by Lynsay Sands
His tongue was warm, wet, and firm as it rasped across hers. He tasted of mint and coffee and something else she couldn’t immediately identify, then Lissianna simply couldn’t be bothered to. She let her eyes drift closed and lost herself in the sensations overwhelming her.
What had started on her part as an effort to seduce Gregory Hewitt ended with her being seduced. Lissianna found herself lost in the kiss as his tongue filled her, thrusting and sweeping through her mouth with a demand that made her shudder. For a moment her purpose was completely forgotten. She found herself shifting her position, sliding her legs onto the bed so that she lay against him, her legs tangling with his even as her fingers tangled and caught in his hair.
She sensed his tugging at his restraints, but was really only half-aware of it until he turned his head away to break the kiss, and growled, “Untie me. I want to touch you.”
Lissianna was tempted, but ignored the request and instead concentrated on kissing a trail down his cheek, her body moving down his. He was obviously taller than she. By the time her lips reached his throat, their pelvises were even, and he immediately rotated his hips, urging himself against her, increasing the excitement for both of them. His groan was both frustrated and excited as her lips moved along his throat and he shifted restlessly beneath her until she found the jugular and let her teeth out to sink deep into his skin and the vein it covered.
Greg went stiff with shock, then just as quickly relaxed with a prolonged groan as Lissianna began to feed, and the pleasure exploded inside her mind, then transmitted out to him. This was a wholly different experience than Dwayne had been. Normally, she didn’t find feeding an erotic experience, but then normally Lissianna didn’t have to seduce her host. She simply took control of his mind and went to it. This time was different. She was excited, he was excited, and the blood pouring into her body was a string that connected their excitement, bouncing it between them and somehow increasing it as his mind opened to her. But Lissianna wasn’t in control this time, she wasn’t just sending out her own thoughts, she was receiving his.
It was like a wonderful kaleidoscope of color. Emotions and thoughts filled her mind in wave after overwhelming wave. Passion, desire, intelligence, kindness, honor, courage…Lissianna had a brief window into his soul, and in those few moments learned more about him than she could have in a hundred conversations. There were no lies, half-truths, or prevarications to try to impress her. There was just him, then all of that was pushed aside by an avalanche of desire.
Lissianna forgot all about her intentions to soothe him, she forgot everything but the hunger that was raging in her body: both the old need for blood and the new need for the pleasure he was giving her. In that moment, with their bodies entwined, both of them moaning, arching, and writhing against each other, only this man seemed able to satisfy her hunger, and Lissianna might very well have lost herself to the point of draining him dry had Thomas’s voice not caught her ear and distracted her.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset. She just came up to get new stockings. She—” His voice had started out muffled by the door, but had grown in volume as the door opened, then died abruptly, and a brief silence followed. Very brief.
“Lissianna Argeneau!”
Lissianna went still, her eyes shooting open as she recognized her mother’s voice.
Chapter 3
Teeth retracting, Lissianna pulled free of Greg Hewitt’s neck and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. The sight of Thomas and her mother staring at her wide-eyed from the doorway was enough to make her stand quickly, her hands moving to straighten her clothes and hair.
“I cannot believe this!” Marguerite stomped into the room. “Sneaking around and unwrapping your gifts before your birthday like you’re twelve instead of two hundred! What were you thinking?”
“Well, technically, it is her birthday, Aunt Marguerite,” Thomas pointed out as he closed the door.
Lissianna tossed her cousin a grateful smile, but said, “I wasn’t sneaking around. I came up to get fresh stockings.” She scooped them up off the bed, and added, “And I didn’t unwrap him.”
Marguerite stared pointedly at the floor.
After glancing down to see the untied bow lying forgotten there, Lissianna grimaced, and admitted, “Okay, I did unwrap him, but only because he was upset, and I hated to leave him distressed.” She paused, then tilted her head, and said, “I take it Bastien’s arrival interrupted you before you could put the full whammy on him? He was upset about being kidnapped and wanted to be untied when I got here.”
