by Lynsay Sands
She tried to rise up then to take him into her, but Santo caught her hips and held her still.
“If you do that now, it will be over,” he growled in warning.
Pet hesitated, considering the benefits of prolonging this torturous foreplay versus the instant gratification of having him inside her, and then growled back, “I don’t care.”
Santo’s eyes widened, the silver in his irises swirling, and then his grasp on her hips tightened and he lifted her slightly until she could feel his erection pressing at her opening. But he wasn’t completely done tormenting her. With his hands on her hips, he kept her from plunging down on him as she wanted and eased her slowly down, filling her inch by inch.
“Oh, God,” Pet groaned as her body fought to accommodate him. “Oh, Santo. Oh, please. Oh . . . oh,” she breathed, opening eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and meeting his gaze once they were completely joined. Panting heavily, she took in his burning eyes and clenched jaw, and suddenly smiled and said, “You feel so good.”
Santo relinquished one hold on her hip then. Sliding it around her neck, he pulled her head to his for another kiss. Even so, this time Pet was the aggressor, thrusting her own tongue into his mouth as she began to move, raising herself halfway off of him, and then sliding back down. They both groaned as their bodies met again, the sound vibrating through their mouths and bodies and then she broke the kiss and sat up to watch his face as she began to ride him.
It was a short but very satisfying ride. Pet barely rose and lowered herself half a dozen times before the pleasure of release overwhelmed them, and she tumbled into the dark void that seemed to always follow when she was with him.
Pet turned off the hall light in passing and flicked on her bedroom light as she entered, only to pause in the doorway. The bed looked big and empty under the glare of the overhead light. She frowned at it briefly and then turned away, hitting the switch again as she did. Darkness instantly settled around her, but Pet knew her home well and made her way back through the silent apartment to the living room without a problem.
While her bedroom drapes had been closed and the hall had no windows, the blinds at this end of the apartment were always open. With moonlight gliding through the windows, she had no problem seeing, and her feet carried her straight to the chair she’d woken up in half an hour ago.
Santo had been asleep when Pet first woke, slumped against him in the chair. She’d taken a moment to peer down at his handsome face in rest. But hunger and the memory of their dinners in the refrigerator soon had her shifting gingerly to climb off of his lap. Of course, her movement had roused Santo at once, and he’d reached for her, but she’d avoided his hands and gained her feet. Naked and laughing at his grumpy mutters, Pet had fled the living room.
After hitting the bathroom, she’d moved on to her bedroom to find a robe. She’d pulled it on and tied it as she’d retraced her steps to the kitchen. Much to her surprise, Pet had found Santo there, unpacking their meal from the restaurant. His jacket was now missing, his shirtsleeves rolled up, but otherwise his clothes were back in order.
They’d worked together to heat up the food, and then sat at the island to eat. It had been pleasant but a little rushed. Santo had to return to the house for his shift watching Purdy’s place and all too soon it had been time for him to go. She’d seen him out, then cleaned up the mess from their meal and headed for bed, only to come out here instead.
Pet pulled her legs up and curled sideways in the chair where Santo had shown her such pleasure. Closing her eyes, she pretended it was his chest she was resting against rather than just the back of the overstuffed chair. She had wanted him to stay, but had known he had to go, and now she missed him.
The acknowledgment made her swallow a sudden lump in her throat. This was exactly what Pet had wanted to avoid, and she didn’t know how it had happened, but she was falling for the overgrown immortal.
Pet frowned and looked back out the window, wondering where it had gone wrong. She’d been upset about the date to begin with, knowing there was too much chance for him to tell her about himself and deepen her liking for him. That was why when he’d asked her how she’d known about immortals, she’d revealed her history to him. Pet had thought if she kept talking and kept him from telling her about himself, she could avoid getting attached. But somehow it had backfired.
Santo had listened attentively, asking just the right questions at just the right times. She’d watched the play of emotions cross his face—rage, pain, sympathy, and understanding—but never once had she seen pity there. And then there was the wisdom he’d offered about her mother, Mary. He’d helped her see things from a different perspective. One that she hoped would allow her to let go of her age-old anger and resentment and have a better relationship with the woman who had been her mother for nearly thirty-one years. And then too, she’d noticed when the waiter had approached the table with their meals only to suddenly stop and turn away. Pet had known that Santo had slipped into his mind and sent him off, and she’d appreciated it. Especially since she’d seen the flicker of hunger cross his face when he’d first spotted the food approaching.
And then they’d left the restaurant. Santo’s touch and kisses in the parking lot had soothed her bruised soul and quickly turned her thoughts from her past. Pet hadn’t thought once about her childhood as they’d driven back, instead her mind had been full of what would happen when they got here.
Of course, it hadn’t gone quite as expected. Marguerite and Julius had stayed to visit for a bit. Pet had simply listened as Marguerite had chattered on for half an hour. She’d watched the men’s faces, Santo’s patient, Julius’s full of love, and Pet had felt a yearning to be a part of that. A part of their family.
