Unfettered Vampire (Found & Freed: The Unfettered #5)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Morgan

T oday has been so hard. For absolutely no reason. I hate that grief comes in waves like this. One day I feel as if I can see the shore. Then the next day, out of nowhere, I’m drowning again. All I can do is hope that tomorrow will be a little better.

At least the work part of today is done, and I’ll soon be home. I’ll be able to kiss the kids and then in a few hours, I can escape into sleep and feel nothing until the morning.

As I turn into my driveway, the house comes into view. It looks like nearly all the lights are on. It’s a lighthouse in the dark, guiding me home. My kids are in there. Ned is in there. Everything is going to be okay.

I park the car and quietly let myself into the house. A quick jog up the stairs and I’m in the kids’ room. The house is more than big enough for them each to have their own rooms, but they like being all together and I hope it lasts for as long as possible.

I give them each a quick kiss and inhale their small child scent. I miss the way they smelled as babies, so I assume I’ll miss this one day as well. So I want to get as much of it while I can.

It is hard to leave them, but it’s silly to stay and I can’t risk waking them up. So I tiptoe quietly out and go in search of Ned.

I find him in the kitchen, bent over and unloading the dishwasher. Wow! That is an incredible ass. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, it is extinguished by a tidal wave of guilt.

Jennifer is dead, but she is still my wife. Ned is half my age and my employee. I know my therapist would say that attraction and arousal are normal, healthy human responses. But I’m not there yet. It simply feels like betrayal.

Ned closes the dishwasher door and turns around. A startled laugh bubbles out of me.

“Another makeover from Lottie?”

His brown eyes widen and his hand flies to the sparkly hair clips in his hair. He has the cheekbones to carry the excessive blusher my daughter has painted on him. It looks good, if dramatic. As if he is an eighties pop star and not the victim of a toddler’s playing.

“Oh crap, I completely forgot!” he says.

I can’t stop grinning. “It looks good.”

Ned flashes me a smile, and suddenly I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Fuck. Something about this light. Those eyes. That smile. He really does look like Jennifer.

“I’ll just go wash this off,” he says as he turns and walks away.

I nod to myself in the empty room. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I finally cracked? Am I losing my mind? Why am I still seeing Jennifer everywhere? It makes no sense .

Numbly, I drift out of the kitchen and into the living room. The TV is on mute, playing Casablanca to itself. A cup of coffee is on the table. Now all I can imagine is Ned sitting here, waiting for me. And it does something strange to my heart.

I don’t realize that I’m standing here, staring at the silent room, until Ned comes and joins me.

“Great film,” I say in a lame attempt to disguise my odd behavior.

“Yeah,” Ned agrees easily. “When it came out, the queues for the cinema were insane.”

I turn to him with a quizzical look. “Didn’t it come out in 1943?”

His brown eyes widen. “Um…yeah. I was on about a film festival.”

“Oh.”

He turns back to the TV. “Was it really 1943?”

“Something like that.”

“It has aged well.”

It is hard not to stare at Ned. Casablanca is a great film. A classic. But it has definitely aged. It looks even older than I feel, and that’s saying something.

“Would you like a drink?” I say, instead of quizzing him on his odd opinions on films.

He looks up at me and bites his bottom lip. I can see his inner battle reflected in his eyes. I’m pleased that part of him wants to stay in my company.

“I’d love one,” he breathes out on a soft exhale.

I nod and head over to my drinks cabinet. My hand automatically goes to the everyday whisky, but sod it. Saving stuff for special occasions is just a waste. Life has taught me that .

I pour Ned a glass of my most expensive whisky. Then I experience a wave of crushing doubt. Maybe he didn’t want to stay because he enjoys my company. Maybe he simply likes my whisky.

I grimace at my dark thought. Ned is not so shallow. I’m being an asshole. And even if he is only staying for my drinks collection, what do I care? I still get to enjoy the pleasure of his company.

I hand him his drink and he takes it with another smile. Then he sniffs it carefully. His eyebrows rise.

“Cracking out the good stuff again?”

“Why not?” I shrug.

I watch, utterly enchanted, as he takes a small sip and savors it. His eyes flutter closed and a small sound of pleasure pours out of him.

I cough. “Can you guess what it is?”

“This is a Glenfiddich,” Ned says with wide eyes and a deeply impressed expression.

A smile stretches across my face. Big enough that I can feel it. I have no idea why I am so ridiculously pleased, but I am.

“Correct again. 1937 Speyside single malt.”

“Nearly as old as…Casablanca,” says Ned.

I laugh. A proper laugh. One that moves my belly. Wow, it has been a long time since that has happened.

“How the hell can you afford this?” Ned asks in a tone of wistful amazement.

