He had to get her under control.
Fortunately, Gabriel Archer had two centuries' practice in controlling women.
At first it was all Dana could do not to shake when she met his gaze. Archer's eyes looked so blue and cold and merciless as he stared into hers. And so knowing, as if he were immensely old. Looking into that immortal stare, she finally believed he was a vampire.
Her father's religious teachings stirred uneasily in her mind. If he was a vampire, didn't that make him some kind of demon?
Yet a demon would have helped the kind of men who bombed churches. Archer had jailed them. So he couldn't be a demon.
But what was he?
As she stared up at Archer, Dana suddenly realized his expression had softened, becoming less ruthless, almost seductive. His lids lowered, pupils expanding into dark pools set in his crystalline blue irises. The tight line of his mouth relaxed, taking on a sensual curve, and his nostrils flared as if scenting her. He took one step closer, then another, until he was so close his big body seemed to
surround hers.
Her mouth went dry as she remembered the way he'd looked with his shirt off, the intensely male contours gleaming in the firelight. She took a step back.
"Are you afraid of me, Dana?" Archer murmured, closing the distance between them again.
God, his chest was broad. It seemed to fill her vision. And the T-shirt fabric clung, so she could see all that fascinating masculine topography. Like the way the black material tented over the tiny nub of his left nipple. She wet her lips and resisted the impulse to look down, see if something else might be protruding beneath his jeans.
"You shouldn't be afraid," he said, his velvet and whiskey voice curling around her senses. Archer lowered his head toward hers, his hair falling forward. Dana watched, hypnotized, as strand slipped over dark, gleaming strand, tumbling in slow motion against the stern rise of his cheek. She wanted to touch his hair, feel its silken length slip through her fingers.
"I have no desire to hurt you," he said softly. "There are so many better things to do." His breath gusted over her lips, warm and smelling faintly yeasty.
"Beer," Dana blurted, groping for a way to resist the lush spell he was spinning around her. "I didn't think vampires drank anything but blood."
"Don't believe everything you hear." Gently, Archer reached up and smoothed her own tumbled hair back from her forehead. His fingers felt warm, almost feverish. Wasn't a vampire's skin supposed to be cold? Another myth shot to hell, she thought, fighting dizziness.
"Don't be afraid of me, Dana," he said, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. "I'm one of the good guys" His eyelashes cast long shadows against his elegant cheekbones as he lowered his head. "Very, very good."
And then his lips touched hers, hot silk, brushing once, then clinging, slowly drawing her lower lip into his mouth to gently suckle. His tongue slipped across it, wet and clever, tempting her to open her own mouth, let him inside.
Her head went into a long, slow spin. What was happening to her?
He was touching her now, gentle little strokes, here on her shoulder, there on her cheek, a fingertip dance on her waist, slipping into a caress of her hip. How could a man who could throw Donnie Anders around with brutal strength touch her with such delicacy?
Dana dragged her mouth away from his and gasped. "I thought you were supposed to hypnotize me, make me forget.
"Oh, I want to make you forget" His mouth moved to her ear, nibbled, breathed. "I want you to forget how to say no."
Dana tried to brace her hands against his chest to hold him back, but she couldn't seem to summon the strength. And that alarming weakness spread quickly, rolling from her arms to her knees. She tried to stiffen her legs and stand erect, only to find herself leaning into his chest, surrendering to those hot, seductive hands.
One of them had discovered her bottom. He traced the curve of a jeans-clad cheek with long fingers, then slipped into the cleft to exert a suggestive, wicked pressure. Dana tightened reflexively, unintentionally thrusting forward against his groin. Where she felt the thick, hard length of his erection jutting against the zipper of his jeans. He rolled his hips, letting her feel the massive ridge. She gasped, and he purred a laugh in her ear.
He's got me acting like a skittish virgin, she thought, appalled. "Stop that. Aren't you on duty?"
