Bonded by Blood

by Laurie London

  “Oh. I’d love that.” Something gripped her heart and squeezed. Do not get attached to him.

  She sat taller on the stool and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. A current of something tangible shimmered in the air around them. Like she could reach forward and strum it with her fingers.

  She only spoke again when she thought she could trust her voice. “So, what’s the nature of your work?”

  “About all I can say is that it’s in the law enforcement field.”

  “That’s a pretty broad brushstroke. Is it dangerous?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Some risks are worth taking.”

  DOM OPENED THE first door in the hallway and mounted the stairs two at a time, his hand at her back.

  This is what it feels like when a human man escorts his woman to dinner. Even with everything stripped away, when they were ordinary, they seemed to fit together. He pushed open the heavy steel door at the top and they stepped out onto the rooftop garden. She gasped and her eyes widened as she craned her neck to see everything.

  “Oh my gosh, Dom. It’s…amazing.”

  Candlelight from the chandelier hanging beneath the trellis danced in her eyes. If he hadn’t made that regrettable promise to her back at the art studio, he’d have pulled her into his arms right now. Instead, he turned to get the salads, but she stopped him with a light hand on his wrist.

  “Thank you.” She lifted her chin to him, her green eyes fiery in the warm glow from the chandelier. Were his mirroring the same passion?

  “For what? You haven’t even tried the food yet.”

  “For everything. Just in case I forget to tell you later.”

  He swept four fingers under her jawline. She was delicate, yet so strong. Oh, how he wanted to place his lips there.

  His erection surged, straining against the seam of his jeans, and his palate throbbed as the tips of his fangs began to protrude. He quickly turned away and stepped behind her. Grabbing at the leather band around his wrist, he grimaced as he cranked the buckle tighter, the metal barbs of the cilice digging farther into his skin.

  Holy shit. Chuck hadn’t been kidding when he’d said this thing stung like a sonofabitch.

  Sweat beaded on his upper lip as his body acclimated to the higher level of pain. He took a few halting steps toward the outdoor kitchen, grabbed a towel and dabbed at the thin trickle of blood running down his forearm. Chuck had told him he used one of these ancient self-torture devices to control his own feeding urges when he’d first married Shirl and met her large family. The pain it caused diverted his attention away from the blood desire. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Smooth again. He managed to set a couple of salmon steaks on the hot grill and returned to the table with the salads.

  Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed to slits. She sensed his pain. Of course she did. But he couldn’t take the damn thing off, that was for sure. He wouldn’t dare take that chance. He flashed what he hoped was a distracting smile and sat down.

  “How about you tell me your happiest memory?” Now it was time to keep himself diverted.

  “Only if you will, too.”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, let me think.” She speared a large bite of salad and chewed. He liked that she not only ate—he’d been with plenty of women who didn’t—but that she did so with gusto. She put a finger up to indicate she must have come up with a story. Before she finished chewing, she began to speak, as if she didn’t start now, she’d forget what she was going to say.

  As she recalled a visit to an amusement park, her eyes flashed with excitement. “My dad carried me around on his shoulders all day, hunting down every storybook character for my autograph book.”

  God, he loved the musical quality of her voice and her enthusiasm for just about anything. He could listen to her forever as she talked about purple toucans, fairy princesses, hot buttery corn and caramel apples.

  “Do you still have it? The autograph book?”

  The night turned suddenly quiet and she picked at her salad. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly.

  What had just happened? Why was she sad? “I’m sorry. Seems I have a knack for asking tough questions.”

  “No, not at all. It’s just that I made my dad sign the last page before we left the park. Several days later was when he disappeared. That autograph book is kind of special, that’s all.” For several beats of her heart, her eyes had a melancholy, faraway look, but when she lifted her chin a moment later and smiled at him, her expression was warm and inviting again. “I guess I’ve had a bit of sadness in my life. I just hope I don’t come across as depressing or morbid. I try not to think about the past too much and dwell on things I have no control over.”

  “You couldn’t be morbid or depressing if you tried.” He stared at her for a moment longer, wanted to comfort her, to draw her into his arms, but he didn’t because of that damn promise. Instead, he rose from the table and returned with their dinner plates.

  “Okay, your turn,” she said as she flaked off a piece of fish.

  He shoved the food around on his plate. She never thought about the past and that’s all he could think about. “Mine involves my family, too. My mother.”

  Mackenzie angled toward him on the settee and he felt himself moving slightly toward her, as well. Her knee brushed his leg and she left it there. He was careful not to move and break the contact when he began to speak.

  “I grew up in Europe and we traveled a lot, as well, given my father’s occupation. He was a politician of sorts. One night—day, I mean, when the Council was in session, my mother took us to a small art gallery in the plaza. Many artists had taken up residence in Paris at the time.”

  “Oh, like who?”

  Shit. Of course she knows art history. He couldn’t very well name any of the 19th-century artists his mother knew, some of whom Mackenzie most certainly would be familiar with.

