by Jenna Black
“I’m not asking for your heart.”
Leave it to Deirdre to tell it like it is! He smiled gently. “I know. But I’m afraid there’s an unbreakable bond between my heart and my dick, so you can’t have just one.”
She rolled her eyes but resumed walking. “You know, most people become more horny when they make the transition.”
“The subject is closed.” He hoped the street lamps bleached the color out of his skin so she couldn’t see the flush of his cheeks. It was undeniably true that his libido had been in overdrive ever since that fateful night. Just seeing a pretty pair of legs or a hint of enticing cleavage could make him hard as a brick. It was just that he had no desire to quench his lust with Deirdre.
They reached the Zip Mart, and thankfully she let the subject drop. She wandered the aisles aimlessly while he grabbed his quart of milk and headed to the cashier. Corey, a sophomore at Penn who had an unfortunate predilection toward acne, was on duty tonight. On one very slow night, when Corey was bored and Gray was lonely, they’d struck up a conversation, and now Gray couldn’t just get in and get out without at least a little banter.
“You’re mighty late tonight, Mr. Gray,” said Corey, grinning at him.
When Gray had been forced to disappear, he’d had to change his name. To make it easy to remember, he’d merely switched his first and last names. Now the few mortals who knew him thought his name was James Gray. “Yeah, got caught up on the phone with an old friend.”
Corey stopped halfway through ringing up the milk. “Oh? Male or female?”
Gray laughed. “None of your business. Now hurry up. I’m running late, you know.” He felt a stab of regret that he had to make up lies even when talking to a convenience store clerk.
Deirdre once again linked her arm with his when they left the store, but at least she gave up her attempts to seduce him. They walked in almost-peaceful silence, and he wondered for a moment if maybe he should accept her offer after all. Maybe a night of mind-blowing sex would ease some of the pressure inside his chest.
Maybe. But every instinct in his body told him that mind-blowing sex with Deirdre was a very, very bad idea.
At his doorstep, Gray had the distinct impression that she expected him to invite her in. He wasn’t about to do so.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe and planting a dry kiss on his lips.
He felt her glamour wrap around him, pulling him closer. His cock hardened against his will, and his mind filled with images of tasting her delicate mouth, of running his hands over her soft, pliant body. But Deirdre was only a year or so older than Gray, her powers as immature as his, and though he felt her glamour, he had no trouble resisting it.
Afraid to speak lest he say something nasty, he turned from her wordlessly and slipped into his house. When the door closed behind him, he let out a breath of relief. He really, really hated it when other vampires used glamour against him. At least hers wasn’t as powerful as Jules’s. If it were, he’d be buried inside her by now.
His erection still throbbing uncomfortably, Gray headed to the kitchen and pulled out a water glass. He poured the glass halfway full with milk, then retrieved one of the dark green glass bottles from his fridge and uncorked it with a grimace. Even after three years, he had to force himself to feed. As a mortal, he’d always been just a little overweight, no matter how careful he was with his diet. Genetics, he supposed. But since he’d become vampire, it was all he could do to keep himself from becoming cadaverous.
Gray poured the chilled lamb’s blood into his milk, stirring the sickening concoction into a pink mess. The smell wrinkled his nose, especially the medicinal taint of the anticoagulant. He recorked the bottle, then leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at his meal.
The blood fed his vampire body, and the milk made the experience so distasteful it took a concerted effort not to vomit it up again. Even so, Gray always added the milk. Eli said it was safer, easier to fight the tendency to addiction, if feeding was not a pleasurable task, and Gray wasn’t inclined to take any chances.
Pinching his nose shut, Gray tipped the glass to his lips and took a few swallows. The taste made him shudder, but it kept him alive and kept him from feeding on helpless mortals, so he forced it down.
He was only about a quarter of the way through the ordeal when his doorbell rang. He grunted in irritation as he put the glass down, wiping the excess from his lips. He’d thought Deirdre had given up for the night. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. Leaving everything on the counter, he strode toward the front door, his temper sizzling. He was never at his best around the times of his twice-weekly feedings.
He threw the door open, ready to tell Deirdre more forcefully that he wasn’t interested.
Words died in his throat when he saw Carolyn standing on his doorstep. A swell of contradictory emotions rose around him as he looked at the woman he couldn’t help loving, no matter how much time passed. He couldn’t even make sense of what he was feeling, and he just stood there and stared at her like an idiot.
“May I come in?” she asked.
He read determination in her face, along with a healthy dose of the fury she’d already demonstrated. He could just close the door in her face, as he’d done to Deirdre, but he had a feeling Carolyn wouldn’t give up as easily. Stubborn as a mule was a phrase that everyone who knew her had muttered at least once.
“Are you armed?” he replied with a lift of his eyebrow. No matter how much turmoil she caused, he didn’t dare let her see it.
Her eyes narrowed at the detachment in his voice. “Of course, but since we already determined I won’t shoot you I don’t see why that should matter.”
Boy, would Carolyn ever be surprised at what would happen if she did shoot him! Reluctantly, he opened the door wider and beckoned her in. She gave his house a thoughtful examination, then turned to him.
