It looked like he was going to be hungry for a while.
Muttering to herself, Helena dug in her pocketbook for the car keys—which were already in her hand. Alex didn't point this out to her, just shifted in his seat and tugged on his pant leg, trying to give his hard-on a little more space without being too obvious about it.
She discovered her keys in her hand and cursed.
Alex decided to risk a strategic retreat. He'd give odds that this could play out into angry sex, but the last thing he needed was another black mark on his record. "I guess we should take a rain check on dinner."
Helena shot him a fuming glance. "At the very least."
"I'll just get my stuff out of your basement and call a cab."
"Good."
A cold front descended on the way home. Alex imagined icicles forming on the rearview mirror. They drove in silence up the long, winding road that led to her house. When they arrived he went straight to the basement and grabbed his rolling bag. On the way up the stairs he called for a cab. When he was done, he found her in the kitchen, slamming cabinets and tossing groceries around. He took a step backward. Where was the ice queen?
"So you're going. Leaving me with this." She brandished a bunch of parsley at him, frighteningly close to tears. "What am I supposed to do with this stuff?"
He wanted to take her in his arms. Instead he kept his distance. "I don't know—eat it?"
"This fish is disgusting." She poked at it as if it might turn on her. "And it has a head."
He walked toward her, backing her against the sink. "Do you want me to come back tomorrow and deal with the fish?"
Eyes wide, she looked up at him, trembling. He watched her consider the offer, fighting herself. Tucking her hair behind her ears, he said, "It's not like I bite."
She smiled despite herself, ducking her head. "That's not funny."
"It'd be a shame to waste all that food."
About as happy as someone agreeing to a root canal, she said, "All right. Okay."
He kissed her brow. "It's a date."
Alex spent the rest of the evening in the hotel deliberating recipes. While he surfed the internet he listened to the Food Network with half an ear, looking up once in a while to check out a cooking technique. He'd planned to wing something that night, but now that he had a little extra time to plan, he wanted it to be really special. He wanted her oohing and ahhing and begging him for more. One way or the other.
But it couldn't be anything too fancy. He didn't have hours to cook. With a twitch of regret he closed a window titled "Lobster Soufflé".
As if he was going to win her over with food. All feeding her did was emphasize the difference between them.
But somehow it seemed like the right track to be on. Drumming his fingers on his laptop, he wondered why he believed that. He didn't know that she had any interest in food at all. What she liked was ice cream. If he wanted to impress her he should just hijack a Good Humor truck and back it up her driveway.
Maybe this impulse had nothing to do with her. He wanted to feed from her, so he felt obligated to feed her in turn. Why? To alleviate the guilt? Why should he feel guilt at all? He never had before.
"Bloody Saint Olga." He snapped his laptop shut.
Mentally he quested out for Helena. Checking in with her was becoming a bit of a neurotic habit. He didn't sense any agitation. She might be watching TV or asleep.
Stiff from hunching over the computer too long, he decided to take a shower, then go for a walk. The hotel shower had no water pressure to speak of, but that was just as well, because even that weak trickle of water over his newborn skin was maddening. Erotic, even. Erotic if he were into being tied down and stroked a million times with an ostrich feather. Which he wasn't. But if Helena held the feather he'd reconsider. Grinning at the idea, he turned his back to the spray, letting the hot water go to work on his neck.
Eight ounces of salmon. 489 calories, 22 grams of fat, 61 grams of protein.
The thoughts came on him quietly, like his own.
Oh crap, I forgot the brown rice.
Alex braced his hands against the shower wall to keep from pitching over. He was wide awake, and Helena was in his head. Clear as a bell. Either he was more tuned into her then he thought, or her thoughts were screaming loud. But what was she thinking about—rice? How urgent could that be?
Maybe there's some back here…no…but even so, it would take too long to cook. Pasta, then, but then there's no fiber…
Banal as her thoughts were, they were invested with a high-pitched anxiety that set his teeth on edge. Like the universe might collapse if she didn't have brown rice for dinner. And what was she doing cooking dinner at one in the morning?
I've messed up again. He's going to be so disappointed.
What the fuck? He? Who the fuck was he? Alex's shut off the water and jerked the shower curtain aside. All the rings popped off the bar and the curtain ended up a wet weight in his hand. Snarling, he threw it to the ground and stalked out to his suitcase. He was going to get dressed, and then he was going to kill someone.
Hey princess, I'm home! A man's voice. Jeff's voice.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again he saw a kitchen he didn't recognize. He—no, Helena—ran toward Jeff and threw herself in his arms. Jeff kissed her cheek and spun her in circle.
Alex dropped to his knees, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was in her dreams. Yesterday afternoon she'd been pulled into his dream. That made sense. He'd been near her, full of power from feeding, and very horny. But he never suspected she'd be able to invade his mind while he was awake. Or was it the other way around?
"I missed you, baby." Helena kissed her fiancé on the lips. His mouth firmed under hers. Encouraged, she slid her hand around the back of his neck, stroking the soft hair at his nape. "I missed you a whole lot," she said, pressing him for another kiss. All day long she'd been imagining making love with him. She touched her tongue to his, and ran her hands over his rear end.
He pushed her away. "Whoa there." He laughed, but he didn't look amused. Not in the eyes. "Let me catch my breath before you eat me alive."
Helena withdrew, ashamed. Of course he'd be tired from the road, and to be jumped the moment he came in the door. No matter how hard she tried, her timing was always wrong.
"Sorry, honey. We'll eat soon. I've got dinner going."
"Sounds good. What are we having?" Jeff went to the fridge and pulled out an energy drink.
"Salmon. No skin. Eight ounces for you."
"And for you?"
"Four ounces."
He smiled. "That's my girl. We're going to have you back in competition form in no time."
Helena nodded. "We're going to have steamed broccoli with it, and pasta. I'm sorry about the pasta, but I forgot to buy rice."
Jeff didn't look angry. He never looked angry. "But I see you didn't forget to buy wine."
"Just one bottle. All week."
"Helena, you're a grown up. Make your own decisions. But with your family history, I don't know why you'd ever take a drink. It's empty calories anyway."
"My dad isn't an alcoholic. He just likes gin and tonics."
He raised a brow at her. "Whatever you say. I'm going for a run."
"A run? Now?"
Suddenly he had his running clothes on and was heading out the door. She followed him.
"Wait. I'll come with you."
"I'm doing speed work. You can't keep up."
"I bet I could."
He snorted and took off. She ran after him. She was fast, no matter what he thought, and she kept pace with him easily. At first. But then her feet began to drag. She looked down and saw she'd been running in her bedroom slippers and they'd become soaked with mud. Every step she took, the heavier they got.