"I'm taking a dinner break," he whispered, and bit her earlobe. One of those quick hands found its way under her shirt and slid upward toward her breasts. "How about it, Dana. Wouldn't you like to be dinner?" The hand captured her, slipping over her breast to encircle it with long, possessive fingers. She caught her breath as the sensation unfurled along her nerves. He squeezed gently, his heat searing her skin through the lace of her bra. "No," Dana protested. It came out as a tiny, helpless whimper, sounding arousing even to her ears.
"But you'd make such a lovely feast. And I'm so hungry." He delicately pinched her nipple, which drew into a tight, tingling peak at his touch. "I could spend hours devouring these beautiful breasts. Let me see them, Dana"
"You've done something to me," she moaned.
"Not yet." He grabbed her shirt and ruthlessly pulled it off over her head. then dragged the bra down. "But I'm going to."
Dazed, Dana looked down to see her own bare breasts glowing pale in the firelight, the nipples hard, rosy points. Then Archer's head covered one breast while his hand claimed the other. His mouth sucked and bit as his fingers tormented until need jerked tight in her belly.
Dana's feet went out from under her. She yelped, grabbing at Archer for support, only to realize he'd swept her up in his arms. Still suckling greedily at her helpless nipple, he lowered her to the ground. Dry leaves crunched under her bared back.
For a moment Archer loomed above her, his massive shoulders edged in moonlight before he descended on her to continue his leisurely feast.
Dana twisted helplessly at the sensation created by his swirling, lapping tongue, then groaned as a hand slid between her legs, pressing into her cleft through her jeans until she thought she'd burst into flames. She panted, past protest now, her body yowling for him, for his mouth and his fingers and his erection.
Distantly, she heard the erotic whisper of her zipper sliding down. Then his hand touched her silk clad belly, slipping past the waistband to search out wet curls and tight, soft lips. One long finger dipped inside, gliding through the thick cream of her arousal to slowly pump. Then another joined it, and another, filing her full. She moaned.
It had been so long.
This was just like her fantasies, Dana thought, in helpless, shamed excitement—the ones she never told anyone about because they were so sinful. Being taken by a stranger in the woods, letting him touch and taste and bite.
Bite.
The word stabbed her with a sudden realization that sliced through the heat in her mind like a dagger of ice.
He wasn't just any stranger. He was a vampire.
And this wasn't about love or even sex. He intended to feed on her.
"Stop it." Her voice was low and determined. "Now."
Archer froze, his mouth filled with hard nipple, his fingers buried in tight, lush sex. He was triply erect, fangs and cock, lust searing his veins until he ached.
But he didn't ignore that tone. Ever.
"I said get off me!" Her hands pushed at his shoulders.
"All right, dammit!" He jerked away and shot to his feet, retreating several paces as Dana jumped up and began to jerk and zip at her clothes. Aching, frustrated, Archer watched her pale breasts bounce as she scooped her shirt off the ground and shrugged into it.
"I thought you were supposed to be one of the good guys," she said bitterly.
"You weren't complaining a minute ago." Archer barely managed not to snarl. Showing fang at a time like this would be too much like a threat.
Dana jerked her head up. Her gray eyes swam with betrayed tears. "You said you would make me forget you're a vampire. You didn't say anything about
making me sleep with you."
He gaped at her. "You think I did this with psi?"
"Didn't you?"
"I'm a seducer, not a rapist," Archer snapped. "I'd never use psychic influence to get a woman into bed."
Dana fisted her hands on her hips. "Oh, right. One minute you're going to hypnotize me, the next, I'm on the ground letting you suck my nipples. But you didn't use `psychic influence."
"I'm good," he snarled.
"You're a vampire," she hurled at him. "You couldn't be good if you tried. You're damned by God."
For a moment Archer couldn't believe she'd said the words. This was the twenty-first century, and she was giving him the same line he'd heard in the eighteenth. "God and Satan have nothing to do with vampirism. It's a virus. You catch it."
