My Roommate Is a Vampire(66)

And then, all at once, his expression grew serious. “If anyone fucked up here, Cassie, it was the committee that refused to accept a visionary artist into the exhibition.”

I blinked at him, stunned at the intensity of his praise.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I never say things I don’t mean.”

Before I could decide how to respond to that, Frederick pulled a square of fabric from the front pocket of his jeans. Muttering something under his breath I couldn’t make out, he turned on the faucet and ran the fabric beneath it.

“What are you doing?”

“No one seems to carry handkerchiefs anymore,” he mused. “It’s a pity. They work so much better than the thin paper tissues used nowadays. Now close your eyes.”

He turned to face me with a look of quiet concentration. His eyes flicked to mine. Or, more specifically, to the mess of black eye makeup smeared beneath them.

Embarrassment flooded me. “Frederick, you don’t have to—”

“Close your eyes, Cassie.” His tone brooked no opposition, his stern insistence touching some raw, primal part of me that was helpless to do anything but obey.

His free hand cupped my cheek, gently tilting my face upward so he could look at me more clearly. Suddenly, it felt like all my nerve endings centered right where he touched me.

My eyes slid closed of their own accord.

“What is this black substance you have used to paint your face?” His voice was quiet, curious, as he tenderly wiped away the remnants of my mascara with his handkerchief. His face was so close to mine I could feel each of his shallow exhalations of breath on my skin. “I’ve not seen this sort of cosmetic before.”

My mouth went dry. “It’s . . . called mascara.”

“Mascara.” He said the word with obvious distaste, but I only dimly registered it. It was hard for me to focus on much of anything at all but the gentle swipes of his fingers beneath my eyes and the press of his free hand to my cheek. All the oxygen seemed to have vanished from the too-small room. My heart was thundering in my ears.

“It’s vile,” he added.

“I like mascara.”

“Why?” His handkerchief dipped into the corner of my right eye, where the smudges were the worst. He leaned in even closer—probably to give himself a better view of what he was doing. He smelled like red wine and the fabric softener he used on his clothing. My lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

“It . . . makes me look good.”

His hands stopped moving. When he spoke again, Frederick’s voice was so low I almost didn’t hear him. “You do not need cosmetics for that, Cassie.”

All at once, the noise from the party, the slow drip of water from the shower behind me—all of it melted away. There was nothing but Frederick’s tender hands, touching my face so gently I could hardly bear it—and the steady, rapid beat of my heart.

After what might have been a few minutes, or an hour, Frederick dropped the handkerchief onto the counter. I could feel him shift even closer to me, in the small, confined room, until our knees touched.

My eyes stayed closed. My stomach tightened with anticipation and nerves. I suspected that once I opened my eyes again everything between us would change.

I licked my lips without thinking—and registered his sharp intake of breath.

“Are . . . are the smudges gone?” My voice was shaky. I felt moments away from flying apart at the seams.

His hand was steady against my cheek. “Yes. They’re gone.” Frederick was standing so close to me now his words were cool puffs of air on my lips. I shivered, the need for him to move even closer nearly overwhelming. “Open your eyes, Cassie.”

His mouth was on mine before I had a chance to comply, the gentle pressure of his lips stealing the breath from my lungs and pushing out any worries I might have had about whether this was a good idea. His hand slid down to my chin, gently tilting it up a little to give him better access. I was so overwhelmed with sensation that I was helpless to do anything but let him kiss me, and to kiss him back. My hands slid up his broad chest of their own volition, the fabric of his shirt soft beneath my fingers as I clutched at the ends of his collar with both hands.

My touch elicited a quiet moan from the back of his throat that made me dizzy with a spike of searing desire.

“We can’t do this here,” I mumbled against his lips. Mostly because it felt like something I was supposed to say, given that this was Sam’s bathroom and an entire apartment full of people was having a party on the other side of the door.

But I knew, even as I said the words, that we were absolutely going to do this here.

It didn’t seem like Frederick even heard what I’d said. If he did, he certainly wasn’t paying it any mind. His kisses grew bolder, the exquisite pressure of his mouth increasing until I parted my lips for him on a ragged sigh. He tasted like breath mints and the wine he must have pretended to drink earlier this evening. I wanted to lose myself in it—in the way he slid his tongue along mine, coaxing a whimper from my throat; in his strong arms, as they encircled me and pulled me closer. I could feel his sharp, prominent canines against my tongue as I kissed him, something I’d certainly never noticed before when I’d seen him smile. A thrilling flash of heat shot through me, the visceral reminder of who and what he was startling me for only a moment before I lost myself in the kiss again.