19. Leia

Chapter 19

Holy shit. Holy shit. My heart thumped wildly like it would crack a rib or two. Holy, holy shit.

Vampires.

What in the hell?

Stupid, fucking vampires didn't even exist.

Right?

Right? I mean, sure they didn't. Except now Nicolas wanted me to believe I'd been staying in a house full of them. I had to get out and get home somehow. But how? Mr. Jenkins was the driver, and Mr. Baldwin seemed to hang around just to open and close the fucking front door.

I sucked in a breath as I ran from the west wing with far less stealth than I'd used to enter. I wanted to lock the doors to the east wing behind me, but I didn't have a key, and hadn't Nicolas boasted of super strength or something equally as stupid? A locked door couldn't exactly keep him out of areas of his own home, either.

I hurried into my room. Surely Nicolas Dupont had broken his fucking contract now. Not declaring actual vampirism was pretty bad. And if not vampirism, insanity, which might have been worse.

Maybe my trip to his secret quarters had been worth it—it had yielded the results I wanted. Even if I could barely see through unwanted tears. Why the hell was I even crying? I brushed the tears from my cheeks and dragged my bag from where I'd left it in the stupidly big closet.

I'd be glad to get back to my own, cold home with normal sized spaces. Well, more normal than this house—the one Nicolas Dupont seemed to think could be everything I wanted.

Where did he get off trying to buy me?

Worse, I'd been so close to just giving him everything he wanted. Surrendering my kisses and opening my legs wide. I nearly gave the blood freak an all-access pass because I thought he'd liked me, and he made me feel incredible.

Even now, the memory of his touch sent a shower of sparks skittering through me.

I shoved only the clothes I'd brought with me in the bag. I didn't want any of the things Nicolas had bought. I didn't trust his motives anymore. I wasn't his bride. It sounded like every clichéd horror movie ever written, and there was only a short leap between being a vampire's bride and being Frankenstein's bride, and both of those things were like something out of a bad paranormal romance novel.

No one met a guy and married him inside a month.

No one.

But fresh tears welled in my eyes, and I ground them away with my fists. I had no reason to be so upset.

But hell. Bloody, fucking hell. The only cliché here was me. I'd started falling for Nicolas Dupont the moment he kissed me outside that grocery store, before I'd even known his name. I'd always been a sucker—ha!—for a mystery guy. A guy with a little bit of bad in him. Or a guy with a lot of bad in him. I wanted to be the center of someone's world. The sun he orbited around, and while he'd been plying me with gifts, Nicolas had made me feel that way.

Except now I knew why.

He needed me. And not because he actually would raze the world for one last kiss, but because I could bring him power.

And that was shit.

I needed to put as much distance between us as possible. And I almost didn't care if he walked our contract back because at least I wouldn't be beholden to the guy. I'd be able to look around and know I'd tried, but at least I wouldn't have anything that wasn't truly mine. I wouldn't still be taking part in the biggest bribe in Baton Rouge. Or was it blackmail? Maybe the name I put on Nicolas's game didn't matter.

His house wouldn't win this time.

I blew out a sigh. Mom. But she wouldn't have wanted this for me either. I couldn't settle on a life of being a walking, talking blood bag for a self-declared vampire king.

I took a final look around the bedroom. Damn, it really was a nice room.

Nothing more than a gilded cage for a one-month bride, though.

I dragged my phone from one of the pockets in my bag and scrolled through the stored list of phone numbers before settling on the number of a local cab firm run by one of Harry's old friends. They'd make sure I got anywhere I needed to go with no awkward questions and probably no expectation of payment, although if I could get to the bar, I could get to the till.

Hopefully takings had been steady.

I wavered as I stood behind the closed door, still in the opulent bedroom, somehow unwilling to take the next step to leave. Despite everything, I felt safe here.

I felt fucking wanted.

I had an undeniable pull to Nicolas. I'd let him touch me, and his fingers had been magic, his kisses like a drug created just for me. I wanted him to do more to me. In this bed.

In his.

A shudder ran through me, chasing a spike of desire at the idea of being surrounded by his scent, wrapped in his sheets, filled by his body.