“I didn’t kidnap him,” Marguerite said with affront, then peered past Lissianna to Dr. Gregory Hewitt to say, “I didn’t kidnap you. I borrowed you.” She turned her attention back to Lissianna to add, “And I did put the full whammy on him.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and Lissianna glanced from her mother to the man in the bed with confusion. “It doesn’t appear to have taken.”
Marguerite sighed, some of her tension leaving. “Yes, well he appears to have a strong mind.”
Lissianna nodded. “I noticed. I couldn’t get into his thoughts to calm him. Not at all. That’s why I was feeding on him. I thought it might allow me to merge with his mind and soothe him,” Lissianna explained.
“That seems to have worked well,” Thomas commented with amusement. “Although I wouldn’t say he was soothed exactly.”
Lissianna followed his gaze to the man’s groin, where an erection was pressing his dress pants upward. Even as she peered at it, the tent in his trousers slowly deflated.
“Not a cucumber then,” Thomas commented lightly, and Lissianna had to bite her lip on a nervous giggle.
Clearing her throat, she murmured, “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to spoil the birthday dinner you had planned. And really, I didn’t. I mean, it may not be a surprise anymore, but I didn’t really have much, just a quick bite. A small nibble really. I could feed a lot more.” Her hungry gaze slid to the man in the bed, her body tingling at the idea of feeding from him again.
“He isn’t your birthday dinner.”
Lissianna reluctantly gave up ogling her birthday gift and turned to her mother with confusion. “What?”
“He isn’t your birthday dinner,” she repeated. “I ordered Chinese for you. The delivery boy should be here soon.”
“Oh.” There was no hiding her disappointment. Lissianna liked Chinese, but it never stuck with her. An hour afterward, she’d be hungry again. However, Gregory Hewitt had been robust and yummy, he’d been a filling and satisfying full-bodied stew next to Dwayne’s watered-down broth. He’d also been a pleasure in ways she hadn’t expected. Tonight, Lissianna had felt a little of the excitement that her hosts usually felt and transmitted to her when she fed from them. The excitement she’d never really understood or experienced herself except in a secondhand, observing sort of way. This time she hadn’t been able to remain detached and observant. In having to seduce him, she’d apparently seduced herself…Or perhaps he’d done the seducing, she thought, recalling his lips drawing her finger into his mouth.
Not that it had taken much seducing. He was quite the most attractive man she’d ever met, and that was saying something. Lissianna had met a lot of men in her two hundred years, and many were much more attractive aesthetically, but they’d only ever left her cold. There was something about this one that appealed to her though…and he smelled good, too. And those few moments where there minds had merged…
Lissianna hadn’t really tried to read or control his thoughts as intended, she’d been too busy enjoying the moment, but from the brief connection, she’d got an imprint of his mind. It was a mixture of confusion, desire, intelligence, and an honesty and character that appealed to her.
Aware of the silence that had fallen over the room, Lissianna glanced about. The man presently filling her thoughts was lying back on the bed, staring at her with silent fascination. Lissianna thought that was interesting. On the other hand, her m
other and cousin were also staring at her with concentrated interest, and she couldn’t help but think that couldn’t be a good thing. She hadn’t been guarding her thoughts, she realized with discomfort and had no doubt the pair had just intruded on her contemplations of the pleasure she’d experienced with Greg Hewitt.
“So,” Lissianna said abruptly, eager to remove her mother’s thoughts from those that had been floating through her own mind.
Thomas helped out by asking, “If he isn’t her birthday dinner, what is he?”
“Excuse me? Birthday dinner?” Greg squawked. He was gaping at them all rather horrified. Apparently he hadn’t cottoned on to the conversation going on around him at first. Now he had and was distressed all over again. She would have taken the time to soothe him, but her mother spoke, distracting her.
“He is your birthday gift, but not dinner.” When Lissianna stared at her blankly, she sighed and crossed the room to take her hand. “It was supposed to be a surprise presented at the party, but as you’ve already unwrapped your gift, I may as well explain. Dear, this is Dr. Gregory Hewitt. He’s a psychologist who specializes in phobias, and I brought him here to cure you. Happy Birthday.”
