Once back, Mel parked the car. Breeana wrenched her door open and pounded up the stairs. Not knowing the code to the double doors, she was forced to wait, looking at anything but him as he punched in the numbers.
After Mel closed the door, and reset the locks and alarm, he murmured he was heading to the kitchen for a drink.
He disappeared through the upstairs kitchen entrance. Her anger grew until it consumed her.
How the hell could he be so blasé about this when she was dying inside? Curling her hands into fists, she stomped into the kitchen after him.
He turned from filling a glass with ice from the freezer. “Would you like a drink? Maybe a coffee?”
“No— wait, yes. Yes I would.” God, she was so full of anger and hurt she couldn’t calm down.
She needed to get away from him before she did or said something she’d regret.
Mel extracted a bottle of Jack Daniels from the fridge. He busied himself fixing his drink and filling the coffeemaker like nothing was wrong. Like he really didn’t give a crap that her heart was shredded.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She spun around and gripped the counter.
A tear dripped off her chin onto a half-eaten lemon meringue pie sitting on the counter. A slow smile curled her lips. She scooped out a large, sticky handful and turned around.
“Mel,” she said in a sweet, sultry voice.
“Could you please look at me?”
He turned, leaned his hip against the counter, and folded his arms over his chest. “Breeana, please. I don’t want to discuss this anymore. I don’t want to waste what time we have left—”
She drew her arm back and let fly what she clutched in her hand. It sailed through the air, spinning like a baseball before it got belted out across a field. But this time the batter missed. Instead, the catcher caught the ball in his glove, and in this instance, the glove was Mel’s face.
A look of confusion broke out across his face, just before the sticky glob of lemon filling and whipped egg whites hit him.
The lemony mess slowly slid off his face, onto his chest, and then plop, it hit the floor.
A low menacing growl filled the room.
She smothered her laugh and stepped back. He wiped the sweet desert off with one hand, never taking his eyes off her.
Her smile vanished.
He stepped over the mess on the floor and progressed toward her, his growl becoming louder.
“Mel, I’m sorry. I’m…really…sorry.” She inched closer to the room’s doorway.
He continued stalking her. She burst out into the main hall, spun wildly around, looking for a place to run. She glanced over her shoulder. As he came closer the sight of the remaining bits of pie mushed on his face, plastering strands of his hair to his cheek, made her laugh out loud.
She raced across the floor, heading to the outer doors but slid to a stop. She didn’t know the code. With another burst of laughter, she dashed toward the door leading down to the underground suites and pounded down the stairs.
When she made it to Mel and Kal’s suite, she stopped and waited, listening for the sound of Mel’s footsteps. Hearing nothing, she squeezed through the door and leaned her back against it.
A few seconds later, she heard the faint sound of footsteps.
Whirling around, she hurried to his room. Just as she closed and locked his door, the sound of the outer door opening signaled his arrival.
Maybe she should apologize. Although she didn’t want to. He deserved it for not telling her how a vampire could prolong a human’s life. And if he loved her like he said, he would do anything to keep them together.
Damn it, she had to know. But how? Mel wouldn’t tell her, so who could she ask? Maybe she could find out from Kal? Yeah, she’d ask Kal. He’d tell her.
Now that she had a plan, she decided to apologize. “Mel. I’m sorry I threw pie in your face.” Hearing the words spoken made her laugh all over again.
The door handle twisted back and forth.
“Breeana,” he called in a neutral voice. “Open the door.”
She backed up into the middle of the room. “Not until you tell me you’re not mad.”
“All right. I’m not mad. Open the door…now.”
“See, that now doesn’t make me feel confident in your answer.”
The sound of metal breaking filled the room as the lock snapped. He opened the door and calmly closed it behind him.
She backed away, holding her hands out in front. His expression was hard to decipher. “Mel, I said I was sorry but you pissed me off.”
Without breaking his stride, he scooped her up in his arms.
A shiver of panic worked its way along her spine. She squirmed and apologized again, but he remained silent.
He tossed her onto the bed and climbed up beside her. Grabbing a hold of her shirt, he dragged it over her head.
Confused, she gazed at his face but his look gave nothing away. “What are you doing?”
He unhooked her bra, bent his dark head, and gently sucked a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardening peak.
Desire flared as he blew on the moist tip. She moaned and arched up. His hands smoothed over her belly, stopping at the snap of her jeans.
“Mel,” she purred. “I thought you were mad.”
He stared down at her and smiled. “Do I look mad?”
“No. But I threw pie in your face.”
He licked his lips. “I know. I can still taste it.”
“Thank God,” she sighed. “I thought you were going to flip out or something.”
“Oh, I thought about it. I thought about punishing you. Maybe give you a spanking.” The smile that curled his lips was so damn sexy, her heart flip-flopped in her chest and her arousal shot so high she felt faint.
Okay. A spanking shouldn’t seem so erotic but damn him, it did. And the vision he created in her head played havoc with her.
“Oh,” was all she could think to say.
He whispered against her ear, “I think I still might.”
Aroused to the point of pain, Breeana cupped his face and dragged his lips down to hers for a scorching kiss.
Mel punished her all right. He punished her to heaven and back. A few times.