by Michele Hauf
Could she possibly seduce him this time?
As Michael stopped before her, she couldn’t read his shadowed eyes.
“There’s a place called the Decadance close by,” he said. Pressing the heel of his palm to the wall over her shoulder he leaned over her. Instantly arriving at the aroused state she’d achieved with the garden kiss, Jane breathed shallowly. “The band is playing there in a few days, sort of a homecoming concert. I’d like you to come.”
Oh, she could come. In more ways than one. Just one touch from him and Jane felt pretty sure her body would leap into the adventure of sex with a stranger.
She lingered on the closeness of him, his presence. His wicked danger. She’d felt it before. It was a solid intuition. What could possibly be dangerous about a rock star? (Besides everything?)
His eyes dragged across her face, not so soft as she wanted the seduction to be, but it was his manner. Masculine, viral, imposing his presence upon her with an intimate cleverness. “You’d pretty up the venue.”
Pretty up?
Come back down, Jane. Step out of the fantasy and back into the real world.
“Is that how you choose your dates? For their aesthetic value?” Her sexual desire deflated. “I suppose it is a requirement that you be seen with a certain type on your arm.”
“You’re that type.”
He reached to stroke her mouth, but Jane jerked away and slid a few paces along the wall. Now she did cross her arms over her breasts, hiding her erect nipples. How quickly her body jumped into the sexual play, while her brain wanted to think things through.
“I’m no such type. I’m not like your…women.”
Michael chuckled and leaned against the wall next to her. He faced the opposite wall, shoulder close to hers, but no connection. His hips, thrust out, screamed for her to take notice, to see what a man he was. All muscle and brawn and superstar confidence.
“And how do you know what my type is, Jane? I’ll have you know I never invite women to the show. I don’t do dates. Rarely do I even do girlfriends.”
“Just quickies with groupies, then?”
He turned so quickly, Jane flinched, upon viewing his face.
Just as quickly, he retreated and spread his fingers to scruff through his hair. But she had seen. A violent reaction to her tease. She hadn’t meant to rile him, but that his ire could be so easily stirred bothered her.
She checked her desires. Probably not so safe to fall into the sex with a stranger fantasy, as she’d previously thought.
“I should get back to bed,” she said. “I’ve been working long days.”
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “Jane. I know I scared you. I’ve just…been tense lately.”
“Hardly the way to begin a relaxing vacation.”
“No kidding. Honestly, I don’t think I know how to relax. How to come down from the stage, slip off the costume and just be me.”
Jane was aware of his gaze tripping over her face and down her neck. He paused on her breasts, still concealed by her crossed arms. He made no move to disguise his interest, in fact, he wanted her to notice it, she felt sure.
“I want to kiss you again,” he said. “I promise I won’t leave like I did in the garden. It was just a surprise to me.”
“That I was so easy? I don’t normally kiss strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger, Jane.” He pressed an arm high along the wall and leaned his forehead against the crook of his elbow. “Promise I won’t scare you anymore. Deal?”
She shrugged. Even tainted with smoke, he smelled…like something she wanted to know. “And how to seal such a deal?”
Now he traced her mouth. She didn’t see the move, and yet once he touched her, she did not flinch.
“I can’t promise to be a gentleman,” he said, his voice husky with recognizable want. “That’s not my style. I see something, I take it.”
“I remember. You like to see it, touch it—”
“Taste it. There’s something about you, Jane, that won’t leave me. It’s like you’re inside of me, your perfume, it calls to me.”
“I don’t wear perfume.”
“I know.” He breathed on her chin. Jane locked her knees, so she wouldn’t collapse and fall into his arms. “It’s the perfume of you, sweet and alluring. It’s all over me. Makes me want to be right next to you. Can you feel it?”
She clasped his hand, but held his fingers on her lips. “I’ve always been ultra sensitive to people. Maybe you’re mirroring my sensitivity?”
