Heartbitten (A New Adult Vampire Romance Novel) (8 page)

uninteresting? She didn't believe that, not for a minute.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Robb opened the Cayman's door for the girl. He hadn't expected her to be dressed up so...provocatively. Her dress hem was sliding up her thighs and she kept having to adjust it back down. He wished she wouldn't.

He knew that he was playing with fire by asking her out to dinner. The girl would be useful for his research, he reminded himself, nothing more. Still, he delighted in her obvious excitement when he pulled up to Galvin La Chapelle and the valet nearly jumped out of his shoes to open the door for her. Before they'd even reached the front door, the manager was there to welcome them.

"Your usual table, Monsieur?"

Robb nodded and motioned to let Liz walk in front of him.

"Such a gentleman," she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Better view from back here," Robb said in rejoinder. Liz scoffed, tossing her hair back, but he noticed that she walked in a straight line so that her hips swung out from side to side.
Much better.

It had been a while since he'd had an American girl, he thought. How long had it been? Then:
no
. Not this one.

"Bonjour monsieur et mademoiselle!" the waiter said. "Welcome. What will you have today?"

"The tasting menu, please," Robb said. "For both of us."

He ignored the look Liz gave him. She was terrible at flirting, if that was what she was trying to do. She was equally terrible at pushing him away, if that was what she was trying to do. With every push, he wanted more and more to push back. Maybe she was actually a genius at flirting.

"You'll love it," he said. And she did, or at least she pretended to. The first course was a lasagne of Dorset crab, beurre Nantais, and pea shoots, and she cleaned the plate with relish. Robb watched in silent amusement as she ate. She looked up at him as she balanced her last fork of peas in front of her mouth.

"It's your fault," Liz said, and took the last bite of peas. "You should never invite a grad student out to dinner. We're insatiable."

"I bet you are," Robb said, grinning at the easy joke. "How does an innocent looking girl like you end up in a blood lab, anyway? And don't tell me you don't look innocent. You didn't even
try
to drag me into my bedroom earlier this evening."

"I'm perfectly innocent," Liz said, her hands primly in her lap. The waiter glided by their table to pick up her empty plate.

"I believe you. So why hematology?"

"My sister died of acute myelogenous leukemia when I was ten," Liz said. She looked straight at Robb, her green eyes fierce, daring him to make a joke.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Robb said. "Was she very young as well?"

"She was seven."

"Such a shame." Now he understood where her passion for chemistry came from, and the source, too, of the sorrow in her eyes. Robb cast his eyes around the room, looking at the candlelit tables and beautiful decor. The dead could not appreciate life, and neither could he. Was he dead, then? Or just a monster? "My sister died young as well."

"Oh? What was her name?"

It had slipped out. He hadn't been paying attention, and it had slipped out. Now he had to keep the conversation going.

"Catherine," he said.

"Cancer, or?..."

"Yes," he said. He lied. He hated lying to someone he liked, but he couldn't very well tell her what Catherine had really died of—tuberculosis. Of course, she'd died before she was two years old, without any kind of
modern medicine to save her. He tried to look sufficiently dour, then changed the subject back. "What about your sister? What was her name?"

"Cori. My parents adored her. I was always jealous of her because of that. Even after she was diagnosed, I was envious of all the attention she got. Terrible, isn't it? I was a terrible person." She took a gulp of wine from her glass, clutching the stem of the glass with both of her hands.

"You were a child. Children are always terrible."

"Are they?"

“Horrible, nasty little creatures. I'm glad I was never one of them," he said. A pang of regret lanced his heart. His childhood had been lost to the curse which had made him immortal.

Liz laughed softly.

"What were you like as a child?" she asked.

"Terrible, I'm sure," he said, itching to change the subject. "A troublemaker
par excellence
. I'm sure you were a little darling, though. Did you ever break the rules?"

"Never," Liz said, a dimple in her cheek. "Not once."

"Good. You were saving it all up for adulthood."

"No!"

"Tsk, tsk. Taking your shoes off in the lab. What next? Soon we'll be robbing banks and god knows what else. Jaywalking."

"The horror!" Liz said. Her peals of laughter drew the attention of the people dining at the next table over. Robb didn't care a whit. He'd gotten the girl to laugh. That was worth all the dirty looks of all the high-class diners in London.

