A Scent of Longing

by Cara Bristol

  ***

  Lily hesitated outside Suite 2004. What if she couldn’t go through with it? She hoped she didn’t panic when the moment of truth arrived. Madam Eve wouldn’t fix her up with a troll, but that didn’t mean she would like the guy. Maybe he wouldn’t like her. If only she had another way to forge a new life than to put herself through so much turmoil.

  Except she didn’t. Marriage, babies—all the normal things—were off the table. Roxie notwithstanding, Lily didn’t belong with people anymore; her membership in the human race had been revoked. Nor would she ever consort with another vamp; they couldn’t be trusted. Quick, transitory trysts were all that remained.

  Her hand shook as she inserted her key card into the slot. When the green light over the knob flashed, she shoved the door open. The scent touched her first. Spicy, warm, enticing. She inhaled to fill her nose and lungs. Her clit liked the aroma, too, and responded with a little quiver. Cedar? She sniffed. More like nutmeg mixed with cinnamon and clove, or the allspice she no longer used. She’d have to ask what kind of aromatherapy infusers the Castillo used and get some. She followed the lure of the fragrance into the suite.

  Her feet sank into white carpeting so plush it begged her to kick off her shoes and wiggle her toes, but she restrained the urge. She’d be removing more than that soon enough. A single lit sconce cast the luxurious room into deep shadows. After the door latched behind her with a quiet click, she set her suitcase in the entry and tiptoed into the sitting area to deposit her purse on a table. All the furniture appeared constructed of old wood, the soft pieces of silk brocade.

  She paused to listen for motion in the other rooms, of which there appeared to be several, but heard not a sound. Instead of the relief she’d expected, disappointment settled on her like a heavy winter coat. What if the guy didn’t show? What if she’d been stood up?

  Breathe, Lily. You can handle this. Her gaze alighted on an open bottle of red wine resting on a distinctive, olive wood, leather-topped bar. Other than water, red wine was the only beverage she could tolerate since her transformation.

  Maybe she could borrow some courage, settle her jangling nerves with a drink. Would it be rude if she started on the wine before her date arrived? She picked up the bottle and studied the label, French, from some unfamiliar region.

  “Good evening.” A man materialized from a dark corner.

  Lily screamed and dropped the bottle.

  He flew from across the room and caught it before it hit the floor.

  “Let me help you with that.” His voice reminded her of dark chocolate—rich and smooth, with an underlying bite.

  She stared, mesmerized into immobility by his seductive tone and aquamarine eyes that matched her pendant. Short, thick hair, as stark as a moonless night, swept back from his forehead. He wasn’t a pretty man, or even a handsome one; life had hewn the angles of his face roughly, almost brutally, but he exuded an indefinable allure. Stubble fashionably darkened his square jaw, although she had a hunch he followed no fad—nor any man’s dictates.

  Despite her high heels, his height forced her to tilt her head back to look at him, a circumstance that made her feel both overpowered and protected. Lily swallowed. “I’m sorry…for screaming.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I startled you. I should have made my presence known the moment you walked in. I’m Luc, by the way.”

  “Li-Cherie.”

  “Chéri.” He pronounced her name with a French accent, although he sounded American. She rather liked how her fake name sounded on his lips, but wished she could hear him utter her real one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His bittersweet voice stroked her like a rough caress.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Nice? Perhaps in a dizzying, room-spinning way.

  He took her hand in his. Like velvet over steel, beneath the gentleness lay a bone-crushing strength. Luc did not seem feverishly hot the way other humans did to her now. She, however, did feel flushed—could vampires blush?

  Her temperature spiked when he brushed his lips over her skin, and she could have sworn he’d licked her, though she immediately dashed the notion as silly. But, no man had ever kissed her hand, and her heart fluttered. The hard, frozen knot forged by Phillip’s betrayal started to melt.

  “Sorry my fingers are so cold. It seems to be a permanent state these days.” She silently cursed her need to apologize. She wanted to appear confident, sexy; not weak and self-effacing.

