Dead Sexy

by Amanda Ashley

Turning her in his arms, he slowly lowered her feet to the floor. Her body made a slow, sensuous descent down the length of his and by the time her feet touched the floor, she was as aroused as he was.

  But this was her wedding night, and she wasn’t going to bed smelling of fear and perspiration and dirt. “I need a shower.”

  “An excellent idea,” Santiago said agreeably.

  When Regan started to undress, he gently batted her hands away. “Let me,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

  Regan stood there, blushing, as Santiago slowly bared her body to his gaze. She felt a rush of feminine power as his eyes grew hotter.

  Santiago toed off his boots and was about to slip off his shirt when she said, “My turn,” and with hands that trembled with eager excitement, she removed his shirt, trousers, and briefs.

  He was, in a word, gorgeous, from his inky black hair to the soles of his feet. And he was hers, for this night and every night for as long as she lived. It was a heady thought.

  Swinging Regan into his arms, Santiago headed for the bathroom.

  “I can walk, you know,” Regan said dryly.

  “Of course you can,” he replied easily. “But why should you?”

  She laughed softly. “Are you going to carry me everywhere?”

  “Perhaps.” He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, the curve of her jaw. “You do not wish to deny me the pleasure, do you?”

  Regan smiled a sultry smile. “I wouldn’t think of denying you anything that would bring you pleasure.”

  Chuckling softly, Santiago opened the shower door. Muttering, “how quaint,” he turned on the old-fashioned shower and adjusted the temperature. When the water was just right, he stepped under the spray. Then, as he had before, he slowly lowered Regan to her feet.

  She shivered with pleasure as her body slid over his. Never in all her life had she experienced anything quite as erotic as the feel of Santiago’s water-slick skin against her own.

  Moments later, when he picked up a bar of lavender soap, lathered his hands, and began to wash her breasts, she knew she had been mistaken. Nothing could be more sensual, more arousing, than the touch of his soapy hands sweeping over her flesh.

  “Joaquin…”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “I’m going to melt at your feet if you don’t stop that.”

  “Then melt, my love,” he said, his voice growing husky as his hands, his wickedly clever hands, slid over her belly, slowly moving lower, lower, until, groaning with pleasure, she arched against him.

  Unable to wait a moment longer, Santiago took her there, in the shower, with the water sluicing over their bodies and their mouths fused together.

  He swallowed her cry when he breached her maidenhead, his hands gentle as they stroked her face, her back, her hair.

  Regan writhed against him, certain she was going to explode into a million pieces as Santiago moved deep inside her, his voice urging her to go with him, to let go and let it happen.

  With her arms wrapped tight around his waist, she buried her face in his neck and felt a sudden sharp pain in her gums. Needing to relieve the pressure, she bit his neck. Caught up in a world of sensation, it took her a moment to realize that she was feeling what he felt, that his groan was not one of pain, but ecstasy. His blood was like sweet nectar on her tongue.

  Moments later, the wave of pleasure she had been riding crested, sending ripples of pleasure through every part of her being. It was unlike anything she had ever known, and more wonderful than anything she had ever imagined.

  Spent and sated, she rested her head against Santiago’s shoulder. “That was incredible,” she murmured. “Can we do it again?”

  It was near dawn when Regan crawled under the covers. They had indeed done it again. And again. And again. On the sofa. On the floor in front of the fire. In the bed. After the last time, they had taken another shower.

  Now, lying in bed while Santiago secured their room, she felt her body grow heavy. It was a frightening feeling, as if she were being weighed down. Was this a natural part of being a vampire?

  She tried to sit up as Santiago entered the room, but she lacked the strength.

  “Joaquin!”

  Hearing the note of panic in her voice, he hurried to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. “I am here.”

  “I feel so strange. I can’t even sit up. It’s like I’ve been drugged or something.”

  He smoothed his hand across her brow. “Relax, my love, do not fight it. It is the Dark Sleep.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “The sensation of being weighed down will pass, in time.”

  “So, it’s normal?”

  He nodded.

  “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “Why aren’t I hungry all the time, the way new vampires are supposed to be?”

  “Because I am a very old vampire. My blood is stronger than most because I have only made one other vampire during my existence. My strength is now yours.” He grinned at her. “And you drank from me earlier, remember?”

  How could she forget? In the throes of passion, she had bitten his neck and tasted his blood—and liked it so much she had done it again, and again.

  “Vampires do not usually feed on each other,” Santiago remarked.

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “I really do not know. I think the reason you are able to drink mine is because the doctor gave you my blood via transfusion.”

  “You gave me your blood?” Even though the darkness was dragging her down, she laughed. “A vampire giving blood,” she said, yawning. “That has to be one for the books…”

  Her voice trailed off as the Dark Sleep caught her in its grasp.

  Santiago’s heart swelled with love as he gazed down at his bride. She was so lovely, so sweet. And now she was his, and would always be his.

  He sat at her side, stroking her hair and caressing her cheek with his fingers, or simply watching her, until his own body demanded rest.

  With a sense of contentment, he slid into bed beside her. For the first time in centuries, he wasn’t alone as he took his rest.

