Carol flinched inwardly. Translate that to mean he’s so ugly he needs a great personality.
Lisa shot Carol a wary glance. “Oh, I see. Lad, you said?”
“A mere three hundred fifty years old.” Lucien twirled the goblet in his long fingers.
“That remark makes you sound very old,” Lisa said.
“Exactly.” Lucien arched a brow and smiled, his fangs showing. “I exacted a promise from my friend to join me this evening. Sometimes it’s difficult to get him out of the house. You see, he spends a lot of time at the keyboard.”
Carol didn’t need to be a vampire to read her friend’s thoughts. God spare me from a gawky computer geek seeking romance on the worldwide web.
“What does he look like?” Lisa tried to sound casual and failed.
Lucien laughed. “Blonde. Member of the peerage actually.”
Poor Lisa, saddled with a horse-faced aristocrat-slash-computer geek who spoke with a plum in the mouth lisp.
Her friend gazed longingly at the auburn-haired hunk across the table, said hunk flashing a captivating, fanged smile.
Lucien waved a hand, recalling Lisa's wandering attention and dismissing the subject of his friend. “You’ll like him once you get to know him.”
Lisa forced a weak smile. “I'm sure.”
Righty-ho, good as a written guarantee the guy was dead-dog ugly.
The dinner party guests dispersed. The time for music of the night had arrived. Two by two, or three or four, they melted into the shadows. Some would claim the privacy of a bedroom while others sampled dark pleasures in the nooks and crannies of the house or misty gardens. Then again, there would be couplings on display for everyone's entertainment.
Carol’s heart palpitated wildly as she imagined Lucien’s kiss, his black satin hair drifting through her fingers, strong arms pressing her to his fine muscled body. He hadn't touched her, yet she was already aroused.
He rose, extended his hand. “Ladies, shall we take a turn around the house?” He glanced at Lisa, then at his watch. “My friend should arrive shortly.”
They wandered through the double drawing rooms where flirtations were in progress. Lucien didn’t linger long enough for anyone to approach Lisa but led the way down a corridor of family portraits to a small study and closed the door. Two brocade loveseats faced the fire. Amber light mellowed Jacobean paneled walls. He drifted down on one of the sofas, gazing hotly at Carol until she joined him.
Lisa stood by the fire, awaiting her fate. “How will your friend know where to find us?” Easy to read the faint hope that he wouldn’t find them.
“You forget. We're vampires,” Lucien said matter-of-factly as his arm appeared around Carol’s waist, pulling her close.
The man sitting beside her radiated passion. Lucien could warm the cockles of any girl’s heart and other body parts, throbbing to get to know him better.
He sank his hands into her hair, captured the back of her neck and angled her head for a kiss. She stiffened as a memory of Tristan's kiss made everything inside her melt. Mesmerized by the fire in Lucien’s eyes, she watched his mouth coming to claim hers. Anticipating the taste of his kiss, her lips parted. He crushed her to him. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue plundering between her teeth. Need blazed in the core chakra as her tongue battled his. Fangs lacerated her tongue. When she flinched, Lucien broke the devouring kiss.
Tristan's fangs had never cut her tongue. Flash of remorse and regret. Nor the vampire lovers she'd taken since he kicked her to the curb.
Lucien purred a laugh. “Warning, kissing a vampire can cause severe laceration of the tongue. If you allow me to lead this dance, I can protect you from that risk.”
Lisa whirled as the door opened. Lucien simply disappeared from Carol's arms to reappear perched on the arm of the loveseat, smiling at the newcomer.
“Good evening, Lucien.” The voice was music. The man framed in the doorway, a cloak of shadows spread like dark wings behind him, looked like an archangel.
“Ladies,” Lucien paused. “May I present the Dorian Gray of vampires? In fact, I believe Morgan was Wilde's inspiration.”
“Very funny.” Morgan glided into the room, casually discarding a satin-lined cloak on a nearby chair. “Sorry I’m late. Two bloody encores. Couldn’t dash with the Queen in attendance.”
When she saw the blonde vampire, Lisa had inhaled a gasp and stopped breathing. The question came out a breathless rush, “The Queen?”
