Chapter 8

8- Damn you for the daisies

 

“Wake up, Miss Stackhouse.”

“Am I sleeping?” I asked sleepily.

I shifted up from Eric’s lap and blinked up at him foggily.  His hands were still in my hair, and it took a second or two to untangle.

“Would you say you are sober now, Miss Stackhouse?” he asked pleasantly.

“Reasonably,” I agreed before catching the rising gleam in his eye.

“Why?” I asked suspiciously, and then he was kissing me.

Eric’s kiss was hungry, and it wasn’t on account of his fangs.  Nope.  They stayed curiously absent.  It was his hands that told the truth of his appetite.  They raced over me, almost worshipful, not quite demanding.  I was in no way passive to his efforts.  I arched into him, hands just as needy, lips just as greedy.  His tongue was cool, his mouth tasted faintly of pennies.

All in all, it was a devastating kiss.

More so when I realized he’d done it in anger.

I couldn’t have told you how I knew.  There was a cruel glint to his eye, a satisfied set to his shoulders that went beyond passionate pride.  He was happy to have set me on edge, happy that I was dumbfounded rather than detached.

I licked my lips and considered his smug expression carefully.

“Ten points for smoothness.  Eight for effort.”

“Only eight?” he asked affronted.

“You were mindful the whole time kissing me.”

“Just because I don’t lose control of my fangs doesn’t mean I’m not lost in the moment,” he said dismissively.

I shook my head.

“This isn’t about fangs.  It’s about frustration.  You kissed me like that to punish me for your wantin.’”

He stared at me darkly.

“I know a thing or two about unwanted wants, Mr. Northman.  If you think to catch me unawares on that account, you’re sorely mistaken.

“Shallow wants lead to shallow graves,” I said, very quietly.

He continued staring at me in heavy silence.  I blew out a shaky breath.

“Aside from that small bit of ass hattery, this has been a real nice night.  So let’s just call it quits, alright?”

He inclined his head regally.

“Your apartment, Miss Stackhouse.”

We were already parked outside, and I slid over to the door without assistance from my favorite Viking.  I mean least favorite.  Yeah.

I was so busy juggling lust with disappointment that I almost missed what he said next.

“You make me long to believe in happily ever afters, Miss Stackhouse.”

I turned around to look as the chauffeur closed the door, but his face was as lost in shadows as mine was in frustration.  I stood there on the curb for a long minute stalemate before making my way into my apartment building.

Looked like it was going to be a long night.

 

 

There was a present on my desk when I got to work the next morning.

As apologies go, it was a stunner.  An elaborate crystal vase overflowing with the daintiest, creamiest skinned white daisies.  There was a gaping hole in the middle of a meadow somewhere, and a gaping Hollywood gopher staring at them now.  I forced my mouth shut with some effort and ran my index finger over one of them longingly.

Nope.  This was so not happening.  I immediately snapped up my set report and marched down to Eric’s office.  He was in the middle of a conference call and I glared at him all the way through to the finish.

“Damn you for the daisies,” I snapped venomously when he was done.  He merely leaned back in his chair and looked me over from head to toe.  I was back to my Wal-Mart dress up specials, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You didn’t like them?” he asked eventually with a gentle smile.

“Oh sure, I loved them.  But this whole ping pong bullshit has got to stop.  Can’t you just stay an ass so I can hate you?”

He shifted easily in his chair.

“I have no intention of making this easy on you, Miss Stackhouse.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“You are not an easy woman.”

“My point exactly!  I’m not like you, Eric.  All this Hollywood bed hopping is not for me.  I’ve slept in a grand total of one bed, count it one-“  I wagged my index finger at him to punctuate.  “-and aside from a stay over or two with my friend Tara, I’ve slept in it alone.”

“I am well aware,” he said softly.  His skin was pulsing with lustful light off my defiant confession.  His blue eyes were hooded over his hunger.  I felt my own body tighten in instinctive response, and I nearly screamed for it.

“I don’t want this.”

He stood at that and drew closer to me, running fingers along my jaw.

“Little liar.”

“Fine.  I don’t want to want this.”

