by Donya Lynne
Centuries?
"How old are you, Micah?"
"Old enough." He gave her a look that said he didn't want to freak her out any more than she already was.
Okay, maybe she didn't want to know. Perhaps she should digest one hard-to-swallow topic before taking on another.
"So, that's why you asked those men—drecks, whatever—to kill you?"
He nodded. Guilt shrouded his features. "But then you came along and gave me a reason to live again." His gaze dropped to her hand and he placed his palm over it.
Warm and sure. Gracious. That's how his hand felt over hers.
"Well, thank God for that." Her gaze met his and she smiled at him.
"You were in the wrong place at the right time."
"Something like that. I mean, hell, it's not every day I get to save a vampire."
He rolled his eyes at her obvious attempt at humor. "Well, don't get too carried away with your heroism. You pissed off those drecks."
"Are you sorry I did?"
He looked at her like he wanted to kiss her, and she half-hoped he would. "Hell, no."
In silence, the two only looked at each other. She felt like they were refugees, on the run from danger, only having each other to count on to survive. Whether he really was a vampire or not, something about Micah steeped her in safety.
"Okay, you kept up your end of the bargain and answered my questions. It's my turn. What do you want to know?"
"Another time," he said, looking toward the windows. "You look tired and we both need to rest."
A whirring sound caught her off-guard and she darted her head around to see dual tracks of heavy drapes closing over the windows.
"They're automated to close before sunrise," Micah said.
"Oh, that's right. Sunlight. Vampire." She nodded. "I see."
"You sass me."
"Who me?"
"Come on, funny lady, let me get you settled in my room. You'll sleep in my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
He pulled away from her and walked toward the hall.
"You don't have to do that. The couch is more than adequate for me."
Micah turned around and leveled her with a look that made her feel like a rare, delicate orchid. "No, the couch is not adequate for one such as you, Sam. I insist that you sleep in my bed."
The way he looked at her, waiting for her to follow him to his room, made her heart flutter and her breath catch. "Well," she said breathlessly, "Since you put it that way."
She joined him and let him lead her to his room.
* * *
In the hall outside, Apostle stopped in front of Micah's door and smiled. Luck had been on his side tonight, after all. He had followed Micah from the woman's South Side apartment to the Sentinel. After finishing his shift, he had come back. It had taken getting off on every floor below the eighteenth, but he had finally found where Micah lived, and where he had taken the woman. Now he just needed to bide his time. He returned to the elevator and rode down, left the lobby, got back into his squad car, and started planning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Micah couldn't sleep. He just kept playing over and over in his mind how Sam had felt in his arms and the way her hand had touched him with such care. No one spoke to him with such obstinacy, and no one seemed to care as much, either, despite only knowing him for less than a week. Sam had his heart in a twist, a tug of war to stay put or go to her.
He rolled his head on the couch cushion he was using for a pillow and stared at the drapes. If she decided to run out the door right now, he wouldn't be able to stop her. Apostle and his team of drecks were out there, though…somewhere. And they would be looking for her. The sunlight didn't affect them like it did him and most of the others. Just the thought made him feel helpless. Maybe making an alliance with a day walker like Trace had been a good decision, after all. Which reminded him…he picked his phone up off the coffee table and texted Trace, asking him if he'd been able to get Sam's things from the club.
Trace returned his text immediately: Yes. Will give to you tonight at AKM.
Micah tossed his phone aside and tried closing his eyes, but it was no use.
Suddenly, he needed to know Sam was okay. He already knew she was still awake. He could feel her mind working and worrying. After swinging his legs off the couch and pulling on a pair of sweats, he went to the kitchen and flipped on the light. A pot of tea and a snack would do them both good. He heated water for the tea while he made a pair of roast beef sandwiches, cutting them diagonally when he was finished, then loaded everything on a tray and carried it to his bedroom. He gently pushed open the door.
"I can't sleep," she said as he entered, as if she had been expecting him.
"I know. Me neither. Maybe this will help." He carried the tray through the dark room to the bed as she sat up and pulled the blankets around her. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, but maybe just the simple idea of being in bed around him made her uncomfortable. Or maybe the prim behavior was just habit. "We can eat in the kitchen if that would make you more comfortable."
"No, I'm fine. This is fine."
"I hope you like roast beef." He held out one of the triangles of sandwich and she smiled as she took it.
"Love it."
He poured two cups of tea, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke as they ate.
"I guess I laid a lot on you tonight," he said, picking up the second half of his sandwich.
"I'll get over it."
"You shouldn't have to."
She shrugged and sipped her tea. "It's okay, Micah. I'll be fine."
He wanted her to be more than fine. Micah wanted her safe, and he wanted her happy. This affair with the drecks wasn't meant for someone like her, exquisite and perfect in every way.
"So, maybe I should answer your questions now," she said. She popped the last bite of the first half of her sandwich in her mouth and shrugged as she grabbed the other half. "Not like we're getting any sleep, anyway."
"The fear of someone trying to kill you and being in a vampire's home has a way of keeping you awake, doesn't it?"
Sam issued a short laugh that made Micah draw in a breath as if he could catch the sound and hold it forever, tasting it and swirling it around in his mouth.