Dr. Gregory Hewitt was a psychologist, Lissianna thought slowly. She hadn’t thought to ask what sort of doctor he was when she’d asked his name and he’d said Dr. Gregory Hewitt. Now she knew. He was a psychologist here to cure her phobia.
“Oh,” she murmured at last, then glanced in surprise at Greg as he echoed her “oh,” in much the same disappointed tone. It made her curious. Her own disappointment was based on the fact that she’d rather nibble on him than deal with something as unpleasant as her phobia, but it appeared he was no more pleased with the idea than she.
Greg sighed inwardly. He supposed he shouldn’t have been disappointed by the brunette’s announcement. He should be glad he wasn’t to be a sex slave or…dinner? He was still trying to sort that one out. Lissianna, as the brunette kept addressing the blonde, had thought him her birthday dinner. Him? Birthday dinner? The idea was enough to knock every last distracting lusty thought right out of his head. Birthday dinner? Were they cannibals?
Good Lord, she’d nipped at his neck after kissing him, but just a little nip, then she’d settled into sucking, no doubt giving him a huge hickey he’d spend a week trying to hide, or maybe more. Greg wasn’t sure. He’d only ever had a hickey once before, and that was when he was a teenager. He couldn’t recall how long it had taken to fade. He also didn’t recall getting it to be quite as enjoyable as this experience had been either, yet he’d have been happy to let the blonde suck on his neck all she wanted, or any other body part she took a liking to. Being birthday dinner, however, didn’t sound quite as enjoyable. Dear God, leave it to him to climb into the trunk of a cannibal. He really would prefer the sex slave scenario. It definitely sounded more enjoyable.
Greg rolled his eyes and had to mentally shake his head at his own thoughts. He sounded like a man desperate to get laid. Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth. Despite his family’s best matchmaking efforts, he hadn’t had sex in almost a year. While the women his family tended to set him up with were all lovely, none of them had stirred much interest in him, at least not enough to drag his attention away from work for any length of time.
It hadn’t worried Greg much; he had a full and busy life. He always told himself that the day he found a woman as fascinating as his career was the day he’d know he’d found his Ms. Right. In the meantime, his family—ever hopeful—continued to set him up with every single female they knew, and Greg continued to avoid bedding the women to avoid messy entanglements with family friends that might cause hard feelings. That meant he was restricted to cavorting sexually with women he managed to meet on his own when he wasn’t escorting family friends to various meals or functions.
The last time Greg had managed to hook up with anyone, it had been with an ice blond psychiatrist from British Columbia. They’d met at the mental health conference last winter, gone for a drink after one of the lectures, then he’d walked her back to her room, she’d invited him in, and very politely and clinically had sex with him. It had been cold and functional and terribly unexciting…rather like taking Metamucil. It got the job done, cleaned the pipes, but left a bad taste in the mouth. Greg was relatively certain this blonde would not leave a bad taste in his mouth. He was also sure she’d do a lot more than clean his pipes.
“You brought him here to treat my phobia?”
Greg glanced at the blonde as she asked the question, noting for the first time that she, too, seemed rather disappointed by the news.
“Yes, dear.”
“He’s not—?”
“No,” the brunette interrupted firmly, then frowned at the blonde’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for her gift. “Darling, this is a good thing. I thought you would be pleased. I thought it was perfect. He can cure your phobia, allowing you to live a normal life. One without the inconvenience of night care or the risk of your stumbling home drunk two or three times a week.”
Greg’s eyebrows rose, and he tried to figure out in his mind what kind of phobia might lead to someone getting drunk.
“So”—the brunette turned a bright smile his way—“do it.”
Greg stared at her blankly. “Excuse me?”
“Cure my Lissianna of her phobia,” she said patiently.
Greg turned from the expectant expression in those old, wise eyes to the brighter eyes of the daughter. They were as blue and clear as a cloudless sky, but with the same metallic silver shine as the mother’s. Lovely, Greg thought, and just wished they weren’t contacts. It bothered him that she felt she needed the artifice to add to her beauty.