That stopped her. Her pale brows drew down over those cloud-gray eyes. "How?"
"I'm not in the mood for another fucking interview," he ground out.
"I've just been rolling on the ground with you. I think I'm entitled to know."
She had a damn good point. "You have nothing to worry about" At the moment, anyway. "You can't catch the vampire virus from a kiss. Or a toilet seat, or a sneeze. You'd only have to worry if you drank my blood."
She wrinkled her pert nose at him. "Ugh. Well, I'm certainly not going to be doing that any time soon" There was a long, tense pause. Finally Dana drew herself upright, evidently deciding to defuse the moment. "When are you going to do your psychic amnesia thing?"
"Already tried." He shrugged. "It doesn't work on you"
She blinked. "Why not?"
"I don't know." A lie, but she wasn't ready for the truth.
A relieved smile spread across Dana's face, winsome and sweet. "Well, in that case, I'll just be getting back to the paper. I've got a story to write." She turned on her heel and started out of the clearing.
"No" He couldn't let her leave. Not now.
She whirled back to him, eyes widening. "But I told you, I'm not going to use any of the vampire stuff. Nobody would believe me anyway."
"I'm not even talking about the `vampire stuff.' I just don't want this story out right now."
"Too bad. It's out."
"Dana, I flushed Satterfield's plot by using psi on the WAB's founder and ordering him to recommend me to anybody planning something big. If you report this, Jonah Howard will get suspicious, and he won't let me get close enough to influence him again. And I have reason to believe the WAB is planning other terrorist actions."
Well, it sounded plausible, anyway. In reality, Howard would have a hell of a time keeping Archer away no matter how suspicious he was. All Archer had to do was walk up to him in the grocery store, look him in the eye and give him an order, and Howard would do whatever the hell he wanted. But Dana didn't know that.
She shook her shaggy blonde head. "Archer, those men were going to assassinate the President. You can't keep something that big a secret."
He laughed. "Oh, I've kept much bigger secrets than this."
"But..."
"I am not letting you go, Dana."
She bared her teeth at him. "You can't keep me"
Archer reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Can't I?" He started toward her. "You have the right to remain silent..."
Dana backed up. "But I haven't done anything!"
"How about interfering with a federal investigation?"
"Interfering, hell, I'm just reporting it. Or did they repeal the First Amendment when nobody was looking?"
"Sorry." Archer grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Catching her slim wrists, he pulled them behind her, trapped them in one hand, and snapped on the `cuffs.
"I want a lawyer, you toothy jerk!" She turned her head to glare over her shoulder at him, her gray eyes snapping. Those moonlight pale curls framed her face, and her full mouth looked mutinous, kissable.
"Now."
"You'll get a lawyer when I say you get a lawyer. In the meantime, you'll stay in my custody" Temper simmering, Archer leaned close to her delicate little ear and whispered mockingly, "How do you feel about bondage, Dana?"
Her heartbeat leaped.
"Ahh" A smile of delight spread across his face. "Does innocent Dana have a guilty secret?"
As he watched, a tide of red flooded from her cleavage right up to her hairline.
And he knew he had her.
Chapter Three
Dana picked nervously at a hole in the vinyl seat of her chair, then realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop. She was in enough trouble without destroying the property of the Adams County Sheriff's Department. Guiltily, she looked around the office, hut none of the detectives were watching her.
And Archer and his handcuffs were nowhere to be seen.
Thank God. An hour had passed since he'd hit her with his wicked suggestion, but her skin still felt hot from that blush. Damn her misspent adolescence anyway. And damn big brother Mark and his stash of Victorian erotica.
She slumped. At least Archer'd had the courtesy to take the handcuffs off before he'd escorted her into the building. It would have been mortifying to be cuffed in front of the deputies she'd been working with for the past six years.
Unfortunately, he'd killed the spurt of gratitude she'd felt by leaning over and whispering in her ear, "They go back on... later."
That last "later" was spoken in such a tone of velvet suggestion that she'd felt the blush roll right back up to her hairline again.