“And a harsh truth.”  His deep blue eyes made me ache for him, and I wanted that about as much as I wanted a skillet to the back of my skull.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I demanded desperately.

“Such things should not be suffered unnecessarily alone.”

That stopped me cold.

“I don’t want you suffering, Eric,” I said gently, placing my palm flat to his cheek.  His flesh was warmer than usual off some borrowed heat, and seemed unnatural to me already.  I didn’t want to be thinking like that.

“You and I have something here,” he offered.  “Will you let your fear ruin it?”

I thought back to my parents, laid out Romeo and Juliet style on their bed, bullet holes and brainy splatter ruining my Gran’s hand worked quilts.  Was this was love required, such brutal sacrifice, or could I let go enough to let Eric in?

“I don’t know,” I whispered desperately.

I turned and left him to his own musings.

 

 

 

Later that night I received a phone call from my horn dog of a brother Jason.  It took all of one sentence to realize it wasn’t going to be the most pleasant of calls.

“Sook… you’re on the cover of Star.”

“I am?” I asked wearily.

“Yup.  It reads ‘Hollywood’s hottest coming attraction?’  There’s a picture of some Eric fellow and you ducking into the limo after your dinner at some place called Ansel House.”

I shivered.  I could still feel his big palm spread over the small of my back as I slid inside.  I felt my tummy give a little twinge just remembering how passionately possessive that simple touch had felt.

I closed my eyes and took a very deep breath.  I counted to twenty, then added on ten more just to be certain as my brother droned on.

“Miss Stackhouse, a relatively new addition to the CBP team, has been seen in frequent company of movie mogul Eric Northman.  Northman is co-executive producer for Coffin Bait Productions, Scream Gems’ newest undead jewel.”

“Sook, what is this shit?”

“It’s not shit,” I snapped.  “It was a date.  A very pleasant one, I’ll have you know.  He’s buying me a car.”  I deliberately left out the part about telepathic gambling to acquire it.

“What, weren’t none of the Bon Temps boys could enough for you had to go and land yourself a fanger?”

My fury rose hot like July in the Sahara.

“Jason Stackhouse!  That ain’t how Gran raised you!  And more’n half the Bon Temps boys think I’m loonier than fruitcake.  I wasn’t never going to find happiness with any of them.”

“Oh but with a vampire you might, huh?”

“Yes,” I said as thickly sweet as molasses on a winter slide.  “I might.  You might find it convenient to forget Jason, but I ain’t exactly normal.  I’m about as mystical as not, and vamps think more of me for it, not less.”

Jason didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

“Eric’s good to me.  He’s kind and considerate, and he-“

“Likely wants to screw your brains out.”

“Well that too, but I’m handling myself, alright?”

“I’m sure you can.”  He finally seemed to be calming down.

“You’re right, saying you ain’t exactly normal sis.  But ever since mama and daddy, you’ve been…  Well I don’t know how to spell it.”

“I fit in real good with the vamps down here, Jason,” I said quietly.  “I’m making my home here now.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me.  You used to be so light and full of grace.  I’m worried that’s gone up on their dying.”

I was actually touched.  Jason never said such things to me.

“Jason, honey, you ain’t got to worry.  God knows where to find me.  I’m still full of light.”  It was just a little darker now.  “And I’m happy here, happier than I’ve been in a long time.  My boss Godric is simply amazing, and Eric is…  Well he’s something else, too.  I’m well cared for here.  I’m making a home.”

“Your home will always be here,” he insisted stubbornly.

“My heart will always be with Gran and you, but Bon Temp ain’t home anymore.  Maybe it never was.  I was too big a freak to keep up with the Joneses, Jason.”

“Who’re the Joneses?” he asked, deadly serious, and I laughed.

“Oh, I do miss you Jason.  Why don’t you take some time off and come see me?  We’ll do the town, the Riverfront at night.”

“Maybe.  I’ll try.”  Which was akin to never.

“I’ll introduce you to Pamela de Beaufort,” I teased, and could practically hear him salivate through the phone.

“I’ve got a couple of weeks coming up.  I could jump on them.”

I laughed.

“Bring Tara.”

“Righteo, will do.  Love you sis.”

“Love you brother.”

I hung the phone gently into the cradle.