Page 97 of Ophelia's Vampire

Martin’s eyes twinkle. “It’s no great matter, truly. And if the rumors about its final destination are true, then I’m happy enough to have missed it.”

“As happy as you’ll be to sell the emeralds you’ve been sitting on these past few weeks?” I ask, redirecting the conversation back to the reason I came here tonight.

We spend the next few minutes engaged in some quiet haggling before he finally relents, excusing himself to make a phone call to one of his associates.

It gives me a moment alone, and my eyes find Ophelia across the crowded room, drawn to her like a magnet.

It’s where they’ve been drawn all evening.

In every quiet moment and every lull in conversation—if I’m being honest, even in the midst of those conversations—I’m unable to stop myself from seeking her out.

I like having Ophelia here. I like seeing her enjoying herself and I like how natural it seems for her to step into this world.In the short time we’ve been here, she appears to already have made a dozen new friends. All evening I’ve been torn between striding over to claim some of her time for myself and leaving her to her fun.

And now, after wrapping up my conversation with Martin on promises he’ll be in touch about transferring the jewels in exchange for a small fortune and a painting not quite so extravagant as the one I recently purchased, I’m eager to call it a night.

Any other evening, I might stay and see if there’s any more business to be drummed up, or perhaps simply to distract myself with some company. A few more hours of diversion before returning to the emptiness of my home.

But tonight I’m eager to leave, and as I cross the room and catch Ophelia’s gaze, I might almost be able to convince myself the warmth in her eyes and the small smile on her lips when I ask if she’s ready to go mean she’s feeling the same.

Hours later, when Ophelia and I are both sprawled naked and panting in my bed, a soft ding has me reaching over the side of the mattress to find my phone where it’s lost in the pile of our discarded clothes on the floor.

“Ugh,” Ophelia groans beside me, rolling over so she can shoot me a glare. “Phones in bed is one of my biggest pet peeves. I think we need a rule against it.”

“Already making rules?” I murmur. “Let me find a pad of paper so I can start writing them down.”

She lets out another frustrated grunt and leans into me, sinking her teeth lightly into my shoulder in a disgruntled little bite that does very indecent things to my cock where it’s just barely covered by the sheet.

“Careful,” I warn. “If you’ll remember, I do bite back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

I’ll have to take her up on that later, but right at the moment I’m caught between the email that’s just landed in my inbox, and her comment about making a rule.

I think I’d like to make rules with Ophelia.

Rules like no phones in bed, and always giving each other a heads-up when we’re about to do something reckless or dangerous or both. Rules like she lets me tend to her after accepting my bite, and I allow her unfettered access to my hair whenever she wants to tangle those greedy hands of hers into it.

Rules like there will never be anyone else for either of us, ever again.

The depth of conviction in that last thought draws me up short and shakes me out of my distraction.

Speaking of reckless, dangerous things…

I force myself to turn my attention back to my phone and the reason I picked it up in the first place, opening the message with a few quick taps.

I read the email, then read it again. A slow smile spreads across my face, and Ophelia takes notice immediately.

“What is it?”

“Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

She arches a brow. “Uh, no? At least not any that don’t involve you and this bed and something I saw earlier in your bedside table drawer that looked a hell of a lot like handcuffs.”

“You’ve been snooping?”

“You left it open.”

“And who would be wearing these handcuffs, if that’s indeed what you saw?”

---