Page 80 of Forsaking All Others

He nods enthusiastically and signals to the camera crew to get ready.

I get the feeling he knew I’d say this.

‘Sneaky little bastard. Thinking you’ve let me feel like I’ve won something when in reality I’m doing exactly what you want. If you only knew exactly what I’d like to do to you…’

“Alright Viscount, I’m going to blindfold you now and rearrange the contestants in random order. You simply need to start from the left and work your way down the line. You determine how long you need each kiss to go on for. Although ideally, given there are only twelve women, you can take more than a minute or two with each.”

He lowers his voice to a whisper.

“And if you could pretend to favour one, or perhaps a couple, that would really be very much appreciated.”

“I want to murder you, Gerry,” I lower my voice ominously, “you know that, right?”

“Yes,” he looks momentarily fearful before straightening his shoulders and shaking off the shiver that I know ran down his spine. “Are you ready?”

I roll my eyes as the make-up woman advances with a blindfold and gives me a quick grin.

I nod for her to put it on me and I step towards the first contestant.

“And…Action!”

I know who they are, of course. The director and producers are fucking idiots if they think this kind of subterfuge will work on a vampire. Each woman, especially since they are all from different countries, has a signature scent. Not perfume; their blood. Not only that, I can smell their lust and hear their heartbeats thundering — all except one.

I frown as the scent of the last in line wafts towards me.

I know women; I know the beat of an excited heart, the smell of pheromones and moist places. And I know a terrified heart and the scent of fear.

Right now, I’m hearing the latter from the woman at the end of the line. Terror. Plain and simple.

‘Always last, Catriona. Always last.’

I make my way as ordered down the row, kissing each one thoroughly, making sure I spend a little more time with some than others just to satisfy the ridiculous director’s desire to give a little ‘romance’ to the viewers. Some of them, like Cherry, grip me like barnacles to a rock. Some comply sweetly, others melt into me like hot metal poured into a mould. But none of them moves me.

None that is, until I reach the one I’ve never kissed before but been most intimate with. The one I’m anticipating kissing, against my better judgement.

Unlike most of the others, she’s never sought my kisses. I can’t help but feel a tiny bit excited to show her what she’s missing and melt that vengeful icicle inside her chest just a fraction. But at the same time I wonder why I’m even thinking this, other than my pride might be a little wounded with her disinterest because it’s not something I’m accustomed to from the opposite sex.

‘She’s never pretended to be here for any false reason. She’s been honest that she doesn’t seek love. We’re on the same page with that. Why should I care that she doesn’t find me attractive?’

Inwardly grimacing at my contrary thoughts, I step forward and embrace her, one hand sliding around her waist, my hand fitting perfectly in the small of her bare back, the other higher, against her shoulder blade. I don’t want to tempt fate by being too close to her for too long, but I need to make a quick show of intimacy as I had with all the others. I expect her to, at the very least, wrap her arms around me or put her hands behind my neck — any of the usual female responses to a man about to kiss you.

But she doesn’t.

Frowning, I reach for one of her hands and place it on my bicep, her heartbeat speeding up to the point where I fear she might have a stroke. Stiffening, she moves it to my chest, one palm against my heart, the other still by her side. It’s not lost on me that it’s her way of keeping some distance between us.

‘Does she truly fear me? It’s just a kiss. What’s going on inside her flamboyant, violent little head?’

Leaning forward, I run my nose up the side of her ribboned neck from her clavicle to her ear, swallowing hard as her scent washes over me. I don’t think she’s breathed in all this time, which is quite remarkable.

“Calm,” I whisper, as my lips reach her shell-like ear, “Calm, Cat.”

“Don’t call me that. And if you know it’s me, then you know I don’t want this,” she whispers back.

“Neither do I,” I murmur.

Although inexplicably I do want this, I want it very badly.

She shivers and stiffens further in my arms as I move my lips from her ear to her mouth, kissing her gently. Her lips are sealed like steel traps. Pulling at her lower lip with my teeth, teasingly, I gently urge her to open her mouth to mine. But unlike the other women who had accepted me with fervour, plunged tongues inside my mouth, moaned and pressed against me, Catriona does none of this.