Nothing like his bedroom back home, with its deep burgundy draperies that obscured the view of the English Channel, and matching bed hangings that he kept drawn to block stray sunbeams that dared to sneak past the initial barriers. No mirrors to reflect and magnify the occasional errant sunbeam, temporarily rendering him totally blind.
She’d hate your home, find it too dark, oppressive.
Not a problem, Stefan told his inner voice. That would never be an issue, no matter how much he might wish it otherwise. He didn’t need his conscience to remind him of Julie’s vulnerabilities. Of the danger within him that she courted so unknowingly, inviting him to take her as she’d done moments earlier.
He’d barely managed to resist showering with her at her invitation. Now the sound of rushing water filled his ears, flooding his mind with images of droplets sluicing over Julie’s slender throat, her ripe, full breasts. Her belly. He longed to go to her, kneel, spread her legs and lick away the moisture from her labia. She’d taste clean, slightly salty, her fragrance of sex and essence of roses light, never overpowering.
He’d delve inside her with his tongue, rim her tight little ass with his fingers, drive her crazy with wanting. Then he’d wrap her in a towel, dry her warm, smooth skin, carry her to her bed, and kneel over her mouth. He knew instinctively that she’d give better head than any he’d had over the centuries, sucking and licking and nipping him with her teeth while cradling his scrotum between her hands.
Then he’d take her, and as he claimed her, he’d sink his fangs into her throat and . . . no, he must not.
With difficulty, Stefan restrained himself from joining her in the shower. He had to hold his emotions under tight rein. It wasn’t enough that he protect Julie from Reynard. He must shield her from the beast that roared within himself. He could do it, must do it. Seduce her, protect her . . . then walk away once the risk to her was over, leaving her to her mortal pursuits.
Save Julie. Save Julie. He repeated those words like a litany, over and over, until it began to sound more like the plea of a desperate man than the determined conviction of a vampire hunter.
He glanced at the painting above the bed, suddenly realizing when he noticed the bold “JQ” at the lower right corner that Julie did more than “work” with art. She’d apparently created this and many of the other striking paintings lining the rooms of her home.
He was about to seduce—compel—a mortal who fed on sunlight and brilliant colors. Not one who’d adapt well to an eternity of darkness, even if he were selfish enough to turn her. Stefan barely held back an oath. It was so damn unfair to have found a perfect mate . . . one who wanted him as much as he wanted her . . . only to have to make love to her, to save her from Reynard, and then walk away and let her go.
He toed off his shoes and rubbed his feet against plush carpeting the dark blue color of the midnight sky. As he stepped out of his slacks, he noticed the waning moon peeking between the window frames. They only had three more nights . . . three days. Three short days before Louis would make his move, before Julie’s life would be in immediate danger and Stefan would be her only chance for survival. Three days to make memories for himself that would have to last a lifetime—in his case, many centuries during which he’d regret having lost her in his every waking hour as well as in his dreams.
In three days he’d have to be at his fighting best to meet an adversary stronger than any other he’d ever faced. An enemy stronger than himself. Fuck, but Stefan dared not face Louis alone. Not when Julie’s life would depend on him destroying his prey.
As much as he hated to risk Claude, he’d have to depend on Alain’s only living son to confront the Fox with him. And pray Alex would get here in time to help. Stefan made up his mind then that he had to swallow his pride and call Alina. He’d ask her to send several other youthful members of the clan. Perhaps numbers could negate Reynard’s advantage of age, though he knew from painful experience that sometimes help from novices was worse than no help at all. Still, he had to do all he could, risk whatever he must, to save Julie and prevent other women from falling to Reynard’s bloodlust.
Stefan had to have an edge. He dared not risk draining his strength in Julie’s welcoming body, yet he couldn’t deny her need. He’d have to tell her. Warn her of the danger she faced. Reveal himself for what he was and enlist her help in protecting herself. Perhaps she’d even help him find a likely source for fresh, life-sustaining blood other than the enticing vein in her pale, slender throat, for with his constant state of arousal, he knew he’d require a good supply.
Stefan bent, initially intending to dress before Julie finished her shower. Then he changed his mind and stripped off the rest of his clothes. Once she saw him as he’d been born centuries earlier, without the pretense of clothing, she’d have to believe he was of another species . . . the creature of the night whom mortals had feared and reviled since the earliest recorded history.
She’d look closely. Her pupils would dilate. Her lips would go slack when she saw the creature she’d thought she wanted to make love to. Seeing her revulsion—that would nearly destroy him. But it couldn’t be helped. After flipping on the lamp on a bedside table he drew back the covers on Julie’s bed.
In the bright circle of lamplight, she couldn’t help but notice his body didn’t look quite like that of most mortal males. Intending to lie there exposed to her scrutiny, he stretched out on the pale blue cotton sheet. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he drew the top sheet up over his pale, hairless chest.
One more time. Surely it wouldn’t hurt for him to see desire on her beautiful face once more. Then he’d do what he must—make the confession that had sent many a mortal screaming for the nearest lawman over the years. Just for a moment, though, he’d see desire in her beautiful eyes. The desire he read now as he drifted into her mind.
