Stefan broke from the kiss.
Meredith made a faint, longing noise and tried to cup his head back down, only to meet in her fingers the steel of a stubborn vampire’s neck. She sighed, her breath slowing.
Then she opened her eyes and he saw the rainbow sheen of tears in their darkness and the dampness on her face.
“You cannot do that to Bonnie,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “You can’t.”
“Bonnie’s a little girl.”
“You think? You’ll find out. Bonnie was born a woman—in certain areas. Yes, she dots her i’s with little hearts. But, maybe because she’s psychic, or a witch, or whatever, she’s grown up in that one matter.”
Stefan laughed, glad to see that they were both calming down. As for Bonnie, it wasn’t even worth arguing over: giddy Bonnie of the flashflood emotions; Bonnie who was a sweet bubbly child, nothing more. “All right,” he said amiably. “I won’t. But before I forget”—he held Meredith’s eyes and waited a beat and then said—“thank you.”
“Thank you,” Meredith returned and for one moment her eyes misted over. But she had regained her composure, although her olive skin was still flushed and her breathing still slightly unsteady. “Now I know that Elena wasn’t just bragging on you.”
“And now I’m embarrassed.”
“You’re not. You must have heard it, in all sorts of ways, from all sorts of girls. Over all sorts of centuries.”
Stefan, with those dark eyes on him, felt his own skin flush. He met Meredith’s gaze squarely. “I won’t lie to you. It’s a—tool—in the repertoire of vampire tricks. Usually. But that was . . . the meeting of two kindred souls in lovingkindness, I think. And I thank you.” Meredith gave a longer sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone can catch a vampire unawares without a snappy answer.”
“I’ve been playing this particular game for”—he smiled—“all sorts of centuries.”
“And that’s usually how it’s started, is it? Getting the blood you need. Under the guise of romance?”
“Or straightout mind control.” He wasn’t happy talking about this, but Meredith had the right to ask whatever she liked of him, as long as they got on with it soon.
“And sometimes you feel things strongly, like just now, just like a human—”
“Almost just like a human.” Stefan could hear the undercurrent of savagery in his own voice.
Meredith ignored it. “And when you’re drinking blood and you’re—tempted to go too far—you’re able to keep your head? The way you did a few minutes ago when I wanted to go on kissing and you wouldn’t let me?”
Stefan stared at her.
It was one of the most courageous things he’d ever heard done in cold blood, Meredith asking that question.
He knew Meredith would rather not think about the bloodfeast at all, and certainly would rather not talk about it. And he knew she didn’t want to think about the consequences of this particular feeding.
He shook his head slightly. He’d underestimated her again.
And now he had to face the question, too, and it didn’t matter that the situation had been forced on him, against his most violent objections. Meredith was right: he had been tempted a few minutes ago.
He was tempted now. The memory of Meredith’s blood, pulsing in the thin, soft skin of her lips; the warmth of it pulsing against his mouth—even now pulsing in the graceful olive column of her throat . . . Dear God, did she even know how she tempted him?
Her dark eyes said she did and that she was sorry . . . and frightened.
Almost against his will, Stefan put up a hand to touch her cheek again. It was wet, and that was his fault. He shut his eyes in pain, then spoke between set teeth.
“Meredith, I’ve been doing this for a long time. And as you said, I was able to control myself before. I think I can promise you safety, or we wouldn’t even be here having this discussion. I—I never took enough to truly endanger Elena under normal conditions, and—” He winced and stopped.
“And I’m not Elena, however tempting.”
“No—”
“I understand, Stefan. I wasn’t being catty. You’ve comforted me. And I think we’d better start now, while I’m comforted.”
“Meredith . . .”