Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(20)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“So, what do good vampires do with their time besides buying extravagant penthouses, hunting Obscuros, and saving tourists in distress?” she asked.

His dark brows furrowed. “I cannot speak about my world. You know this. You already know too much for your own good.”

Helena wanted to shout—they needed to talk and trust each other like real people! She needed to be treated like his equal, not kept like a pet. She was about to say so, but the moment she gazed into his deep espresso eyes, her anger evaporated.

His expression had also transformed. He was thinking lusty thoughts. Not sure how, but she could tell.

So, is that what vampires do with their time? Sex?

She swallowed hard and crossed her legs while her mind flooded with images of bed-play, shower-play, floor, kitchen table, and in front of the fireplace-play. God she wanted him. She wanted to feel those reams of hard muscles. She wanted him stretched over her na**d body. Writhing. Panting. Pumping.

His trademark frown congealed on his face. “I cannot bed you, Helena. It is,” he paused, “for your own protection.”

Dammit. He wanted her too, and she felt it.

Helena didn’t believe for one moment that Niccolo would hurt her in the act of passion. She’d witnessed dozens of times how tender he could be with that indestructible, potent body. The way he moved around her, kissed her, touched her, something else was holding him back. It was the same something that caused him to behave as if he were molten lava one second and cardboard the next. But thanks to that effing rule number six—no telling humans about their world—she’d have to wait to find out the truth.

“It’s not just that. I want to know why it’s for my protection. I want to know more about you,” she argued.

Harsh emotion flickered in his eyes, and his face drained of warmth. He stood and pulled Helena to her feet and kissed her hard.

Oh, yes. This was the sort of explanation she wanted: him holding her, their lips molding together. This was what she constantly craved—so painfully that sometimes she cried. But those were tears she could never shed in front of him… Rule number two…or is it number three?

Ugh! This all felt so wrong. She was never so needy or weak before. She felt like she was on some insane paranormal hormone roller coaster. Or, perhaps it was more like Vampire Price is Right. In her right hand, she held her current life—a good deal—but behind Vampire Door number three was another life. It could be the old donkey with the sombrero—a life filled with darkness, death, no hope of children, or even a career. Or, the hidden prize behind the door could be eternity with the man she wanted, endless nights of passion. That was the prize she’d signed up for.

Niccolo swept her away to the bed with mind-boggling speed and was suddenly lying at her side. He had already removed his sweater to give her a breathtaking glimpse of his thick strong arms and powerful chest.

How’d he do that so quickly? Sneaky vampire—oooh.

Niccolo lifted her sweater and began kissing her belly. God she was so confused. One minute he was pushing her away, chastising her for wanting him. The next he was provoking her, kissing her, and making her melt.

This was all wrong. She had to stop this insane, dysfunctional game they were playing. She needed honesty, and trust, and—

Niccolo unsnapped the top button on her jeans.

“Wait!”

“Sì, my love?” He looked up at her with playful eyes.

“Nope. Uh-uh.” She pushed his hands away.

“I thought I might try kissing you in a few new places. Is this not what you want?”

You bet your sweet immortal ass I do! “No!” She scooted away and rose from the bed. “You work constantly, but I don’t know what you do. I never know where you are or whom you’re with. Then you come back for a few hours, and then disappear again for days!”

“We have gone over this, Helena. I cannot tell you these things. But I promise everything will be different afterward. Our wedding is in one week. In the meantime, I’d hoped I could make our time together more pleasing for you.”

Was it possible he thought that was good enough? Their relationship was seriously lacking any substance. Sure, they were wildly attracted to each other, but lust wasn’t enough. Why wouldn’t he tell her what she needed to know? She’d put her complete trust in him and left her life behind.

In return, he gave her rules, bodyguards, and material things she didn’t care about. And two months basically living without him…

“That’s not the point, I need—”

“Bei vestiti?” he interrupted enthusiastically.

Helena shot him a deer-in-headlights look.

“More beautiful clothes?” he translated. “I can have the men take you shopping anywhere you like. Or, do you want me to send a decorator? I’m not so attached to this modernist look, if that’s what worries you. You can change the furnishings to any style—except Victorian. I’m very pleased to have slept through that frilly mess of an era. But the penthouse is yours. My wedding gift to you.”

Helena frowned. She never cared about material things. Sure, being with a man who wasn’t dirt poor was nice. Not having to worry about a budget or bills, as she had growing up with her working widowed mother, was a blessing. But Helena had become accustomed to earning the things she wanted. She’d even paid her way through her Masters at UC Santa Cruz.

And when she agreed to live with Niccolo in New York to become his eternal bride, she had no idea it meant she’d be without him all the time. Or that she’d have to be under the constant protection of his elite guards who were more like eerie Stepford vampires. They silently kept watch over her day and night, only allowing her to venture outside if approved by Niccolo, and even then, only at night because the sun weakened them. She felt like a prisoner, the annoyance only exacerbated by the fact no one would tell her why she needed guards in the first place.

Helena sat on the bed and cupped her hands over her face. “No, Niccolo,” she whispered. “That’s not it.” She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. “I don’t want clothes or new furniture.” She slowly turned to him; her eyes filled with tears. Screw rule number two: No crying. Stupid rules!

“I want…you. I want to know who you are. And I mean, who you really are. I want to know where you go for days on end, and why I can’t come. I want to know why we can’t make love—the real reason—until our wedding night.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mio cuore, I know you want answers, but I can only offer you lies. This will not do when I have vowed to tell you the truth. And I will. In seven days, after you’ve been changed. Understand, I’ve made other vows, too. Vows that if broken would cost me my life. Or yours.”