This Time Next Year

by Catherine Peace

  He couldn’t let the night fall apart. “I protected you,” he said. “I kept you safe.”

  Kept me safe? Moira almost slapped him again. But the image nagged at her. The second vampire she’d buried beneath the trauma, the one with soft yellow eyes, like a cat’s, staring into hers…the cool touch on her flaming hot cheek, the gentle words of reassurance.

  “Oh, God!”

  “Please sit.”

  The vamp reached for her, but she pushed by him and beelined to the nearby sofa. As memories overtook her, she sank into the cushions and covered her throat with her hand, more tears winding down her cheeks. Broken windows had allowed in the cold wind and snow. It’d been below freezing that night, too, but her face burned from crying. Crimson, the vamp with the cruel, sharp grin and blood-red eyes licked his lips. She’d huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs, knees shielding her neck. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Petrified by fear, anything she wanted to say gurgled.

  Crimson moved toward her. She couldn’t remember what he’d said, only his horrible grin and empty eyes.

  Another figure stepped between them. She gasped and tucked her chin, trying to be as small as possible. They argued for what seemed like forever until the second one turned and knelt in front of her. She’d expected another pair of crimson eyes, but his were the soft golden yellow of a daisy. He reached out to touch her face and she flinched, but when he brushed her skin with his fingertips, her fear had dissipated.

  Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, like they’d be a barrier between him and her. Her dream. The other vampire. Her subconscious hadn’t produced a way to cope; she’d remembered him. “You kept him from killing me.”

  Sitting on the coffee table, far too close for comfort, the vamp nodded.

  Deep breaths failed to calm her erratic heart. “And you’ve been looking for me for twenty years? Why?”

  “To atone.” The emotion in his voice forced her to look at him. Red rimmed his lower lids. His eyes were downcast, hands folded in his lap, the knuckles a stark contrast against the pallor of his skin.

  “And you thought that by fucking me….”

  “No.” He met her gaze. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed a deep, sensual caramel with flecks of gold. “This was never about sex for me. Contacting Madame Eve was my last resort.”

  Moira snorted. “Twenty years is piss in the ocean of eternity, pal.”

  “It may seem that way, but I assure you, they’ve passed with sharpness like nails. Every attempt to find you gave me nothing. I had to tell you that I’m sorry, that I’d take it all back and tell Willem to stop. I needed you to know.” He reached for one of her hands and held it between his like she was made of paper, easily shredded. Her heart threatened to stop at the contact, but the feeling of safety returned. “I learned what I am that night, and I’ve always regretted that you were my teacher.”

  “I was six. Why didn’t you let Cri—Willem—kill me?” The name tasted bitter. She forced back a gag.

  “You were innocent. I couldn’t let him hurt you. I may be a vampire, but I am still a good man….”

  With the way he trailed off, she thought he had doubts. “I don’t expect you to want me. I don’t expect you to like me. But I’ve said what I came to say, and now I’ll leave you in peace. Enjoy the suite and the wine.”

  He released her hand and rose. Her skin pulsed from his touch in cadence with her heart. Something more lurked beneath the awkwardness and pain. Fear clawed at her, tried to force her mind back into the night that had orphaned her, but this man, vampire or not, couldn’t hurt her. Not when he’d been the one to save her. She had one chance to thank him. She would, and he would walk away; and though the scars Willem had left in her heart wouldn’t fade, maybe she’d sleep easier.

  “Don’t go.” She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “What?”

  Shit. What have I done? She did want him, and that made her fucked up all the more. “I’m so confused,” she whispered.

  He knelt in front of her, a supplicant, his pleading golden eyes full of hope and longing. “How can I help you make sense of it?”

  What could he do? She needed something concrete. Facts. Think.

  An experiment.

  Nothing she’d tried had helped her understand the tragedy or the dreams, but a simple touch had produced a sense of calm she’d never experienced. Tired of living in fear, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and prayed her experiment would give her the data she hoped for. “Kiss me.”

