"Vickie?" Pete filled the doorway, propping the screen open with one hand and holding up a window lock in the other. "Want me to fix these too? Won't take me long. You were smart to get them, your window latches are flimsy in the extreme."
Might as well. It was why she'd bought them, after all. "Thanks. Sure it's not asking too much?" The man had come by for company, not manual labor. Who was she kidding? The look in his eyes suggested he wanted way more than lemonade and conversation.
"No prob," he replied, with a smile that convinced her that last thought had been spot-on. "Won't take me long. Seems crazy to leave them in the package when you need them."
Why argue with a man who knew his own mind? Why be so easily persuaded? She wanted those darn locks on. Knew she'd feel safer with them, but hell, now she owed him. Okay, she'd bake him a batch of cookies or fix dinner one evening.
Or… her mind went off on a tangent at other repayment possibilities.
Heaven on Sunday, what was she thinking? She was not about to offer sex for services rendered. Shame, really! Being raised respectable was a downright nuisance at times. She'd not say "no" to Pete Falcon's arms around her, her head on his shoulder while he eased his cool hand under her shirt and over her bra. She bet he'd snap it open with one flick of his long fingers. No fumbling and getting hung up over the hooks and eyes for him. And when he brushed his fingertips over her breasts…
Pete twisted a brass-headed screw home with his finger. Holding the bolt up with his left hand and setting in the screws with his fingernail was much faster than mucking about with the drill. Faster! It was the difference between snail space and running. Smart woman to get the window locks, too. Trouble was, just being in her bedroom gave him a hard-on. Something about the carved wooden bedhead and the creamy, crocheted spread sent his animal urges rearing.
And verging on the bestial they were too! He pictured Vickie naked under that crocheted spread, sheets drawn up, and one smooth white shoulder showing just enough sweet flesh to tease and stoke his desire. He imagined running his hands over her breasts, and stroking her neck until she dropped her head back, giving him complete access to her perfect vein.
His fangs tingled. Damn! He was hard as a rock again. His own fault this time for letting his imagination run riot. Better get screwing. Wrong verb, that! Pete shifted his hips to ease himself within his pants. Better fix the widow latch.
If only she had air-conditioning and could leave the windows sealed. At least the lower sashes were screwed tight, only the top half opened. Just to be sure, he took a handful of nails from the open toolbox she'd left in the sitting room, and nailed the screen tight to the window frame. No one was taking that out anytime soon.
"You're fast," Vickie said as he walked out onto the porch and reached for the lemonade. Not quite as rich as blood, but in the circumstances, perfectly adequate. "You've done them all?"
"Every last one. Every door and window can be locked up tight." Darn, he should have twiddled his thumbs another twenty minutes, to make it believable. He'd learn—eventually.
"Thanks." Her smile made the misjudgment worthwhile. "I'd have been still doing them at midnight."
"Anytime. Anything else need doing?" Other than herself! Abel, that would have to wait.
"Not right now. I'll only be here a few days." Damn. "I wouldn't have bothered with the locks, but after this morning…"
"What happened?" Interrupting her, but… "Trouble?"
She brushed off his concern with a shake of her head, biting her lip as if to draw back her words. "Not really. Just the Adamses shooting on my land."
"Shooting? Shooting who? You?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, only just stopping himself from pulling her close to keep her safe. "What were they shooting?"
She gave a quirky little smile as if to apologize. "A woodpecker."
He stared, noticing the glistening in her eyes. Whatever was stressing her was more than a dead bird. He ran his hand up the side of her face to wipe away a tear. To his delight, she let him. She pressed her hands against his chest, before leaning in and resting her face against his shirt. "I hadn't seen one in years. It was so beautiful and they shot it dead!" She gave a little sob, sniffed it back and stepped away. "I'm getting wound up over it, I know, but it was so utterly gorgeous, tapping away on the black walnut tree, and they killed it. I know, I shouldn't be surprised. They are a pair of no-goods if ever there was one. I'd just forgotten how nasty they were."