"What do your parents do?" Liz asked, taking another sip of wine. The waiter came, thankfully, with the next course, and Robb deflected the question deftly as he spread her brioche with Landes foie gras. The course came with a Sauternes that ran smoothly down the back of his throat. The meal continued, and Robb could see Liz relaxing as she tried the delicacies—warm smoked eel, which he resisted making a joke about, caramelized pineapple. Braised rabbit breast with pistachio and lavender jelly.

Robb was getting distracted by the sight of her neck, so smooth and pale. He could almost see the veins running underneath her creamy skin. He salivated.

"How are you liking England?" he asked.

"It's alright. My grandparents were from England. I used to come and visit. The food was never this good, though!"

"We English have to go to French restaurants to get anything decent to eat," Robb said. As if on cue, the waiter brought out another platter. This time it was tagine of Bresse pigeon served with a side of cous cous and cockle velouté.

"This is incredible," Liz said.

"Yes," Robb agreed, watching her lip glisten with a smear of lavender jelly. "Incredible." Then her tongue licked the sweetness from her lips and he had to avert his eyes.

By the time the waiter brought out the last course of tarte Tatin with creme fraiche, Robb had regretted asking Liz to dinner. She was beautiful, yes, and utterly charming, and therefore entirely dangerous. She would be working next to him for the entire year, perhaps longer. There was no way that he could become involved with her, but now his interest was piqued and his mind would not stop considering how beautiful she would look lying naked on the bed, her hair splayed across the sheets—

"We should go," Robb said. He stood up and tossed a few hundred-pound notes on the table. "I have another dedication speech in the morning."

"Oh. Okay," Liz said, dabbing her napkin to her lips.

He pulled Liz's chair out for her and drove her home. On the ride back, her cheeks were flushed with wine, and she chatted nonstop about the lab and what kinds of tests she would be able to run. Once she touched her hand to his shoulder while she was making a point. The cut on her hand was still fresh, and he could smell the blood under the bandage. It was sweet; it filled the car with its aroma and he grew dizzy with the cloying scent. He had to get out or he would go mad. His foot pressed on the gas pedal. He was already mad. What was he thinking?

Finally they pulled up in front of the student apartment complex. The thin strip of lawn in front stretched out yellow and dead in front of the crumbling brick front steps. Stepping out into the cool night air, he breathed more easily. He walked around and opened the car door for her.

Liz got out and stumbled, and he caught her by the arm to balance her. She looked up at him then, her eyes bright.

"That one was on purpose," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

The shock of it froze him for a moment. No, that was a lie. In truth, the warm press of her lips was so inviting that he lingered in the kiss for a half-second more than he knew he should.

It was a half-second too much. The scent of her blood and her hair, the hot breath between them, her body under his hands—all of this sent wild electric currents
running through his nerves. His body responded instantly to hers in a way that he hadn't felt in over a century.

Normally he was the one in control. He brought women back to his place, he seduced them, he kissed them. This—this was all backwards. His body was under her spell, if only for a moment, and he was completely thrown by the feeling, fighting to regain his senses.

He jerked backwards out of the kiss, his hands against her shoulders as if to ward her away.

"No," he said, more sharply than he had intended. The effect was instant. A flush rose up on Liz's face and her features crinkled into bruised embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought—"

"It's quite alright," Robb said, but he was still reeling from what had just happened. His heart was pounding, his teeth prickling his gums. He wanted her, wanted to taste her. "I only meant...that is to say..."

"I'm sorry," Liz repeated, shaking her head as though she had surprised herself with the kiss. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have."

"Please, don't apologize," Robb said. Now that she was no longer touching him, he could think again.

"I thought it was a date," Liz said, her voice cracking on the last word. Tears sprang to her eyes.

God, she was beautiful. Her green eyes looked even more brilliant with the shine of tears, and the flush in her cheeks made her scent strong enough that he could feel the effects from where he was standing. He wanted her so badly, wanted to kiss her, wanted to hold her, wanted to make love to her and see what her lips looked like when she opened her mouth to gasp out an orgasm, when he made her scream with pleasure.

But he couldn't.

"It's my fault," Robb said, forcing a laugh to ease the tension between them. "It's all this natural charm—I can't turn it off."

Liz swallowed and gave a faint smile.

"I should have realized—"

"Really," Robb said, wanting to take her hands in his but not wanting to create any more friction between the two of them. He stood in front of her awkwardly. Was this how it was to be awkward? He had no idea where to put his hands. "I'm sorry. All my fault for being misleading. We shouldn't do—ah—
this
, though, if we're working together."

