by Cameron Dean
He played blackjack steadily, following the dealer as she moved through her rotation, as if he was convinced she was bringing him his luck. It took him out of my section, not that it made much difference. We kept an eye on one another. It got so I could tell when he was watching me, a feeling like cool air moving across my skin.
“You’ve never seen anyone do what?” I asked now, and felt him move to stand beside me.
“Daydream at night.”
I turned my head to look at him. He was staring at the leap and play of the water, his face in profile. Again, I saw the contrast between his lean, sharp features and that rich, full mouth. Tension began to pool in my belly.
Definitely worth breaking the rules for, I thought.
“That’s a nice thing to say,” I said, my tone light.
He turned to look at me then, and I could see the way his eyes were dancing with mischief.
“I can be nice.”
I laughed. It was such an obvious thing to say.
“Can I ask you something?” he went on.
“Sure,” I said.
“What’s your name?”
“Candace. Candace Steele,” I replied.
I extended one hand in introduction. He took it, but instead of shaking it, he brought my hand to his lips, his eyes on mine. Now, finally, I felt that mouth against my skin. First the lips, then the slow glide of his tongue across my knuckles. Goose bumps danced across my skin. I felt a tug, deep in my groin.
“I’m Nate Lawlor,” he said. He kept my hand in his. His thumb made lazy circles in my palm, and I felt my breasts tighten. “Mind if I ask you something else?”
“Twenty questions,” I said. “After that, I’m cutting you off.”
He grinned, quick and wicked, and gave my hand a tug. Slowly, he began to pull me toward him. One step, then two, until our pelvises bumped.
“Do you like to play games, Candace?” he asked. “Or do you just like to watch?”
“Yes,” I said.
He laughed then, head thrown back. I watched the way the muscles moved in the column of this throat. Unable to resist the impulse, no longer certain why I should, I took a step toward him, sliding my breasts along his chest, nuzzling at the base of his throat with my open mouth.
He brought his hands up to my face, lifting it, then kissed me, deep and hard. I felt the world narrow down. This man. This desire. This time. This night.
“Come home with me, Candace,” he murmured against my lips. “I can play all sorts of games.”
“Show me, Nate,” I whispered back. “Show me how.”
I’m not sure how long it took to reach his apartment. I wasn’t exactly watching street signs. Nate drove a BMW convertible, slate gray, top down. The desert air slid across my skin like cool silk.
He held my hand as we walked to the door. Inside, Nate’s apartment suited him to perfection. All cool, hard surfaces, stark and streamlined. Big picture windows looked out toward the mountains, the glass tinted against the glare of the sun. He released me, and I went to stand before them, my eyes on the lights of the city spreading out across the valley floor. I heard the flare of a match being lit. The air filled with the sharp tang of sulfur.
Behind me, Nate moved slowly through the room. Clusters of tall pillar candles sprang to life. Their scent was something I couldn’t quite put a name to, spicy and exotic. Flickering through my senses as the candlelight danced across the room.
And then, suddenly, Nate was there, behind me. Running his hands across the back of my tight jeans, then sliding them around to the front. I bent forward slightly and began to shift from side to side, rubbing my soft curves against him. He made a sound, low in his throat. Shivers danced across the surface of my skin, skittered down my spine. I heard someone take a sobbing breath, and realized I was the one sobbing.
With a sound that was almost audible, his control snapped. His hands tightened in my hair as he brought my questing mouth to his, and plundered. I felt my knees begin to shake then buckle. Never taking his mouth from mine, he caught me up, took two steps, then lowered me onto the couch.
For a moment, he stood, still as the statue he resembled, eyes glittering as they gazed down.
I let one hand rest limply at my side, as if I lacked the strength to lift it, even to touch him. With the other, I reached and ran my nails up the back of his leg. I saw the way his body jerked, just once. Then he was covering me, mouth hungry on my breasts, tongue sliding along the length of my neck, teeth biting gently at one sensitive earlobe.
“You have no idea what I want to do to you. What I’m going to do to you, Candace,” he whispered, his words a promise that sent shivers down my spine.
I had broken all my rules for this moment, too. The moment his needs overtook him and he forgot himself.
Quick as lightning, I brought up the hand I had let drop to the side of the couch. There was a flash of something even I couldn’t quite see, though I knew damn well what it was.
“Actually, I think that’s my line, Nate,” I said.
And plunged the long, thin stake of silver into his back, driving it all the way through to his black and treacherous vampire’s heart.
I heard a sound behind me. And then there were strong hands against the small of my back, shoving me forward with brutal force, propelling my body straight into the wall of the closest building. Fingers wrapped themselves around my wrist—the hand that still held the silver weapon—slamming it up against the building once, twice, three times. I heard a sharp crack, felt a searing pain, even as I heard the silver clatter to the sidewalk.
“Look at me. Look at me, you stupid little bitch,” a voice rapped out.
I looked. And found myself staring straight into the second vampire’s eyes. Dark as midnight, as the lowest level of Hell. In them, I saw precisely what he wanted me to see: my own death.
Also by Cameron Dean
PASSIONATE THIRST
LUSCIOUS CRAVING
Eternal Hunger is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, LLC
Excerpt from Passionate Thirst by Cameron Dean copyright © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN-13: 978-0-345-49521-1
eISBN-10: 0-345-49521-7
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