“Could be. Or maybe I just want you.”
Michael leaned in to Jane’s wild copper hair and whispered against her ear. “Have you ever felt another person’s heartbeats inside your own veins?”
Her soft exhalation floated across his mouth. Each breath lifted her breasts against his chest. Her nipples aroused his libido. Eat in her surrender. She was his.
He wasn’t willing to so abruptly halt things this time around, but he had to play it cautiously. No more surprises.
He’d sated his thirst earlier in town. Now he had the freedom to play.
“Can you feel my heartbeats?” she whispered.
“Of course. But they’re very calm. Jane, what does it take to arouse you?”
She tensed at the slide of his hand along her neck. The vein was not so prominent; her flesh expertly hid her treats. Further exploring, he dipped a finger into the clavicle at the base of her neck and traced slowly. Delicate bones there beneath the skin. The rise of her breath pushed up the tops of her breasts. Still, her heartbeats were solid, a bit faster, but nowhere near fear. Which was fine. He wasn’t looking for that kind of fix.
“A kiss,” she prompted. “You’d wanted but a kiss?”
“Only if you want it.”
He bent to touch with his tongue the shallow indentation at the base of her neck. Her skin heated at his touch, he could actually feel the rise in her temperature.
“Do you want it?”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh.
This deliciously common mortal had fallen to his seduction.
What wasn’t common was his gentle investigation of her curves and angles. When was the last time he’d allowed himself the leisure to stroke a single finger along a woman’s skin? To listen to what she sounded like when her breath tread the line between curiosity and abandon.
And if this was all it required for him to learn to control the inner monster, then bring on the practice. Lots and lots of slow perusal and kisses.
He folded his fingers along the edge of the silk pajama top. Silver threading stitched through the superfine fabric in a fancy arabesque. It felt sharp and he wondered if it bothered her tender skin.
“The kiss?” she reminded.
“You’re very impatient, Jane. Besides, I didn’t specify where.” Leaning in, he blew a breath upon the gentle plunge that centered between her breasts. “I’m trying to locate a good spot.”
While intent on tracing a finger along the silver threading, moving excruciatingly slowly along the rise of her breast, he was aware she pressed her fingers to the wall near her hips. Granting him free rein. Opening herself to whatever adventures his journey took them on.
And so he didn’t even consider the persuasion, which was the lulled, calming state he could easily entice a potential victim toward with but a few careful thoughts. No, he didn’t want to interfere with Jane’s mental state. He wanted to see exactly how far he could take this before she protested.
And then? Well, then he’d deal with the monster should it stomp its foot in protest.
“Tell me where you want it,” he said. “Where shall I kiss you, Jane? On the mouth? Here, at the base of your neck?”
He blew across the rise of her breasts. He had not yet brushed the hard nipple that pleaded for attention. The denial of that pleasure increased his yearning measurably. “Or here, above your heartbeat?”
He didn’t know when she’d removed her tense fingers from the wall, but the touch of her nails
, gliding up the back of his scalp and burying themselves in his hair made him aware that he was completely aroused, and very ready. His erection tightened inside his pants. He needed to expend the sexual energy that had been drawn to the surface earlier tonight.
And with his arousal, came the hunger—which didn’t surprise him in the least.
His canine teeth tingled, signaling the craving that accompanied the act of foreplay. He didn’t want that to happen. So he concentrated on keeping back the evidence that would surely make her scream—and fulfill his twisted addiction—if only as experimenting with his own self control.
“Right there, where you breathed,” she said in a breathy rush. Her fingers pressed against his skull, imploring him to move in close, and so he did.
His tongue landed on the unreal heat of her skin. A burn, a sweet fiery brand, marked him indelibly. Michael moaned against her breast and pressed his lips above the silk. She arched back her shoulder, lifting herself against his lips, and he opened his mouth in a reactionary bite, but at the last moment, he covered his teeth with his lips to soften the connection.