"Nasty" seemed woefully inadequate, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was disagree with her. "Did they threaten you?" If they had, he'd yank their balls off.
She shook her head. "No, just did their oily, sleazy, 'we're just being neighborly' act. I told them I'd be the one shooting if I saw them on my land again."
Seemed the backwoods were as dangerous as the projects. "Better be careful. They're not worth manslaughter charges."
Dear heavens. She had a lovely laugh, like wind in the pines, or a summer breeze over long grass. "I don't think buckshot is likely to kill them. All I've got is an old shotgun—not an uzi!"
"You know how to shoot?" Bad move, that. Her eyebrows lifted and an unamused smile twitched the corners of her mouth.
"Yes, I do."
The set of her head and the edge in her voice convinced him she knew how to handle a gun. He just hoped she was on the side of the good guys. Odd that she'd appeared here, right now, when things were coming to a head.
Even odder that he could think that, while his body clearly indicated definite interest. How could it not? She was the closest thing to beautiful he'd ever seen: her skin pale in the night, her fair hair framing her face, and straight shoulders and firm chin clearly indicating she'd still not quite forgiven the slur on her marksmanship.
He wanted to sit down and talk to her. Find out who she was and what she really was doing here. He also wanted to take her to bed and make wild, passionate love all night. And no doubt scare the willies out of her when she saw his fangs. All he could do was visit her in the night. Later. Let her get to sleep first. "Better be going. Let me know if there's anything else you need."
She gave an odd little smile—almost wistful, which didn't seem in character. "Thanks for fixing the locks and bolts."
"My pleasure."
The smile widened. "See you later."
He took it as a promise, almost skipping back to his bike. He had his invitation. He could come and go as he pleased.
He pleased.
He'd be back.
He turned to wave, but she had gone. Locking and bolting the doors, he hoped.
What were those felonious yobs doing on her land? He wasn't having rednecks bothering his woman! He almost laughed. She wasn't his anything—yet.
Chapter Three
« ^ »
Just as well Pete had dropped by, or she'd still be wielding a screwdriver, but even better he'd gone. Pete Falcon was too much of a temptation. The last thing she needed was amorous entanglements. She came up here for peace and quiet, not wild and wonderful sex.
Talk about jumping the gun. The man fixes a few bolts and latches as a neighborly gesture, and she's having sex with him in her mind.
Hell, why not? Wasn't it the ultimate in safe sex? And the man was splendid. Just the sort to take a starring role in a few night fantasies.
She gathered up the glasses and put them in a pan of soapy water, along with her supper dishes, and took a long shower to cool off. Locking her window half open, Vickie settled down between the cool sheets.
She was asleep in minutes.
Pete waited two hours after Vickie's bedroom light went out. Now to enter her dreams.
The front door opened to his mind and he stepped into her house. Nothing blocked his way and never would again. She had given him entry, would give him sustenance, and in return he'd fill her dreams with ecstasy.
The crocheted cover was a snowy heap at the foot of her bed. The pale curtains shifted in the night breeze, and the soft brush of her bre
ath whispered in the silent room. She turned her head to one side, as if offering her neck. One arm she draped across the pillow, the other rested on the sheets pulled down to her waist.
She wore shell-pink satin pajamas. How could she have known he loved the touch of satin against warm skin? He hadn't until this minute.
He was hard, just watching her.
She seemed so frail. So vulnerable. So mortal.
So sexy.
With each gentle breath, her breasts rose and fell under the satin that covered but did nothing to conceal. The soft nubs of her nipples pressed against the pale fabric, her breasts making soft mounds under the satin.
Certain she was asleep, Pete sat on the edge of the bed, watching. He'd thought her beautiful the very first time he set eyes on her, but now, sleeping in the moonlight, she was exquisite. Soft, warm, and relaxed. Her rich, mortal blood, coursing through her veins.
Fixing a few bolts and latches seemed grossly inadequate payment for all that he was about to take. But he could, would, do more. Watch out for her, and keep the Adamses at bay.