A hunger like I'd never known threatened to claim me, and I took a deep breath then swallowed, forcing the hunger away.

Something about this man made me weak, and I couldn't afford to be weak. Steeling myself against the ridiculous, clearly self-destructive instinct to stay, I wrenched the bedroom door open and stepped out into the hallway.

Like the first night I'd arrived, Nicolas detached himself from the shadows, straightening from where he'd been leaning against the wall.

"Leia." His voice was hoarse.

"I have to go." I'd meant to sound firm and businesslike, but my words were desperate and sorrowful instead.

"Don't go." His eyes beseeched me, and when he walked toward me, I was powerless to escape.

My back hit the wall, and his arms braced either side me, pinning me there. Trapping me in another gilded cage, but I melted against him as he stared at me, one of his hands tangled loosely in my hair.

"Don't go," he said again. "Stay here—be mine."

"Nic." I stared at his mouth as he spoke, watching his lips form the words until I couldn't stand it anymore, and my body betrayed all of my logical decisions.

I rose on my tiptoes and my mouth brushed his. For a moment, his gray eyes darkened, clouds of confusion swirling in their depths. Then his gaze cleared, and he crushed me to him, aligning me to his body so I could feel every muscle and the evidence of his arousal laying heavy against my hip as he claimed my mouth, the force of his lips almost bruising as desperation flared between us.

His tongue slid against mine, probing forward before his movements became gentle and exploratory, almost languid in the most intimate of caresses.

My breathing spiraled out of control until I had to draw away to inhale. Nicolas's forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed so I couldn't see what he was thinking, didn't know how he felt.

"I have to go," I whispered, and his eyes sprang open, pain flaring dark red in the midst of all the gray.

"Stay." His word was nothing more than a breath. "I can give you anything you want."

But as he spoke those words, the certainty that he was wrong settled in my gut. I wanted to be loved, not just be required as the battery to supercharge whatever vampiric powers Nicolas thought he had.

"I don't just exist to secure your ascension to your father's throne." I tried to erase all regret from the words, but I wasn't sure I managed. "I won't."

He stepped back, his face paler than I'd seen it, and I took the opportunity to walk away from him, my steps silent as I moved down the hallway to the stairs.

For once, Mr. Baldwin was nowhere to be seen, but the taxi I'd requested idled outside the front door. I slid into the backseat and closed my eyes against the pain that streaked through my chest.

A sob lodged there, and before it grew and I couldn't speak around it, I forced out the address of The Pour House, my throat already thick, my eyes gritty. The driver met my gaze briefly in the mirror, his pale blue eyes kind as he nodded.

As he pulled away, I glanced out the back window, and that was a huge mistake. Nicolas stood in front of his house, watching me depart, his face twisted in something that looked far too much like anguish.

I curled my fists, pressing my nails into my palms to try to reawaken my resolve, thankful for the fact I still couldn't speak and tell the driver to turn around. I closed my eyes as I turned away so I didn't have to see Nicolas anymore, and a tear slid silently down the side of my nose as the car turned onto the road and we picked up speed as I left the impossible casino owner behind.

After we drew up at the bar, I dragged my small bag with me as I slid from the seat, and when I turned to tell the driver to wait while I found some money, he waved me away and drove off, leaving me standing outside my bar with nowhere to go but in.

I turned around and looked at it for a moment. Then I blinked and looked again. What the…? Tired, cracked paint had been replaced, and I had a brand new, updated sign. Tables and chairs sat outside on a refurbished covered deck, and they were full. Customers talked and laughed as low-volume Zydeco music filtered through state-of-the-art speakers.

I dropped my bag, and a puff of dry dust blew up from the ground. Surely this wasn't my place. My bar had never hopped or popped, or whatever shit bars were supposed to do. I'd limped from open to close, till count to till count, day after day, never sure if I'd be able to keep the lights on and the beer flowing, and now look at it.

The Pour House was open for business.

Holy shit.

I walked up sturdy steps to the raised deck and through the front door to be met by an icy blast of AC. For so long, I'd been used to little more than the bastard swamp cooler blowing out the laziest of breaths and a permanent sheen of sweat on my forehead and upper lip.

