Four

Chloe’s eyes fluttered open. For a couple of minutes, she didn’t know where she was.

Judging by the cushioning beneath her and the blankets on top of her, she guessed she was in bed, but the room itself was dark, and it took a moment for her vision to acclimate.

When it did, all she saw was a blank ceiling and slightly less blank walls. She thought she could make out a few doors here and there. One, she assumed, led to a bathroom, the other out into the rest of the . . . house, apartment, whatever . . . and the double set was likely a closet. In her best estimation, anyway.

Lying there, she let the silence surround her and tried to remember how she might have gotten here. It came back to her in a flash, at the same time she realized whose arm was around her waist.

Aidan.

Her husband.

They’d run off to get married at one of Vegas’s many all-night wedding chapels, then come back to his apartment (in the basement of an otherwise very nice building, which she admitted was slightly odd for one of the richest men in the state), and had truly incredible sex. That part wasn’t so surprising—sex with Aidan had always been off the charts.

But then things had gotten weird. She must have drifted off right after she’d climaxed, because she’d had this bizarre dream about him biting her neck from behind, and then of turning around to find his eyes glowing red, and giant, razor-sharp fangs protruding from between his parted lips.

Ha!

Normally, she would blame such strange imaginings on consuming too much spicy food before bed. But since she’d been a nervous wreck most of the day, worrying about how her sister’s bait-and-switch plan would work out, and then about sneaking off to elope with her own white whale, she hadn’t eaten all day.

So maybe hunger was the cause of her post-coital nightmares.

Wondering if Aidan had any quick and easy food in the house, she rolled to her back, shifting his arm lower on her waist. His face rested against her shoulder, but she didn’t feel him breathing, which was a little peculiar. Then again, it’s not like she was overly familiar with her new husband’s sleeping habits.

Had they slept together before? Well, yes and no. They’d certainly heated up the sheets, usually going at it like a couple of howler monkeys every chance they got. But any time they might have spent sleeping was more to recover than to catch some zees.

She really was attracted to him. From the moment they’d met, he’d sent her blood boiling. She’d spent the better part of their first date—which had actually been just drinks at Dante’s, one of the Inferno’s most popular cocktail bars—picturing him naked and squeezing her knees together to keep from embarrassing herself.

But her willingness to jump into bed with him so quickly was also due to the fact that she’d been desperate to snag him. Once she got to know him a bit and realized she actually liked him, trusted that he was a decent guy, she’d thrown herself into the relationship wholeheartedly. The more he wanted her, and the more she’d wormed her way into his head (Cos-tanza!), the better her chances of catching and keeping him.

And that’s exactly what she’d done, wasn’t it? She’d landed herself a nice, rich husband.

Which meant that if he wanted to live underground and do it doggy-style every night, so be it. She certainly wasn’t going to complain about the sex—she was a fan of pretty much every position, and happily, Aidan never failed to bring her off. Sometimes in multiples.

As for living here . . . that’s something they’d have to discuss later. Jake would definitely love that his new stepfather had his very own Bat Cave, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of her son being in a basement apartment that she didn’t know quite how to get safely in or out of, that he could get trapped in, or that might turn him into one of the Mole People if he spent too much time here.

Then again, she hadn’t told Aidan about Jake yet, had she? So discussions and decisions about where they would live and how he would be raised could wait.

Pushing back the covers, she sat up, careful not to disturb her bed buddy. But he never moved, didn’t even draw an extra breath.

So he was a heavy sleeper. That was good to know. And might come in handy living under the same roof as a rambunctious four-year-old.

Scrounging around on the floor, she found Aidan’s black silk shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning it down the front while she searched for her undies. She found them—miraculously—just behind the dust ruffle at the foot of the bed.

Barefoot, in only her new husband’s shirt and her ironically matching thong panties, she padded out of the bedroom and down a long hall to the living area they’d passed through when they’d first arrived. All the lights were off, making the underground quarters pretty much pitch black, but her night vision kicked in enough to keep her from stubbing her toes or walking into a wall.