Her fierce need for him fueled his own passion, as though the irresistible pull between them were a harbinger of joy, not pain. Stefan reached over and dimmed the lamp to a soft glow.
Chapter Six
Eyes to drown in. A cliché for certain, but the expression might have been freshly coined to describe Stefan’s clear sea-green eyes. When he looked at her, she felt heat . . . the fire of his passion, or was it only a reflection of her own out-of-control desire? Julie stretched then spritzed her damp skin with her signature fragrance—a subtle blend of musk and roses made especially for her in Marie’s Parfumerie, a tiny shop she’d discovered in New Orleans’s French Quarter the last time she’d gone home to visit her dad.
“Do your magic, old lady,” she murmured, recalling the wizened voodoo priestess who’d insisted the scent she’d created would enslave the man of Julie’s dreams. Then, wrapping a pale blue towel around her naked body, Julie opened the bathroom door.
And saw her dream lover waiting in her bed.
Hair as black as a raven’s wing against the pale blue pillow sham. Pure temptation—his was the face of a dark angel. Softly diffused light from her bedside lamp limned his striking features, shadowed the high cheekbones and aristocratic nose. The angry-looking laceration on his left cheek caught her eye. It lent a hint of danger, a reminder she knew little about him. That didn’t matter. When she looked into his gorgeous eyes, she saw emerald fire.
Fire that drew her in and placed her under his sensual spell, even before he drew a hand from beneath the sheet and patted a spot on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”
She wanted nothing more than to go to him, to have him hold her. Take her. Ease the ache that had grown in the pit of her stomach since she’d first seen him in front of the hotel. Slowly, deliberately, she unwrapped her towel and stood naked before him, an eager victim for the erotic delights he promised with that wicked, knowing smile.
His teeth flashed snowy white, made his pale skin appear almost tanned by contrast when she sat and bent to brush her lips across his. With surprisingly cool hands, Stefan framed her face. “There are things about me you don’t know. Things you need
to know.”
“You’ve got a wife and six kids stashed away somewhere?”
“No, but—”
“Some dread disease?”
“Of course not.”
The laceration on his face drew her attention. “Don’t tell me you’ve done something . . . gotten in trouble with the law.”
He shook his head. “The scratch on my cheek is my punishment for a moment of carelessness, nothing more.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.” If he didn’t touch her—take her—she’d die. She throbbed all the way to her womb. Every cell in her body burned. “I don’t understand it, but I knew the moment I saw you that this was . . . destined.”
“I knew it as well. Turn off the light and come here. Warm me.” He sighed, as though more resigned than eager to fulfill that destiny.
His flesh felt cool yet satiny when she laid her head on his muscular chest and entwined their legs. He moaned when she wrapped one hand around his sex and cupped his sac with the other. His skin there was incredibly soft. Incredibly smooth.
So, he shaved his body. That must have been why he’d covered up—why he wanted no light but the faint glow provided by the lamp. “You feel so good. I’ve never understood why men who shave should worry that women won’t like them smooth.”
“I don’t. Shave, that is. Except for my face. I don’t grow body hair.”
Unusual. She liked the smoothness of his skin, the sensation of satin over hard male muscle. She liked it a lot.
“Look at me.” He slid his hand along her throat, drawing her attention to his eyes, so close now to her own. “I’m a vampire, my darling. I . . . my hunger for you is so fierce, I cannot bear it.”
She stared up at him, something powerful pounding through her at his admission. So he wanted her so much he could compare himself to a creature of the night in his hunger. This unexpected, poetic side of her dark angel pleased her. “Then feed on me,” she whispered, arching her neck. “I want you to have all of me that you can take.”
His groan, and the hard clutch of his hands on her shoulders, confused her, but a moment later he rubbed his cheek over one breast, brushing the nipple, making it tighten and sending the heat of arousal straight to her core. He definitely could grow a beard if he wanted to. She loved feeling that sandpapery rasp of stubble against her own tender skin.
Touching his incredibly smooth sac, feeling his heavy testicles shift beneath her fingers, running her hand along the rigid length of his penis . . . she’d never felt anything so hard and yet so smooth to the touch. Her mouth watered at the thought of taking him, tasting him. She had to sample him with her tongue. She nipped her way down his chest, tonguing his navel briefly before sliding down, dropping kisses along the underside of him, swirling her tongue around the incredibly soft skin of his corona. He tasted incredibly clean, as though he never sweated.
“Come here. I want to taste you too.” From the tone of his voice she felt his pain.
He turned her, lifted her, stroked along her flanks as though memorizing their contours. As if he loved the sensation of touching her, stoking her flames as she knelt over his face. His hands slid higher, his touch so gentle it seemed almost reverent. Yet arousing. When would he touch her intimately?
Now. He took his thumbs and opened her. Cool air made her shiver, but not for long. When he slid a finger along her labia, seeking, arousing, finding her clit and tonguing it, he seared her with his heat, his passion. He sucked her quivering flesh into his mouth while he stroked her swollen flesh with one hand. With the other he sought and found both breasts. Both sensitive nipples. Tugging there, sucking her clit, lapping up the moisture that gushed from her aroused body.