“They aren’t contacts,” the brunette suddenly announced, and Greg gave a start. Surely she hadn’t just read his thoughts?
“What aren’t contacts?” the blonde said, glancing from him to her mother with confusion.
“Your eyes, dear,” the brunette explained, then told Greg, “Despite your earlier thoughts, our eye color is natural. I am not sure if they even have contacts the color of our eyes…yet,” she added dryly.
“Natural,” Greg murmured with fascination, staring at the shimmering color in the daughter’s eyes, then his mind slowly absorbed her words. Despite his earlier thoughts? She didn’t mean on the elevator?
The brunette nodded. “Yes, on the elevator.”
“You can read his mind?” Lissianna sounded more annoyed than surprised, he noted, and recalled that he’d thought her mad when she’d complained that she couldn’t read his mind, yet here the brunette appeared to be doing just that. Greg couldn’t decide if he was sleeping and dreaming all this, losing his mind and imagining all this, or he was awake, sane, and the woman was really reading his mind. Worse yet, he couldn’t decide which of those options he’d prefer. He didn’t want to be sleeping because that would mean Lissianna was nothing more than a fantasy he’d dreamed up, and he wasn’t pleased with the idea of never seeing her outside of his dreams. Losing his mind wasn’t much better as an alternative, but the idea of the brunette being able to read his mind was a bit disconcerting…Especially since his mind was full of lustful thoughts for her daughter.
“So?” the brunette prompted.
Dreaming or not, it appeared he’d have to deal with the matter. Greg shook his head. “Ma’am, curing a phobia isn’t like taking a pill. It takes some time,” he informed her, then asked a little less patiently, “Could you untie me please?”
“That’s not what the article said,” the brunette countered, ignoring his request to be untied. “In the paper you were quoted as saying that new treatments can be extremely effective, and most phobias can be cured in just a few sessions, some only need one.”
Greg let his breath out on a slow sigh, understanding now how he’d come to be here. The brunette had obviously read the interview he’d done for the paper, a special article on phobias. It had come out last weekend.
“That’s true, s
ome phobias are easily treated,” he began, trying to remain calm and…well…patient, but this situation was so bizarre. He was tied to a bed, for God’s sake, and the three of them were standing about acting as if it were perfectly normal. Greg simply couldn’t refrain from getting a touch testy.
“You know, most people make an appointment to see me,” he snapped, then tried for reason again. “And I’m flying down to Mexico tomorrow morning for a vacation. There are things I need to do before then. I’d appreciate it if you’d untie me and let me get out of here. I really don’t have time for this.”
Silence had barely begun to close around his last word when there was a tap on the door. It opened, and a young woman poked her head in and peered about. She was another brunette, her face heart-shaped and pretty. She glanced at him curiously, then turned her attention to the mother. “Uncle Lucian is here, Aunt Marguerite.”
“Oh. Thank you, Jeanne Louise.” The mother, Marguerite, immediately began herding Lissianna and Thomas toward the door, saying, “We’ll deal with this later. We mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Jeanne, has Etienne shown up yet?”
“Yes. He was just coming in as I started upstairs.” The woman pushed the door open farther for them to exit, adding, “The Chinese order has arrived, too. I put the delivery boy in the larder until you’re ready for him. You probably shouldn’t leave him too long though.”
“No. We’ll just go down to the party, and I’ll get everything started,” Marguerite announced as she followed Lissianna and Thomas out into the hall. “Lissianna can open her other gifts later and—” The door closed on the rest of the woman’s sentence.
Greg stared at the wooden surface with amazement, unable to believe they’d just left him lying there, tied to the bed as he was. It was madness. Crazy.
Head awhirl with thoughts, Greg closed his eyes and tried to sort out just what was going on and what he could do about it. Despite his own actions in getting himself here, he was starting to consider himself kidnapped. However, he wasn’t being held for ransom, and he wasn’t dinner. That was good, he told himself. Wasn’t it?