When Frederick opened his eyes again they were full of a fiery possessiveness that stunned me. He pushed back from his chair with so much force he nearly knocked it to the floor.
“What I said, Cassie, was that I did not like the picture.” He was facing the window that looked out over Lake Michigan now, his back to me. Which was just as well. If the look on his face was even half as heated as the tone of his voice, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Probably something Sam would lecture me for later. Possibly I’d burst into flames.
His hands were still clenched at his sides, his whole body taut as a bowstring.
“Perhaps young, beautiful women do routinely dress in next to nothing at all when they go to the beach. Perhaps my reaction to seeing you dressed this way is incredibly old-fashioned.” He paused and turned to face me. His eyes were full of torment—and something else I didn’t have words for, but which my body somehow recognized all the same. My heart sped up at the way he was looking at me now, my breathing coming short and too quick.
“I’m allowed to dress how I like, you know.”
“You are,” he conceded. “I have no right to dictate how you dress or live your life. My opinion does not—and should not—matter. But the idea of other people being able to see so much of your body . . .” He looked away again, then sighed. “Perhaps I have lived too long.”
By the time I managed to gather my wits about me enough to respond, he’d turned and stalked out of the room, leaving palpable, unbearable tension in his wake.
ELEVEN
Diary entry of Mr. Frederick J. Fitzwilliam, dated November 4
Cassie went to bed two hours ago.
Every time I close my eyes I can still see her—beaming up at the camera in that flimsy excuse for clothing, her hair a golden halo around her head, her body backlit and glorious.
I am filled with rage.
At the photographer for taking that picture.
At Cassie for allowing so many others to see her practically naked.
At all seven billion people on this planet who have the theoretical ability to see that picture of her with a few simple clicks of a button.
At myself.
As I sit hunched over my desk I try desperately to ignore the urgent, now-familiar ache in my loins. As Cassie sleeps innocently, unknowingly in the next room, I clutch at what remains of my sanity and of my self-control.
Because God’s thumbs—when I saw that picture of her all I could think was how badly I want Cassie to wear that “bathing suit” of hers for me.
If I had been there when it was taken, it would have been all I could do to keep myself from easing those delicate little straps of fabric off her shoulders and baring the rest of her beautiful body to my eyes.
I am a reprehensible creature.
Cassie is a young, vibrant, human woman who does not deserve to be the object of my lustful imaginings. Tomorrow, she is taking me shopping to help me pick out what she insists will be more suitable casual clothing than my current wardrobe. I expect this will involve her evaluating my body and the way it looks in various outfits. What if she needs to touch me as part of this process? I am harder than a rock just imagining it.
If I were not already damned for all eternity I certainly would be now.
I am, as Reginald might say, in way over my head.
FJF
“So. Your roommate needs a makeover, huh?” Sam fought to keep the amusement out of his voice but wasn’t managing it well. He was biting the inside of his cheek, clearly fighting a smile. “Must be urgent if you called for my help.”
The mall was crowded, full of noisy suburban teenagers and frazzled parents with kids in tow. I proposed Frederick meet me there on a Tuesday evening because I’d assumed the mall would be relatively quiet and empty midweek. But ten minutes earlier I was nearly run over by a woman pushing a stroller, and I realized a person like me who rarely went to malls had no basis for making assumptions.
“Not so much a makeover as a new wardrobe,” I said. I took a bite of the pretzel I’d just bought from a mall kiosk, marveling at the way its chemical deliciousness melted on my tongue. I had no idea what actually went into those pretzels. It was probably better that way.
“A new wardrobe?”
“Yeah. He needs new clothes pretty urgently. That’s why I asked you to join us. You’re a man and I’m not. You’ll know more about men’s fashion than I do.”
In truth, Sam didn’t know more about men’s fashion than many people. His approach to clothes hadn’t really evolved past what he’d worn in college, except for the suits he wore to work. I mostly asked Sam to join us at the last minute in the hopes he’d serve as a buffer between Frederick and me as we picked out clothes and he tried them on. Because now that I was at the mall, I realized it was one thing to tell your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate that he needed to dress differently—and an entirely different thing to actually take your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate to the mall, help him pick out clothes, and then evaluate how they all looked on his gorgeous body as you helped him make decisions.