He smiled, nodded as if the presence of Royalty were of no consequence. Carol recognized the friend who spent a lot of time at the keyboard—not a computer, a grand piano.
Lucien introduced them to, “Morgan D’Arcy.”
Six-feet of slender sophistication in tailored tux and tails, Lord D’Arcy, world-famous concert pianist, ducked a graceful bow. Firelight bronzed a cascade of silken straight, shoulder length hair. Svelte, poised, he straightened, raked a long, elegant hand through his mane, gave them a to-die-for smile.
“Have I missed anything?” He asked with a high-class accent. “Come, come, I'm all expectation.”
Carol felt the heat of Lucien’s gaze. Her head whipped left. The Dark Prince studied her, one side of his mouth quirked. Oops, busted.
At Swan Songs, mind reading was forbidden but she knew Lucien had stolen her thoughts. She very much suspected these two glorious predators—the raven and the golden falcon—lived above the rules, both Vampyre and mortal. Amusement sparkled in the fathomless black eyes, and Lucien nodded, confirming what she suspected. Then his black velvet voice spoke in her head.
He is magnificent, isn’t he?
Dumfounded, she nodded.
Lucien wasn’t angry with her for gawking at his friend. Of course not. He'd only been toying with her all evening. Disappointment, humiliation, and something like relief swirled in her stomach.
Morgan eddied across the room, washed up against Lisa. “Hullo.”
Never taking his gaze from hers, in a hypnotic dance, he glided around her shoulder to stand close behind her. Lisa’s cheeks flushed, and Carol saw her tremble as he lifted her hair to the side and brushed his lips to her throat. Talented fingers caressed her friend's neck, drifted over her shoulders to linger on her arms until she panted for breath. Slowly, he turned her to face him and stared into her eyes, reading, if not her mind, her soul as Lucien had done with Carol earlier. Lisa's head rolled to the side, her lips parted and eyes closed. Morgan whispered a melodic laugh, took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Lust shocked through Carol. Entranced, she watched the pianist embrace her friend and deepen the kiss. Ah, yes, the prelude to seduction.
A knock at the door shattered the erotic, fire-lit scene. Morgan broke the kiss but didn't free Lisa. Both vampires gazed expectantly at the door. Carol lifted her gaze and inhaled a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Across the room, luminescent azure eyes captured hers.
Tristan smiled, and every misbegotten desire that had plagued each misadventure dissolved. From the doorway arched above him, gargoyles leered accusations at her. She shifted away from Lucien, unconsciously leaning toward the man one-step inside the door. She’d thought of Tristan every day but had forgotten how he made her feel—pulse racing, hot all over—the way one felt in love. Damn if he didn't look as cool and as good as sin.
In eleven months, she'd never seen a trace of uncertainty, never seen him look unsure of himself. Now he clung to the shadows. What had happened to him? Had someone hurt her Tristan?
He lifted a hand and beckoned. Carol knew vampires could entrance but she was under a totally different spell. Afraid to believe her eyes, she forced herself to walk―not run―to him. Pain liberally spiced the pleasure of seeing Tristan. She stopped a safe distance outside the shadows and gazed at him. That was a fatal mistake. He was more beautiful than Morgan or Lucien, than anyone in the world. She'd always loved him in a tux. All the sensations she remembered came flooding back. She recalled how he'd touched her, how kind he coul
d be and how dynamic. She’d loved him, and he'd hurt her worse than her cheating husband. He'd left without saying goodbye, as if she'd never existed, and she hadn’t heard a word from him since.
Vampire eyes reflected vampire emotions by changing colors. A wary shade of dark blue, Tristan’s eyes met hers. In the room behind them, no one spoke. No one moved.
The lovers, Tristan and Carol, didn't speak either, the silence complete like a bubble isolating them from the rest of the world. That sweet crooked grin turned her inside out. When she didn't smile back, his smile fled, his eyes darkening another shade. His gaze dropped to the floor as he folded the long slender hands of an artist tightly before him. He was very pale, but there was an unusual feverishness about him. His expression and posture were tense, the swift vampire movements not as graceful as the Tristan she'd loved.