  “You feel perfectly fine to me,” he said. She appreciated his effort to put her at ease, although his comment could be nothing but a lie.

  He released her, but the touch of his lips remained on her skin. “Would you like some wine?”

  “Please.”

  She studied him as he opened a cabinet and extracted two crystal goblets. Though she’d been a vampire for nearly a year, tonight represented a turning point—the first evening of the rest of her immortal life, and she wanted to record every detail of the man who would help her commemorate the event. His economy of movement, the hidden power in his hands, the sensual length of his fingers fascinated her. A duo of desire and nervousness twisted and curled in a lively samba as she envisioned him touching her intimately.

  She danced away from the image in search of something less disturbing to focus on. His shirt. That would do. He wore a simple, charcoal henley. Nothing exceptional about gray cotton. Except the knit fabric accentuated the lines and sinews of his muscled chest and arms, and two open buttons allowed a tuft of dark, curly hair to peek out.

  She preferred men with smooth skin, but on him, chest hair would suit, and she wondered how that springy roughness would feel against her breasts. Her nipples tightened. His arms flexed, and the bunching of biceps stirred a wet response between her legs as she imagined him employing his strength to brace her against the wall while he thrust into her.

  Good God, why did sex obsess her so? Lily curled her fingers around her pendant.

  Of course, sex had drawn her here.

  He wore black slacks, and she tried not to stare at the significant bulge between his legs.

  Desire stirred, and her gums tingled, signaling her fangs were about to extend. She understood why her pussy would respond to his obvious arousal, but her fangs? Horrified, she clamped her lips together and wrenched her gaze away from his crotch, only to find him watching her. The heat flooding her face confirmed vampires could blush.

  Thankfully, he made no mention of her rising color or crude scrutiny, but handed her a wine glass. “Shall we toast?” he suggested.

  She’d lamented having to forgo chocolate after she’d been turned, but for the first time discovered an adequate substitute existed—no, not adequate, far superior. His smooth tone with its rough edge erased bon bons from the menu of delights.

  “To a pleasurable evening.” She raised her goblet, proud of her boldness.

  “To the woman I thought I’d see only in my dreams.” He tapped her glass. “Je t'ai attendue toute ma vie. ”

  She peered up at him. “What does that mean?”

  He hesitated. “I thought I’d never meet someone like you.”

  “That’s so sweet. Is that what it means?” she asked, disconcerted. Luc flattered her, wooing her with sweet nothings. Her susceptibility to his spell, as much as his words, disturbed her equilibrium. To settle her nerves, she took a sip from her glass. The mellow, full-bodied liquid warmed a trail down her throat.

  “Close enough, for now.” A trick of the light brought an amber flicker to his aquamarine eyes, turning them green for an instant.

  She raised her eyebrows at his hedging comment. Curious now, she wanted to commit the French phrase to memory, to look it up later. Je t'ai attendue ….

  “It’s a lovely evening. Why don’t we sit outside?” He motioned toward the rear of the suite.

  “Good idea,” she agreed.

  They moved toward the balcony. Luc rested his hand on her lower back without pressure, but his touch registered keenly. Her senses tun
ed to a perfect pitch. Through the dim light, she picked out individual strands of umber and chestnut in his dark hair. In the silence of the suite, her ears detected a faint thumping and a rushing, like a distant river. At first she attributed the murmur to street traffic, but with a tingle of her fangs, it dawned the sonance emanated from the blood pumping through his arteries and veins. She licked her lips and thought of her bag by the door. Perhaps she should have taken a nip of her emergency rations.

  By far, her strongest sense seemed to be smell. The seductive nutmeg-cinnamon-clove aroma she’d detected when she entered the suite emanated from him. It invited her to lean closer for a better whiff. Hell, it beckoned her to rip off her clothes and writhe against him like a stripper giving a five-dollar lap dance.

  “So, you speak French?” she asked, as they stepped outside.

  “It’s my native language. I was born in France.”