  “Nobody famous. She, like you, loved the whole atmosphere of creativity, although she didn’t have artistic talent as you do. When we went into the gallery, an old man with a terribly crooked spine swept my mother into his arms and twirled her around the room. He was so fragile-looking, I wouldn’t have believed he could move that way. My mother laughed and I can remember dancing around the room with them. Turns out she had posed for him and the painting sold for quite a large sum of money. It was a nude.” He ran the backs of his fingers over her arm and thought he felt her tremble.

  “And your father…he was all right with your mother posing nude for someone?”

  “Yes. Although my father was a very jealous man, the old man was a dear family friend, very talented, but very poor. He refused to take any monetary help from my father. So he and my mother came up with the idea of her posing for him. He was known for— He made enough money to barely scrape by with his paintings at the time, but at least my parents felt they were helping.”

  “You said ‘we.’ Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a sister who lives in the UK. But it was my brother who was with me at the gallery.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “I don’t know. We are not…close.”

  “I’m sorry. When did you last see him?”

  His chest tightened, an iron fist squeezed his heart into a ball. “Many, many years ago.”

  She clasped both of his hands and brought his fingers to her lips as if she were trying to take away his pain. “And your parents? Where are they?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They died a long time ago.”

  A gentle caressing of energy passed from her hands to his and the knot in his chest, which bunched up whenever he thought about his parents, actually loosened a bit. When he looked down into her eyes, it wasn’t pity he saw, but understanding.

  Her thoughts whispered inside his head as she wrapped her arms around him, soaking up his sorrow with every whirling stroke of her hand against his back. He held on to her, buryin
g his nose in her hair, breathing the coconut smell of her shampoo. Unlike him, with his probing questions, she said nothing, and he felt like a lumbering bastard.

  In a span of time that seemed to pass as quickly as a dozen human heartbeats, powerful in its simplicity, yet way too fleeting, they finished their dinners and started in on a second bottle of Voignier. If her empty plate was any indication, Mackenzie had thoroughly enjoyed what Dom prepared for her. He rested his chin in his hand and watched, enthralled, as she took another piece of bread and swept up the remaining sauce from her plate. She licked a stray crumb from her lips and her eyelids fluttered shut while she slowly chewed, as if she were committing the taste to memory.

  “I hope you’re not too full for dessert,” he said.

  “Never. I always have room for something sweet.” Her eyes held his for a moment before her cheeks colored that enchanting shade again and she looked away.

  He returned a moment later with one plate and an enormous piece of coconut cream pie.

  “No, you didn’t,” she gasped. Was she surprised he’d heard her say she loved coconut? Or that he remembered? “I must be in heaven. Did you make it?”

  “I picked it up from Tom Douglas’s restaurant.”

  “This is his triple coconut cream pie? I’ve heard how good it is, but I’ve never actually had it myself.” She dug into the thick cream and moaned when she pulled the empty tines from her lips. The sound she’d made was almost identical to the one she made when she came against his fingers that night at the auction. Dom shifted in his seat to make a little more room in his jeans.

  “Are you not having any?” Whipped cream lingered on her lips.

  “No, I don’t do sweet. Not usually.”

  “You mean you got this just for me?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, but you have to just try it.”

  He hated coconut. Always had, or at least he’d thought he did until tonight. Taking the same fork, she sectioned off a huge piece and lifted it to his lips.

  “Holy Christ, that’s way too big.”

  “Just wait. You’ll love it. Trust me.”

  When he opened his mouth, she opened hers, mirroring his actions as though she were experiencing the bite along with him. He closed his lips over the creamy filling and she slowly pulled out the fork.

  Candlelight sparkled in her widened eyes as she leaned in close for his reaction, probably oblivious to the fact that her breast pressed against his arm. “Amazing, am I right? I am, aren’t I?”

  The filling was rich and the crust was flaky, tinged with coconut, as well. He mumbled his agreement and had to admit it was pretty good. For a diehard aficionado, this pie must be the pinnacle. When she offered him another bite, he started to lift a hand in protest, but she got so much enjoyment feeding him, he wanted to continue to be a part of it. No, it was more than that. He wanted to be the cause.

  He wasn’t expecting her kiss. She leaned over so quickly, he had no time to prepare himself, no time to double-check that his deadly instincts were still safely tucked away. With his mouth clamped shut, he ran his tongue over his palette. Nothing. So he softened his lips and kissed her back.

  “Thank you for this.” Her words rumbled against him. He wasn’t sure if she meant the dessert or the kiss. “You taste delicious.”

  All day, all evening, he’d been hoping she’d touch him first, kiss him first. He wanted any contact to be on her terms, and now they were. He cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand, held her lips close to his, her tongue sticky and sweet.

  When she sidled closer and a tiny moan from her throat vibrated against his lips, it was the only encouragement he needed. In one swift movement, he pulled her on top of his lap and kicked the settee backwards. Dishes clattered as her behind clipped the edge of the table. He didn’t care that glasses were broken, that wine was spilled.

  From her gasp, he knew he had startled her, but she slipped her hands up over his chest and twirled a length of hair loosened from his ponytail, her breath warm against his cheek. With every ounce of willpower, he waited until she dipped her head to his again. He didn’t want her to regret any of what was going to happen. He wanted—no—needed for her to come to him willingly, of her own accord. His mouth hungrily met hers as she tugged at the thin leather tie at his nape, spilling his hair to his shoulders.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” Her fingers dug into his hair.

