prone on the floor had so overset him, he hadn't noticed anything else.
"I made breakfast," Terri announced, drawing Bastien's attention. "Omelets. I left some of the mix in the fridge for when you got up. Would you like some?"
Bastien took in her bright eyes and hopeful smile, and found a smile of his own claiming his lips. "Lovely."
"Good. It'll just be a minute," she assured him cheerfully, then turned on her heel and left.
Bastien hesitated, then followed. He had meant
she
was lovely, not that an omelet for breakfast would be lovely. But that was okay. He'd eat the omelet if she'd gone to the trouble of making enough for him. It actually sounded good anyway. An omelet. Made with Terri's own two hands.
You got it bad.
Those words drifted into his mind with a chuckle. Vincent!
Bastien ignored him.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Terri asked as he entered the kitchen. She took out of the fridge a bowl filled with a mixture of eggs and various other ingredients.
"I'll get it," Bastien said and moved to the coffee pot. He usually tried to avoid the stuff; caffeine tended to have an exaggerated effect on his kind, but it was morning now, long before he would go back to sleep. There had been a time when he would have just been lying down to sleep after having been up through the night. Some members of his family, and he supposed others of his kind, still kept their night hours, but that wasn't possible for Bastien to do and run Argeneau Enterprises efficiently. Most business was conducted during the day, and Bastien found it easier to simply consume more blood than he otherwise would need and deal with matters during the day.
"How about toast with your omelet?" Terri asked.
"No. Thank you." Moving to lean against the counter, he watched her set a frying pan on the stove and turn on the burner underneath while she whisked the contents of the bowl. "How long have you been up?"
"About an hour." She dropped a dollop of oil in the frying pan, nodding in satisfaction when it began to spit and roll around on the hot surface. "The flowers arrived just as I was starting to make the omelet. I couldn't believe how many there were when they finally finished bringing them up. I think the florist has gone nuts."
Bastien smiled and watched her pour the omelet into the pan. "I didn't know there'd be so many, either. I'll start taking pictures right after this."
Terri gave him a sympathetic smile as she set aside the now empty bowl. "That's a lot of pictures. I can help if you like."
"I'd like."
They were both silent for a moment. Terri was busy moving the omelet around in the pan to keep it from burning. He was busy watching her. The kitchen quickly started to fill with the rich aroma of onions and spice.
"I had a nice time last night," Bastien blurted suddenly, and could have kicked himself. But Terri met his gaze, a smile blossoming on her lips.
"So did I," she admitted shyly.
They fell silent again; then Bastien lifted a hand to run the knuckle of one finger down her cheek. Her eyes closed at once, and Terri tilted her face into the caress like a cat being petted. That action made it impossible for him to resist: letting his hand slide around to catch her behind the neck, he pulled her forward and covered her mouth with his, smiling as her lips parted. Bastien immediately deepened the kiss. She tasted of herbs and spices and something sweet. Orange juice, he thought. If breakfast was as good as she tasted, it would be a pleasure to eat.
A small moan reached his ears and fanned the flames inside him. Bastien's kiss became rougher, more demanding, and Terri responded by opening further to him. Her hands crept around his neck.
She gasped, then arched nearer as Bastien let his hands rub down and across her back. She felt right in his arms. She belonged there. He liked having her there. She felt good, smelled good, and tasted good too. And the way Terri moaned, stretched, and pressed against him was irresistible. He could go on kissing her forever.
"Your omelet," she murmured when he broke away to trail kisses down her neck.
Bastien's mouth stilled by her ear, and he almost cursed but caught it back. Heaving a sigh, he placed one last kiss on her nose, then released her.
Terri smiled sympathetically at his less than pleased expression, then turned to the stove. Fortunately, their distracting little interlude had not seen the omelet burn. It was light and fluffy and smelled heavenly when she served it up on a plate and handed it to him several moments later.
Terri sat with him while he ate, and Bastien ended up devouring the entire omelet. As good as it was, he suspected he ate it in an effort to sate another hunger that was plaguing him. The one he had for the woman who sat across from him, drinking coffee and chattering cheerfully away.
Bastien was glad he had eaten the entire omelet when Terri commented happily that this was the first time she'd seen him actually eat anything substantial since her arrival. She looked pleased as punch, and proud too that it was her cooking. Bastien assured her it was absolutely delicious, then kissed her and thanked her for the meal before heading out to the living room. He had to see about the flowers and the photos he was supposed to take.
Terri soon joined him, and she suggested they remove the flowers to the penthouse office one at a time to take the photos, then remove them from the apartment entirely to be sure there weren't any missed or double shots. At least, that was her excuse. Bastien suspected that she really hoped to alleviate some of the editor's discomfort by removing the source of his misery. He didn't mind. The office got better light in the morning anyway and the photos would work better in there because of it. After hundreds of years without daylight, he enjoyed seeing the sun and could do so, so long as his windows were treated to keep out the UV rays.
Terri was very fussy with the arrangements. Bastien would have just walked around snapping picture after picture until he was done, but she insisted on the right backdrop and lighting for each shot so that Kate could get a "true picture" of each arrangement. Between that and the process of downloading them every third or fourth photo, it took longer than expected. It was well past noon before they were what Bastien approximated was halfway through the job. He was waiting patiently as Terri fussed over the positioning of yet another arrangement, when he noted the way she absently rubbed the back of her neck as she bent to shift the urn.
"Are you getting a sore neck?" he asked, setting the camera down and approaching her.
Terri straightened and glanced over her shoulder at him. He began to lightly massage the muscles of her upper back and neck.
"A little," she admitted, relaxing under his touch.
She gave a small sigh. "I think I must have slept in an awkward position last night. I've had a bit of a crick all morning, but it's
really
bothering me now."
"Hmmm." Bastien's gaze moved over the top of her head as he worked, noting that her hair wasn't just brown. There were blond and red highlights in among the chestnut-colored strands. She had lovely hair.
"Thank you," Terri murmured, and Bastien froze as he realized he had made the comment aloud. But he froze only briefly; then he caught her hair in one swathe and moved it over her shoulder so that it was out of the way, revealing her neck as he continued his massage.
"You have a lovely neck," he commented as he let his hands slide down her back, beginning to include her upper shoulders in his massage.
"I…" Terri paused on an indrawn breath as he leaned down to kiss the tender flesh that he'd revealed.
"Bastien," she whispered. He ran his tongue in a circle over the spot he'd just kissed, and there was such a wealth of longing in her voice that he closed his eyes to savor it. His hands stopped moving, but he made them slide down her sides and back up, then again, each upward stroke taking him farther around her side and tantalizingly closer to the curves of her breasts.
A low moan slid from her lips when Bastien finally slid his hands around far enough to brush the soft curves. And when he finally gave up trying to resist and cupped the full mounds in each hand, Terri leaned back into his chest with a murmur of pleasure.
"Oh, Bastien." Her voice was dreamy and sweet. He moved his mouth over her throat, then to her ear, and concentrated there as he caressed her soft breasts through her light, pink sweater.
Her hands came up to cover his, and he paused, until Terri's fingers tightened around his, urging him to hold her more firmly, to knead her flesh. Then Bastien slid his hands downward. He heard her moan with what sounded like disappointment. That moan died abruptly, and she seemed to hold her breath as he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater and allowed them to ride up over her naked flesh under the top.
Terri was warm, her skin smooth and soft. There was no impediment to his caress until he reached the bottom of her bra. There Bastien paused with indecision, then crossed his hands over her chest, allowing his right hand to find the front edge of her bra and slip beneath.