Finding a lamp to turn on so she didn’t have to familiarize herself with the apartment like she was reading Braille proved slightly more complicated, however.

She padded around, feeling for an end table or a light switch, finally locating one on the other side of the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. When she hit it, bright light exploded, blinding her for a minute as it bounced off all the glossy chrome and stainless-steel surfaces filling the large kitchen.

She covered her eyes, then blinked a few times until they acclimated. When they did, she zeroed in on the giant refrigerator almost as though it was calling her name. Her grumbling stomach must have been fitted with a homing beacon where food was concerned.

Padding across the cool tile floor in her bare feet, she yanked open one side door, ready to grab just about anything she could find. Cheese and crackers, maybe a bit of wine, or even a bowl of cereal would do.

Well, it looked like she could manage the wine part, at least. Inside the fridge, the shelves were nearly bare except for a couple of onyx wine bottles.

The produce drawers were empty, as were the narrow shelves lining the inside of the door. There was no milk, no eggs, not even a container of leftover Chinese takeout. Opening the freezer side, she found even less—just empty shelves behind a puff of icy air.

Well, darn. What the heck did her new husband eat? Apparently only out. Of course, with his money, he could not only afford to eat all of his meals in five-star restaurants, but hire a private, ’round-the-clock chef to cook for him, if he liked.

Still, there had to be something here she could nosh on. Moving from the refrigerator, she started checking the cupboards. The ones above the countertops . . . the ones beneath the countertops . . . even the one under the sink.

She found glasses—juice glasses, wineglasses, highball glasses—plates and bowls in every size imaginable, even silverware in one of the drawers and cooking utensils in another. But not a damn thing more. No ingredients to cook anything, not even a box of crackers or cereal.

Seriously, what the hell was going on? How could the man not have so much as a Fruit Roll-up on hand? Didn’t he believe in midnight snacks or get hungry at all when he wasn’t trolling up and down The Strip in his fancy sports car?

With a huff, Chloe actually stomped her foot. She considered opening one of the bottles of wine and drowning her sorrows, but knew better than to drink on an empty stomach. Especially one as empty as hers was right now.

She didn’t particularly want alcohol, anyway, she wanted food. A turkey sandwich. A big plate of spaghetti and meatballs. No, a trucker’s breakfast—eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast and jam . . .

The more items she added to her mental menu, the hungrier she got. Hands on hips, she whirled around. Either she was going to start beating on Aidan until he woke from his comalike stupor, or she was going to find his car keys, find her way out of this underground tomb, and take herself out for breakfast.

But she didn’t get far. Drawing up short, she yipped to find her groom towering in the doorway.

For a man who slept like the dead, he sure did wake up bright-eyed. And sexy as hell.

Looking wide awake and not the least bit rumpled, he was naked except for a pair of black silk boxers. Which, in her current mood, annoyed her to no end.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him, successfully wiping away a shade of the chipperness written all over his face.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. He put his hands on his hips, then down at his sides, then across his own chest, then dropped them again. The male version of fidgeting. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” she answered quickly. “Why don’t you have any food in your house?”

For a minute, he simply stared at her, his expression blank. Then he croaked out, “What?”

She huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. Making an eating motion near her mouth with her hand, she said, “Food. Food. Something to eat. I’m starving, and you have nothing but a couple bottles of wine in your refrigerator.”

He blinked, still looking dumbfounded.

Throwing up her hands in frustration, she moved to the hanging cupboards and threw open the doors. Then she did the same to the refrigerator, sweeping her arms in every direction like Vanna White turning letters on Wheel of Fortune . Only Chloe’s phrase was beginning to read My h_sb_nd is d_mb_ss, and she didn’t need to buy a vowel to figure it out.

“You’re hungry,” he murmured, finally catching a clue.