  It was, he thought, a welcome change that had been a long time coming.

  Chapter 37

  Regan looked out the window of the plane. She had been wondering how they were going to get home. One thing she hadn’t expected was to have a private jet waiting for them at the airport.

  “You must have an awful lot of credits saved up,” she remarked, glancing over at Santiago.

  “I have a few.”

  “A few?” She glanced at the plane, with its plush seats and opulent interior. Pilots that flew private planes were expensive; pilots that would fly you across the world and wait until you were ready to return were even more so.

  “It is easy to accumulate wealth when you have centuries at your command to do so and your material needs are few.”

  She made a soft sound of assent. She hadn’t thought of it like that. Then a new thought crossed her mind.

  “Joaquin! What am I going to tell my family?” She shook her head, trying to imagine how she would explain to her parents and her brothers that she now belonged to an endangered species and wouldn’t be able to have brunch with them on Easter Sunday or open presents on Christmas morning. Sure, they were liberal in their thinking, but they’d never had a vampire in the family before.

  “Do they love you?”

  “What a silly question. Of course they do.”

  “Then they will accept you as you are.”

  “I don’t know. My father’s a senator. He’s been working on a law to repeal the Endangered Vampire Act. Somehow I don’t think he’ll be too thrilled to learn about my new, ah, role in life.”

  Santiago grunted softly. “In that case, I doubt they will approve of your choice of a husband, either, but I would think that, given a choice between having a daughter who is a vampire and a daughter who is dead, your father would prefer th
e former.”

  “I guess so. It should certainly make for some interesting conversation when the family gets together.”

  “You are all the family I need.”

  “I love you, too.” She glanced out the window, thinking of all the things she hadn’t even considered when she agreed to let Santiago bring her across. Her parents’ reaction hadn’t occurred to her. Of course, she hadn’t been thinking all that clearly at the time. And Mike…how would she ever tell Mike?

  “What is wrong now?” Santiago asked, seeing her woebegone expression.

  “It’s Michael. How will I ever tell him?” She shook her head. “I’ll never be able to tell him about any of this,” she remarked, “or about us. He’d never understand. He’s so…Joaquin?” She frowned as his face went blank. “What is it? Is something wrong with Mike?” She shook his arm. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “He is dead.”

  “Dead?” She stared at him. “When? How?”

  “He was dying when I found him.”

  Regan felt a rush of guilt. “It was Vasile, wasn’t it? That night, at my house…”

  Santiago nodded. “It was Flynn who told me where to find you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. All this time, she had never wondered what had happened to Mike. She had just blithely assumed that he was all right and that he would be in the city when she returned. Resting her head on Santiago’s chest, she let her tears fall. “It’s all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, Mike would be alive now.”

  “It is not your fault,” Santiago said. “You must not think like that.”

  How could she help it? She hadn’t been in love with Michael Flynn, but she had loved him as a friend—a good friend. She felt a sudden delight in the knowledge that she had killed Vasile. She only wished she could do it again, for Mike.

  Regan stood beside Joaquin, her hand clasped in his as they waited for the priest to arrive. They had returned to Santiago’s lair in the Byways just before dawn the day before. Regan had succumbed to the Dark Sleep almost as soon as they reached Santiago’s lair. Now she stood beside him, her gaze slowly moving around the room. It was a beautiful old church, with burnished wooden pews and intricate stained glass windows. A sweet-faced Madonna stood in one corner, her hand raised in benediction. Flickering candles set in scrolled wall sconces cast a warm glow.

  The soft sound of a door opening drew Regan’s attention. Glancing to her left, she saw an aged priest walking toward the altar. Short, slender, and gray haired, he leaned heavily on a wooden cane.

  A smile spread over the priest’s face as he approached the altar.

  “Ah, Santiago, my old friend, forgive my tardiness,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling.

  “Time is something I have in abundance, Father Paul,” Santiago replied.

  “Would that I could say the same.” The priest took Santiago’s hand in his. “Some nights the spirit is willing but this old body just wants to go to bed.”

  “We appreciate your taking time to do this, Father,” Santiago said, his voice tinged with genuine reverence and respect.

  “Well, now, I can’t have the two of you living in sin, can I?” the priest said chuckling. “Who is this lovely young woman?”

  “Father, this is my bride, Regan Delaney. Regan, this is Father Paul.”

  Smiling his good-natured smile, the priest took Regan’s hand in both of his. “Delighted to meet you, my dear,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I didn’t think my friend here would ever find love again.” Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to the side, his gaze locked on hers. “You are as he is.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. “Were you brought across of your own free will?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Very well, then, join hands, won’t you, and we’ll begin.”

  Regan looked at Joaquin, her heart swelling with love for the man who would soon be her husband. His voice was soft and low and intense as he spoke his vows. Regan couldn’t help smiling when he promised to love her as long as he lived. The good Lord willing, they would have centuries together.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said, his voice and expression solemn. And then he smiled broadly. “You may kiss the bride.”

  “Gladly,” Santiago murmured. Drawing Regan into his arms, he kissed her tenderly, gently, and then he kissed her again. There was nothing tender or gentle in this kiss. It was a brand, sealing her as his for all time.