  “I never would have guessed. You speak English without an accent—you sound very American.”

  “I became a US citizen many years ago.” He pulled out a chair for her at a small table.

  “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.” She settled into the chair.

  He took the opposite seat. “It’s a beautiful city.”

  When their knees brushed, an electric charge shot up her thighs. She’d worried whether she could become turned on by a stranger. No problem. She didn’t need her tingling clit or damp panties to call attention to her arousal—she could smell it, thanks to her heightening vamp senses. Thank goodness Luc didn’t have the hypersensitivity she did; that would be too embarrassing.

  VA members had alerted her that vampirism would enhance her senses, but she had assumed it would occur gradually rather than suddenly. She’d lived as a virtual recluse for the past year, so maybe the change had been happening and she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe Luc served as the catalyst. He stirred her like no man ever had.

  She pressed her thighs together and smiled at him. “Do you speak any other languages?”

  “Italian, Portuguese, Russian, and a smattering of a few others—enough to get directions to the restroom.” He grinned, the flash of white sending another zing through her libidinous body.

  “What about you?” He looked at her, the utter blueness of his eyes bewitching.

  “I took Spanish in high school. Tengo un perro.”

  “You have a dog?”

  “No.” Lily laughed and shook her head. “That’s all I remember how to say.”

  Luc chuckled, and his rich laughter caused a new surge of wetness to pool between her legs. She took a big gulp of her wine.

  Chapter Four

  Luc didn’t need to read the woman’s expressive face to understand her feelings; her scent shouted her emotions. She’d gone from nervous to relaxed to aroused, although she attempted to hide it by playing it cool.

  “It’s a lovely evening,” Lily said.

  He absorbed every detail of her face. “Beautiful.”

  He suppressed a grin at his foolishness, his silly lament that he would never meet his mate or would fail to recognize her if he did. He’d known her the second she entered the suite. Now that she sat in front of him, the long years amounted to only a blip in time.

  She reminded him of the new growth on spring trees—fresh, light, and soft. He doubted she’d been a vampire for more than a year and her still-developing senses wouldn’t pick up his Half Breed nature, but fear pricked at him. When she did find out, would his mixed blood matter to her?

  No, while fate could be cruel, Madame Eve intended nothing but kindness. Luc relaxed. The matchmaker would not send a woman who would be repulsed by him.

  Unless Madame didn’t know she was a vampire.

  Enough! He would drive himself insane with these thoughts. Better to focus on how he wanted to hold her, to possess her silken body, to drink from her sweetness. She would feel and taste as rich as she smelled, like the ice cream he sometimes enjoyed. Another fragrance swirled around Chéri like a gentle wind; he knew the scent, but couldn’t place it. But it was a flower. A fresh, youthful bloom.

  Comprehension jolted him. The bloom of youth. He’d misunderstood—the seer had not been referring to his age. He smiled.

  “Is something funny?”

  “No, Chéri. I’m just happy you’re finally here,” he said, and watched as a shy blush tinted her cheeks. He could read her easily. Luc either had to smile like an idiot or dance like a fool around the balcony.

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and his body reacted to her innocent gesture as if she had licked his cock. Grasping for control, he sucked in a breath of air, only to have her scent dissolve like honey in his mouth.

  “Would you do me a favor?” she asked.

  “Anything.” She had no idea.

  “Would you call me Lily?”

  That’s what he smelled. Lily of the Valley. Delicate. “Is Lily your real name?” Madame had suggested anonymity, but in matters du coeur, rules were made to be broken.

  She nodded.

  “It suits you. I really am Luc, by the way.”

  “It suits you.” She curved her lips into a heart-stopping smile.

  He spied a slight sharpening of her incisors. The tiny slip made his cock tighten more, and his own fangs ached to release, but he intended to behave like a gentleman. A bold flash of fang would violate social convention. But soon. “Your perfume, it is lily also?”

  “Dumb, isn’t it, to match my perfume to my name?”

  “No.” His eyes creased with his smile. “So tell me, Lily,” he said, tasting her name, “what do you do?”