  And the beast inside him roared.

  He cupped her bottom, yanked her hips forward against the stiffened erection straining beneath the fabric of his jeans and moved against her core. She arched her back and pressed her breasts to him. When he grasped the zipper at the back of her dress, he paused one last time which surprised him. Normally at this point, it would be all about fucking, pushing himself into the female fast and hard. The fact that he hesitated shocked the hell out of him. He cared about Mackenzie, what she thought now, whether she was completely ready for this, and he cared about what she’d think tomorrow and next week.

  Her half-closed eyes were heavy with passion and she clutched at his shirt, maybe a little desperately. Oh God, he hoped so, because he was certainly desperate for her. He pulled the zipper down slowly, giving her the chance to stop him, but she didn’t. It slid past her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine, down to her waist, where it stopped at the small of her back. The straps fell of their own accord, baring her skin to him, and he ran a thumb over her delicate collarbone. Her pulse vibrated at the base of her neck and called out a sweet invitation just inches from his deadly smile.

  No, I will take her as a man only.

  With a flick of his wrist, her dress was gone and she shimmied out of her tights. Glorious, she straddled his lap, naked except for the thin meaningless triangle of her thong. Although he’d seen her without clothes before, this time was different. This time she was naked for him.

  “God, you are so beautiful, Mackenzie. So very perfect.” Her breasts sat in his hands, neither too large nor too small, and he marveled at the softness of her porcelain skin as she trembled beneath his touch.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all your honeys. Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “I have never told that to another woman.” When she lifted her eyebrow he added, “I speak the truth, whether you believe me or not. I do not lie.” About that.

  His palate ached, his canines threatened to elongate, but he was ready for his body’s automatic reaction. He ran a precautionary hand around the leather band at his wrist. Although the barbs had poked into his skin all evening, the movement jostled and reopened the tiny wounds. He stifled a hiss and his primitive instincts were again consumed and dulled by the searing pain rather than by taking her blood.

  She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized his face, no doubt trying to figure out what just happened. Of course she sensed what he was feeling, although she couldn’t have known how or why. “Is something wrong? I…I… Are you okay? I’ve got the strangest sensation that you…” She had been unbuttoning his shirt but stopped.

  “Shhh. Don’t worry. I am more than fine. Much more.”

  When he took her nipple into his mouth and ran a thumb over the other one, he heard the ragged hitch of her breath. He circled his tongue against the delicate flesh already peaked from the cool night air and coaxed them both to even greater stiffness.

  It was too cold for her to be unclothed like this, and his impatient sex would stay imprisoned no longer. With a grunt, he stood up, her legs clutched around his waist, and he carried her to the large canopied lounge and covered them with a down blanket.

  He smelled her desire, stunned by its sweetness. It seemed to wrap around him, drawing him closer, pulling him in. Although he was familiar with women’s passions, this was much different, deeper, as if she called to him on another dimension.

  He wedged a knee between her thighs and shoved them open. As he went to push the fabric of her thong aside, she grab
bed his wrist.

  “Wait. This has been all about me. Now and at the auction. It’s your turn. I want you. To feel you in my mouth, to know your taste.”

  Sweet Jesus. Only a fool would turn down such an offer, but he honestly didn’t know what he wanted to feel more—her lips or her body molding around him.

  She pushed him onto his back and he watched as she unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them over his hips. When she reached for his shirt, he shrugged her away and tore it off himself.

  Her hands splayed over his pecs, her soft curls swept his chest as she inched lower and lower. He strained against the powerful urge to take control. God, how he wanted her. Needed her. And like hell he was going to wait—

  He raised his head from the cushion, made a move to roll her over, but she flashed him a dark look.

  “Down,” she ordered.

  A moan—almost a growl—started deep inside and rumbled in his chest. He wasn’t used to waiting for what he wanted. She continued to glare, daring him to move again, before she settled herself between his legs. Her fingers trailed up and down his belly, teasing him, tormenting him, her touch so light that it numbed his skin.

  He balled up bunches of the blanket in each fist in an attempt to anchor himself to the lounge. Would she at least let him watch her lips stretch over his sex as she took him in? He propped himself up on one elbow, but she gave him that warning look again.

  “All right,” he laughed. “I’ll be good this time.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  He trained his eyes on the inside of the lounge canopy instead, the city lights, the stars—seeing everything and nothing at the same time. He was powerless against her and shook with anticipation as he waited for her to continue.

  She moved lower underneath the down blanket, her lips and hair whispered against his skin until she finally reached him. He expected to feel the warmth of her mouth and nudged his hips to push inside, but again she held him down.

  Spreading his thighs a little roughly, she nestled in deeper between his legs, making herself comfortable. A thrill of anticipation shot through him. What a turn-on to have her handle him like this, like she was the one in charge. He tried his best to obey her this time and lay still. But when she suddenly pulled a ball from his loosened sac into her mouth, he couldn’t help himself. He arched his back, dug his heels into the mattress.