Pete's fists clenched at the thought of that lot troubling her. Not much he could do about it while he was dead to everything during daylight, but if they tried anything during his waking hours, he might just ignore John's repeated warnings about harming mortals. He wasn't sure the Adamses counted as human, anyway.
Why blight these moments with Vickie with thoughts of felons and lawbreakers? He had her all to himself and he yearned to feast.
He rested his hand over her left breast to feel the pulse of her mortal heart. Sensation throbbed through every vampire nerve, and rushed straight to his cock. She was magnificent. Naked, she'd be wondrous.
His hand slid over the pink satin, until his fingertips rested on the pulse at the base of her neck. He yearned to bite and feed. Later. He wanted to savor the sleeping woman he lusted after.
It was lust. Blood lust. But lust pure and simple? No. He wanted Vickie skin to skin, ached for her living body curled against his. Dare he strip and climb under the covers? Not this time. He had a night's work ahead of him.
Leaning over, he poised his lips above hers, feeling the sweet brush of her breath, and sensing the life within.
He kissed her. Just brushing lips as he shut his eyes, to better sense her sweet warmth, before pressing her lips until they parted. He resisted the urge to delve deep and caress her tongue with his. Later. For now, he contented himself with lips on lips, as his hand cupped her luscious breast, stroking the living flesh under the satin, and sliding over the lustrous fabric to caress her other breast.
Vickie sighed with pleasure as he kissed harder. Now touching tongue to tongue before lifting his mouth. She let out a little whimper. Disappointed? She wouldn't be.
He cupped both breasts, easing his hands down her torso and pushing aside the sheets as he stroked her belly. Her legs shifted, as if to part for him. He had to fight back the urge to rip apart the satin and enter her sweet warmth hard and deep.
Vampire he was. Animal he was not. He would not take her sleeping. Pleasure her, yes. Feed he must, but no more.
A heavy ache twisted deep inside. If only he could make love with Vickie, hold her in his arms as she consciously gave herself to him.
Yeah, right! Would be nice to fly like vampires in movies too. This was reality. He was not going to fuck her, no matter how strong the desire.
He brushed her warm belly with the flat of his hand, resting a moment on the softness between her hips. He was so tempted to move lower, to cup the heat between her legs.
Better restrain himself. He caught the scent of her arousal. Sweet Vickie. She was almost ready for his bite.
He allowed himself to slide his hands under her pajama top, his sensitive fingers glorying in her warm flesh in his hands, sensing the life under her skin, the blood coursing through her veins.
Soon…
Slowly, to prove to himself he was disciplined as much as to relish the anticipation, he popped the tiny pearl buttons one by one, and spread the satin open.
He brushed her already-hard nipples, easing over her breasts, up to the base of her neck. Her pulse was steady, the blood flow strong. His gums itched in anticipation.
He was ready. But was she?
With the pad of his finger, he traced a line up her ear. She arched her neck in readiness. He couldn't hold back his smile. Soon. Very soon. With the back of his hand he caressed the side of her face and stroked her chin. Slowly, he ran his hand over her short, fair hair. She seemed so vulnerable in the night. So fragile. So mortal.
The very substance of the life he lacked and the source of the sustenance he craved.
He kissed her, right at the base of her throat, before covering her neck with gentle kisses: soft and light like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. Under his caress, she sighed and moaned, turning her head as if to make her neck more available. Pleasure rippled through her. The scent of her arousal filled the quiet room.
His mouth fastened on the base of her neck, on the soft skin that covered her pulse, his lips moving with her heartbeat, his fangs readying, and his mind attuned to her every breath and the rise and fall of her breasts in the dark.
Her heartbeat quickened as her unconscious need matched his rising desire. He pressed closer to the firm pulse under her skin. His fangs descended. Between heartbeats, he bit, piercing the skin with a clean, fast nip, latching tight.