His voice came husky with emotion, even so more beautiful than any mortal's. “Hello, Carol. I hope you’re still speaking to me.”
“Of course,” she said, coolly noncommittal, dying inside. “How was America?”
“I just got off a plane home. Seattle was rainy and cool—much like London.” He shrugged, pursed his lips.
“And the symphony?” She hoped the question didn’t sound like an accusation.
“Good. Good.” His gaze flickered away, flashed back. He took her hand. “I'd like to talk to you. Will you come with me? Somewhere we can be alone. I've so much to say to you.”
“What happened?” The racing beat of her heart, racing of her pulse betrayed her calm, collected pretense.
He squeezed her hand. “It's difficult to explain. I ran away from me. It failed.”
She looked at her hand in his, charges of electricity blazing up her arm. “Let's go outside.” Her lips had had enough of not smiling at the vision before her eyes. “You remember how it is. Every room will be occupied at this hour.”
He nodded, smiling as he slid an arm around her waist, and steered her through the dimly lit corridor. Soft moans and sharp inhalations of passion—love in the shadows.
As they walked in silence, she wondered how old Tristan was, who'd made him, and where. She'd probably never know. He’d always danced around her inquiries about his past.
Ghosts of fog loomed around the trees. The night was hazy, rain clinging like diamonds to the leaves. A breeze smoothed damp across the terrace. From somewhere, music sounded surreal, ghosts singing. Finally, Carol couldn't stand the silence any longer.
“Do you know Morgan?” She asked, another betrayal, too breathless.
“Yes. We’ve played together. He’s an extraordinary pianist.”
She gazed up at him through her lashes. “You’re pretty extraordinary yourself. How did you know where to find me?”
“I took a chance, hoping you'd be here. Morgan rang and told me about the party long before I decided to leave America.” He shook the long hair from his neck. “Carol you look marvelous. That green suits you.” His gaze traveled over the sleek dress, over her hair, causing her to shiver. “You don't know how I’ve missed you.”
Be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she’d missed him. She said nothing, crossed her arms and stared up at him, her face a mask. Silence ticked by while they gazed into each other's eyes.
“Let me have my say before you say anything. It’s been eating at me the entire journey home. You see, I had to go away to learn a hard lesson. I met someone. I thought I was in love. The lesson was that…I’d run away from love. I left London thinking I could change. But I am what I am. I was foolish to think a vampire could change. A vampire is the thirst for blood. We can only control it.” He gazed into the distance. “I thought that by being with someone who didn’t know what I was, I wouldn’t be what I was. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When instinct overcame me, I knew what a fool I’d been.”
Her voice sounded hollow but she had to fold her hands to keep from touching him. “Did you kill her?”
He shook his head. “I killed someone else. She saw me taking my victim. And no, I didn't take her sexually. I blocked the memory and fled. I didn’t love her. I was in love with the idea of being mortal with her. I thought of you every day. I picked up the phone to call but felt too bloody guilty. You accepted me as I am and loved me, warts and all.”
“Fangs and all.” She winked.
He laughed, took her hand and pressed his soft lips to her palm. Desire rocketed through her. Her knees went weak, and her heart pounded.
Be careful Carol. He hurt you once so much you thought you'd die.
“That’s it, then, you love me because I know you’re a vampire.” She waved a hand at the house. “Everyone at this party knows you’re a vampire, Tristan.”
He flinched. “It’s more than that. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, Carol. Don’t know how to express what I feel or why I do things. We were together for a year. I was happier than I’ve ever been. I guess that scared me, so I ran away. What’s that line—you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it? I’m sorry I was such a fool.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Say it again.”
“I’m a fool.” He gazed at her with a two kinds of hunger.
A cool, silken fingertip drifted down her cheek, and the contours of her world changed. She didn’t care if it only lasted one more feverish, mystical night.
Carol was dead certain of three things. She was hopelessly in love with a vampire. She was overjoyed that Tristan Mclachlan had learned his lesson. And she was glad he'd come home before she made the terrible mistake of trying to forget him in yet another man’s arms.
