by Chris Lange
Initiate program. Enter telepod. Garrett’s house in San Francisco. Exit telepod. Damn, she didn’t have a flashlight. Feeling her way in the dark, she soon stumbled across a door. Her prayers were answered, at last.
A bright, full sun filtered through open doors so she located in no time the bedroom that housed her seven months ago. Once inside, she rushed to pull the drapes shut. Shit, not the best of times for a vampire to take a stroll.
Raphael, whose handsome and familiar face always occupied a corner of her mind and heart. The previous year, he said he’d keep lurking around and watching out for her return. But he didn’t mean in broad daylight.
Her visit here had been brief last night after she gave her father and Garrett the slip. In all likelihood, she’d left her scent in this house. If Raphael kept his word, he’d have smelled her. She could only hope he’d show up as soon as night fell. She only had to wait.
She flicked the curtain a little. The sun blazed in an endless blue sky. Faraway clouds hung motionless at the corner of her vision. If she was a fairytale princess, this would be the ideal moment to make a wish. But what kind?
Love? Hope? Alone in the mansion, she snorted at the incongruous thought. She’d only bring back despair and grief from this trip into a parallel world.
Wind caressed her cheek as a dark presence emerged from nowhere. She instantly shut the drape. Soundlessly, the shadow detached itself from the darkest corner of the room with unnatural grace.
Breath caught in her throat. “Raphael?”
“You look like a beautiful princess whispering to the heavens,” he said. “Are you in need of me?”
In a swift move, he nestled her into his open arms. She let him, sighing against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She didn’t cry this time, tears blocked in by the distress she hadn’t yet overcome.
While Raphael pressed her tighter against his chest, she allowed the hurt to flood over her. She called it. Crushed against the unyielding vampire’s body, she opened herself up to the pain and relished its fleeting power. She’d been dealt a stunning blow and in spite of her suffering, she’d have to get over it.
She breathed long and deep. Fresh air loosened up her constricted throat, filled her lungs, liberated her cramped stomach, and charged her with renewed fighting spirit. Coming off him, hitting her square, Raphael’s inner peace and strength brought her up to the next level.
She’d never been a whiny, self-pitying person. Damn almighty Garrett and his cheap tricks, but she wouldn’t become that kind of person. Not because of him, his parents, or his fucking fiancée. Not because of anyone.
Raising her head, she smiled at her reliable guardian vampire. “Thanks, Raphael, I needed a little cuddling.”
“Tracy, how are you feeling?”
“I’m good now. Can we talk? I have a favor to ask.”
For a brief moment, she stayed in his arms. Just a second longer. Hands around his neck, right up against his strong chest, she savored a much-desired feeling of safety and tranquility.
“I trust you have found what you came for.”
She wheeled around as Garrett’s cutting tone shattered the blissful spell bounding her. God damn it. He stood at the bedroom door, totally unbending, features concealed in the semi-darkness. The man of her dreams stared at her in Raphael’s arms and, oh, she was so busted.
“Yes, Garrett,” she said, “it appears I have.”
Stepping away from the vampire, she thought the time had come for these two males to meet in the true sense.
“Garrett, this is my friend Raphael. Raphael, this is Garrett.”
Neither of them gave the slightest indication they’d been introduced. Not a word, not even a nod. Clearly, they were off to a very promising start. Failing to notice whatever masculine competition draped its cloak over the three of them, she filled Raphael in on recent developments in London.
When she concluded her recounting, he nodded. “So you want me to gain entrance into that vampires’ lair, gather information, and report back to you.”
“In a nutshell, yes,” she breathed. “Would you agree to do it, Raphael?”
“It depends. Is it for you, Tracy . . .?” The tall creature of the night raised his gaze toward Garrett who hadn’t yet moved from the doorframe. “Or for him?”
Jesus, so war had been declared. Her back to Garrett, she winced at the thick silence. No reaction. No groping and fighting.
While the stare-down continued, she whispered to the vampire. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t for me.”
“In that case,” he replied, “it will be as the lady wishes.”
“Thanks a lot, Raphael. There’s just something you should be aware of before we go. You’ll have to enter a traveling device that stops hearts from beating. Is this going to be a problem?”
Fleeting emotions rippled across the vampire’s face. Irony at the sudden off-the-wall situation? Regret of not being human anymore? Longing for a different kind of existence? Sorrow?
Whatever the case, he quickly pulled himself together and shook his head. “My heart stopped beating a long time ago.”
Quick but uncomfortable as could be, the trip to London saw the three of them clustered into the telepod. They avoided each other’s gazes and probably looked like a ménage about to take their first gamey ride.
Garrett excused himself as they stepped into the garden house. He’d followed her to his mansion because they were supposed to go there together. Instead, she took off on her own. What went through his mind when he didn’t see her after dinner? Was he concerned for her safety, or because he realized she’d meet Raphael alone?
Stiff as a ramrod, Garrett made for the manor probably assuming she’d give all necessary instructions to the vampire he used to call a beggar. She did just that.
