Cagin spread a blanket in the shade of a tree. Opening a huge picnic basket, he doled out china plates, crystal glasses, silverware, and linen napkins, along with a variety of sandwiches and containers of potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw, dill pickles, and olives.
“This is some picnic!” I exclaimed as he handed me a glass of chilled champagne.
“Nothing but the best.”
We passed a pleasant hour over lunch, making small talk and getting to know each other. Cagin owned a number of small businesses in New Jersey, was an only child, had never been married, loved cold beer and fast cars, and collected motorcycles.
“A speed freak,” I murmured, smiling. I couldn't help wondering what he was doing in Oak Hollow.
When I asked, he replied, “I'm on vacation, more or less.”
“So you're just passing through?”
His gaze raked over me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “I could be talked into staying a while longer.”
Since I didn't know what to say to that, I offered him a slice of cake instead.
He took it with a knowing grin, devoured it in three big bites, and stood up.
“That lake looks mighty inviting. What do you say we take a swim?”
“I didn't bring a bathing suit.”
He looked at me, a challenge in his eyes. “You don't need one.”
“Sorry, but skinny-dipping is out of the question until I know you better. A lot better.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” he said, and before I knew what he had in mind, he had stripped to the buff and plunged into the water. He swam to the far side of the lake with long, even strokes, then turned and swam back. When he approached the shore, I turned my back to the water. Call me a prude if you will, but he was a little too cavalier about his nudity for me.
Cagin's amused laughter brought the heat rushing to my cheeks.
After he pulled on his shorts and his sandals, we took a walk around the lake, and then, pleading a headache, I asked him to take me home.
I thought he would argue with me; instead, he tossed the dishes and leftovers into the basket, draped the blanket and his shirt over his shoulder, and headed for the car.
I stared after him. If we hadn't been so far from town, I would have walked home. Tempting as that was, common sense won out.
Needless to say, we didn't talk much on the way back to my place. I wouldn't have been surprised if, instead of stopping the car, he had just slowed down and expected me to jump out, but he parked the car and walked me to the door.
Delving inside my handbag for my keys, I muttered, “Thanks for the picnic.”
He didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me, and then, whistling softly, he sauntered back to his car and drove away.
I stared after him, confused by both his abrupt change in attitude and his kiss. It hadn't been a bad kiss, as kisses go, but it hadn't set me on fire, either.
Ah, well, it really didn't matter, since I'd probably never see him again.
The rest of the afternoon stretched before me. Feeling at somewhat of a loss, I grabbed a rag and went from room to room, dusting the furniture. The house wasn't very big—two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room with a fireplace and hardwood floors, a sunny kitchen, and a small dining room—but it was located on a large lot at the end of a long, narrow street. A white picket fence surrounded the backyard; directly behind the fence was an open field. To the right, a stand of tall timber covered several acres. The only other house on the road was a good distance away.
I had fallen in love with the place at first sight. In my spare time, I had repainted the living room, the bathroom, and one of the bedrooms.
About eleven o'clock that night, I took a long, hot shower, then slipped into a silky tank top and my favorite pajama bottoms, the ones decorated with tiny blue and purple hearts. After fixing a cup of hot chocolate, I lit a fire in the hearth, then settled down in front of the TV to watch a late movie.
I was drifting on the brink of sleep when someone rang the bell. Smothering a yawn, I went to the door. “Who is it?”
“Rafe.”
The sound of his voice made my heart skip a beat. “What do you want?”
“To see you, of course. Why else would I be here?”
I glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. It was late for working people like me, but I supposed it was the shank of the evening for a Vampire.
I opened the door a crack. “I never gave you my address. How did you find me?” Since I was new in town and had a private phone number, I knew he hadn't found my name on the Web.
His gaze burned into mine. “Honey, I could find you ten feet down in the dark.”
The look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, did funny things in the pit of my stomach.
“Are you going to invite me in,” he asked, “or make me stand out here on the porch like some horny teenager?”
Stifling a laugh, I took a step backward. “Come on in.”
I felt a peculiar shimmery sensation in the air around me as he crossed the threshold, only then remembering that a Vampire couldn't enter a home without an invitation from the owner.
Raphael followed me into the living room. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around.
I followed his gaze. The room wasn't anything fancy, but it was warm and cozy, from the braided rug in front of the hearth to the oil painting of a herd of wild horses running in the moonlight that hung over the mantel. A pair of red oak end tables flanked a high-backed sofa; a matching chair sat at an angle.
I gestured at the couch. “Please, sit down.”
I don't know if he expected me to sit beside him or not, but I took the chair. Sitting next to him while I was wearing a skimpy tank top and pajama bottoms seemed like a really bad idea. Picking up the remote, I switched off the TV.
I was trying to think of something to say when Raphael sniffed the air, and then frowned. “Where have you been?”
The tone of his voice lifted the short hairs along my nape. “I haven't been anywhere, why?”
“Who were you with today?”
“I really don't think that's any of your business, is it?”
“Answer me, dammit! Who were you with?”
“You're not my father. I don't have to answer to you.”
He uncoiled from the sofa and stood towering over me, his expression lethal. “Who were you with?”
I looked up at him, my mouth suddenly dry. “Just a guy who came into the bookstore.”
“What's his name?”
“Cagin.”
Raphael's whole body grew taut. “What were you doing with him?”