  Chapter Four

  He couldn’t have heard that. She hadn’t said that. But all the same, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The gentleness of it stole his breath. She brushed the fingertips of one hand against his cheek, her touch as light and silken as a moth’s wings. Already he wanted more. Wanted to taste her, tease her, caress her, until nothing remained between them but bliss. Above all, he wanted to wash away the horrible memories she had of him and build new ones.

  He had to keep his emotions at bay and let her take control to work out her fear. He refused to frighten her with animal need. She was the girl, his girl, not some random hookup he could use and toss aside. When she pulled away, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t react; his lips tingling from her heat. For a moment, he’d known completion.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He thought back to Madame Eve’s email. If she trusts you, she will tell you her name. He understood the power of names, and so did Madame Eve. Something insignificant to a mortal meant everything to a vampire, in whose world names were both salvation and control. Remind a vampire of his humanity, or steal it away by forcing him to do something horrific, like watching a little girl’s parents be eviscerated right in front of her.

  “Kiernan Shaw.” Swallowing hard, he found his way back onto the coffee table. “And yours?”

  Would she tell him her name? Would she allow him that kind of power?

  She took a deep breath, as though considering the same questions. “Moira Curran.”

  He rolled the name on his tongue and loved the way it felt. “Beautiful.” He reached to stroke her cheek, but she flinched. “Moira, I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Old habits, I guess.”

  He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. The cloying lilac scent of her fear almost strangled him. “Why did you ask me to stay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Neither did he, but he wouldn’t leave until she asked him to.

  “I don’t want to be alone, Kiernan. Isn’t that pathetic?”

  You’ve never been alone. Not really.

  He warmed at the sound of his name on her lips. “Not in the slightest.” His mouth watered at the thought of kissing her, exploring her, making his name come out of that gorgeous mouth again and again. He tamped down his desire. Nothing good would happen if he moved too fast. Willem had all but guaranteed him a life alone. Like he approached a scared animal, he moved next to her on the couch. She uncoiled, but didn’t relax. “Talk, Moira. Please.”

  The silence hurt his ears as much as any scream.

  She shook her head. “It’s too hard.” Tears spilled but she didn’t move to wipe them away.

  Time to be bold, I guess. He brushed a hand against her cheek again. Instead of flinching, she eased into his touch. “I want to lessen your hurt, however I can,” he said. “Will you let me?”

  She brought his palm to her lips and kissed it. “Only if you’re still here when I wake up.”

  Moira had no idea what came over her, but the earnestness in his eyes overwhelmed her. He’d protected her. For the first time ever, she felt safe, and she didn’t want to lose that, though she should have been repulsed. He’s a vampire, one of them. Yet he seemed different. After all her years in foster homes, she’d developed an ability to sense a person’s character. She knew who to get close to and who to keep an emotional distance from. Right the
n, she wanted to be as close to Kiernan Shaw as possible.

  Each time he touched her, she wanted him to continue. She should’ve been trying to get away, not pulling him closer. But that kiss would dominate her thoughts for a long time.

  In her mind, she declared her experiment a success; however, no self-respecting scientist would walk away without repeating it again and checking for anomalies. Deciding to slightly change the parameters, she leaned in, stroked his rough cheek, and went for it.

  Her timidity disappeared, and after a sharp intake of breath, he didn’t hold back. He slid one arm around her waist, and tangled his other hand in her curls, ensuring she couldn’t pull away if she’d wanted to. She sure as hell didn’t want to now.

  Though she desired more—maybe even pushed for it, she wasn’t sure—he set the rhythm to slow but passionate. A low moan of frustration rumbled in her throat. With a chuckle that sounded like a mix of surprise and genuine amusement, he deepened the kiss, but the tempo remained the same, and her attempts to change it proved futile.

