by Tina Folsom
When her flavor hit his tongue, his heart clenched, stopping for a second only to restart at triple the pace. Her lips yielded to him, and she angled her head to give him better access. As he slanted his lips and explored her warm and inviting mouth, he felt her hands come around his neck, pulling him closer.
He growled his approval and drove his thigh between hers, parting them to rub against her sex. Even through the denim, he felt the warmth and wetness there, evidence that she was as aroused as he.
Zane licked, sucked, and stroked, diving deep into her delicious mouth, until she finally stroked her tongue against his. The contact sent a thrill through him he’d never felt before. He couldn’t stop his fangs from descending. Unable to hold back, he deepened his kiss and purposefully licked along her teeth, tempting her to unleash her vampire side.
Her pulse quickened, her heartbeat reverberating against his chest. His hands traveled up her torso, caressing along her sides until one met with her breast. He slid his hand over it, teasing the nipple that sat on top. No bra impeded his touch; only the fabric of her t-shirt provided a barrier between her skin and his hand.
Zane stroked over her nipple, turning it hard. Portia gasped into his mouth, and in the same moment, he felt the sharp tips of her fangs.
“Yes!” he groaned and stroked his tongue over one fang, licking it carefully and thoroughly.
Portia ripped her mouth from his. “Oh, God!” Her eyes were wide with shock.
Had nobody ever licked her fangs?
“Let me lick them,” he growled and lowered his mouth back to hers.
Fangs were a vampire’s primary erogenous zone, and to lick another vampire's fangs gave the most erotic sensations short of full-blown sex. Did Portia not know that? He severed his mouth from hers.
“Has nobody ever licked your fangs?”
Portia shook her head and lowered her lashes, seeming embarrassed. “I’ve never kissed another vampire.”
He understood. With a human she wouldn’t be able to let herself go and allow her fangs to emerge. But with him …
Zane took her lips once more, and this time, he very slowly and very deliberately swiped his tongue over her fangs, caressing and stroking. She moaned, and it was the purest sound he’d ever heard. So beautiful, so innocent. And he wanted to hear it again, so he continued his sensual assault.
Meanwhile, Portia’s fingers caressed the back of his neck before one hand trailed upwards to stroke over his bald head. He shivered at her touch. The women he slept with rarely caressed him, and if they did they steered clear of this bald head and concentrated on areas lower down. But for some reason, being touched there by Portia felt intimate.
When she lowered her hand to his shoulder, he reached for it and led it back to his head. She obliged him and brushed her soft fingers over his scalp once more. He moaned out his pleasure, interrupting his kiss.
“Make love to me,” she whispered. “Please. I want you to take my virginity.”
Her words catapulted him backwards. He regarded her with suspicion. “You don’t kiss like a virgin, so why don’t you drop the act.”
“It’s not an act!” she yelled, fury darkening her lust-drenched eyes. “I’m a virgin.”
Her rapid heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he could fairly smell the blood that rushed through her veins to color her cheeks in a delightful blush—an almost virginal blush. Zane watched as her eyes darted past him as if she were ashamed of something. He let his training as a bodyguard guide him, looking for physical tells that would expose the lie, but found none.
Slowly he shook his head. She couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. Everything about her screamed passion, desire, and lust. Could a virgin really conjure up those feelings?
“... and I have to lose my virginity before I’m twenty-one or …” She blinked her eyes shut as her breath stuttered and forced back a sob. When she opened her eyes and raised her head, her gaze was one of ... resignation.
That’s when it hit him. He’d sensed her innocence, her purity, and her hesitation in responding to his kiss. Could it really be true that she was a virgin? Could he have been so wrong simply because all he saw was the woman who tempted him beyond all comprehension? Was that why he couldn’t see her as a virgin? But what if she was right, what if her claim was true? She was only a short while away from her body setting into its final form. So, if she spoke the truth and was really a virgin …
“You’ll always be a virgin,” he finished her sentence.
Her solemn nod was too serious to dismiss.
Shit! Portia was telling the truth. He saw it in the stubborn curve of her brow and the hard outline of the lips she now pressed together as if she were trying not to cry.
Shit! Shit! Shit! He wasn’t in the business of deflowering virgins, and he wouldn’t start now.
“So, please. We only need to do it once, I promise,” she begged.
Who was she kidding? If he buried his aching cock in her once, he’d want to do it again, and again, and again. Didn’t she realize that? He shook his head. “No.”
Her body jolted at his harsh rejection. Quickly her arms wrapped around her waist. “You owe me. You just destroyed my chances with Michael.”
Fury burst from his lungs. “You were going to sleep with that kid? You can do better than him!” His cock agreed wholeheartedly, but he wasn’t going to listen to that lecherous appendage.
“Then why don’t you do it? You sure didn’t mind kissing me!” she accused and lowered her gaze to his groin.
Great! Of course she’d know he was turned on, and now she was using it against him.
“Trust me, you don’t want me to be your first. No woman in her right mind would want that.” He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t kind. He wasn’t the right man to initiate a virgin.
“My twenty-first birthday is in five weeks. I’m running out of time,” she pleaded, tears now rimming her eyes.
