Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,86
and evaporate into nothingness.
“I’m sorry, Dorian,” she said softly, lowering her eyes and taking a step back. “I need to think, and I can’t do that with you here.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to leave.”
“You’re telling me I can’t use my own shower?”
“Are there no other showers in this mansion?”
“A dozen, actually, but—”
“Then find a different one!”
“Charlotte—”
“I can’t breathe, Dorian!” She turned her back on him and stepped into the shower, losing herself for a moment under the rush of hot water.
When she opened her eyes again, Dorian was gone.
The bedroom was too quiet.
With a towel wrapped around her head and Dorian’s robe wrapped around her body, Charlotte crept out of the bathroom, scanning the bedroom for signs of her vampire.
The bed had been remade with clean sheets, the splintered night table and stakes cleared away. Her ruined dress and undergarments were gone, along with Dorian’s clothing.
And the vampire himself was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment settled into her stomach.
“Careful what you wish for, girl,” she muttered.
On an antique bench at the foot of the bed, she spotted the overnight bag she’d left in Travis’ car and her purse, but her phone was missing. Just as she’d feared, she probably dropped it while she was careening down that hill, trying to avoid becoming a vampire snack.
Someone had also left a silver tray on the low dresser. It looked like a fancy room-service tray, with a teapot of hot water, a small basket containing at least ten different kinds of teas, and a porcelain sugar-and-creamer set that was probably older than Dorian. Beneath a silver dome, she found a bowl of fresh berries and grapes, and a selection of gourmet cheese and crackers that had her stomach grumbling.
She hadn’t eaten since she’d left the hotel in town, too nervous about the job to keep anything down.
With a surge of gratitude, she plucked a strawberry from the pile and popped it into her mouth.
Behind the fruit bowl, tucked into a tiny pewter place card holder, was a note written in elegant script.
I thought you might like some refreshment.
Sweet dreams, Charlotte.
—Dorian
She pressed the note to her chest, shaking her head as if that alone could erase all the craziness from her brain.
Dorian fucking Redthorne.
How dare he be so kind, so thoughtful? He was supposed to be pissed at her for kicking him out of his own bedroom. He was supposed to be cold and distant. He was supposed to love her and leave her, just like the rest.
He was supposed to be a monster. One she could hate. One she could justify stealing from. One she could easily walk away from.
But instead, he’d taken care of her.
He’d given her space.
He’d cleaned up the mess.
He’d brought her a midnight snack.
And, she realized, he’d left the bedroom door ajar.
Charley didn’t know if it was a test or a show of trust, but right now, she didn’t care. She was too exhausted for an escape, too overwhelmed to snoop.
After indulging in a cup of lavender vanilla tea with cream and a big helping of everything else, Charley pushed the door closed, crawled between the cool, black sheets, pulled Dorian’s robe around her body, and waited for the darkness to take her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The scent of coffee pulled Charley from a decadent dream, the effects of which still lingered between her thighs. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, the dream vision receding as she took in the sight of her unfamiliar surroundings.
Dorian Redthorne’s bedroom. Annandale-on-Hudson.
She was alone in the king-sized bed, the sheets cold and smooth, the coffin-like decor no less imposing in the daylight.
Kings… Coffins… Vampires.
Everything came back in a rush.
It hadn’t been a dream. More like a waking nightmare.
Liar, she thought, scolding herself. If last night was such a nightmare, why was her body still begging for his touch? Why was the burn in her thighs such a delicious reminder of what had transpired in this very bed?
“Because you’re certifiable,” she whispered. “That’s why.”
Slowly dragging herself to the windows, Charley slid open the tapestries. Outside, the lush grounds were velvety green carpets, mist rising from the river like steam from the bath.
Charley took a moment to bask in the early morning sunlight. Sometimes she forgot how different everything looked outside the imposing steel-and-glass metropolis she called home.
What a difference a day makes.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was sitting in a hotel room prepping for the job, Rudy’s warnings playing on repeat in her head. Believe me when I say there is no room for error on this one,