  This closeness allowed her to touch and caress in a way that she never would have otherwise. Beneath her hand, the strong planes of his chest failed to hide the still heart that should’ve been hammering as hard as hers. How could a heart that didn’t beat care at all? In the end, did it matter?

  No. No, it did not.

  What did was the familiarity, as though she’d spent a thousand lifetimes kissing his lips, feeling his hands tangled in her hair, and the mutual longing that bound them together. For once, she understood what all that useless romantic poetry meant, and she kind of hated the fact that her brain currently operated like a Hallmark Valentine’s Day card. Logic left the building the second she sat down on the sofa.

  Caught up in him and the heady scent of his cologne, she barely noticed him scoop her up and settle her on his lap. She pulled away to straddle him. His honeyed eyes widened and his mouth opened enough to reveal the tips of his white fangs. She swallowed.

  Her mind begged her to run; her body and her heart needed to be right there, with him, to ease her fears and understand the warmth surging through her—not arousal, but the same feeling that haunted her in the dreams.

  When she brought her lips to his again, he moaned and rested his hands on her hips. Desire threatened to consume her, and she’d let it without thinking twice.

  He moved her hips against the erection pressed between her thighs. She smiled and deepened their kiss, snaking her tongue into his mouth, teasing him with the same tempo as her grinding. He groaned again, a rumble in his throat that vibrated against her lips, sending pleasurable chills through her, until her nipples hardened and her clit pulsed.

  He broke away, desire darkening his eyes from honey to pure amber, and stood, cupping her ass in his strong hands and carrying her to the bedroom. After laying her down on the plush white bed, he hesitated

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you certain you want this?”

  “It’s what we signed up for, right?” she asked with a weak chuckle.

  “No. It isn’t. We don’t have to.”

  Moira sat up and reached for his hand. “I’m sick of being afraid.” She pulled him to the bed with her. “Aren’t you?”

  Kiernan stretched out next to her, allowing her to appreciate the full length of him. She tangled her hand in his curly brown hair, forcing a guttural purr from him. “I am. I’ve spent all this time fearing you and your hatred of me.”

  “Me?”

  Rolling onto his side, he faced her, his hand on her hip again, flirting with the waistband of her slacks. She groaned when his fingertips brushed the sensitive part of her stomach, and she ached for him to move lower.

  “Yes, you.” He shifted closer until no space remained between them and every hard part of him pressed into every soft part of her. “The idea of meeting you again terrified me. It still terrifies me.”

  “I’m scared, too. I should be running right now.”

  “Then why aren’t you?” The red rim around his eyes returned.

  Blood tears? “Kiernan?”

  “You shouldn’t be here, so why are you?”

  “Because we need the same thing.”

  “Which is?”

  Moira stroked his jawline with her fingertips and enjoyed his shivers beneath her touch, how she made the beautiful, strong creature putty in her hands. Did he seek more than forgiveness?

  “Closure,” she said. “We need closure.”

  Closure? He’d gotten that when he’d ripped Willem’s head from his neck. “I didn’t come here for that, Moira. I require more.”

  Her brows knitted in confusion. She was beautiful. More beautiful than in her photo, more beautiful than in his dreams, more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. He refused to hold back anymore. He needed her. He’d needed her all along.

  In one swift motion, he pulled her on top of him and covered her mouth with his. Frenzy fired his blood, a desire he’d had no hope of quenching driving him to madness. It wasn’t just her blood that sang to him; her heart, her essence, her soul compelled him to make her his.

  Her soft curves, the delicious plumpness of her hips and ass, all of her pleaded for his hands, lips, mouth, tongue, teeth. She grinded against him again, almost bringing him to ecstasy. He stilled her and unbuttoned her pants. Her wetness soaked the thin fabric of her panties.

  He slid one finger across her warm skin, down between her thighs to the source. Yes, she was hot, ready for him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he committed to memory every part of her body, just in case one night was truly all he got.