Zane tore his gaze away, not allowing himself to be swayed by her plight. This wasn’t part of his job. On the contrary: his job was clearly to keep her away from parties, booze, and men.
“I can’t help you.”
“I hate you.”
He nodded. Good. As long as she hated him, at least she wouldn’t repeat her request to take her to bed. Not that it made much of a difference anyway. Now that he’d tasted her and felt his body’s reaction to her, he would have one hell of a time keeping his hands to himself.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No!” Suddenly, the fight was back in her voice.
He glared at her. “You’re not staying here.”
She glowered back. “I’m not facing my twenty-first birthday as a virgin, so if you’re not doing it, I’ll find somebody else.”
“Over my dead body!” he snarled.
“You don’t have a say in this!”
“I’m your bodyguard, so I do!”
“You sound more like my father, and he doesn’t get a say in this either. Do you have any idea what he’s condemning me to? A life full of pain! I won’t have it!”
Zane sighed. Maybe there’d simply been a misunderstanding between Portia and her father. “Perhaps he’s not aware of the implications.”
“He admitted it! And you’re not any better than he, otherwise you’d help me!”
“Help you?” He tilted his head. “I don’t think you understand, baby girl. I’m not a gentle man; I’m not the right man to touch a virgin. When it comes to sex …” He raked his hand over his bald head. “I’m rough. I fuck hard. I only think of myself; I wouldn’t care if you liked it or not.”
Zane averted his eyes so Portia wouldn’t detect his lie. Yes, he was rough, but with her, he could care; with her, he would see that she enjoyed it. For her, he could do that. But he didn’t want her to know, because this was never going to happen. If he took Portia, he’d consume her, devour her, and then, when she wanted to leave him, he’d force her to stay with him, because he wouldn’t be able to let her go. One tas
te of her, and he knew that much with certainty. There was no need to tempt fate and take this any further.
“It doesn’t matter if I like it.”
He shook his head. “Don’t say that. You have no idea what you’d be missing out on.”
“Then show me,” she challenged.
Zane clenched his hands into fists. “I told you I can’t.”
Not only would he hurt her, he’d betray his boss’ and colleagues’ trust. And if he lost Scanguards, he’d lose his family. He’d be alone again, because no matter what, Portia wouldn’t stay with him. She was young, she had her whole life ahead of her; she had choices. All he was was a means to an end. Once he’d done the deed, she’d toss him aside and find somebody who was more suited for her.
When he noticed one solitary tear slide down her cheek, a dull ache spread in his gut. Before it had a chance to travel north, he grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room and out of the fraternity house. On the way back, she didn’t say a word. Only her eyes spoke to him. And he didn’t like what he heard.
He’d disappointed her.
But if he gave into her wishes, the disappointments would be much greater. For both of them. And the pain would last longer. Maybe an eternity.
Chapter Eleven
Zane slammed his front door shut and instantly heard the excited yapping of his dog. Z came running from the living room and crashed right into his feet. He bent down and picked up the hyper animal. Z immediately licked his neck.
“Hey, I wasn’t gone that long,” he whispered to the pup and rubbed his fingers over the soft fur.
“You didn’t mention you had a dog.”
Zane looked to the door of the living room where Quinn leaned casually against the doorjamb. Even though Quinn was about a century older than Zane, he didn’t look it: his features were frozen into those of a twenty-something kid. His blond hair and hazel eyes added a boyish quality, and if he’d wanted to, he could have passed for a college freshman, given the right clothes.
Zane set the dog to the floor and straightened. “I’m not keeping him. He’s just a loaner.”
Quinn grinned. “That’s funny, cause I thought I saw a doggie door going out to the backyard. Looked pretty permanent to me.”
Zane shrugged. “Dog’s gotta go when I’m at work.” Then he walked toward his friend and clasped his arm. “Good to see you.”
“Same. Nice digs.” Quinn motioned his head to encompass the entire house. “Sketchy neighborhood.”
“Amaury assures me it’s a great investment. Besides, the nightlife is plentiful.”
Quinn’s face split into a huge smile. “And by nightlife I guess you mean juicy necks at your disposal?”
“If you were honest with yourself, my old friend, you’d admit that the bottled stuff just doesn’t cut it.”
Yeah, his friends and colleagues at Scanguards might drink blood that a shell company posing as a medical facility acquired, then bottled and shipped to vampires nationwide. But Zane didn’t touch the stuff.
“There’s nothing better than warm blood straight from a vein. But you go right ahead and keep lying to yourself.” Zane stepped into the living room and let himself fall onto the couch.
“What’s gotten your dander up?” Quinn followed and plopped down next to him.
Trying to deflect from what really bothered him, Zane decided to steer the conversation onto a more tangible subject. One that was much more clear cut, yet just as dangerous. “Someone tried to kill me yesterday.”
“Shit!” Quinn turned sideways. “Who was it?”
Z waddled into the room and tilted his head, looking at both of them.
Zane twisted his mouth. “An assassin.”
He made an inviting hand movement toward Z, and the dog jumped and settled in his lap.
“I killed his father last year. He wanted to avenge him by killing me.”
Quinn nodded. “Did he get away?”
