The door itself was tall and plain, cold gray brushed metal. I pressed the doorbell three times before someone finally came to the door: Dalton’s butler, Vern.
“Vern!” I was so happy to see him, that I just hugged him without waiting for an invitation.
“What’s happening?” he asked softly. “Mr. Deangelo is all worked up.”
He waved me into the space. I wiped off my shoes on the matt in the foyer, then followed Vern into the large entertaining space, with its polished concrete floor, fifteen-foot-high ceilings, and giant ceiling fans that looked like airplane propellers.
Dalton was reclining on one of the white leather sofas, watching something on his phone.
“Vern, her things are in the master bedroom. Please pack everything in her luggage.”
“Her luggage?” I sputtered. “I’m right here. You’re going to pretend I don’t exist?”
He glanced up briefly from his phone, his dazzling green eyes looking wounded. “It’s either that or offend you in some way,” he muttered.
Vern glanced over at me. “I’ll just go pack your things and give you a moment.” He exited quietly, leaving us alone.
“I’m not falling for the old madder-than-you trick,” I said. “You’re not allowed to hate me, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You got your fame ticket to LA, sweetheart, but guess what? It’s a round-trip ticket this time.”
Quietly, I assessed the situation. I knew someone else who acted offended when he was in trouble. Kyle. Who was only seven years old. And what was the best way to deal with him when he acted this way? Sympathy.
I crossed the room and took a seat in the chair adjacent to Dalton’s sofa. He was still lying there, so the top of his head faced me.
“I can see that you’re not happy,” I said. “Do you want to talk about this?”
He sighed and rolled over, still not looking at me. “I knew it was over when I left you that morning at your house, but I hoped I was wrong.”
“Dalton, I only took the modeling contract because it made me feel like I was somebody—like how you’re somebody. If I had my own thing, and wasn’t just some small-town girl who worked in a bookstore, then a person could sort of squint and see that maybe you and I could be a couple.”
“But I liked you exactly how you were.” He sat up slowly, and turned to face me. As he looked into my eyes, he said, “I like you exactly how you are.”
I folded my hands together nervously on my lap. The room was cool, but suddenly felt hot and dangerous, like the ceiling could fall and crush us.
“When we first met, you said we were future old friends. Can’t we just skip to that now? I can get over how hurt and betrayed I feel over you stringing me along with lines from a script, if it means we can be friends.”
He looked down, and I searched his beautiful face for clues. He had a scar I hadn’t noticed before—a tiny pock like a chicken pox scar—right between his eyebrows.
He turned his eyes back up slowly, a sly grin on his face. “Does being friends mean you’ll come for a dip in my pool? It’s not a natural hot spring, but it can be refreshing.”
“Stop looking at me like you’re thinking about eating me.”
He didn’t stop smirking. “Just one of the hazards of playing a vampire for so long.”
“If you’re always playing roles, how do you know which personality is you?”
“Does it matter? I’m whoever you want me to be. We all are.”
I shook my head and thought about storming out in a huff, but I had one question I’d been dying to get an answer to.
“Why’d you do it?” I asked. “Did you seduce me for research, or because you needed entertainment?”
“Seduce you? Excuse me, but you were the one grinding against me at your cousin’s wedding, running your hands up and down my body every chance you got. You were the one who said she wouldn’t be shushed, but shoved her gorgeous lips or tits in my mouth whenever I said something you didn’t like. You were the one who took what she wanted and ran out like a thief in the night on more than one occasion.”
“Stop changing the subject. I know what I did, because I was there. My eyes are wide open. Now answer my question.”
He pursed his gorgeous lips once, twice. “Research.”
The word hung in the air like noxious gas.
“Research in the beginning,” he said.
“I knew it.” I slammed my palms on the armrests of the chair, making a slapping noise.
He shifted along the sofa, moving closer to me. He put both of his hands on top of mine, and then held my hands in his.
“But it stopped being research when I made love to you.”
I yanked my hands out of his, and started scrambling back to get out of the chair and away from him, but the doorbell rang, and I froze.
Vern came jogging through and went straight to the door.
Dalton grabbed my hand again, and stood up over me, learning forward so his face was inches above mine. “What’s scaring you?” he asked. “Was it the idea of love? The idea of making love?”
I looked around his shoulder, at the foyer. Keith would be coming in any second, and I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“I’m not scared,” I said. “I’m not scared of the dark, or of things in the woods, and I’m not scared of love. I love my family and my friends. I just don’t feel it for you.”
“Do you love this new guy?”
Keith walked into the room, looking young in his leather sandals and camouflage-print shorts, yet walking with a deliberate swagger, his chest puffed out.
Dalton leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Tell me. Do you love him?”
The idea that he thought my private feelings were any of his business, coupled with the fact he was trapping me in that chair and making me claustrophobic, made me seethe with rage. I could have punched him in the solar plexus, and if the wind had been blowing another direction that morning I might have, but I had another way to hurt him.
“Yes,” I whispered. “We just met, but yes.”
He stood up slowly, his expression cold. “Nice.” He flipped his chin at me in a gesture of detachment.
Turning, he reached his hand out. “Dalton Deangelo,” he said to Keith, his voice way deeper than I’d ever heard it.
“Keith Raven,” Keith said, his voice equally deep in pitch. “This is quite the home you have here. I was looking at a Spanish in Outpost Estates, but the renovation wasn’t as high quality.” He looked up at the ceiling fans, his hands on his hips, and his chest broad enough to take up half the spacious room. “Are those functional?”