A server bustled by, a tray of food and drinks held expertly in one hand, a folded tray stand in the other, and I stepped back as a riot of sound, scent, and color invaded my senses. My bar was filled with chatter and laughter, and somewhere I could hear the dull clack of pool balls. And food. Holy hell, my stomach rumbled at the scent of seafood and deep-fried treats.

More music played in here but none of the noises competed. They just mingled into a general feel of happiness, and I blinked away yet more tears.

I automatically looked across the bar to Harry and Pierre's booth, and despite all of the changes, they were still there, steady and dependable as ever, big smiles on their faces as they chatted back and forth.

"Leia?"

I turned at the surprised voice, and Benedict immediately pulled me into a fierce hug like we were long lost friends. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you back so soon," he murmured into my hair. Then before he gave me chance to answer, he released me, one arm still thrown over my shoulder as he gestured around. "What do you think of the place so far?"

"I… So far?" There was already so much.

"Well, yeah. I've barely started. You've been gone what…a few days?" He curled his lip slightly, then grinned. "And here you are already, ruining my surprise. I should've warned Nic he wouldn't be able to contain you for long."

"Holy shit… What have you been doing? Having guys working through the night?" I shook my head. "Don't answer that."

After everything Nicolas had told me about super strength and super speed, this made more sense than it should have.

I glanced at Benedict. Was he also…? No. I didn't want to know. This was too good to be true, and something in my life needed to absolutely stay that way.

Except.

Shit. I didn't even know if this place was still mine. I'd run away from the deal.

But Nicolas had done all of this for me to come home to. If I'd held out for the entire month, I would have come home to this and more, if Benedict said he still wasn't finished.

Except.

Who was I kidding? This had never been about a month. That was just one of Nicolas's lies. He hadn't done any of this for me. It was all for him. A carrot to dangle in front of me so I'd be the good little blood bag he needed.

Another weapon dangling from his utility belt.

Benedict glanced at me like he'd sensed my sudden shift in mood. "You okay?"

It gnawed in my gut that my bar was now everything I'd ever wanted it to be…but Nicolas had done all of this to get me to behave the way he wanted me to. It was the worst kind of manipulation. But I forced my mouth into a grin as I pushed Nicolas and his lies and deceptions to the back of my mind. "Sure. Am I welcome behind the bar?"

"Anytime." Benedict's smile made up for the grimace I was sure I'd just given him by arriving unannounced. "Wait until you see the new electronic ordering system. But first, I have to show you the kitchen. It's Chef's pride and joy."

"Chef's here?" I glanced toward the kitchen, beignets on my mind.

Benedict laughed, his deep chuckle a balm to so many of my aches. "Not right now, but he was very insistent about kitchen layout and also the dishes for the menu. I think we might actually have his secret recipe for gumbo." Benedict winked, and my heart twisted.

No matter Nicolas's ulterior motives, I didn't think Chef shared them. He, at least, had done this for me.

When my chest tightened again and my eyes itched, I stepped behind the bar. "Come on then, show me what this place can do."

I worked until closing, until I was almost dead on my feet, serving customers and chatting to Harry and Pierre, learning all of the new food, and it was a lot to take in. Benedict had streamlined the ordering system and cut new deals with suppliers, and now I seemed to have people lining up to extend credit for craft beers and wholesale food.

After the last customer left, and the AC was still refreshingly on, I turned to him. "How did you manage all of this?"

For a moment, I thought his eyes gleamed red, but then he leaned forward and turned off the neon sign behind the bar, and the effect disappeared. "I can be very persuasive."

I nodded, acknowledging his words, but I didn't pursue them or ask any other questions. There were probably things I didn't want to confirm about Benedict, too.

"I'm going to head home, I think. I'll be back at opening time tomorrow." I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, my phone already in my hand to dial the same taxi firm that brought me here. I even had some money in my pocket now.

"Oh, I can give you a ride, if you like? I need to see Nic up at his place, anyway." Benedict grabbed some keys from behind the bar.

"Uh…" Well, this was more awkward than I'd anticipated. "I'm no longer staying there. I'm going home home."