Unable to resist any longer, she ran her hands through his hair, fingering the texture, imagining black silk trailing over her white thighs. “Are we still in lust?
“Not that.” His tongue slowly traced his lower lip, and a distant look came into his eyes.
For a moment, Carol thought she'd lost him yet again. Her heart heaved, choked.
“The other L-word.” He swallowed hard and blurted, “I love you.”
Tears stung her eyes. She unbuttoned his shirt one at the time, trailing her tongue down his chest, tasting him, exciting herself and her lover. He sank his hands into her hair and pulled her up as her tongue traced the lump in his trousers.
“I said I love you.” It sounded like a reprimand, but he slipped his hand into the plunging neckline of her gown and caressed her breast. “I want you, Carol.” He pinched the hard nub of her nipple. “I want you to be my partner.”
She stroked the bulge in his formal trousers. “Let's go for a walk.”
He frowned at her as if she'd said the stupidest thing. “You want to go for a walk now?”
She brushed her mouth to his. “Isn't that what you want? To do it outside?”
“No.” The arms around her waist fell to his sides. He stared at her in amazement. “I'm trying to ask you to marry me.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” It was her turn to stare at him in amazement. “Oh my God.”
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Tristan McLachlan asking her to marry him. She felt as if she'd been dropped from the moon, the wind knocked out of her.
“Is that your answer?” His smile brimmed with mischief.
Handsome bastard knew she was hopelessly in love with him. Carol was tempted to play him along but she had to give in to that smile, that hair, those eyes—and godlike body.
“Yes.” She curtseyed, looking at him through her lashes. “I accept, Sir.”
He took her hand, lifting her into an embrace and a breathless kiss. “Let's go for a walk now.”
They strolled through the mist. The cool June night was silent except for the distant cry of an owl. He led her to a parking lot filled with expensive cars, stopped to kiss her then resumed their journey. When she asked where they were going, he winked, and the heat of anticipation flashed through her. She would definitely get some tonight.
He grinned, either reading her th
oughts or sensing the rise in body temperature. “We're going home.”
“My place or yours?”
“Mine.”
“Can we buy more furniture please? A bed may be all we need but…”
He arched his left brow. “Anything you like. Within the budget of an unemployed musician, that is.”
“Perhaps you'll consider the offer from the London Philharmonic?”
“Perhaps.” Eyes twinkling, he took both her hands, walking backwards, tugging her along until they reached his car, a gunmetal gray BMW roadster. His voice lit the fire inside.
“You're overdressed.” Light as air, he glided behind her to unzip the beaded gown.
“So are you.”
His shirt hung unbuttoned, making him look ready for bed. She stepped behind him to unfasten his cummerbund and divest him of the bowtie. In the blink of an eye, he'd turned to face her. She ran a fingernail down his chest, laughing when he shivered. She unclipped his waistband, letting the back of her hand caress his erection as she unzipped his trousers, withdrew her hand and grinned.
“What if someone comes along?” Carol stroked his arms. “Have we no shame?”
“None whatsoever.” He tucked his hair behind his ears and smiled. “Besides no one is going to come for his car. Everyone is otherwise engaged. As we should be.”
Tristan laid Carol on the long bonnet of the Z3. The touch of his hands sent an electric thrill through her. She shivered at the touch of the cold metal on her back. He didn't mount her but stood looking down at her. His perfect body seemed luminescent, a long hard rod pointing at her. A pulsing awoke at the apex of her legs and the apex of her ribs—the core chakra for passion and the solar plexus for love. Glowing eyes studied her until she bit her lip to keep from begging him to take her. Finally, he lowered his warm naked body over hers. He slipped into her, deep, hard, silky, stroking, rotating his hips in a slow rhythm. She picked up his lead, meeting his thrusts. Her body recalled every exciting inch of him. They fit like they were made for each other.
Tristan caressed her hair, kissed her neck, her breasts, her arms, her fingertips, but his mouth came back to hover over hers, drawing breath from her, breathing life into her. Carol tensed, gasped, and shuddered in his tight embrace. Fangs resting on her neck, suckling softly on her skin, he pushed hard into the contractions of her orgasm, and on a hot moan, filled her.
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