Raphael having a vast amount of knowledge about London, his getting to the docks would be duck soup. He’d be back in the morning, but chances were he might be delayed and she shouldn’t worry. No sign of him only meant he was holing up somewhere until sunset. Then Raphael took off, swift shadow among shadows.
Alone again, she headed back to the manor’s guest bedroom. She managed to get rid of her evening gown without help and unlace the ankle boots. Barefoot, thoughts churning, she weighed up the pros and cons.
Garrett had found her nestled into Raphael’s arms. On top of his suspicions about her having sex with Timothy, this must have been the last straw. He believed her a slut.
Would she ever get to sleep with this burden weighing on her mind? On the other hand, Garrett owed her an explanation. They’d been separated for months all right, but did that give him the right to pounce on another woman? To hanker after wedlock with Miss Perfect? No, not in her book.
She paced the room, restless, undecided, the heavy nightdress feeling weird on her skin. Like a straightjacket. Somewhere down the hall, she heard a clock strike midnight. So late already. Would she play princess in her bedroom, sighing and moping, or would she at least attempt to turn her life around?
She looked at the beautiful red dress, now lying on the back of a chair. It seemed she’d already played princess tonight. Not bothering to put shoes on despite the cold floor, she went for the door.
Sharply aware of her surroundings, she glanced around nervously before tiptoeing along the hallway. Then she knocked briefly and barged into Garrett’s room as soon as she heard his muffled voice. Pushing the door closed behind her, her arm poised in mid-air, she pursed her lips to keep from tittering.
Garrett was stark naked.
He froze, caught between the bed and his bathrobe placed on the back of an armchair. His cheeks tinged with red as he looked trapped and embarrassed. She started giggling and he retreated back to the bed, his brow furrowing with each step.
He leapt into bed, flattened his back agai
nst a big pillow, and quickly covered his nudity with a thick, brown, fluffy bedspread.
When he spoke to her, his tone conveyed sheepishness rather than anger. “Do you not wait to be invited in?”
“You told me to come in.”
“I certainly did not. I merely asked for a moment.”
Maybe he did. After all, she’d been in such a hurry to avoid being spotted in the hallway that she didn’t listen to his answer.
“Sorry, my bad,” she said with a gentle tone.
Looking like a dark naked prince in his king-size bed, he eyed her long nightdress from neck to toe. “Anyhow, Miss Richardson, why are you prowling the corridors dressed in this attire?”
She approached the huge bed, fit to accommodate a family of six. She didn’t go further than the foot of the bed, halted by his forbidding gaze.
“I need to talk to you, Garrett.”
Even knowing it was a bad idea, she had to hear the horrible truth from him. She’d cry later, she’d whimper, she’d scream her fury and frustration at the world. But right now she needed him to confirm he would get married to Miss Perfect. Steeling herself for the blow, she opened her mouth.
A definite knock at the door interrupted her. They reacted instantly, in perfect unison. Garrett lifted the bedspread, she jumped under. He drew his knees up, she wriggled between his legs. As the covers went back down, she heard another knock and a feminine voice coming through the door.
“Garrett. It is I, Mother.”
Gosh, no, not the mom. That despicable woman hated her, and if she found her hiding in her son’s bed, no doubt both members of the Richardson family would be chucked out of the manor. For the Lady Anne, getting rid of an undesired guest would be a real treat.
“Come in, Mother,” Garrett said.
What was he doing? Had he gone insane in the last few seconds? Although he’d drawn his knees up to conceal the lump her body made, anything could happen. She could be struck by a bout of coughing, or sneezing.
Just thinking about being discovered made her nose tickle. Enveloped in warm darkness, she took a long, silent breath and relied on her sense of hearing. The door opened and closed with a click.
“May we speak, Garrett?”
Although muffled to her ears, his mother’s voice sounded firm but distant. She must be standing by the door.
“By all means, Mother.”
Without lowering his knees, Garrett slightly shifted his body into a more comfortable position. Something brushed past her nose at the same time.
“I surmise,” his mother said, “you have conferred with your father thus you shall . . .”
A brief silence ensued, Lady Anne’s voice consequently sounding surprised and very displeased. “Have you retired to bed disrobed?”
What did she want? Did the sight of her son naked in bed shock her? No wonder Garrett always seemed to carry the burden of his education. Lest he should forget, these people reminded him all the time.
Garrett let out a sigh. “It appears so.”
Now that was an answer. He didn’t apologize for breaching a rule of diplomatic etiquette, but in his own careful way he confronted his mother.
Huddled under the bedspread, Tracy smiled as a burst of pride swelled within her chest. Her cheeks puffed out and something soft, warm, and asleep made contact. Reacting on impulse, she gave it a quick lick. Garrett gasped.
“What ails you, Dearest?” the Lady Anne asked.
“A mere touch of queasiness,” Garrett replied. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
His mother didn’t sound over worried in any case. A shuffling coming from the direction of the door informed Tracy that the woman neared her hiding place. Refusing to be rooted out, she slowed her breathing. Then she felt it again, right against her chin, this time hard and totally awake.
