Chapter 19

Connor drove down the road past town and at first I thought he was taking me to Kamluck Logging. Instead, he turned about halfway there and took us up the hill through the residential part of town. The houses petered out and we pulled onto a long drive that ended at a gated estate. His home, I’d bet money on it.

He clicked a remote and the gate slid quietly open. I was expecting to see a brooding gothic mansion—something dark and mysterious that belonged on a gated estate deep in the woods owned by a sexy vampire leader.

Instead it was an elegant log home that looked almost new. It had a steeply pitched roof and two large balconies that wrapped around most of the walls. There were stone chimneys at both ends of the house, and the glass front looked over Portlock and out to the bay. That was a brag; he was a vampire that wasn’t afraid of the sun. Like me, Connor had a charm at his throat that protected him from its rays.

He pulled the truck into a big garage and parked it next to a flashy red Mustang. He helped me out. ‘This way,’ he said, as he ushered me into his home.

When he led me into the front room, I gasped at the view. ‘It’s beautiful!’

I looked around. He’d set up the area like a fancy restaurant. There was only one table covered with a black cloth and lit by candles, set with expensive looking silverware and crystal.

He pulled out a chair for me then sat opposite me. ‘What do you think?’ he asked – did I detect a hint of nerves?

‘It’s amazing. Your home is lovely.’

‘Thank you. I do love it,’ he admitted.

A man dressed as a waiter cleared his throat before entering. He carried two bottles of wine. ‘Red or white, madam?’

‘Red, please.’

‘The perfect choice,’ he replied smoothly. He opened the bottle and poured the tiniest amount for me to sample. I sipped and then confirmed that I was happy with it – more than happy. It was so long since I’d had a good, full-bodied red. The waiter poured me a full glass. ‘And for you, sir?’ he asked Connor.

‘The same, thank you.’

I liked that. Connor may have hired the guy and set up the whole scene, but he still treated the waiter with respect. In the circles I used to frequent, the patrons considered the staff below their notice. That was probably one of the reasons I’d become a waitress: it was the biggest rebellion I could come up with at the time.

Connor chuckled as he watched me take another sip. ‘Better than blood?’ he asked.

‘Much,’ I said emphatically, pulling a face.

He shook his head with amusement. ‘Do you have a favourite blood vintage?’

I was confused. ‘What do you mean? Can you get it in different years?’

He laughed. ‘No, I meant types. I prefer AB. Do you have a favourite blood type?’

‘No, it’s all the same to me. Except deer blood, which is absolutely vile.’

‘I was hoping to offer you your favourite blood but my research failed.’

‘I’m easy to please. Whatever you have will be fine.’

‘No problem. The first course is blood. Since you don’t have a favourite, I’ll share mine.’

I didn’t see him give a signal, but the waiter came back almost immediately with two crystal wine glasses of warmed blood. He placed one in front of me and the other in front of Connor.

His eyes lit up and he flashed me a smile with a tiny bit of fang before sipping then setting down the glass. I knew that was a supreme show of control for a vampire. I looked at my glass. I didn’t want to sip it; sipping wasn’t a show of control for me, it was prolonging the necessary input of nutrition, nothing more.

Connor watched me, a half grin tilting his lips. He was waiting for me to plug my nose and gulp it down but, since I was born contrary, I took a sip and set down my glass too. The blood didn’t taste that bad, but I still didn’t like it. The idea was too creepy.

He raised an eyebrow, picked up his glass and downed the blood in one. I laughed and followed suit, plugging my nose and chugging it. Mum would have been horrified. Then I ran my tongue over my teeth: bloody smiles weren’t sexy.

No sooner had we finished than the waiter brought out the second course. My foodie eyes lit up. ‘Marseille-style shrimp stew,’ he announced as he placed the shallow, delicate bowls in front of us.

I took a single bite and my eyes rolled back in my head with pleasure. ‘Oh yum. This is fantastic.’

Connor smiled. ‘Almost everything was locally grown or caught. I figured it was time to give you a proper taste of Portlock.’

I licked my lips and watched his gaze follow my tongue. I was craving another taste of Portlock, but this hankering had nothing to do with shrimp. With a visible effort, Connor tore his hungry eyes from me and concentrated on his food.

We took the last bite as the next course was brought in. The chef had timed things to perfection. ‘Crusty halibut with citrus and fennel salad,’ the waiter intoned.

I looked at the colourful salad topped with a piece of delicate white fish, lightly breaded and fried on one side. Halibut fish and chips at the diner was nothing like this. When I took a bite, the flavour exploded in my mouth and the tartness of the citrus with the light fullness of the fish made me groan aloud.

Connor’s eyes grew even darker and suddenly a predator was watching me. I squirmed a little but it was with anticipation; I was going to rip that blue shirt off him later. I let the promise show in my eyes and it was his turn to shift in his seat. ‘Okay?’ I purred.

‘My trousers are suddenly tight,’ he confessed.

‘Too much food?’ I asked innocently, batting my eyelashes.

‘It has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the temptress moaning at my table.’

‘If you didn’t want me moaning, you should have hired a bad chef,’ I sassed.

‘Oh, I wanted you moaning,’ he admitted. ‘I flew in the chef from Homer. I’m paying him an extortionate amount – and I’m going to give him one hell of a tip.’

I had a feeling that if Connor hadn’t planned all of this and the waiter wasn’t there, we’d already be naked and sweaty. The heat between us was palpable and building with each glance. Thankfully – and irritatingly – the waiter interrupted with a tiny scoop of a palate cleanser. ‘Mojito sorbet.’

Mint and lime with a tiny hint of sweetness: the sharp flavours cleared my mouth of the two previous fish dishes. ‘My God, this is divine. Definitely give the chef a raise.’ I made short work of the sorbet and wished there were three more scoops. The one thing I missed from my old life was amazing food – not my parents, not the money, but the food.

The waiter returned with yet another course; many more and I’d pop. ‘Moose steak au poivre with red-wine sauce.’

The meat was rare and sliced into slivers with the sauce poured over it, and it was served with three tiny, delicately seasoned potatoes. I had entered foodie heaven. ‘This. Is. Amazing!’

Connor gave an indulgent smile; he was enjoying pampering me, and I was certainly enjoying being pampered. ‘Which dish is your favourite?’ he asked.

‘This one. No, the shrimp.’ I shook my head. ‘The halibut, for sure.’

He laughed. ‘You liked them all?’

‘I loved them all! I haven’t had food like this for ages.’

His eyes sparkled. ‘Are you ready for dessert?’

I wasn’t because I was full to bursting, but I wanted to try it if it was of the same quality as the rest of the meal. There was also the possibility that I was dessert, in which case I was totally on board. I nodded.

The waiter breezed in and presented a tiny cup of something chocolate decorated with a purple chrysanthemum blossom and a berry I didn’t recognize. ‘Chocolate lavender mousse,’ he announced before withdrawing discreetly.

I took a small scoop with my spoon, licked it off and let the flavour linger on my tongue before I swallowed. It was perfection. Despite my best intentions, I polished off the whole lot.

As the dishes were cleared away, the waiter offered me another glass of wine which I happily accepted, though Connor refused. I raised an eyebrow. ‘So I can drive you home,’ he explained. His smile had a sad edge to it; he didn’t want me to go home. I reached for his hand. I didn’t want to go either but it seemed a bit forward to tell him that I wanted to stay.

I heard a heavy door close in the distance and realised we were finally alone: the chef and wait staff had gone. Excitement and nerves warred in my gut. ‘You did a fabulous job taking me to the city,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m not done.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘There’s more?’ I said incredulously.

He smiled. ‘There’s more.’