"Of
course
," Liz said, nodding fervently, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Yes, of course. I know. I'm usually very professional, Mr. Chatham, and I don't know what got into me tonight—"

"More than a few glasses of wine," Robb said, then wished he hadn't. Liz blushed an even deeper red, and it only made his desire for her more intense.

"Yes," Liz said, continuing to nod. There was still pain in her eyes when she spoke. "Yes, that's what it was, yes, absolutely. I promise nothing like that will ever happen again, Mr. Chatham, and I hope that you'll still let me work in your lab. I promise—"

"I look forward to working with you," Robb said. "On a strictly
professional
level." He smiled widely and put out his hand. She shook it perfunctorily, and it took all his will not to hold onto her fingers and draw her back in for another kiss.

"Yes, Mr. Chatham," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "Thank you for the dinner."

"Goodnight," Robb said.

"Goodnight." Liz turned abruptly and walked up the apartment steps, not looking behind her when she closed the door.

Robb watched her go. His lips still tingled where they had met hers, and he touched his bottom lip idly with his fingers, sorting out his emotions in his head. Beautiful, intelligent, and oh-so-delicious to kiss. Stupid to think he could play with fire and not get burned. He would have to

watch himself more carefully with this one.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Liz ran up the stairs to the apartment, biting her lip so hard that it started to bleed. She just made it into the apartment and slammed the door behind her when the dam broke and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Hello? Liz?"

Liz went into the living room, her hand pressed to her eyes. Jenny was sitting on the couch with a guy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "Sorry." She fled into her room. She ripped her heels off and threw them at the wall, where one heel left a mark.

"Stupid heels. Stupid dress. Stupid date.
Stupid non-date!"

There was a knock on the door.

"Liz?" It was Jenny.

"I'm sleeping." Liz tore off her dress and pulled on her sweatshirt and jeans.

"Liz, let me in."

Liz opened the door to see Jenny standing there. Her
throat closed up at the sympathetic look her roommate gave her as she closed the door gently behind her.

"Liz, are you okay? What happened?"

"I can't... I can't..."

How could she explain? Yeah, it was the best date she'd ever gone on, probably the best date she ever
would
go on. But it wasn't a date. Hadn't been. Had been strictly professional. Or maybe he'd realized that he didn't really want her. He wasn’t attracted to her. Tears pricked her eyes and she motioned to the closed door.

"It wasn't anything. It was just...we just talked about work stuff. Look, I don't want to talk in front of anyone—"

"Do you want me to kick him out?" Jenny asked.

"No. Please. I'm going back to the lab. I need to finish the culture preps for the next run of experiments."

"You don't need to leave. We can do the prep tomorrow." Jenny picked the dress up from the floor. "Liz, really. We can talk."

"No! Sorry. No. I don't want to talk. I need something to take my mind off of things."

"Do you want to go out? We could hit up the bars—"

"No! No. Thanks, but no. I don't want to think about
guys for one more second tonight. I'll be back later." Liz grabbed her lab notebook and purse. "Talk to you then."

"Sure," Jenny said. "Hey, Liz?"

"Yeah?" Liz said.

"You looked really beautiful tonight."

"Thanks, Jenny." Liz's lip quivered as she turned and strode to the front door. She avoided meeting the eyes of the guy on the couch as she left the apartment. Maybe someday she'd date a normal guy. Go on a normal date. Not tonight.

***

Liz went to the university lab and worked harder than she'd ever worked before. She rinsed out all of the glassware and started testing cell lines. It was past midnight by the time the first results came back. Her eyes blurred as she checked the results.

Then she checked them again. What the hell?

She pulled out her cell phone and called Jenny, rubbing her eyes as she read through the test results one more time to make sure she wasn't going crazy. She wasn't. These were plasma cells, not mast cells.

"Hello?" Jenny's voice was hoarse with sleep.

"Did you notice the plasma cells in the cultures we created?"

"Plasma what? Liz, it's two in the morning."

"I know, but the radiation we tried created plasma cells, and I didn't think that there were any lymphoid cell lines in our runs."

"Lymphoid? What? No. There aren't. It's all myeloid." Jenny coughed. "Liz, you should come home and get some slee—"

"Then how did they get there?" Liz frowned at the cell culture slide.

"Liz, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I used the fluorescent flow cytometer to check out the cell content and there was a spike in the plasma cell count. The plasma cells—"

"Liz, come home, go to sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow morning."

The line went dead. Jenny had hung up.

Liz plunked herself down on the lab stool and checked the results again.