Zane scoffed. “Do I look like I'd let an assassin get away?”
“Hey, I’m not trying to insult you.”
Zane grunted. He almost regretted having told Quinn about his past—or at least part of it—in a weak moment over five decades earlier. It was the only reason Quinn didn’t judge him for the murders he’d committed. Because those murders had been executions. And it allowed him to speak to at least one person about the things he’d done. On occasion, it had been a relief.
Zane pulled out the pin and the key from his jeans pocket and tossed both at Quinn who caught them effortlessly. “I found these on him.”
Quinn perused the items. “The key looks like it belongs to a locker.”
Zane nodded. “I came up with the same. How about the pin? Have you ever seen this symbol before?”
Quinn shook his head and twisted the item in his hand. “Hmm. Odd, those two parts,” he commented. “That wave in the middle could be a river, but it could also indicate that something is broken in half.”
He held the pin closer to his eyes. “The one symbol on the top of it looks like a ‘u’ without the down stroke but with a handle to the right instead. And the symbol below is its mirror image.” He looked up. “Could it signify some mathematical equation?”
Zane reached for the pin, taking it from Quinn’s hands to give it another look. He’d stared at it for hours after he’d killed Brandt’s son, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“I’ve never seen a mathematical symbol like this.”
“Maybe the broken line in between means the two pieces belong together,” Quinn suggested.
Zane refocused his eyes and imagined the line gone. As the two pieces moved closer to each other, they formed a symbol he was only too familiar with.
“It’s a broken Swastika.”
“You sound surprised. Given who the man was you killed last year, you shouldn’t be.”
Zane shook his head. “I never found anything like this on Brandt or the others. So why on his son? And why break the Swastika in half? Why not admit to what they are?”
“Maybe the broken line means something else.”
Unease skidded over Zane’s back and crept up to his neck. “It’s too obvious. I don’t like it. Almost as if the old guard is still there, but now their children have taken over and put their own stamp on things.”
“To do what? The Nazis will never rise again. No government on this planet will allow it.”
“What if they don’t look like Nazis? What if nobody realizes that they're one and the same, just dressed up differently?”
Quinn took a deep breath. “I think you’re reading too much into this. The guy wanted to avenge the death of his father, that’s all. Anybody would have done the same. It doesn’t mean there’s a grand conspiracy behind all this.”
“What are you saying? Spit it out!”
“Have you ever thought that you might be getting a little paranoid, believing that they're still after you?”
Zane jumped up, the dog in his lap sliding off him, whining in the process. “Paranoid? You think I’m paranoid? Brandt said he couldn’t wait to tell Müller that he’d found me. He’s still out there somewhere.”
Zane pointed his hand toward the window, his gaze instinctively following its direction. Somewhere, that bastard was still hiding and living a life he didn’t deserve.
“Maybe it’s time to quit,” Quinn suggested.
Zane snarled, allowing his fangs to descend to underscore his disapproval. “I will quit when Müller is dead and not a minute earlier.” He raised his hand, clenching it the way he would wrap it around Müller’s neck right before he strung him up by silver chains and hung him out to wait for the rising sun. A stake was too good for Müller. Too humane.
“It’s eating you up.”
“What are you, my psychiatrist? I thought we were friends, but if that’s too much to ask for, you know where the door is. Use it.” He needed no friend who didn't have his back, or would try to lead him away from his mission.
Quinn sigh
ed. “What do you need me to do?”
Relieved, Zane gave a nod of approval. He would never admit it, but if Quinn had decided to leave, it would have been hard to take.
“Send out a drawing of this symbol to your contacts and she if anything shakes. Somebody has to have seen it before. It must mean something.”
“Do you know anything else about the assassin?”
Zane shrugged. “He had a South American accent. To be expected from Brandt’s son, but his English was good. It tells me he’s been in the country for a while. He had nothing on him but the key, the pin, and a few coins. Even if he lives in this country, he would have had to stash his ID and some money somewhere. I suspect there’s a locker somewhere. He also mentioned that Müller would reward him.”
“So, he sent him.”
“Possibly. But Müller doesn’t seem to know where I am. More like the guy was on a little freelance mission.”
“I’ll check it out. We should be able to find something on the symbol, and the key should be routine. I’ll start at the airport and see whether he used a locker there. It would be the most logical place if he flew in from out of town.” Quinn paused, then smiled. “And now that the nasty business is out of our way, tell me what’s really going on.”
Zane slumped down on the sofa. Instantly, the dog made puppy eyes at him. He slapped his hand on his thigh once, and the animal jumped into his lap.
“Nothing new, same old, same old.”
And that answer would be the extent to which Quinn would hear of that subject. No way would Zane talk about his current assignment and more specifically about Portia, the woman who’d scrambled his brain as if she’d tossed it in a blender and flipped the switch.
***
Portia looked away and pretended to be interested in the food on her plate. The cafeteria was virtually empty. Oliver hung around the door, watching yet giving her privacy. She and Lauren had skipped a class to have time to talk. Now she wished she’d never said a word about what was bothering her.
“That nasty dude? You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding,” Lauren urged and placed her hand over Portia’s forearm.