"That's one way to look at it," she said. She took another bite and watched him in the darkness as she chewed. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Why do you work at the Black Garter?" he said. That had been eating at him for hours.
"Wow, that was fast."
"Sorry, but I don't like it." In fact, he hated it.
"You don't like it?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, too bad."
"It's just that you seem…well, better than that place. You're smart, Sam. And what I don't understand even more is why you live in that small apartment. You can surely afford better than that. You're Scarlet, for Chrissakes."
She fidgeted uncomfortably then shrugged. "Well, shit. I guess I owe you answers, right?"
"Yeah, that was the arrangement. I answer your questions, you answer mine."
She finished her sandwich and with unceremonious bluntness said, "I'm married."
Married?! Micah nearly choked and started coughing. Despite all his poking around in her head, he hadn't seen that coming.
She held up her hand. "Hold on, don't get your panties in a wad. I left him."
He gulped down tea and got his coughing under control. "Okay, married and left him. Got it. Go on, because I can tell there's more."
"I married him too young. That was my first mistake." She leaned back against her pillows, relaxing. "Then I was an Army medic for eight years, so I wasn't home a lot. But when I was, it was bad."
It took all of Micah's restraint not to probe into her mind to see the whole story rather than just the parts she wanted to share with him. She lifted her shirt slightly and pointed to a scar on the side of her abdomen.
"He gave that to me the last time I was home. He had just found out I had been se
cretly taking birth control to keep from getting pregnant." She stared at him for a second, silent.
His blood boiled.
"He beat me hard that time. Actually knocked me down on the glass coffee table. It shattered. I got stabbed. He's a surgeon so he just sewed me up right there in the house. Nice, huh? Kept anyone at the hospital from seeing the shape I was in and figuring out his wicked little secret."
"I want to kill him." Micah's voice sounded almost primal even to himself.
Sam reached out and touched his arm. "Calm down, Tiger."
What a turn-on. This woman knew no fear. He had to be one scary-looking SOB right now, but she simply touched his arm and told him to calm down like it was nothing.
"Anyway," she said, casually pulling her hand back, "I ran away and work hard to keep my trail invisible so he can't find me. The Black Garter pays well and they pay in cash, and I live cheap so I can save enough to buy real freedom someday."
"Real freedom?" Micah admired Sam more and more. She was a lot stronger than he had originally credited her for.
"A new identity. A fresh start somewhere he can't get to me."
"Maybe I can help with that."
"We'll see." She simply smiled at him then finished her tea.
He moved the tray to the dresser, sat back down beside her and propped the pillows on his side of the bed against the headboard so he could sit back. "Okay," he said. "New topic. How is it you know so much about knives?"
"I was in the Army, right? I became acquainted with knives. It became kind of a personal interest for me."
Micah reached over and took his Bowie off the nightstand and handed it to her. "Take a look. Here, let me get my Ka-Bar." He hopped up and retrieved it from the shelf in the closet where he had stowed it earlier.
Sam already had the Bowie unsheathed, its silver blade glinting in the faint light from the hall, when he returned. What a turn-on seeing his knife in her hands. She glanced up and he handed over the Ka-Bar.
"These are serious blades," she said, admiring the long, black knife. "Tell me you're not just a collector."
He shook his head and settled down next to her again, his cock twitching as he watched her handle his weapons. "No, I'm not a collector. I know how to use them."
* * *
Sam couldn't explain it, but holding the knives in her hands and catching the tone of his voice as he said he knew how to use them turned her on.
"Show me," she said, flipping the Bowie in her hand so she could give it to him handle first. "Teach me something."
Maybe Micah could show her how to disembowel someone. That way, if Steve ever did find her, she could have some fun. The thought immediately filled her with guilt. Could she really do that to someone? Even an abusive ass like Steve? Put a bullet between his eyes, maybe, but cutting him up like she was Jack the Ripper? Okay, so under the right circumstances, she probably could. Better to be prepared if it happened.
Micah's gaze shot to hers and he reached out almost tentatively to take the knife. It was as if he wasn't sure he should.
"Oh, go on," she said. "I won't hurt you."
With a smirk, he took the knife and flipped it around, the blade shimmering as it danced in the light. He tossed and sliced it through the air then grabbed it backhand and lunged for her, pushing the blade toward her throat and stopping a couple of feet away. She barely flinched, knowing in her heart that he would never hurt her. Their eyes met and he seemed almost as breathless as she felt, and not from exertion.
Biting her lip, she clutched the Big Brother with the same grip he was using on the Bowie.
"Like this?" She batted his arm away and surged toward him.
He fell to his back as she cut the knife through the air and stopped within inches of his throat. She loomed over him, feeling her pulse quicken as his eyes smoldered up at her.
"Where were you a few days ago?" he said, his voice deep and seductive.
"Apparently waiting to rescue you." She barely pressed the edge of the blade to his skin, biting her lip, liking the thrill she got from the look in his eye. It was a mix of fear and lust, the way she imagined a cuffed masochist looked as he prepared for his master to flog him.
"Any regrets?" he asked.