No man had ever made her so hot, so fast. She wanted him as needy as she, as eager to join their bodies and make love until they collapsed in a heap of sweat and exhaustion. Cupping his testicles in one hand, she wrapped the other around the base of his cock and took as much of him as she could into her mouth. He throbbed against her throat, so big, so smooth. When she swallowed, he let out a low moan against her own swollen clit.
Everywhere he touched her with his mouth drove her higher. Each sensuous slide of his tongue stoked her need. As though he knew she wanted even more contact, he pinched her nipples lightly and rubbed their aching tips against the satin-smooth skin that stretched over his washboard abs.
She needed more. Needed him inside her, stretching and filling her. Ramming into her over and over, building the pressure, bringing her to a climax like none she’d ever felt before. When she swallowed again, she felt his groan all the way to her womb. Her belly clenched. She sucked harder, ravenous for a taste of his essence. Her body arched involuntarily as the bubble of sensations burst, first deep inside her, then radiating to her swollen core, her breasts, everywhere any part of her touched part of him.
She’d never come so hard, so fast. Without a man inside her. God, she wanted now to taste the drop of lubrication she finally coaxed from his body. She raised her head and licked the slick, warm fluid from the tip of his cock.
She still thrummed with aftershocks from her orgasm moments later when he shifted, positioned himself, and drove into her from behind. He clutched her breasts again, kneading, stroking, building up a need for more, though she’d not yet recovered from the first climax he’d given her. His hard belly slammed against her buttocks with every pistoning motion of his hips, taking her higher . . . making her want more. More of him.
“Oh, yes, please.” The harder and deeper he took her, the more she wanted of him. “Give me all of you,” she begged, her voice no more than a whimper. “Now. Oh, yes. You’re so powerful.”
“So wanting to devour you, chérie.” He’d laid his head on her upper back—she could tell by the feel of his silky hair, the hint of evening beard growth tickling her skin. “Can’t . . . can’t hurt you, though. Never would forgive myself.”
“You won’t hurt me. I’m tougher than I look.” Those delicious feelings were building inside her again, needing the tiniest nudge to push her over the edge to ecstasy. “Claim me, Stefan. Don’t be gentle.”
He reared back, grasped her hips, pounded into her until all she could do was moan with the pleasure-pain of it. “Yes. Like that. Oh, yes.”
• • •
Stefan held tight rein on his emotions. She might say she wanted him to devour her, but she didn’t know. Didn’t know. She had no idea how having her flesh, so hot and giving, surrounding his cock like a tight, slick glove, aroused him. No clue how much he wanted to consume her, claim her. Make her his for all eternity.
It didn’t help that she was begging him to give her more, take more. Or that with his every stroke into her sweet channel, she opened further, took all of him, wouldn’t let him measure his strokes. He tightened his jaw, determined that when he came he wouldn’t take her the way he yearned to do.
He would not taste her. Mark her. He’d never give in to the need to claim her fully. Not at the risk of her life.
His balls tightened. He was close. His seed bubbled scalding hot, eager to spurt out into her waiting womb. Each contraction of her hot sheath around him brought him closer—closer to fulfillment. His fangs scraped his lower lip, growing, elongating, readying themselves to culminate the encounter, provide the ultimate sexual high she seemed to want so much.
No. It took a force of will he hadn’t been sure he possessed, but he managed to clamp down rather than dig into her tempting flesh when her trembling climax triggered his own. The pleasure would have overwhelmed him as he spurted the essence of himself into Julie’s eager body, but for the excruciating pain of his fangs piercing his own tongue.
• • •
“Why are you closing the drapes?” Julie asked the next morning after she’d let Noodles into the courtyard to take care of her morning toilette. She’d hoped Stefan would sleep for a while longer. He’d seemed drained last night after they made love a second time.
“Sit down, Julie.” He looked disturbingly so
lemn, deliciously naked but for the large towel he’d wrapped around his narrow hips.
Did he regret that they’d made love? “What’s wrong?” A lump formed in her throat when he took a seat not on the bed beside her but on the tapestry-covered chaise she’d found at an antique auction not long ago. Noodles deserted her, hopped up instead on the chaise, as close as she could get to Stefan.
He patted the dog when she licked his hand, then met Julie’s gaze. “I spoke the truth to you last night, Julie. I closed the drapes because sunlight is my enemy. I’m a vampire.”
Julie laughed then bent down to pet Noodles. “You’re being silly. You scared me for a minute there.”
His hand came down, took hers from Noodles. He drew it back up to hold between them, which also drew her gaze to his face.
He wasn’t smiling.
“You’re joking,” she said, not quite so certain now.
“You know my kind lives among yours now.”
“Of course I’ve heard of vampires. That doesn’t mean I believe in them. Or that I believe you’re one.” Still, Julie wondered. Vampires were said to possess frighteningly strong powers of persuasion, and Stefan had certainly drawn her in, made her want . . .
He met her gaze, his own expression deadly serious. “Why would you not believe? Our existence has been documented through the centuries.”
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