What in the Hell had possessed her? Why on Earth had she stuck her tongue out and licked his sex? To reward him because for once he stood up for himself? A silly notion in fact, yet it felt exhilarating.
“Garrett,” the Lady Anne said, “you ought to be made aware that your father and I wish to see Mister Richardson and his daughter gone by the morrow. Naturally, Andrew shall be reproved for summoning such a rustic crowd to our manor. I must say Lady Ashton and myself were rather appalled by their horrid manners. Hence, would you handle the matter discreetly?”
What fucking nerve! How did that horrid creature dare utter such a sentence? Who was she to treat them like a pair of beggars?
Garrett shifted one leg. “I believe Father spent a rather agreeable evening with Mister Richardson. As a matter of fact, he told me so himself.”
She licked his flesh again. This time, she ran her tongue from the base to the tip. Garrett jerked, his shaft stiff as steel.
Clearly spotting his twitching, his mother inquired. “Should I call for the physician?”
“Do not trouble yourself, Mother, I’ll be fine. Nonetheless, I need to rest at present and I require to be left alone.”
Garrett sounded raspy and short of breath. Although her son might have been sicker than he let on, the woman accepted his words without a trace of emotion in her tone. Which planet did she live in?
“As you wish, Dearest. I trust we shall pursue this conversation at your earliest convenience.”
“That is not my intention, Mother.”
Feeling way more than seeing, Tracy licked the taut skin of his hard-on, caressing the tip in a long, gentle swipe. He whined.
“Garrett—” Lady Anne’s tone conveyed a hint of solicitude, at last.
The sheet rustled as though Garrett suddenly held up a hand. She couldn’t see anything, but she knew the rise and fall of his stern voice.
“I bid you goodnight, Mother.”
“Goodnight, Dearest.”
The sound of feet moved toward the entrance, followed by a slight creaking of hinges. The door closed. Hurray, the dragon queen was finally gone.
Before she could get out of the covers, Garrett’s burst of indignation flogged her. “How dare you touch me in that manner?”
Chapter 11
Tracy battled with the bedspread, managed to twist a corner, and pushed it aside while rising to her knees.
Although freeing herself was required, she wanted to see Garrett’s expression. Not so much his anger as the fierce need that would be painted on his face. Would she ever master the powerful lust shackling him to her?
Hair in disarray, an impish glint in her eyes, she eyed the naked man. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
His jaws tensed, his unflinching gaze drilled into hers, his mouth opened, yet no words came out. He clearly was too stunned for coherent speech or action. With a playful smile, she ran light fingers along the sides of his thighs. Up and down. As if nailed to the bed, he stared at her hands.
“I think you love being licked, Lord Burnes,” she said. “Look at you now.”
His erection seemed to be calling her. Actually the more she looked, the more she felt like going down on him. He must have sensed her desire because his ability to order her around came back in a rush.
“Tracy, I forbid you to—”
Not Miss Richardson anymore, but Tracy. Wow, big improvement. She bent her head and took his tip in her mouth. He seemed to be crushed by a violent chest pain. His leg muscles stiffened, his sudden intake of breath tore the silence of the room, and he emitted a low guttural sound.
She lazily rolled her fingers around the hairy base of his hard-on, fastened the head between her lips, and traced the contours with her tongue. Wetting the delicate flesh, she licked it with slow motions, her circles tender and careful.
She heard a throaty growl.
Still holding his tip, she squeezed it gently before relaxing the gentle pressure. His chest heaved wh
en she did it for the third time. One more touch and his knees buckled, his legs dropping onto the mattress. From the corner of her eye, she saw his right hand clench the bedspread.
“Good heavens,” he uttered with difficulty, “this is most inappropriate.”
Pleasure gripped him fast, his slurred elocution and tensed muscles declaring his inner turmoil. “I shan’t allow you to disgrace yourself, Tracy.”
She let go of him, yet his shaft stayed high and proud. Features drawn, the desire on his face looked almost painful.
“You won’t,” she said softly.
“But—”
“Hush.”
The next squeeze of her fingers cut him short. He was loving it. He was aching for it. So much so that he must be on the verge of relinquishing his formal upbringing. Maybe with a little nudge . . .
“Would you like me to lick your balls, Lord Burnes?” she asked.
His eyes widened, shocked incredulity flitting through their depths, and a wince disturbed his right cheekbone. Speechless for now, he stared at her as if the whole manor was about to crash down on them.
Although his startled expression could pass for extreme surprise at her request, she began to wonder if that particular round and sensitive part of him had ever been cuddled. Virgin balls? Seriously?
Whatever. For once, she wanted him to decide for himself, to finally acknowledge the reality of his needs and desires. She waited for an instant then speaking with utter deference, she repeated her question.
“Would you like me to lick your balls, Lord Burnes?”
She’d memorized his face so well that she didn’t miss the sudden, genuine resolve flashing in his dark eyes. In that beautiful second, he cast his sturdy armor yet again and opened up to her, to life.