To his credit, Benedict merely raised an eyebrow, and that was the extent of his curiosity. He didn't even look like he was about to ask anything—although he could probably get any information he wanted directly from Nicolas if he was headed there to see him. But I couldn't worry about any gossiping the men did. I needed to get home and work out how I could hang on to the bar and the house. There had to be a way.

Even if Nicolas only let me work here until I figured it out.

I headed to the door then turned around. "How's my dad doing?"

Benedict nodded like he'd expected the question. "So far so good, but it's early days."

I withheld my sigh. Hopefully I hadn't fucked up my dad's chance of recovery, too. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Benedict offered me a wave and concerned eyes as I slipped out into the still-humid night.

The cab didn't take long to arrive, and my adrenaline and weird buzz faded as I sat in the back. Suddenly, I was just exhausted. I wanted to curl up under my thin blankets and sleep for a week. I didn't need cable TV after all. Just solitude and safety.

I was barely holding my eyes open against the gentle rhythm of the car and the road noise, but when we turned down my driveway, I automatically braced for the rough, jolting ride over the potholes and cracks. But nothing happened. We continued smooth as silk. I leaned forward to tap the driver's shoulder and tell him he'd taken a wrong turn.

I'd been bumping over my driveway for years—permanent bruise on my ass to prove it—each rut familiar, and we were definitely headed to the wrong house.

My theory was confirmed when the driver let out a low whistle. "Having some work done, cher?"

"What? No." I leaned forward and squinted into the darkness, gasping as the cab's headlights picked up the gleam of metal in front of my house. "What the…?"

The moment the cab stopped, I leaped out and turned my face up, taking in the scaffolding stretching into the sky around the front of my house.

The cab driver got out, too. "This is going to be beautiful when it's done." He looked at me. "Back to its former glory?"

"It just might be." My head spun as I looked at a fa?ade that used to be cracked and dirty that was now smooth and gleaming bright white in the soft moonlight as I dug some cash out of my pocket and held it out to him.

He shook his head. "Looks like you have more important things to spend your money on, cher."

I walked to the front door, and he waited for me to open it before he drove away, leaving me to watch his red taillights recede down the driveway.

Well, shit. First The Pour House and now my actual house? It was all too much. What the hell was Nicolas up to?

I stepped into the entrance hall and my first breath was of pure fresh paint. In fact, paint so fresh, I could taste it. My hand automatically found the light switch, and I lit the darkness, chasing the shadows away with more than the usual pale-yellow glow.

A chandelier dripping crystal beads hung from the tall ceiling and cast rainbows on the tops of the walls, and the hardwood floor, newly polished, gleamed beneath my feet. I hardly dared walk on it as I headed into the living room, where my feet sank into plush new carpet. When I switched the light on, all I could see was the huge portrait of my parents and me above the refurbished fireplace. Mom's smile was beautiful as she looked out at me as if she approved of the changes that were taking place, and I could almost feel her presence.

"Oh, Mom," I whispered. "I think I might have fucked up."

Up until this moment, I'd been able to tell myself Nicolas was acting solely in his own self-interest, but that didn't explain why he'd displayed my family so prominently in my house for me, and why he'd gone to all this trouble.

If he'd intended only to keep me, and for me to never return here or to The Pour House, why? This was more than protecting an investment, more than simply refurbishing a house to sell. He'd turned it back into my home, and a home meant to appeal only to one person—me.

Like I mattered.

To him.

Shit. I sank onto the sofa and looked up at Mom's photo. She continued to smile at me, her joy never wavering, but guilt weighed heavily on me as I looked around my house.

The improvements looked as though they were all being made with me in mind, and I didn't know who'd been consulted, but there were even new DVDs in a seemingly random stack on the table, most of them ones Jason and I had laughed over.

Someone cared.

And now I was here all alone. Alone and wondering if I'd gotten everything wrong.

Almost too tired to think, I dragged myself from the sofa and trudged up the stairs to my room.

I stopped in the doorway, remorse chasing away my initial delight as I stared at my room. Once again, someone had perfected my space, only this looked a hell of a lot like the ruined room in Nicolas's home must have looked before it was torn apart. Sumptuous fabrics graced a new four-poster bed, and it was a room fit for a bride.

Apparently, Nicolas thought it was fit for me.