She was falling for the whole damned bunch of them, but her heart had opened to Santo tonight, and Pet wasn’t sure she could close it up again. Sighing, she stood and moved into the kitchen to get a glass out of the cupboard. While the moonlight was bright enough that she could see darker shapes in the darkness, that didn’t stretch to the cupboard, but Pet managed to find the right door and then felt around for a glass. Turning with it, she then ran some water into it.
Pet had to go to work again the next day and sitting up all night fretting about something she couldn’t change was only going to make her a grumpy girl in the morning. So, water and bed was the plan.
Hopefully, if she lay there long enough she’d sleep, Pet thought grimly as she tipped the glass to her mouth. She stood at the island while she drank, trying not to remember Santo’s kisses and caresses here the first time he’d come to her apartment. She then placed the glass into the dishwasher and turned to leave, only to pause as she heard the muffled jingle of keys through her door.
It was probably her neighbor across the hall, Pet thought, and took another step, but then paused again at the sound of her lock turning. Shocked, she stared at the dark entry, unable to make out even where the door was until it started to open.
Bright light splashed in from the hall as the door opened halfway to allow a figure to enter. With that light behind them, all Pet could see was a dark silhouette that was definitely male and also definitely not the apartment manager, Mr. Laurier. This was a tall slender man while Laurier was a potbellied old guy. But who else would have a key to her home?
That worry scattered when the door closed, blocking out the light and leaving the entry a black hole that hid her intruder.
Pet squinted, wishing she could see better, and then suddenly realized that while she couldn’t see who had entered anymore now that they were cloaked in the darkness of the entry, she was standing in the moonlit kitchen and they could probably see her. Mouth setting, she started backing up, her gaze sliding along the counter on her right as she tried to judge where her knife block was by using memory and the dark shapes she could make out.
She heard the intruder coming at her bare seconds before he reached her. Pet barely had the time to draw her elbows in close to her body an
d raise her left hand in front of her so that the boney part of her wrist was pushed out with the fingers back. Even as she automatically did that, she slid her left foot back, shifting her weight and angling herself slightly so that whatever was coming wasn’t head-on. Pet had just made herself relax when he was on her.
Some part of her mind recognized that she was witnessing immortal speed as the shape came out of the darkness in a blur, but Pet concentrated on simply moving. Her extended hand swept to the left to block his arm as his fist came at her head. At the same time, her right hand shot out and up at his neck. With fingers extended, she jabbed him in the throat and then shifted and brought her left leg forward for a front kick, bringing up her foot and then stamping it down on his knee.
Knowing she was up against an immortal, Pet had put all her force behind both strikes and wasn’t surprised to hear her attacker make a hissing gurgling sound as her fingers hit his throat, and the cracking sound as she hit his knee. Thinking she’d crushed his windpipe and possibly broken his knee and had bought herself at least a few seconds, she dropped back in the original position and made her body relax again as she glanced to the side in search of the knife block.
That was a mistake. She might have done serious damage, but he was immortal and strong and as he stumbled, he swung out wildly with his left arm. Her moment of inattentiveness cost her. He caught her in the midriff, slamming her up against the refrigerator hard. Pet’s head flew back, cracking into the metal door, and lights danced briefly in front of her eyes. But her body responded by rote, her hands and feet moving as she’d been taught as she fought for her life, blocking when necessary but striking back at the same time, jabbing at points along his centerline and sweeping his legs or kicking at his knee when the opportunity arose.
Pet had trained at martial arts for years, but even so she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Immortals were too strong, could take too much damage, and healed too quickly for her to win without a weapon. Preferably a bazooka or a machete to take off his damned head, she thought grimly just before he caught her with a blow that spun her around and sent her slamming into the counter. Her hands skidded across the countertop, one of them slamming into solid wood, and her head bounced off the upper cupboard, dazing her briefly.
Giving her head a shake in an effort to clear it, Pet started to push off the wood, intending to turn and prepare to continue defending herself and then realized what she was touching and went still. Pet felt a hand in her hair, pulling, and moved her own hand quickly up the block of wood to the larger knives, managing to grab one just before she was spun around to face her attacker.
She saw the moonlight reflecting off his eyes. Her head was yanked to the side, exposing her throat, and Pet could have sworn she could see his fangs in the darkness as he lunged for her neck. But those fangs never pierced her flesh. Grasping the knife firmly, Pet brought it around and up, jabbing it into the side of his throat with all her might. She didn’t hesitate then. Even as her attacker stiffened in shock and pain, she tugged the handle toward herself.
Pet’s knives weren’t as sharp as they should be, and slicing through half his neck was harder than she’d expected. It wasn’t like cutting butter or a sandwich. It was like trying to push the edge of a knife through a raw roast without any sawing action. Ignoring the blood she could feel spraying warm across her face and chest, Pet ground her teeth and put all of her strength into the effort . . . and damned near slammed the blade into her own face when it finally cut through the last of his flesh and suddenly sprang forward.
She instinctively jerked her head back to avoid the blade, pushing against her attacker as she did, and managed to avoid stabbing herself. Pet also sent her intruder stumbling back. She saw his arms raise, his hands going to his throat, but he didn’t go down. She couldn’t believe it, but he merely sagged there against the island, holding his throat and making wet, gurgling sounds.
