And during his visit, it was impossible not to notice that Tony’s attitude changed. He wasn’t exactly jolly—despite his shape, Tony was never jolly—but he was . . . careful. He didn’t raise his voice to me anymore, didn’t threaten, didn’t menace. In fact, it had been a real revelation, seeing him, the always-feared head of house, practically groveling on his master’s perfectly shined Tanino Criscis.
And even after Mircea left, Tony didn’t treat me as he had before. If I didn’t get a useful vision for a week or two, there was a definite chill in the air, or he might confine me to my room or cancel one of my rare forays outside the house. But I wasn’t going downstairs. I was never going downstairs.
Mircea had meant security, protection, sanctuary. He had many other attractive attributes, ones that other women would probably value much more highly. But nothing came close to that sense of security for me. It had been the greatest gift anyone had ever given me.
It still was.
“I’m thinking you just hit good,” I told him, when I could talk again.
He thought about that for a moment. “Let’s try for excellent,” he said, and rolled me over.
Oh, boy.
Chapter Sixteen
“I knew it!”
I jumped, because the angry voice spoke at almost the same moment that I rematerialized back in my bedroom in Vegas. I spun around, sending my aching head sloshing unpleasantly against my skull, and saw Billy lounging on the bed. A pack of playing cards hung in the air in front of him, laid out in a vertical game of solitaire. But they were ghostly cards, no more substantial than their owner, and I could clearly see his scowl glaring through.
For someone who regularly was up to as much crap as Billy Joe, he did disapproval really well.
“What?” I said defensively, clutching the mink and my dignity. Since I was barefoot, mostly naked and completely hungover, I was pretty sure I grasped only one of them.
“You slept with the goddamned vampire!”
“I—How did you know?”
Billy rolled his eyes.
“Well . . . even if I did, it’s none of your business,” I informed him haughtily. And then I ruined the effect by limping to the bathroom.
I flicked on the lights, but they hurt my eyes so I flicked them off again. But then I couldn’t see. Until Billy’s softly glowing head poked through the wall, like a pissed-off night-light.
“I thought you were gonna give it some time,” he said accusingly. “I thought you were gonna get to know him first. I thought—”
“Does anybody ever really know anybody?” I asked. And, okay, it was lame, but my head hurt like a bitch.
“Oh, man.” Billy looked disgusted. “He must really be something. One night and he’s got you wrapped.”
“He does not!”
“Like hell.” He crossed his arms. “What did you tell me right before you left?”
I sighed, wondering why I never had any damn aspirin. “I know. But—”
“But what? You told me you’re absofuckinglutely, posifuckingtively, not getting horizontal. ’Cause vamps aren’t like regular people, and you’re in the middle of negotiating the relationship and he’d take it as a sign of surrender, and—”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, running some cold water onto a washcloth. And then slapping it over my aching eyes. Dear God, I was never drinking again.
“Oh, okay. So what was it like?”
“A . . . time-out,” I mumbled incoherently.
But apparently not incoherently enough.
“A time-out.” Billy did sarcasm pretty well, too.
“Yeah.”