"Why, thank you." She glided out onto the roof. "Have you ever been to the southern hemisphere?"
"No, I've spent most of my time in America and Eastern Europe." He escorted her into the greenhouse.
"Ah. Were you born in Europe?"
"No. I was working there."
"Indeed. In what capacity, may I ask?"
What the heck. He smiled at the lady vampire. "I was an international spy."
She burst into giggles and slapped his arm. "My word, you say the silliest things."
He glanced back. Darcy was giving him a skeptical look.
"Oh, dear." Lady Pamela stopped in front of a mud puddle. "Whatever will we do?"
"Allow me." Austin stepped onto the wooden bench between two potted plants. Lady Pamela remained where she was, looking helpless. He gritted his teeth. He'd had to touch her old dead carcass. "Excuse me." He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her over the puddle, and then set her down on dry cement.
"Why, thank you. That was very clever of you."
He stifled a groan. It sure wasn't rocket science. Obviously, the purpose of this test was to see which man could best take care of a bunch of ditzy, dead females.
The next problem arose when they arrived at a stone bench under a dwarf palm tree. Lady Pamela announced she wanted to sit for a spell. While she hesitated, Austin noticed the bench was covered with dead leaves. He scooped off the leaves and covered the bench with his jacket. Lady Pamela smiled at him as she sat.
Austin sat beside her. Darcy and her damned cameraman moved closer. The whole situation irked him. Here he was, forced to flirt with a lady vampire while his beautiful, dead Darcy eavesdropped.
"I must confess, Lady Pamela, that your gowns are the most exquisite I have ever seen."
"Oh, my!" She beamed at him. "How wonderfully kind of you."
"My pleasure. I think it's so pathetic when women try to dress like men." Darcy stood there in her khaki slacks and T-shirt. She crossed her arms and glared at him.
"Oh, I couldn't agree more." Lady Pamela stood. "Shall we continue? The roses smell heavenly."
Austin grabbed his jacket off the bench. He shook it out as he followed the lady vampire to the rose garden.
"I would dearly love a rose," she murmured.
Of course she would. "Which color would you like?"
She smiled at him. "A pink one, if you would be so kind."
"No problem." He eased around the big clay pots until he located a budding pink rose. He snapped the stem and carried the rose back to Lady Pamela.
She sighed. "I do hope it doesn't have too many thorns."
He took the hint and started pinching off the thorns. The last one proved a tough one. He managed to rip it off but ended up with a tiny hole in his index finger.
"Oh, my." Lady Pamela's eyes grew wide. "Is that… blood?"
"It's nothing. Just a flesh wound," he said dryly as he handed her the rose.
She dropped the rose on the ground and moved closer to him. "Let me see your bleeding finger."
She licked her lips.
Austin stepped back. "I'm okay. It was just a little nick."
Her eyes gleamed. "Let me kiss it and make it better." She reached for his hand.
He jumped back.
She bared her teeth. "Just a little taste."
"Cut!" Darcy leaped between them. "Pamela, go to the servants' parlor and have a… snack. You'll feel much better."
She glared at Darcy a moment, then sniffed. "That's Lady Pamela to you." She turned on her heel and marched off.
Darcy heaved a sigh of relief. "Adam, why don't you come with me? I have a first-aid kit in the pool house."
He glowered at her. "I don't need first aid."
She glanced at the cameramen. "Guys, go back to the billiard room. Lady Pamela will be ready to continue after her snack."
The cameramen strode toward the stairwell.
"Come on." Darcy reached for Austin's arm.
He stepped back.
She frowned at him. "Will you come with me, please?"
He looked away. The sight of her was so painful. How could he mourn her death when she kept appearing in front of him? "It's nothing. You're not liable for puncture wounds, remember?"
She snorted. "True, but I'd rather you didn't get hurt."
Too late. He was already nursing the worst heartache he'd ever had the misery of encountering.
"This way." She motioned toward the pool house.
Reluctantly, he followed her. They passed the swimming pool. He glanced at the hot tub. Dammit.
She gave him a worried look. "You were having an odd conversation with Lady Pamela."
About the length of nights? Was Darcy concerned that he knew about vampires? Or that he knew about her? Well, wasn't that too bad. She'd let him kiss her several times. Just when in the course of their relationship had she planned on telling him that she was dead? "I was bull-shitting her."
Darcy's eyebrows rose. "Why? Are you suddenly interested in winning the contest and the money?"
"I don't give a damn about the money. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder why I'm here at all."
She opened the door to the pool house. "I thought…" She closed her eyes briefly. "Maybe I was mistaken."
She'd thought he was interested in her? He had been, dammit, until he'd found out the truth. He wandered into the pool house. The main room was a combination den and kitchen. White wicker furniture was strewn about, covered with cushions in a tropical print. Darcy's papers were on the kitchen table. The night before, on the way to the swimming pool, he had snuck into the pool house and hidden a camera over the front door. He hadn't used it yet. The last thing he wanted was to watch Darcy drinking blood or falling into her death sleep.
"Over here." She wandered into the tiny kitchen. The only appliances consisted of a small refrigerator and microwave. She turned on the water over the single sink. "Come and rinse off your finger."
He stuck his hand in the cold water.
She handed him a towel. "Something's wrong. I can tell. You won't even look at me."
He shrugged and dried his hand.
"Do you really not approve of women wearing pants?"
"No. I just told Lady Pamela what she wanted to hear."
Darcy stiffened and frowned at him. "Is that what you do? Tell women what they want to hear?"
He dropped the towel on the counter. "I need to go."
"You need a Band-Aid." She opened the first-aid box.
"I don't need anything! It's just a little prick."
Anger flared in her eyes. "Your finger or you?" She ripped open a Band-Aid package.
He seethed with frustration. Dammit, he hadn't known she was dead when he pursued her. But she had known. She should have stopped him.
"Give me your finger." She reached for his hand.
He stepped back. "Give me the Band-Aid."
She tossed it on the counter. "Fine. Bandage yourself."
"I will." He struggled to put it on with his left hand.
She glared at him. "I don't understand you. You keep asking me questions and saying things like you know too much… stuff."
"You're imagining that."
"Am I? All I ever hear from you is how I should trust you and confide in you, and when I finally feel like I can trust you, you turn away."
He gritted his teeth. "I haven't gone away. I'm still here."
"You won't even look at me or touch me. What happened?"
He finished attaching the bandage. "Nothing. I… decided this wasn't going to work."
"You decided? I don't have any say in the matter?"
No, you're dead. "Good-bye." He strode toward the door.
"Adam! Why did you do this to me?"
He paused at the door and looked back. His heart squeezed in his chest. Holy crap. Her eyes were full of tears. He was making her cry. Dead women don't cry.
She stalked toward him. "Since you're so sensitive and empathic, tell me what I'm feeling now." A tear ran down her cheek, and it struck him like an ice pick ripping at his heart.