Chapter 8
Regan woke to darkness. Frowning, she glanced around the room, wondering what time it was. She didn't usually wake up in the middle of the night, but the room was dark beyond the faint glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. She was wide awake. Maybe a glass of warm milk would help her relax.
Slipping out of bed, she went into the kitchen. She ran her hands along the wall, searching for the light switch. It wasn't until she opened the refrigerator and saw several plump plastic bags filled with red liquid that she remembered where she was.
Grimacing, she quickly closed the refrigerator door, thinking how bizarre it was that the condos at the Vampire Arms had functional kitchens, complete with ovens and dishwashers. But then, some of the vampires had human lovers, so maybe it wasn't so odd after all.
After turning off the light, she made her way into the dark living room.
A muffled "oomph!" escaped her lips when she bumped into something. She let out a shriek when a hand reached out to steady her.
"Do not be afraid." Santiago's voice poured over her like hot chocolate.
Murmuring a quick, "I'm sorry," she backed away from him and cried out as she hit the back of her leg on a corner of the coffee table.
Once again, his hand was there to steady her. "Stay here."
A moment later, the lights came on and she found herself looking up at Santiago. "I couldn't sleep," she explained, unsettled by his steady gaze. "I was going to get some hot milk, you know, to help me sleep even though I'm not really tired, but…" A rush of heat burned her cheeks. She was babbling like a fool.
"It is late morning, Regan."
"How can that be?" She stared at him, her eyes wide. "You're… you're awake."
He shrugged. "So are you."
"You know what I mean. Why aren't you asleep in your… why aren't you asleep?"
He grinned, obviously amused by her reluctance to mention the traditional place where vampires took their rest. "I am not yet tired."
She glared at him. Stubborn man. He knew very well what she was asking. And she didn't believe for a minute that it was morning. Everyone knew that vampires were, you should pardon the expression, dead to the world until the sun went down.
Moving past him, she went to the heavy black drapes that covered the room's only window and pulled one back, just a little, in case he was telling the truth. After all, she didn't want him to burst into flame right in front of her eyes.
She squinted against the bright light of the sun, then glanced at Santiago over her shoulder. "How can you be awake?"
He backed further into the room's shadows. "Maybe someday I will tell you."
"Another secret?" she asked dryly.
He nodded.
"I guess you have a lot of them."
"More than you can imagine." He jerked his chin toward the window. "Do you mind?"
"What? Oh, sorry." She dropped the heavy drapery back into place, shutting out the morning light, her curiosity growing by leaps and bounds. She had thought she knew all there was to know about vampires. Apparently, she had been wrong.
"I regret I cannot offer you breakfast," he said with a wry grin. "Would you like me to order you something from Sardino's?"
"Spaghetti and meatballs for breakfast?" she muttered dubiously. "I don't think so." Although it was far more preferable than what he dined on.
His laugh was warm and rich as he picked up the phone, punched in the number for the restaurant, and handed her the phone. "Order whatever you wish. Tell Sardino to charge it to my account."
She didn't like the idea of eating in front of Santiago again and was thinking about telling him that she really wasn't hungry when her stomach growled, embarrassingly long and loud. With a sigh, she turned her back to him and ordered a waffle, bacon, coffee, and orange juice.
"Would you care to shower while you wait?" he asked. "There are clean towels in the bathroom."
A shower sounded heavenly. In Flynn's apartment, she wouldn't have hesitated, but Flynn didn't affect her the way Santiago did. And Flynn wasn't a vampire.
Santiago was watching her. Though his expression was impassive, she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Lifting her chin a notch, she said, "Thank you, a shower sounds wonderful."
Before she could change her mind, she pivoted on her heel and headed for the bathroom. She closed and locked the door, knowing, as she did so, that nothing as flimsy as a wooden door or a lock would keep him out. She told herself she was just being paranoid. Santiago had no designs on her; he had been nothing but kind to her.
But he was still a vampire.
And she was still afraid of him.
She turned on the shower, undressed quickly, and stepped under the spray. As wonderful as the water felt, being undressed in Joaquin Santiago's shower made her decidedly ill at ease. It was, she thought as she dried off, probably the fastest shower on record.
She pulled on her clothes and towel-dried her hair. She wished fleetingly that she had her hair dryer and her makeup, then chided herself for worrying about how she looked. He was a vampire, for goodness' sake, not a prospective boyfriend!
Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the bathroom door and went into the living room. She hadn't paid much attention to her surroundings earlier. Looking around now, she understood why. There was little to see. The walls were white and bare, the carpet a nondescript shade of beige. A brown sofa and matching chair were grouped in front of the fireplace. Somehow, none of the furnishings in this room, as sparse as they were, seemed to suit its occupant.
"You are just in time," Santiago said. "The delivery boy left your breakfast outside."
With a nod, Regan retrieved the tray and carried it into the kitchen. The walls were white and devoid of any decoration. The appliances were white and, as far as she could tell, had never been used. The space was so sterile, it reminded her of a hospital operating room.
Santiago followed her to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway, one shoulder negligently propped against the jamb.
Sitting at the small, round, glass-and-metal table, Regan lifted the cover from the tray, pleased to see that Sardino had included utensils and a napkin. The waffle looked light enough to float away; the three strips of bacon were cooked just the way she liked them.
She looked up at Santiago. "Why do I have the feeling I'm the first person that's ever eaten in here?"
"Perhaps because you are," he replied with a faint grin. "Maybe I should stock the shelves."