It was as if he were drowning in her essence, floating on her mind and burrowing deep in her soul. He felt her joy and her burgeoning desire. He caught glimpses of anxiety and worry, but felt them slip away in the tide of pleasure that swamped them both. He let his mind drift until it seemed it was touching hers. The taste of her skin, the richness of her blood, and the scent of ready woman, overwhelmed him. He was one with her joy, her arousal, her need. Sensation peaked between them. Aware he was close to the rim of desire, Pete eased his mouth off her neck, and gently licked the wound to seal it.
Her chest rose and fell as fast as if she'd been running. Her head lolled to one side, exposing the small red marks of his fangs. The wounds would heal fast. He hoped the satisfied smile would remain a long, long time.
He wouldn't forget in a hurry.
He was loath to leave her. It stung deep knowing he had to go the way he came. Unseen, unknown, and unremembered. Damn, John hadn't told him the half. Hadn't even mentioned the incredible bond forged between vampire and provider.
Pete looked down at his sleeping love, knowing deep in his soul, he'd established a connection between Vickie and himself for as long as she lived. Worry surfaced like a sear in his heart. Would she ever know? Could he ever tell?
He rebuttoned her pajamas, drew the sheets up to cover her chest, and left the house silently. Leaving a chunk of his heart behind.
Nothing like a good night-prowl to clear the mind. Tonight it didn't work. Maybe he didn't want to clear his mind of Vickie Anderson. Maybe he'd rather dwell on her warm body and rich blood. Maybe thoughts of her smile, her laughing eyes, and the sweet scent of her arousal were more engrossing than searching for a meth lab in the woods.
There was no "maybe" about it!
He was smitten.
New at this vampire life he might be, but he'd been long enough a mortal to recognize the signs. He had it bad. He didn't just have her blood in his veins. Vickie was deep in his mind and heart. Too bad he had a job to do and a report to make tomorrow. He could hardly tell John he'd spent the entire night writing odes to Vickie's breasts! Come to that, no way was he discussing Vickie's breasts, or any other part of her for that matter, with his mentor.
The old logging road needed closer investigation. Might as well start there. He had more than enough energy. He'd never imagined the rush of power that now coursed through him. He almost felt he could fly, like vampires of legend.
He settled for a good, fast run.
He'd seen tracks, but as far as he knew, the road led nowhere. Just petered out in the woods. H
e kept to the edge, to avoid leaving footprints. His mind was still half on Vickie, and what, if anything, would come of their relationship. What relationship? He almost laughed. What chance was there? Hadn't she mentioned leaving soon? Back to her life, whatever and wherever it was. A life that didn't include a vampire.
Maybe this preoccupation with Vickie made him careless. Perhaps it was truly well hidden. But the first time he noticed the bear trap was as the metal teeth closed around his right ankle, and he fell, face first, into the undergrowth.
Chapter Four
« ^ »
A night sound awakened her: perhaps an owl sighting prey, or a deer too close to the house, maybe a raccoon in the trash. But as Vickie lay, eyes only half-open, her sleep-fuddled mind still trying to recapture her disturbed erotic dream, she heard nothing more. No clink of garbage dragged along the ground, no rustle in the grass.
Maybe thirst woke her. Her mouth felt abnormally dry, her tongue stiff and itchy. She was parched. Vickie rolled over and sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. Not bothering with slippers, she padded into the kitchen and downed two long glasses of ice water. Better. Much better.
Back in bed, she settled to sleep, but couldn't. She was tense, tight and wound up. Who was she kidding? She was horny! Whatever awakened her, disturbed one of the best erotic dreams she'd enjoyed in weeks. Years maybe. Quite possibly ever.
She leaned back on the pillow, looked up at the ceiling, and wondered what it said about her if her subconscious had that sort of thoughts about a nice, gentlemanly neighbor. Sheesh! Let the man stop to give her a hand, and she took his entire body. Damn luscious body it was too! She shut her eyes, trying to remember exactly how she'd dreamed of Pete Falcon without his leathers, without anything except his skin and dark black hair sprinkled over his chest and belly, and thick and curly around his cock. No wonder she was dry-mouthed. She was turning into a sex maniac.
Immortal Bad Boys Page 10