She shook her head, heat pooling like warm honey low in her belly and between her legs. "No."
Sam felt him relinquish himself as the Bowie thudded to the floor. His free arm swooped around her and pulled her on top of him. She had to swing her leg out from under the covers, but with the knife still held to his throat, she straddled his hips and skimmed her other hand over his smooth, bare chest, as surprised at her reaction to him as he was.
"Tell me you're not using some mind trick on me to make me feel this way," she said.
His hands crept up her bare thighs and inside the legs of her shorts. "I'm not compelling you, if that's what you mean."
Raking her blunt nails across his pec, she smiled as he hissed and pushed his chest toward her hand. He looked good, still thin but more puffed up, like someone had hooked him up to a hose and blown air into what had looked like a deflated body the other night.
"You look better, by the way. The other night you looked like you needed a couple or a dozen sandwiches."
"Oh?" His hands pushed further inside her shorts and she shifted her weight so he could explore further if he wanted to, but he only went so far before pulling his hands back out to continue exploring her elsewhere.
Sam hadn't reacted to a man like this in a long time. Actually, she had never reacted to a man like this. Was it just the danger Micah represented, or how safe she felt with him despite all the peripheral shit she still wasn't sure she had wrapped her head around? Or was it the knife at his throat, or just the fact that she had been through a lot in the last twelve hours and simply needed an outlet for all that unspent adrenaline? Maybe it was a combination of everything. Who knew? What she did know was that her body craved his in a way that felt almost criminal.
Shifting her hold on the knife, she dragged the tip of the blade lightly over his skin, to the hollow of his throat, down his sternum, and over to one dark, gathered, quarter-sized nipple.
Normally so straight-laced and proper, Sam wanted nothing of either right now. Some would say that after so long without, her body now felt the need to make up for lost time, spilling over with arousal. A dark, mysterious man, possibly – probably – a vampire, lay under her, bent to her will as she flicked the tip of the knife across the puckered hardness of his nipple.
"Aren't you scared?" She bent forward so that her face was directly over his and her hips rose from him. His hands skated up the sides of her legs and into her shirt to blister her skin with desire.
"I'm scared you'll stop." His hips thrust upward to keep the connection between their lower bodies, and his hardness pressed against her.
"I don't want to stop." She strengthened the contact between her legs by pushing and dragging her pelvis along the length of what lay inside his sweats.
The rumble in his chest sounded like the purr of a jungle cat. The sound mixed with a quickened breath as his palms covered her breasts with a demanding grip.
"Do you want me to stop, then?" It was clear he was only teasing.
Rolling her pelvis over him again, she bent down further, moving the blade back to his throat. "If you stop, this knife will cease to be a sex toy and you will have to move very fast to make sure I don't stab you. Do you understand?"
* * *
Micah's mouth drew up in a mischievous grin and he purred again – the sound of an aroused male vampire. Sam had him harder than a two-by-four. Who would have known that a knife would be such a turn-on? In his dom days, Micah had tried a lot of kinky shit, but never had he allowed anyone to put a knife to his throat. Usually, it had been him that did that kind of thing to his subs.
"Take off my shirt," she said. She sat back so that her full weight pressed against his aching hard-on. "Use this." She lifted the knife from his throat and held it out fo
r him.
He had seen inside her thoughts and knew she had never done anything like this. Where this vixen had come from Micah didn't know, but he liked her. He would have to tell Sam to let her out again sometime soon. Like maybe tomorrow.
He took the knife and licked his lips as he gathered the hem of her T-shirt in his free hand and pulled it away from her body. The force drew her toward him again, although she resisted. Her shirt stretched between them, the fabric straining. Never looking away from her heart-shaped face and her twinkling eyes, he hooked the blade under the hem of her shirt.
"You sure about this?" he said. He felt her desire, but also her fear, so he wanted to give her one last chance to say no.
"Yes."
With an easy upward thrust, the blade sliced into jersey knit like it was nothing more than butter. The satisfying hiss of fabric being cut filled the room as he continued the dissection. Watching the blade slice slowly upward held its own kind of eroticism as it parted the fabric of her shirt like an opening stage curtain. More of her creamy soft skin and smooth stomach revealed itself with each inch of the blade's upward climb. Getting to all that bare skin on a slow reveal had him holding his breath with anticipation until the last inch severed at her collar and the two halves fell loose.
With a brush of his free hand, he pushed the T-shirt off one rounded shoulder and down her arm to expose her breast. Budded with a nipple so pale he could barely delineate the change of pigment, the supple swell of her flesh was natural and firm. And her stomach was smooth and flat with a single, tantalizing ridge down the middle. He ran the tip of the knife down that ridge, watching her shiver at the metallic caress.
"You're a runner or a swimmer, aren't you?"
"Both. How can you tell?" She shirked the other half of the shirt with a seductive dip of her shoulder so that the wasted material fell down her back and over his legs.
"I can tell." He grinned and set the knife on the mattress then undulated beneath her with a groan as he stretched and contracted. He needed to touch her, feel her, experience her femininity. Another purr, deeper than before, trembled the back of his throat as he shoved his hands up her stomach and under her breasts so that they rose and pressed together in the middle.