Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [68]
Phillip’s face had gone slack. He was staring at her as she brought his arm towards her mouth. A small pink tongue licked his arm, quick, out, wet, gone. She glanced up at Phillip, eyes dark and full. She must have liked what she saw because she began to lick his scars, one by one, delicate, a cat with cream. Her eyes never left his face.
Phillip shuddered; his spine spasmed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch. Her hands went to his stomach. She gripped the fishnet and pulled. It slid out of his pants, and her hands stroked up bare chest.
He jerked, eyes wide, and caught her arms. He shook his head. “No, no.” His voice sounded hoarse, too deep.
“You want me to stop?” Darlene asked. Her eyes were nearly closed, breath deep, lips full and waiting.
He was struggling to talk and make sense at the same time. “If we do this . . . that leaves Anita alone. Fair game. Her first party.”
Darlene looked at me, maybe for the first time. “With scars like that?”
“Scars are from a real attack. I talked her into the party.” He brought her hands out from under his shirt. “I can’t desert her.” His eyes seemed to be focusing again. “She doesn’t know the rules.”
Darlene leaned her head on his thigh. “Phillip, please, I’ve missed you.”
“You know what they’d do to her.”
“Teddy will keep her safe. He knows the rules.”
I asked, “You’ve been to other parties?”
“Yes,” Edward said. He held my gaze for several seconds while I tried to picture him at other parties. So this was where he got his information about the vampire world, through the freaks.
“No,” Phillip said. He stood, bringing Darlene to her feet, still holding her forearms. “No,” he said, and his voice sounded certain, confident. He released her and held out his hand to me. I took it. What else could I do?
His hand was sweating and warm. He strode out of the room, and I was forced to half-run in my heels to catch up with my hand.
He led me down the hall to the bathroom and we went in. He locked the door and leaned against it, sweat beaded on his face, eyes closed. I took back my hand, and he didn’t fight me.
I looked around at the available seating and finally chose to sit on the edge of the bathtub. It wasn’t comfortable, but it seemed the lesser of two evils. Phillip drew in great gulps of air and finally turned to the sink. He ran water loud and splashing, dipped his hands in, and covered his face again and again until he stood, water dripping down his face. Droplets caught in his eyelashes and hair. He blinked at himself in the mirror over the basin. He looked startled, wide-eyed.
The water was dripping down his neck and chest. I stood and handed him a towel from the rack. He didn’t respond. I mopped up his chest with the soft, clean-smelling folds of the towel.
He finally took the towel and finished drying off. His hair was dark and wet around his face. There was no way to dry it out. “I did it,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “you did it.”
“I almost let her.”
“But you didn’t, Phillip. That’s what counts.”
He nodded, rapidly, head bobbing. “I guess so.” He still seemed out of breath.
“We better be getting back to the party.”
He nodded. But he stayed where he was, breathing too deep, like he couldn’t get enough oxygen.
“Phillip, are you all right?” It was a stupid question, but I couldn’t think of what else to say.
He nodded. Mr. Conversation.
“Do you want to leave?” I asked.
He looked at me then. “That’s the second time you’ve offered that. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you offer to let me out of my promise?”
I shrugged and rubbed my hands over my arms. “Because . . . because you seem to be in some kind of pain. Because you’re a junkie trying to kick the habit, sort of, and I don’t want to screw that up for you.”
“That’s a very . . . decent thing to offer.” He said decent like he wasn’t used to the word.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes,” he said, “but we can’t.”
“You said that before. Why can’t we?”
“I can’t, Anita, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Who are you taking orders from, Phillip? Tell me. What is going