“Nice place you have here.” But the look on her face told him she thought the place anything but nice.
Being the abode of a vampire, the house was designed for maximum darkness. Small windows, all draped in heavy curtains. Dim lights, though electric light didn’t actually bother him. Stranger still to Carolyn’s eyes would be the decor and furnishings. Antiques, mostly, with lots of feminine touches. Doilies, rose-patterned wallpaper, lace antimacassars on the ornate arm chairs and sofa.
“I … er … inherited it,” he said as he gestured her into the living room. A parlor, really, though people didn’t have “parlors” these days. The place had barely changed since Edwardian times, when Kate Henshaw, his maker, had died and been transformed into a Killer. When the Guardians had destroyed her, they’d arranged for her house to become his. Gray had never been overly curious as to how they’d managed that.
“Really?” Carolyn asked with infinite skepticism as she sat in one of the wing chairs. Gray knew from experience the thing was hard enough to numb your ass, but as he took a seat on the more comfortable sofa he felt it wiser not to invite her to join him. “And how is it that my investigation failed to turn up any sign of this inheritance?”
“What are you doing here, Carolyn? I told you I have nothing to give you.”
“And I refuse to accept that. Do you have any idea what these past three years have been like for me?”
As a matter of fact, he did. Despite all advice to sever every link to his past, he’d never been able to let Carolyn go. He wouldn’t say he spied on her, exactly, but he had frequently found excuses to wander around her neighborhood.
Of course, for the last few months, he’d found more and more excuses, hence Jules’s accusation that he was “stalking” her.
“My last three years haven’t been so great either,” he assured her. “I’m really, really sorry that I hurt you. But I can’t go back and undo it, and even if I could explain what happened it wouldn’t change anything.”
“I think perhaps you’re underestimating me. I will find out whatever it is you’re trying t
o hide.”
There was that familiar stubborn set to her jaw, the fierce resolve in her sky-blue eyes. She’d let her hair grow out, into lustrous golden-blonde locks framing her face. When she’d been a cop, she’d kept it cropped short in a futile attempt to look butch. She’d looked like a cute blonde pixie instead. A cute blonde pixie who was damn good at her job. But surely this particular secret was safe, even from her. After all, even if she somehow found evidence of the truth, she wouldn’t believe it. No, this was one secret she would not uncover.
He wished his own logic were doing a better job of convincing him. Somehow, he had to find a way to remove himself from her scrutiny.
“So,” she continued, putting a false lightness into her tone, “if you don’t want to talk about the past, why don’t you tell me about your present? What are you doing with yourself these days?”
Damn, she was going to be hard to get rid of. And anything he said would just give her more fuel. “Carolyn, please.” He sounded pathetic even to his own ears, but he didn’t know what else to say.
She sighed. “All right. If you don’t want to talk about yourself, how about we just have a quiet drink together and reminisce about old times.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to drink.”
“You have milk.”
Ah, that’s how she had found him. Just his luck his ex-fiancée was a detective. “I didn’t think that was the kind of drink you had in mind.”
She smiled. “It wasn’t, but as you know I’m not a high-maintenance woman.”
But having her here even long enough to drink a glass of milk was a bad idea. “Carolyn—” he started, but she stood up and headed toward the hallway.
“I’ll get it myself,” she said. “Where’s the kitchen? Through there?” She pointed down the hall that did indeed lead to the kitchen.
With a sickening turn of his stomach, Gray remembered leaving his meal arrayed on the kitchen counter. Oh, shit!
He leapt to his feet, sprinting toward her and catching hold of her arm before she’d gotten close enough to the kitchen doorway to spy the contents. He’d moved supernaturally fast, and she gasped in amazement as she raised her gaze to his.
In that split second, he knew there was no logical explanation he could give for his sudden burst of desperate speed, nor for his obvious alarm at the thought of her entering his kitchen. As Carolyn’s eyes met his, he knew there was only one thing he could do. Holding her shocked gaze, he used his glamour to push all thoughts of the kitchen and her glass of milk from her mind.
4
CAROLYN COULDN’T BLINK. HER eyes locked with Gray’s, and then refused to budge as she lost herself in those blue-gray depths. Her heart trembled, and it felt as if the world had taken a sudden step to the side. Where was she? What had she been about to do? She wanted desperately to blink away the confusion, but she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried.
“Wait here,” Gray said in a voice barely above a whisper, and then he slipped away.
Still she could neither move, nor blink. She heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing, then the sink running. Then Gray was back, moving into her field of vision. She couldn’t focus her eyes, but she thought Gray’s face looked troubled. He reached up and stroked her cheek softly with the back of his hand, just once. The touch made her shiver.
“I’m sorry about this, sweetheart,” she heard him murmur.
Her vision became even cloudier, and suddenly her knees buckled. She tried to stop her fall with her hands, but her body’s responses were sluggish. The floor rose up to meet her … .
When she opened her eyes, Carolyn’s head was throbbing. A groan escaped her, and she tried to get her bearings.
She was lying down. Gray was sitting beside her, and she felt something cold against the side of her head.
What the hell … ?