Her shoulders sank and she fell back against the edge of the counter. “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m very, very hungry. You failed to feed me last night before you dragged me off to the chapel and then dragged me back here for the wedding night. And why the heck don’t you have any food in the house?” she demanded. “That’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re hungry,” he said again.

He must have seen the murder in her eyes and how close she was to smacking him, because he put his hands up and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll get you something to eat. Do you want to go out or order in?”

“Out. And then we go grocery shopping and stock your cupboards.”

With a brusque nod, he started to turn away, presumably to go get dressed, only to stop and turn back.

“That’s all you’re upset about?” he asked. “The food situation?”

“What else would I be upset about?” she said, tipping her head to the side quizzically.

“I thought maybe . . .” He paused, his glance flicking to her throat before once again meeting her eyes. “Maybe you were mad at me about last night.”

Chloe went still, a sudden chill washing over her. Why would he be worried about how she’d feel after they had sex? They’d done that a few dozen times already. Last night had been hot enough to singe their eyelashes off, sure, but then, it usually was.

“What about last night?” she asked slowly.

“You know . . .” He looked uncomfortable, as well as confused when he gestured toward her neck. “The biting and everything.”

A low hum started in her ears and spread throughout her entire body. Slowly, she lifted a hand to the side of her throat, feeling for the mark she’d thought was nothing more than a dream.

At first, she felt nothing but smooth, normal skin. Then her fingertips found a rough spot. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it felt bumpy and scabby . . . two small spots right beside each other.

As far apart as, say . . . a pair of fangs.

The scene from last night, the one she’d thought was some bizarre dream brought on by stress and low blood sugar, flashed through her memory. Aidan behind her, having just given her one of the top five greatest orgasms of her life . . . the sharp pain in her neck that she hadn’t quite been able to identify . . . touching the spot and bringing her fingers away to find them smeared with blood . . . accusing him of biting her . . . then turning around to find his eyes glowing red and drops of blood on his mouth.

Had it really happened? And if it had, what the hell did it mean?

She hadn’t yet found the bathroom in this place, and hadn’t seen any mirrors on the walls during her brief glance around last night or her stumble through the dark today. So instead of trying to get past him to look for one, she turned back to the glossy silver refrigerator. Twisting this way and that, she found the best view of her throat she could manage and studied it for a moment.

Yep, there it was. Two small dots that looked like puncture wounds. Even given the cloudy reflection, she could make out dark circles of scabbing with lighter pink irritation around them.

W-T-F?

“So you really did bite me,” she accused, spinning back to face him. She’d be surprised if her eyes weren’t glowing red this time.

He had the good sense to look sheepish, his mouth turning down and his cheeks coloring slightly. “I’m sorry. I should have explained sooner.”

Explained? Explained what? That he was a total perv?

“Please tell me I didn’t marry one of those Anne Rice/ Vampire Lestat cultlike freaks who believes they really are a bloodsucking creature of the night. If you had your teeth cosmetically altered or actually drink blood, not only will I divorce you, I’ll stake you in your sleep.”

He flinched, a couple of times, though she couldn’t be sure which part of her tirade disturbed him most.

“This is something we should probably talk about after you’ve had something to eat. And since there’s a good chance you’ll want to try that staking thing once you hear what I have to say, we should probably order in.”

Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms back over her chest, this time to stave off the goose bumps that were breaking out along her skin.

“You aren’t going to kill me down here and make this apartment my underground tomb, are you?” she asked, and she was only half-kidding.

He let out a bark of laughter, which surprisingly made her feel better instead of worse. It was real laughter, the laughter she was used to hearing from him. Not crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter. She hoped.

“Definitely not. We don’t kill for food anymore. It’s not necessary.”

Okay, so maybe it was crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter.

“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

Holding her gaze, Aidan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then lifted a well-muscled shoulder before giving her an answer she really didn’t want to hear.

“Vampires.”