Dana glowered, remembering the curious looks her red face had gotten from the deputies as they'd walked in. She'd promptly blushed even hotter. She just wasn't equipped to keep her cool in the face of Archer's sophisticated games, not with her upbringing.
From the day Dana had turned thirteen, her evangelist mother had exercised her considerable talent for fire and brimstone preaching on the subject of sex. "Intercourse," as Helen Ivory called it, was powerful and innately corrupting, and should only be risked under the protection of marriage for the purpose of begetting children.
Anything else was sinful.
Helen also laced her lectures with well-meant misinformation: the AIDS virus would go right through latex condoms, and abortions would leave you sterile and suicidal.
Dana's outrage when she'd discovered she'd been lied to was one of the reasons she'd gone into journalism, the business of spreading truth whether anybody liked it or not.
But that strict upbringing also left her hungry for any knowledge whatsoever about sex. So the day she discovered her brother's hidden porn cache in the attic when she was sixteen, she'd pounced on it.
At first Dana had been horrified at the stories, with their blatant misogyny and streak of cruelty. But she'd been equally excited by their eroticism. Even though guilt had quickly driven her out of the attic, fascination had repeatedly lured her back. She'd spent hours up there on a discarded couch, reading in the light from a tiny attic window as she caressed herself in guilty excitement.
From then on, her fantasies revolved around wickedly handsome rakes and bound virgin prisoners. Hell, she still had those fantasies, and she still felt guilty, not so much out of a fear of brimstone as the knowledge she shouldn't be aroused by the idea of submitting to anybody's domination.
Unfortunately, her libido didn't seem to have a social conscience. And it loved Archer, archetype of wickedly seductive dominance that he was. The man was the sum total of every fantasy she'd ever had: handsome, built like a Roman gladiator, and gifted with enough erotic skill to make a woman get down and beg. Dana would bet her last notebook Archer had actually been a Victorian rake. He certainly seemed to sense her darkest fantasies, knowing just how to drive her right into a frenzy.
Yet he'd stopped when she'd said no and meant it. Unfortunately, he was also planning to book her on some pretty serious federal charges.
Dana slumped, discouraged, and braced an elbow on the battered desk beside her. Brooding, she turned her attention to the federal agent who was typing wit
h two fingers on a small black laptop. He must have brought the computer with him; God knew the Adams County Sheriff's Department couldn't afford any tech that high. "Did Archer really fight in the Revolutionary War?"
The agent looked up and gaped at her, then glanced around hastily for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he whispered, "He told you that? And let you remember it?"
"His psychic thing doesn't work on me. Did he?"
He frowned. "His psychic thing always works." Hazel eyes focused on her, sharp in the agent's middle-aged face. He was in his fifties, Dana estimated, with tired, lived-in features and thinning sandy hair, but his body was as hard and lean as a teenager's in its black fatigues. "No comment"
"But..."
"I'm not telling you a damn thing, lady," he interrupted, his voice cold. "Especially not if Archer's psi doesn't work on you."
"Fitzroy," Archer said from the doorway.
"Yes sir?"
"I need to talk to you a minute. And you." He shot Dana a hard look. "Quit trying to interview everything that moves."
She slumped down in her chair with a sigh of disgust.
Michael Fitzroy followed Archer into the interview room and shut the door. "How'd it go?"
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Repeated psychic sessions always gave him a murderous headache. "They'll cooperate fully for the next forty-eight hours or so. You'll need to gather all the evidence they'll give you before my influence wears off."
Fitzroy lifted a graying eyebrow. "You sound like you don't plan to be there."
Archer shrugged. "You can handle them. Besides, I've got another project." Which should be a lot more fun. "By the way, I want you to do a full security check on Dana Ivory—the works. I want to know her bank balance, her work history, her parents, her shoe size, what her third grade teacher thought of her and who gave her that first kiss. Everything, right down to the ground. The same
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