I shrug as I take my own sip. “Jennifer’s great-grandad turned out to be filthy rich and left her a heap of money. You should have seen our old house. We had twenty-four-hour staff, security, and everything. But then there was a tax issue and most of it went. But not all. ”

Ned is staring at me with the strangest look. I can’t decipher it. Horror? Dismay? Whatever it is, it seems to be making him deeply uncomfortable.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he finally says, and I have to look away from the compassion in his eyes.

I swirl my drink to buy myself some time. “After losing Jennifer. Losing some money didn’t seem like a big deal. At all.”

I risk a peek at Ned and find him looking utterly crestfallen.

“But the business I started with help from her inheritance is doing well, so it is all good!” I say cheerfully.

Ned smiles and nods, but there is still a stricken look in his eyes. It’s not sympathy, thank heavens. It almost looks like guilt. But that can’t be right. Jennifer’s death has nothing to do with Ned.

“Shall we watch the rest of the film?” I ask.

I’m clutching at straws here, but I need a distraction. Anything to get this conversation and mood out of the dark pit it has fallen into.

Ned nods and we end up sitting on the sofa, side by side. With our legs nearly touching.

Ned picks up the remote and turns the sound on. Then he settles back comfortably.

This is nice. So very nice. Except I am now realizing how touch starved I am. My entire attention is focused on the one lonely inch separating my knee from Ned’s. I’d give anything for that distance to close and to simply feel the heat of another human’s body.

I hug the kids as much as they will tolerate, but I cannot remember the last time I touched an adult. And I’m not even thinking about in a sexual way. Just plain old human contact.

Wow. That is so tragic. Another mental note for something to talk to my therapist about.

I take another sip of my drink and pretend to be engrossed in the film. Damn, this whisky is good, and damn was watching the film a brilliant idea. I’m getting to spend time with Ned without having to scramble my brains for normal sounding conversation. Even I can manage not to be weird, when all I have to do is sit here.

Another sip of whisky glides down my throat. Its fire heats my belly with a warm glow. Oh shit. I think I forgot to eat again today. Oh well, I’ll grab a sandwich once Ned has gone. Or heat up the leftovers he has probably popped in the fridge for me. He is such a sweetie. Doing stuff for me is not in his job description, but that never stops him.

I down the rest of the drink. I swear I can feel it in my veins. It is making my limbs heavy and causing me to sink into the sofa. This is nice.

My leg moves. It brushes against Ned’s. The touch feels like a zing throughout my body. I sigh happily and let the film take me far, far away from reality. I’m not Morgan anymore, I’m Rick Blaine, a jaded bar owner and main character.

Suddenly Ned jumps to his feet.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snarls.

I stare up at him as my heart pounds. The palm of my hand tingles. Oh shit, I put my hand on his thigh.

Ned’s face is very pale, and his eyes are enormous. His breaths are coming in short, rapid bursts .

My stomach roils with cold horror. Oh fuck. This is far more than outrage at your sleazeball of a boss getting handsy.

I carefully put my drink down, then I raise my hands in surrender.

“I’m so sorry Ned.”

I’m not going to insult him with a lame excuse. Saying that I didn’t mean anything by it, that I forgot where I was, or that the whisky has gone to my head, is all pathetic. None of it is going to make this any better.

Ned takes a big shuddery breath. “Please don’t fire me.”

What the actual fuck? That’s what is going through his head? My poor sweet boy.

“Ned, the fault is mine. I’m not going to fire you.”

He takes another deep breath. His relief is almost palpable. But there is still a frantic look in his eyes. A wild animal caught in a trap, thrashing helplessly against impending death.

“I know you didn’t mean… I know you wouldn’t.” He shudders. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

I stare at him. I hate this. I hate it so much. I hate that someone has hurt this lovely young man so very badly. I wish I could hunt them down and give them what they deserve.

“I’m sorry I freaked you out,” I say as gently as I can.

Ned winces and closes his eyes. Oh shit. I’m such an idiot. I hate sympathy. I shouldn’t go flinging it around. I should have known that Ned would not appreciate it.

“I’ve gotta go,” says Ned, still with his eyes closed.

I nod my understanding even though he can’t see me.

“Are you going to be okay? Will one of your flatmates be home? ”

He shouldn’t be all alone when he is this upset and rattled. I can’t bear the thought of it. I wish I could be the one to comfort him, but I’m the monster who has unsettled him.

“Yeah,” Ned says weakly.

Then he turns and leaves. I sit uselessly on the sofa and listen to the sound of his car driving away until I can’t hear a thing. He has gone and I’m the one who is all alone.

Oh Ned. Sweet Ned. Why is the world so cruel and unfair? How could something so hideous have happened to him? And how is he still so lovely? There truly is no justice in the world.

I take a deep breath and run my hands over my face. I need to treat Ned with the respect that he deserves. I need to keep my distance. Like I should have been doing in the first place. The last thing he needs is his middle-aged boss drooling over him and adding to his trauma.

His workplace should be a safe place.

From now on, I’m going to keep things strictly professional.

It is the way it has to be.