  She moaned when his finger touched the hard nub of her sex. He stroked her, eyes locked on the bliss smoothing out the lines of her face. She looked like an angel. Like salvation.

  Her breathing grew labored. Her breasts struggled against the flimsy shirt she wore. He wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her until she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Make her come over and over, crying out his name again and again. Already, he had her perched beautifully on the edge of ecstasy with just a finger.

  He flipped her onto her back without removing his hand, the desire to watch her writhe underneath him overpowering any other thought, and wound his other hand into her auburn curls. She tipped her head back, exposing the pearlescent skin of her neck. Running his tongue from the hollow of her throat to her chin, he sought her lips as her body prepared to come. She kissed him with a voracity that he craved, like she’d waited her entire life for that one moment.

  She shuddered violently, her cry muffled by his mouth. Without breaking their kiss, he began to remove her button down, indulging in the softness of her belly. But that wasn’t enough. Dragging the fabric up over her breasts, he revealed a lacy but modest nude bra and ran his hands over her exposed flesh with greedy hunger, following the path with feather-light kisses. She tugged at his hair and pulled him back to her mouth while she used her other hand to massage the bulge being choked to death by his pants.

  With a small growl, he broke away and peeled off his shirt, then unbuttoned his pants. Moira watched every move. He stood on the floor to take off the constricting jeans and boxers, pausing to revel in her appreciative gaze.

  She licked her lips, making him throb harder.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Magnificent didn’t describe him. Hell, beautiful didn’t even do him justice. He stood like living marble, beautifully sculpted to her every whim.

  Crawling back across the bed, he reclaimed her mouth, lifting her into his lap. He removed her shirt and bra, tearing the cheap fabric in the process.

  “I’ll get you a new one, I promise,” he growled.

  She giggled and found his lips again. His icy skin cooled the fever racing through her, but his mouth stoked the fire. Her tongue grazed one of his fangs. The sensation barely registered through the haze of desire and pure lust. He lay her back down on the bed and stripped off her trousers, ripping her panties, too. He swore and grinned,
gaze trailing over her bare skin. With anyone else, she would have covered up or at least squirmed under the attention, but with him, she didn’t have to.

  Like he’d uncovered a priceless artifact, Kiernan ran a hand over her, starting with her cheek, then stroking down her neck to her breasts, trailing lower to her inner thigh, where he danced all around the area demanding attention the most. Is this worship? After all the bullshit life had thrown at her, someone should worship her, dammit. She pushed his shoulder, forcing him onto his back. She planted light kisses on his smooth, cool skin, down his neck to his chest. He tried to slide his hand between her thighs again, but she resisted and shook her head, a smile on her lips; scientific curiosity dictated she taste every last bit of him.

  She kissed her forgiveness across the planes of his chest and his stomach, down to the sensitive skin at the base of his cock. She stroked, enjoying the fullness and thickness of him in her hand, while she licked and nipped at the skin on the inside of his thigh.

  “You’re killing me, Moira,” he groaned.

  The way he said her name sent shivers through her, until her greedy body ached more for him. He wasn’t a monster. He was everything she never knew she needed.

  Though they only had one night, she planned to make the most of it.

  She took his erection into her mouth and his hips jolted. She loved the sensation of him inside her, growing more rigid as she worked her tongue along his shaft, drew him deeper, until the head brushed the back of her throat. Loved his salty taste, the way he smelled like a winter’s night. She wanted to thank him for finding her, for protecting her, for loving her. Taking a quick glance at the clock—one-thirty a.m. Dread coursed through her. Would he have to leave before sunrise?

  His hand in her hair coaxed her off him. She crawled up to his mouth and kissed him, letting her desperation bleed into him. It couldn’t end. Not now.

  Straddling him, she slid his cock into her. He filled her so perfectly all rational thought fled. His fingers dug into her hips, almost painfully but the pain heightened her senses, brought her closer to climax.