“And where else?” he prompted, eyeing his next desired location. “Show me.”
Her hand slipped down from his head and glided across his fingers. Following her direction, he was pleased when she placed him upon her nipple. He thought to kiss her through the fabric, but he rapidly swayed away from patience, and instead pulled on the silk. A button popped, pinging against his chest.
Jane gripped his shirt at his hips and pulled him to her. The damage went unremarked, so he tugged the fabric again, popping out another fragile button from the few loose threads that had once held it.
The taste of her, hard and tight in his mouth, combined with the salt and lilac scent of her desire and with the infuriatingly calm pace of her pulse, he found he could not stop. There was so much here to behold, to inspect and devour, and yet, he felt quite satisfied with this small taste. For now.
“That’s an amazing kiss,” she whispered. “Do the other.”
“You’re quite the bossy lover,” he murmured, but then tore away the shirt from her other breast and moistened it quickly, followed by a long, rolling suck.
“We’re not lovers.”
“We will be soon enough.” Michael twined both hands into her wild hair and looked down at her. “Right now, Jane. Let’s not stop.”
“But—”
“It’s good that we don’t know anything about each other. It’s exciting. It gets me hard. Feel me.”
He shifted against her hip and Jane lifted her thigh to snuggle against his erection. The friction rocketed all sensation to that one erotic spot. The world began there. So close to coming.
Yet, how the world ended, could only conclude with a bite.
“Oh, Michael, I’m not sure.”
“Don’t refuse me, Jane.” Just a little persuasion. That’s all she needed. But before he could even tap her thoughts, her silent nod bested that ulterior plan.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she said, and tugging him along, she sped down the hallway.
Chapter 8
H e’d not intended to exile himself with a beautiful woman, and then make her his love slave. But things were progressing in that direction. Enslavement would take more than a few kisses, but it had a nice ring to it, didn’t it?
It is what he did well, and enjoyed—making love. Yet, it had been a while since he’d indulged in the act. Sex and blood, they went together like salt and pepper. And yet, some ridiculously confident part of him had convinced his conscience that he could actually do this without biting Jane.
Of course that was sensible. He needed to keep his secret from her.
Because if she did find out, she would either leave in a fit of alarm, or be dead. Those were the only two options, because remaining in the house with a vampire didn’t—and shouldn’t—make sense to any mortal.
Sure, he could enthrall her following the bite, clearing her memory of the event, but there would remain a telling bruise. Jane would write the first one off as a hickey, gained during the heat of passion. But he would do it again. And again. He knew himself. Once was never enough.
So, if this were to work, Michael had to at least attempt restraint.
And should he not succeed, at least he’d given it the old college try. Michael had never attended college, but who could think of education when a half naked woman was kneeling on the bed, holding her arms out to him?
Lilacs spumed out from a tub on the counter in front of the windows. Combined with the sultry evening breeze through the open sash, the room oozed coyly with the sweet floral perfume. It briefly masked the hot crimson scent of Jane’s blood—a boon to Michael’s self control. But too quickly, her perfume invaded his senses and crept into his veins.
Stripping off his shirt, he stood in the suede pants that fastened with buttons instead of a zipper. The seams were studded with grommets below the knees. Stage wear, but that was all he owned.
“You’re more of a vixen than I’d originally thought.” He flicked the top button of his pants open.
“I suppose you prefer your women this way?” She leaned back on the bed. The pajama top splayed completely open and her breasts sat high. Pale flesh glistened like moonlight. Perfect handfuls. They tasted good, too. “I’ve never had sex with a rock star. Does this make me a groupie?”
“Let’s not even go there, Jane. I’ve already explained I don’t have women.” He leaned over her and stroked his tongue over her nipple. Soundly. And again, for good measure. “Slip down your bottoms, Jane sweet. Let’s get you comfortable.”
“You first,” she purred. “I think your pants are too tight, and mighty uncomfortable.”
