With the soft sound of shoes grinding on rock salt, Kisten shifted back.
'Hi, Rachel,' he said, his eyes taking in my clothes. A faint stiffening of the skin about his eyes told me I had guessed correctly; I wasn't dressed for whatever he had planned. I wished I knew what he had on under the luscious gray wool coat he was wearing. It went all the way to his boot tops and looked classy. He had shaved, too—his usual day-old stubble gone—giving him a polished look I wasn't used to seeing on him.
'This isn't what I'm wearing,' I said by way of greeting. 'Come on in. I just need a minute to change.'
'Sure.' Past him at the curb was his black Corvette, the light snow melting as it hit. He edged in past me, and I pulled the door thumping shut behind him.
'Ivy's in the kitchen,' I said, starting back to my room, his soft steps following right behind me. 'She had a bad afternoon. She won't talk to me, but she might talk to you.'
'She called me,' he said, the careful cadence of his words telling me he knew about Piscary asserting his dominance over her. 'You're going to put on different boots, right?'
I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. 'What's wrong with my boots?' I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah…the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.
He looked at them, his dyed-blond eyebrows high. 'They're what, five inches?'
'Yeah.'
'It's icy. You're going to slip and break your ass.' His blue eyes widened. 'I mean your rear end.'
A smile crossed my face at the thought that he was trying to clean up his mouth for me. 'They make me as tall as you, too,' I said smugly.
'I noticed.' He hesitated. With a little jiggle, he whisked past me and into my room.
'Hey!' I protested as he went right to my closet. 'Get out of my room!'
Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn't like. 'I saw something here the other day,' he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. 'Here,' he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. 'Start with these.'
'Those?' I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. 'There's no heel to those at all. And they're four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?'
'That's a classic boot,' Kisten said, affronted. 'It never goes out of style. Put them on.' He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn't possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I'd forgotten I had. 'Oh, this is just ugly,' he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.
'It's my old interview suit,' I said. 'It's supposed to be ugly.'
'Throw it away. But keep the pants. You're wearing them tonight.'
'I am not!' I protested. 'Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!'
Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don't-go- there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn't the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.
'This too,' he said, and I shook my head.
'No,' I said firmly. 'It's too long, and it's something my mother would wear.'
'Then your mother has better taste than you,' he said in good humor. 'Wear a camisole under it, and for God's sake, don't tuck it in.'
'Kisten, get out of my closet!'
But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten's eyes told me he knew what it was.
'Give me that,' I said, reaching out for it.
A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I'd have to climb him. 'Well, well, well…' he drawled. 'Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel's guide to dating the undead?'
I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.
'Have you read it?' he asked, then made a surprised Mmmm sound as he paused at a page. 'I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that.'
'Yes, I've read it.' I extended my hand. 'Give it here.'
Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.
'Ooooh, it's important to you,' Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. 'Rachel…' he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. 'You know all my secrets.' Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. 'What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over—the—edge…'
He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.
'You know how to…manipulate me,' he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. 'Do witches have a manual?'
He had somehow gotten within two feet of me, and I didn't remember him moving. The smell of his wool coat was strong, and under that was the heady scent of leather. Flustered, I snatched the book away, and Kisten dropped back a step. 'Don't you wish,' I muttered. 'Ivy gave it to me so I would stop pushing her buttons. That's all it is.' I shoved it under my pillow, and his smile widened. Damn it, if he touched me, I was going to slug him.
'That's where it belongs,' he said. 'Not a closet. Keep it close for quick reference.'
'Get out,' I said, pointing.
Long coat drifting about his shoe tops, he moved to the door, his every motion holding a confident seductive grace. 'Put your hair up,' he said as he sauntered through the arch-way. A grin came over him, showing me his teeth. 'I like your neck. Page twelve, third paragraph down.' He licked his lips, hiding the flash of fang even as I saw it.
'Out!' I shouted, taking two steps and slamming the door.
Fuming, I turned to what he had laid out on my bed, glad I'd made it that afternoon. A faint tingling at my neck drew my hand up, and I pressed my palm into it, willing it away. I stared at my pillow, then hesitantly pulled the book out. Rynn Cormel had written it? Cripes, the man had single-handedly run the country during the Turn, and he had enough time to write a vampire sex manual, too?
The scent of lilac rose as I opened it at the dog-eared page. I was prepared for anything, having been through the book twice and finding myself more appalled than turned on, but it was only about the use of necklaces to send messages to your lover. Apparently the more you covered your neck, the more you were inviting him or her to rip it open. The gothic metallic lace that was so popular lately was like walking around in a teddy. Going completely bare at the neck was almost as bad—a delicious claim of vampiric virginity and a complete and utter turn-on.
'Huh,' I muttered, closing the book and dropping it on my new bedside table. Maybe a reread was in order. My gaze went to the outfit Kisten had chosen for me. It looked frumpy, but I'd try it on, and when Ivy told him I looked like I was forty, he could wait another ten minutes while I changed back.
Motions quick, I took off my boots and tossed them thumping aside. I had forgotten that the gray slacks were lined with silk, and they made a pleasant sensation slipping over my legs. I chose a black halter top—without Kisten's help—and put the long shirt on over it. It didn't do a thing to show off my curves, and I turned to my mirror, frowning.
I froze at my reflection, shocked. 'Damn,' I whispered. I had looked good before in my black dress and boots. But in this? In this I looked…sophisticated. Remembering page twelve, I fumbled for my longest gold chain and looped it over my head. 'Double damn,' I breathed, shifting to see myself from a different angle.
My curves were gone, hidden behind the simple straight lines, but the subdued statement of the modest slacks, silk shirt, and gold chain screamed confidence and casual wealth. Now my pale skin was softly alabaster instead of sickly white, and my athletic build appeared sleek. It was a new look for me. I didn't know I could do high-class wealthy.