“What happened?” The words came out mumbled and slurred, as though she’d been drinking.
“You tripped,” Gray said. “You hit your head against a table and conked out for a couple of minutes.”
Her head seemed to confirm his words with a particularly nasty throb, and she realized the spot of cold on her head was an ice pack. She was lying on the living room sofa, Gray’s hip perched on the edge right beside her. “Tripped?” she repeated, trying to get her thoughts lined up. She remembered inviting herself for a drink. And she remembered heading toward the kitchen to help herself when Gray seemed uninclined to play host. Then … nothing.
Carolyn furrowed her brow, trying to force the memory to surface. If she’d tripped, surely she’d remember it. She tried to sit up, but Gray laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Take it easy. You’ve had a nasty knock on the head. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “I don’t have a concussion.”
Gray’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just checking.” He moved the ice away from her head, setting the bag down on the floor.
This time, when she tried to sit up, he let her. The pain in her head seemed to be receding, but she still felt … strange. Why couldn’t she remember falling? Surely she hadn’t hit her head that hard. She lowered her face into her hands. Her whole body tensed when she felt the warmth of Gray’s palm against her back. He rubbed up and down her spine, and his touch dispelled the chill that had settled over her.
God, he had good hands. Some primal instinct in him always seemed to know just where she needed to be touched. She’d forgotten that about him, but now the memories came flooding back unbidden.
His powerful fingers, digging into the knots in her shoulders after a tense day on the job. His short nails scraping gently across her bare back, soothing the itch she hadn’t known she’d had. And, most glorious of all—
Carolyn sat up abruptly, shaking her head to clear the images. There were some things she didn’t want to remember.
Gray moved his hand away and sat quietly beside her. His hands were clasped between his knees, and his shaggy hair hid his face. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. Then her eyes were drawn to a different lump altogether.
Gray’s jeans did little to hide the swell of his erection. For one breathless moment, she was tempted to reach out and touch it, feel the power and heat of it in the palms of her hands. A shiver of desire passed through her as she imagined slowly pulling that zipper down.
Luckily, her common sense returned before she did any such thing. Blood heated her cheeks. How could she possibly feel desire for the man who had so thoroughly betrayed her? For all his talk of how miserable his last three years had been, he had apparently not spent them alone, like she had. How long after he’d deserted Carolyn had he waited to hook up with the pretty little brunette she’d seen him kissing?
She moved away from him on the couch, putting as much distance between them as possible. Annoyingly, her heart still tripped over itself, and there was no denying the hint of moisture between her legs.
Gray raised his head and met her eyes, his nostrils slightly flared. Her desire spiked, her throat constricting as her breaths came shorter and faster. She wet her lips, a nervous gesture, not a come-on, but Gray slid closer to her until he invaded her personal space and her head filled with the scent of him. He leaned into her.
What are you doing? a frantic voice shouted in the back of her mind. She wanted to pull away, wanted to put a stop to this right this moment, and yet her body wouldn’t obey her. Her mouth opened against her will, and her eyes slid shut. She waited.
His breath caressed her lips, and every inch of her skin was aware of his proximity. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe, as she waited for him to take what she offered. Desire like molten lava pooled in her belly, and if she’d been capable of movement she would have lain back on the couch and spread her legs for him. Lust burned out of control, a raging forest fire that threatened to consume her.
When Gray backed away, her sense of loss was indescribable. A groan of protest escap
ed as she opened her eyes.
There was no doubt he felt the same desire as she. His pupils were so dilated his eyes seemed almost black, and his pants looked about to burst. And there was something else, something she’d never seen in him before, a kind of feral impatience. He looked like a man who would seize what he wanted without asking permission.
The expression should have terrified her. Instead, the heat between her legs intensified.
“Time for you to go,” he said, his voice hoarse with lust.
She opened her mouth to protest, but it turned into a cry of surprise when he leapt to his feet, his hand fastening about her arm and dragging her with him. Reality snapped back into place as he headed toward the door, pulling her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, trying to dig in her heels. Her efforts didn’t even slow him down.
“You’re leaving.” The words came out as a snarl. He paused to open his front door, and she took the opportunity to punch the arm that held her as hard as she could. But it was an awkward, left-handed swing, and the muscles of his shoulder were like corded steel. No doubt she had hurt her own knuckles more than she had hurt him. The door swung open and Gray dragged her up against his body, bringing her face to within inches of his. His erection ground against her belly as he growled at her.
“Stay away from me, Carolyn. I mean it. I’m not the man you once knew.” With that, he gave her a shove that almost sent her down his front steps. By the time she regained her balance, the door had slammed in her face.
For a long moment, she stood breathless with shock and outrage, staring at that closed door and wishing she could bore a hole in it with her eyes. Her upper arm ached where his fingers had dug in too deeply, and she noticed once again the throbbing of her head. How could he go from almost kissing her one moment to manhandling her the next? And just what exactly was the matter with her that she’d almost let him do the former?
Slowly, the pounding of her heart calmed, but nothing could calm the turbulence of her thoughts. “All right, Gray,” she whispered. “You win this round. But the war isn’t over.”