Pet had the terrible feeling that he might be healing even as she stood there looking at him. She didn’t know if that was what was happening, or if it was even possible, but her vision was blurring, and she was woozy and nauseous. Afraid she was going to pass out and be at his mercy, Pet didn’t stay to find out.
Clutching the knife to her chest, she slid sideways along the counter and then turned and stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall. Even in the dark, Pet knew she was weaving. She nearly tripped over her own feet several times and kept bumping into the walls, but made it to Parker’s room.
Eyes closed against the pain in her head, she fumbled for the doorknob, listening desperately for any sound that the attacker was following, but was afraid she’d never hear it over the agony thundering in her brain. And then the door opened, and she nearly trampled Parker as she staggered into the room lit only by a night-light.
“Aunt Pet?”
Ignoring him, Pet grabbed the edge of the door to help her stay upright and then shifted and leaned her weight on it, slamming it closed.
“Get. Desk chair,” she gasped weakly from her position slumped against the door.
“What’s happening?” Parker’s voice was high and full of fear, but Pet didn’t have the strength to answer. She was struggling to stay conscious.
“Jam it . . . under . . . the doorknob,” she gasped when he returned dragging a chair with him, and then Pet slid to the side a bit to make room and sank down along the door to the floor, the knife still clutched to her chest.
“Aunt Pet? What happened? Aunt Pet? Are you all right? Aunt Pet!”
She felt Parker shake her shoulder, his voice panicked as he repeated her name, and opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed. Pet immediately moaned as light stabbed straight through her eyes and into her brain. Parker had turned on the light. She squinted against the brightness to look at her nephew and try to understand what was happening.
“What do I do?” he cried, tears running down his cheeks.
It took a moment for her to remember how she’d got there and why she hurt, and then Pet managed, “Call home. Santo’s there,” just before she lost consciousness.
Sixteen
“Mortimer’s sending out blood, drugs, and chains with the backup when they come, so it’s all here and ready for when you convince Pet to turn.”
Santo grunted at that announcement from Bricker as the Enforcer entered the den at the Peters’ house, putting his phone away.
“Did he say if he has managed to get enough men together yet, and when they will show up?” Julius asked, considering the cards in his hand.
“He’s waiting on two more men. They should be back at the Enforcer house by tomorrow and will fly straight here. Mortimer has a plane and the rest of the men standing by,” Bricker said, and then rubbed his stomach and glanced around. “Is anyone hungry?”
“I could eat something,” Zanipolo said, leaning on the small card table where Marguerite and Julius were playing. Gaze sliding enviously from the husband to the wife and back, he muttered, “I wish I could play cards. It looks like fun.”
“It is,” Marguerite said with a smile. “But only because Julius and I cannot read each other so cannot read what cards the other has. Unfortunately, we can both read your mind, Zanipolo, which would make it much less fun for you,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” the younger immortal said on a sigh.
“What kind of hungry are you, Zani?” Bricker asked joining them at the table. “Pop and chips hungry? Sandwich hungry? Burgers on the grill hungry?” He paused briefly before pointing out, “They have a gas barbecue out back and it is barbecue season.”
“A burger sounds good,” Zani agreed.
“How about you, Santo? A cheeseburger?”
“No,” Santo growled with irritation as he wondered why they were all here. He’d had to leave Pet to take over his watch, but if he’d known they were all going to hang out in the den anyway, he could have left them to it and stayed with Pet to make love to her again. Any one of them could have kept watch in his place. T
hey were here anyway. Why was he?
“You are here because it is your turn to stand watch,” Julius said, answering the question in his thoughts.
“And we are here because we want to spend time with you,” Marguerite said gently. “We are not likely to see much of you the next year or so if she agrees to be your life mate.”
“She will agree,” Santo said. He was growing increasingly confident that she would. There had been a couple of times tonight when she’d looked at him with a softness about her face and a yearning in her eyes that made him think she was starting to care for him, perhaps even love him.
“She is,” Marguerite murmured, drawing his gaze around. “I read it in her mind tonight after you came back from the restaurant. She has opened her heart to you and yearns to be part of this family.”
Santo was just starting to smile when she added, “She thinks it is hopeless, though.”
“What?” he asked with alarm. “Why?”
“Because you are immortal, and she is mortal,” Julius answered for his wife with a shrug. “She thinks she is just a diversion to you.”
“And she believes you will be leaving soon. That you will just walk away and forget her,” Marguerite added, and then glanced at him solemnly. “You are going to have to explain life mates to her soon and tell her she is yours.”
Too right he’d tell her soon, Santo thought. He’d tell her as soon as he got off his shift. He’d get there, rouse the apartment manager, take control of him, and make the man let him into the building and Pet’s apartment. Then he’d creep into her room, take off his clothes, climb into bed with her, and kiss and lick his way down her body until she woke up and then . . . well, honestly they’d probably finish what he’d started, and the talking part—where he told her about life mates and that she was his—would have to wait until they woke up from their post-coital faints.