  “Go in peace, my children,” the priest said.

  “Thank you, Father,” Santiago said.

  Regan kissed the old man on the cheek. “Yes, thank you.”

  Taking her by the hand, Joaquin led her out of the church.

  “How do you happen to be friends with a priest?” Regan asked when they were outside. “I mean, it seems odd, doesn’t it?”

  “Perhaps. I have known the good Father for over forty years.”

  “However did you meet?” she asked. “He’s not a vampire, is he?”

  “No. I saved his life one night. It happened in Spain. He was a young priest at the time, on his way back to the church after visiting a parishioner who lived in the slums outside the city. It was raining heavily when two young hoodlums jumped him…”

  “They attacked a priest?”

  “They didn’t know he was a priest. He was wearing a heavy raincoat at the time.”

  “Go on.”

  “One of the young men was about to stab him in the back when I came along.” Santiago shrugged. “I chased the boys away, then escorted the good Father home.”

  “Did he know what you are?”

  “Not at first.”

  “And he didn’t care, when he found out?”

  “He was a bit of a rebel in his youth. I rather think he enjoyed having a vampire acquaintance. When I saved his life, he promised me a favor in return. Tonight he fulfilled that promise.”

  “You waited quite a long time to collect that favor, didn’t you?”

  “I wanted to save it for a special occasion. He is the only one I know who would marry us without a license.”

  “He’s a long way from Spain.”

  “His order sent him here five years ago. And now, my lovely bride,” he said, his gaze warming as he looked at her, “we have the whole night ahead of us. Is there anything you would like to do before we go home?”

  “There is one thing I need to do,” she said. “It won’t take long.”

  The cemetery was located on a green hill east of the city. Regan paused at the entrance, knowing that she couldn’t go on with her life until she told Michael good-bye.

  “Go,” Santiago said, “I will wait for you here.”

  With a nod, Regan opened the large iron gate and made her way along the narrow stone path until she found Mike’s final resting place. She read the short epitaph on the headstone:

  Michael Seamus Flynn

  Beloved son of Timothy and Gladys

  May the good Lord keep you safe in His care

  Until we meet again

  She stood there a moment, remembering the first time she had met Mike and how kind he had been to her, a brand new vampire hunter who had lost her lunch at her first crime scene. He had always been protective of her. She remembered a time when she had been sick with the flu. It had been Mike who had looked after her. He had driven her to the doctor, made sure she had food in the house, and even changed the sheets on her bed. He had been so sweet and so kind and yet, try as she might, she hadn’t been able to love him as he deserved. And now he was gone.

  Funny how life turned out, she thought as she placed a single white rose on his grave. They had met because she was a vampire hunter and now she was a vampire.

  Kneeling, she placed her hand on the grave. “I’m sorry, Mike, so sorry.” No matter what anyone said, she would always feel responsible for his death. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you, but I promise I’ll never forget you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Never.”

  She
felt a subtle shift in the air as Santiago came up beside her.

  “Regan? Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Taking her hand, he lifted her to her feet. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head. “Remember when you asked me if I’d rather be a vampire or a werewolf?”

  He nodded, his expression impassive as he waited for her to go on.

  “Well,” she said, looking up at him, “I’ve been mortal, werewolf, and vamp…”

  She watched a muscle clench in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything; he simply stood there, waiting, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what else she had to say.

  “This way is the best way.” Standing on her tiptoes, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. “Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand, “let’s go home.”

  Amanda Ashley’s next book from Zebra,

  NIGHT’S TOUCH,

  will be available in bookstores in July 2007.

  A stunning sequel to NIGHT’S KISS,

  this is a most surprising

  and exciting novel!

  ONE KISS CAN SEAL YOUR FATE…

  Cara DeLongpre wandered into the mysterious Nocturne club looking for a fleeting diversion from her sheltered life. Instead she found a dark, seductive stranger whose touch entices her beyond the safety she’s always known and into a heady carnal bliss…

  A year ago, Vincent Cordova believed that vampires existed only in bad movies and bogeyman stories. That was before a chance encounter left him with unimaginable powers, a hellish thirst, and an aching loneliness he’s sure will never end…until the night he meets Cara DeLongpre. Cara’s beauty and bewitching innocence call to his mind, his heart…his blood. For Vincent senses the Dark Gift shared by Cara’s parents, and the lurking threat from an ancient and powerful foe. And he knows that the only thing more dangerous than the enemy waiting to seek its vengeance is the secret carried by those Cara trusts the most…

  Chapter 1

  Cara Aideen Delongpre sipped her drink, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay any attention to the crowd and the noise that surrounded her. She had grown up knowing her mother and father weren’t like other parents. Once she had started going to school, she had discovered a whole new world. Other kids went on vacation with their parents when school was out. They went out to dinner and to the zoo and to Disneyland and Sea World. They had birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Other kids had brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and cousins and grandparents. When Cara asked why she didn’t have brothers or sisters or aunts and uncles, her father had explained that her mother couldn’t have children, and that he and her mother didn’t have any siblings, and that her grandparents had all passed away.