Page 48 of The Guardian's Curse

“I suppose,” he said quietly. “Do you accept my apology?”

“I do,” she said. “Please don’t ever do it again.”

“You have my word,” he said. “Thank you for your grace. You are kinder than I deserve.”

Something warm and lovely spread in her chest. This was not a vampire who wanted to hurt her. This was a man who wanted things to be right with her. He was reaching across a gap for her hand.

She eased a little closer to him. He retreated an inch, but she gained ground on him. “You know you don’t have to hide your face from me anymore.”

His posture stiffened again. “You saw me and your instinct was to kill me. You thought I was a monster, and understandably so.”

“Because I didn’t know,” she said. “Now I do. Part of my contract was to keep unwanted things out of here, remember? Now you won’t surprise me. Please. I’d rather talk to you than that hood.”

He shook his head. “You mean well, but I cannot.”

“Alistair—”

“Shoshanna,” he said firmly. “Enjoy your dessert.” There was an unspoken order there. Don’t ruin what has barely been repaired.

“Fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “Then I want you to make it up to me after all.”

His arms folded over his chest. “What?”

“You have to sit here and talk to me while I eat,” she said.

“Dreadful,” he said, the faintest hint of humor in his voice.

“I know,” she replied. She perused the spread, then opened another box to a colorful display of French macarons. She took a pink one and took a dainty bite of it. Sweet strawberry and champagne flooded her tastebuds. “Honestly, why don’t I just have dessert for dinner all the time?”

“Why don’t you?” he said.

“Because I would be the size of your house,” she said with a laugh.

“You would be lovely no matter what,” he said, the gruffness in his voice softening.

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” Popping the rest of the macaron into her mouth, she headed for the refrigerator. “Do you want me to make your dinner?”

“No,” he said. “I am capable.” He took a blood bag from the refrigerator, then dumped it into a glass and started drinking it cold.

“What happened to one hundred and ten degrees, Miss York?” she asked, mimicking his light accent.

His head tilted. “I hunger, Miss York.”

A shiver ran down her spine. The words emerged from her memory, spoken by that beautiful man in her dream. Despite what she’d seen of his face, she knew somehow that she’d seen Alistair Thorne as he once was. The echo of those words stirred something in her, awakening the flame she’d felt when she woke from that dream. Knowing that his body was cursed did nothing to extinguish her desire for him.

“Then drink your fill, Mister Thorne.”

His voice caught. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Your hearing is perfect,” she said quietly, emboldened by his unusual openness. She dared to take a step toward him.

“Is it now,” he mused. “Tell me of yourself, Shoshanna.”

“Oh, I’d much rather know about you,” she said, settling onto one of the high-backed stools at the kitchen island. She dug into a piece of dense, dark chocolate cake. “Every time I ask you about yourself, you change the subject. Don’t think I don’t notice.” She gestured with her fork. “And have a seat. You look like you want to bolt.”

“I...I am not comfortable around people,” he said.

“Because of your appearance?”

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