Haven kicked off his boots and let himself fall onto the bed, crossing his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe she’d cried about the disappearance of her dog, and Eddie had gotten it all wrong. Hell, the vampire was still a kid, barely in his early twenties by the looks of his fresh face. What did he know about women?
If Haven went to her room now to have sex with her—and he was going to have her; that was as sure as the sunrise—would she take that as an invitation for more? Would Yvette try to drag him into a relationship?
He sat up. Only one way to find out.
Twenty-Eight
Yvette paced in Eddie’s room, barely taking any notice of its coziness. Eddie had really created a nice homey place for himself. But despite her comfortable surroundings, Yvette felt anything but comfortable.
When Haven had shielded her from what he thought was the sun, everything had come flooding back to her: the events in the tiny bathroom of their prison, Haven’s hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, his blood on her lips. The need to consume him had started boiling up in her again, now stronger than before. At the same time, the fear she’d felt at losing him was back.
Now that the stress of imprisonment was over, would he come to his senses and push her away again? Would he be the vampire hunter once more, the man who despised vampires? Or had Samson gotten through to him and made him understand that vampires were not the bad guys?
As much as she wanted to go to him and simply fuck his brains out until neither of them could think straight, pride prevented her from doing just that. Pride and self-preservation. She hadn’t guarded her heart, and it now lay exposed. If Haven found out, he could hurt her with his rejection just as severely as if he drove a stake through it. And why wouldn’t he?
She’d done nothing to endear him to her. During the entire time of their imprisonment they’d fought. And she’d even bitten him, twice. Once with his permission, and later without, and actually against his express wishes. He had every right to be upset with her. And in the end, she hadn’t even been able to protect him and his siblings from Zane’s assault. It was only thanks to Francine that they were still alive. Had she made a lethal dose of her potion rather than just a debilitating one—Yvette shuddered at the thought.
Whatever Haven had made her promise while imprisoned—that they’d have a date—she wouldn’t hold him to it now. It was better if he knew that whatever they had planned wouldn’t work. She would tell him as much. Determined to explain to him that nothing would come of their attraction for each other, she opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
It was better she took this step now, before he came to her and told her he didn’t want her. At least then she’d have the upper hand again. She would toss him away before he would do the same to her.
Yvette took a deep breath when she stopped in front of the guest room. Calming her thundering heart, she persuaded herself of the importance of her actions. When the door suddenly opened, she was caught by surprise.
***
The sight of Yvette outside his door made Haven’s heart lurch, then it settled into an erratic rhythm. Quickly glancing down the corridor and finding it empty, he pulled her inside the room and shut the door behind her.
He’d wanted to talk to her, explain that things couldn’t possibly go any further, but with Yvette so close, he couldn’t remember any of his reasoning of why they shouldn’t have a fling, or maybe a short relationship. There was only one thing he could think of, and he executed the thought straightaway.
Haven pressed Yvette against the wall, trapping her between two hard surfaces: the wall and his body. And at present he wasn’t sure the wall was the harder one of the two. Her low moan indicated that she could feel his erection pressing against her.
“I was just coming to see you,” he whispered against her lips.
“To do what?” Her gaze connected with his, her lids lowered to half mast, an invitation as good as any he’d ever get from her.
“Collect on our arrangement: you, me, a flat surface.”
Shit, he’d promised himself to talk to her first, to explain that this couldn’t go any further, that he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around. But his dick couldn’t wait that long.
“We need to talk,” Yvette said.
“Later.” He sank his lips onto hers, half expecting her to push him back, half knowing she wouldn’t. He pulled her upper lip into his mouth and stroked his tongue over it. A sound akin to a whimper was her answer.
“I hate you.” There was no heat behind her words.