Two more flicks, released his pants, and Michael shimmied them down to the floor. He kicked off his boots and then crawled over to the woman laying in wait on the bed.
Gripping the thin pajama bottoms, he tugged them down.
Dipping his tongue into her navel, he vacillated on whether to venture north or south. The rush of her blood increased in his brain, and he was now aware of her pulse beats beneath his tongue.
His canines tingled. Yes, even having sated his thirst, the reaction to arousal could not be avoided. Damn it. And he’d so hoped to indulge in all that her body could offer, not just the liquid treat of her blood.
“Michael?”
Sliding his fingers between her legs, he tested what he knew he wouldn’t have opportunity to enjoy. “So hot,” he whimpered. “I—”
Wrenching his neck to the side, he winced and swore inwardly as his fangs completely descended. Wanting heartbeats pounded between his ears, becoming louder than the instruments his band members played on stage. And this beat, while musical, attracted none but the monster.
“Leave!”
“What?”
“Did you hear me?” He gnashed his teeth at her. No hiding the long white fangs. “It’s not safe. Lock yourself in another room.”
Blood. Hot. Drink.
The monster needed to be appeased.
And yet, the fear he expected—why, the very drug he craved—did not rise in the blood that flowed beneath his touch.
Jane knelt up, eyeing his deadly fangs. The faery tales in her eyes spoke of grim dealings.
“Listen to me, Jane. Get out of here!”
The vampire lunged and caught her by the shoulders. Silk tore. The shirt fluttered to the bed. So strong, this urge. It clawed. It growled. The body had been teased toward satisfaction.
Now it was time for the real hunger.
“You’re a—” She reached for his mouth.
To touch his fangs? Michael slapped away her hand. What kind of woman was this?
“Don’t touch me,” he growled and shook her by the shoulders. “I will warn you once. If you leave now—”
“But you’re a vampire,” she exclaimed, so casually, he might have thought she’d just announced a sunny day. “How could I have missed it?”
�
�What?” Michael’s hunger suddenly took a whack from left field. “Missed it?”
He shoved her away from him, and stood back. His pants still around his ankles, he pulled them up and turned from her. Stomping out a pace before the bed, he flexed his fists, unable to pinpoint the exact emotion he should be feeling. Rage, anger, disappointment? Everything was wrong. What the hell?
He kicked the wall above the baseboard. It felt good. So he did it again. The only way to redirect the need was through pain.
Kick the monster away. Get it out from his body! Why could he not just enjoy a woman?
Jane cleared her throat, which drew Michael from the compulsive kicking.
“I should have noticed the shimmer when we touched,” she said. “And yet, I thought it merely the weird excitement of you kissing me. It’s been so long—Well, not that long. Oh, Michael, we need to talk.”
This was not right. Jane should not be sitting there on the bed, her breasts bared and her attitude so—so nonchalant! She should be screaming. Yes? It was all about the scream.
And if he could no longer invoke the scream by flashing his fangs, well then—he wasn’t having it—he could make her scream. And he would.
Lunging for the woman on the bed, Michael fit his hands to her head, pushing her back into the thick coverlet and pinning her legs with his knees. Fangs tearing across his bottom lip, he opened his mouth wide.
Yes, do it. Take her. Feed me.
He wasn’t going to dance around this any longer. Exile? What for? If the monster wanted the kill, then he’d take it.
“No, Michael!”
As he lunged in to bite, Jane managed to twist out of his grasp. Her hair tangled in his fingers, but he couldn’t grip it fast enough to stop her retreat.
“Come back here,” he growled. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Give yourself to the persuasion, Jane. It can be so good for you.”
“No, you can’t!”
“I can take whatever I wish from you.” He shoved her down again, and crawled over her body. Yes, look at the fangs, you. Be afraid, be very afraid. “You are too weak to fight me. Now stop trying to get away.”