  “I’m a graphic artist. I work from home. How about you?”

  “I sell antiques.”

  “Do you have a store?”

  He shook his head. “I import. I sell to the stores.” He could have told her that his business, headquartered in San Francisco was one of the largest antique importers in the world. Or that he knew exactly who had crafted some of his pieces—in fact, remembered when they were contemporary design—but he didn’t want to discuss business when he had far more meaningful things to focus on. He eyed her near empty glass. “Would you care for more wine?”

  “I would. Thank you.”

  He returned to the suite and brought back the bottle.

  “I don’t drink much, but this wine is excellent,” she said.

  “It’s one of my favorites.” He stood next to her to fill her glass, and to tantalize himself with her scent. His cock pressed against his zipper. “The grapes were grown in the region where I was born.”

  He resettled himself across from her to put a safe distance between them lest he surrender to the mounting urge to drag her out of her chair and take her on the open balcony. He’d stolen a taste of her silken skin when he’d kissed her hand. Like a single drop of water to a thirsting man, the tiny appetizer had increased his hunger. He had a lifetime of want to fill. His fangs began to descend and only with the greatest willpower did he retract them. He’d never lacked such control before.

  “So tell me how you came to Madame Eve,” he said to distract himself.

  When her beautiful eyes darkened, he caught a whiff of the ocean on a stormy day. He smelled her sadness.

  Why she should be melancholy, he couldn’t fathom. Madame’s arrangements normally evoked lust or revelry in her clients. “I’m sorry,” he said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She straightened her shoulders. “I need to stop acting like a hit-and-run victim. To make a long story short, I got involved with an unscrupulous man who betrayed me. He took things from me that I can never get back. A good friend connected me with Madame Evangeline. She thought a one-night stand would help me recover.”

  “And what do you think?” Luc held his breath.

  Like a brilliant full moon rising in the evening sky, her smile appeared. “I think…with you, it will.”

  He wanted to leap from his chair and crush her in arms, b
ut he forced himself to slowly rise to his feet and extend his hand. “Come, Lily.”

  Chapter Five

  Come, Lily. His commanding invitation hummed though her body. A hundred frantic butterflies took wing in her stomach, and her head felt light enough to float off her shoulders. If vamps were supposed to have super strength, why did her legs wobble like a kid riding his first two-wheeler? Good grief, if she were still human, she’d probably collapse into a heap on the floor.

  If I were human, I wouldn’t be here.

  When she accepted his hand, the delight of his touch traveled up her arm. She riveted her gaze on his eyes. Heavenly blues pulsed green.

  With a gentle tug, he pulled her against his chest. His head descended, and her breath caught in her throat as Luc kissed her. Satin against silk, his lips slid over hers, stroking and exploring her contours with a gentle brushing. The exotic rich scent of him, of cloves, nutmeg, and man filled her nose. His blood sang, drumming a cadence that made her clit pulse.

  He licked her with the tip of his tongue, and she parted her lips to allow him to slip inside. She nearly moaned at the pleasure, or maybe she did. She couldn’t be sure because she’d lost all connection to anything rational. His kiss overwhelmed her logic and reason and assumed control of her senses.

  In a slow, graceful dance, their tongues met and twined. The taste of him exploded in her mouth like the popper candies she’d enjoyed as a child, but kissing Luc was strictly an adults-only activity. He sucked on her tongue and she shuddered as pleasure so sharp and strong shot through her, she nearly climaxed on the spot. But when he licked her teeth, panic yanked her back from the brink. Her pounding heart subsided when her fangs didn’t extend. At least not enough to be obvious. Her teeth seemed no sharper than his.

  Luc caressed her, igniting small fires wherever he touched—her back, her shoulders, ah, sweet mother of God, her breasts. She arched as he covered the mounds, tugged at her aching nipples, sending spikes of need into her womb. She splayed her hands over his chest, curled her fingers into the chiseled muscles, marveling at the contrast of his hardness to her softness.