It couldn't be right. Myeloid cell lines don't have any plasma cells. She must be doing it wrong. She ran the experiment with another, separate line, and waited anxiously as the machine churned the results. It took another twenty minutes before the line run came back.

Same results.

If the cultures were contaminated, it could ruin the entire experiment. But it could be the machine malfunctioning. Jenny had insisted that it was all myeloid cell lines, but it didn't make any sense. Unless the cytometer was broken. That was possible. She could run it on a different one, but there wasn't another cytometer in the lab.

"Shit!"

Liz slammed the slide down onto the lab table.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

If the cell lines were contaminated, that was it. They would have to start over.

Liz lay her head down on the cool surface of the lab table.

"Think, Liz. Think."

She breathed in and out slowly. Reaching over the table, she pulled her purse to her and dug through it for her wallet. Inside it was a picture that she'd nearly worn
out by touch. A picture of a seven-year-old girl. Tears sprang to her eyes as she ran a finger down the girl's cheek.

Cori
.

She remembered her sister lying in the hospital bed, the week before it was over. Remembered the frustration of it all.

The doctor had proposed an experimental surgery as a last resort, but the insurance didn't cover it and her parents were broke after spending all of their savings on the first few rounds of chemotherapy treatments. Their church had held a fundraiser, but it didn't come close to covering the cost of the surgery. There was nothing else they could do, the doctor said.

"I'll figure it out," Liz said, holding her sister's hand in hers. Cori's fingers were so little and so thin. Liz was afraid that she would snap the bones if she squeezed. "I'll figure out how to fix you."

"I know you will," Cori said, with the calm certainty that only a seven year old could possess. "You're a genius."

Liz had gone to the city library then, at age ten, and pulled out all of the books about cancer. Hadn't she gotten all As in science class? If there was an answer, she would find it.

She marched to the library table and stacked the books up, going through them one by one. Nothing made sense to her, and the words slipped across her ten-year-old mind like spaghetti, tangling in her brain.
Malignant neoplasms, granulocytes, erythrocytes, thrombocytes, myeloproliferative diseases..
. She read as much as she could, and understood nothing.

It was then that she realized her sister would die. Liz couldn't save her.

In the library, sitting there with a medical textbook in her lap, she had cried and cried. Her tears fell on the page, blurring the words, and she sat there crying until a librarian came and told her that they were closing.

She didn't feel like a genius. She felt like a fraud.

They didn't do the surgery, and Liz watched her sister fade into a shadow of her previous self. She watched as the nurses came on the last day and whispered to her parents, and then turned up the morphine drip. They asked Liz if she wanted to leave, but Liz refused to go. She clutched her sister's hand as her parents held each other and wept.

Cori's breaths came shallow, her small chest barely moving the sheets up and down.

"I'm sorry," Liz whispered to her sister. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it. I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

She couldn't speak, but Liz felt Cori squeeze her hand
one more time. Then the frail chest stopped rising under the sheets and there were no more breaths. Her sister was gone.

***

From then on, Liz had decided that she would learn everything about science and about her sister's disease, and someday she would be able to read the books that had the answers in them. Someday she would figure it out, and nobody else would have to die because she didn't know the answer. It was this determination that had carried her through all of school.

Now, as she sat in the university lab, she felt the same pain rend its way through her chest. She didn't know what to do. Maybe she never would.

She blotted her eyes with her sweatshirt. As she was putting Cori's photo back into her wallet, a white card slipped out and fell onto the tile. She picked it up from the floor and realized what it was. The card to Robert Chatham's lab.

Tapping the card idly on the table, she remembered the cytometer he'd shown her. The one with ten lasers. Her eyes flicked over to the cell cultures, then back to the card. Then to the cell cultures.

She really ought to stay away. Really. After that date, Liz was terrified of running into Robb again, of what he would say and how he would act. The pitying look he would give her, the same look she'd always gotten from guys who rejected her. Poor delusional girl, thinking that she had a chance. Her anger flared along with her fear.

Liz stuffed the card back into her wallet, but her hand lingered over the photo of her sister. Cori. What did any amount of embarrassment matter? If she could save anyone else the pain that her family had been handed by fate...

Before she could change her mind, she strode across the lab and pulled out the extra cell culture she'd made up for additional testing. She could always make another one tomorrow, or have Jenny do it. Her stomach flipped but she stuffed the box of slides into her purse.

"I'll figure it out," she whispered under her breath, and

turned off the light to the laboratory.