A Candidate For The Kiss

by Angela Knight

  Suddenly there was the breath-stealing sensation of fingers stroking her nipple in a light, velvet flutter. Archer's other hand brushed down her spine to linger on the upper curve of her ass.

  Dana shivered at the sensation and lifted her head. Archer looked down at her, his eyes intensely blue, the lids heavy. She stood on her toes and stretched her neck up until she could taste his firm mouth.

  A quick brush of the lips, once, then again, then a slow foray with her tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth. He opened for her, letting her explore his lips and trace the edges of his teeth. She touched the point of a fang and drew back, startled. Archer looked down at her, eyes shuttered, subtly challenging.

  Quick as an impulse, she leaned forward again and slipped her head up under his jaw to the strong cords of his throat. Taking the smooth skin there between her teeth, she gently bit down. He tasted salty, tempting, male. He moaned.

  "I see why you like to bite," she whispered against his skin, and began to nibble.

  "It does have its... pleasures," Archer agreed, his voice rasping.

  Slowly, Dana worked her way lower, using her tongue and teeth, lapping and raking in turn, exploring his chest, the ridges of his abdominals, the ripples of his ribs. As she moved, the tips of her breasts brushed against him, the pressure sending curls of rosy pleasure through her.

  Until she was on her knees, the rigid length of his cock thrusting out beside her face, the hair of his thighs caressing her nipples. She felt languorous, hungry, as bewitched by her own gentle teasing as he was.

  And he was bewitched. When Dana tilted a look up at him, she found his azure eyes locked on her, watching her every move with a kind of tortured anticipation. She could almost see him wondering when she was going to take his cock into her mouth, see him aching for the firestorm of sensation her tongue and teeth and lips would bring.

  Watching him wait, Dana felt a burst of feminine power. She was doing this to him, just as he'd made her writhe and ache last night.

  She turned her eyes to his cock again, studying it, admiring the thick stalk, the big, heart-shaped head that blushed dark with the force of his passion. It quivered and lengthened, taking on a pronounced upward jut.

  Dana put out her tongue and licked away a drop of pre-come. He jolted against her mouth. "God, Dana..."

  She licked the head again, watching it bob under the stroke, then leaned closer and caught it in her mouth. And began to suck. Gently at first, then harder. She felt him dip, as if his knees had gone weak for an instant. Smiling around his width, Dana pressed her head forward until the thick shaft moved deeper between her lips. Then pulled back, tightening her lips at the same time to create a demanding suction. She closed her eyes as smooth length slid from her mouth, remembering how it had felt when he'd stroked it into her sex.

  A strong hand came to rest on top of her head, fingers lacing through her curls. She felt him shudder and reversed her stroke, taking him deeper and deeper, until the big head brushed the back of her throat.

  Archer gasped as her mouth drew at him with such power it made his head swim. It felt so good, so hot.

  And the sight of her, slim and naked, kneeling between his feet with her wrists bound behind her back and her lips wrapped around his cock. God, he could come just looking at her.

  She slid forward again, pleasuring him until he wanted to explode down her throat. Yet it wasn't enough. He needed her sex clamped where her mouth was, hot and tight and wet. He wanted her body pressed to his, flexing against his strength. Surrendering.

  And he wanted her blood. He wanted it flooding his mouth in a wave of liquid copper.

  Now.

  Half-maddened, Archer pulled out of the unbearably seductive suction of her mouth, almost groaning at the loss of her wet heat even as he bent and scooped Dana off the floor.

  He turned to the couch and dropped her lush body belly-down over its padded leather arm. The position thrust out her rounded, heart-shaped ass, inviting his possession.

  Dana moaned.

  Archer grabbed his cock in one hand, aimed for the glistening red folds of her sex. And thrust.

  God, she was wet. Sucking him must have aroused her as much as it had him. And she was just as tight, clutching him like a slick fist, her grip so strong he had to bear down to force his way deeper.

  The sensation seared its way up his spine to his skull with brutal intensity.

  Shivering, Archer settled against her until the full curve of her bottom nestled into his groin. And slowly, he began to thrust.

  God, he felt so big in this position. Thick, forcing her to spread. And strong. She couldn't have kept him out even if she'd wanted to. And she didn't.

  Dana hung there over the couch arm, head down, feeling his powerful hands clamping her hips as he tunneled in and out. It felt as if each thrust impaled her to the heart, sending sparks of pleasure spiraling along her nerves. She whimpered in raw delight.

  Archer leaned over her, slipping his arms under her torso to gather her close. His fingers found her nipples, plucked and strummed as he fucked her. His thrusts grew even faster, harder, winding the plea-sure like a spring. He felt huge inside her, too much, far too much, yet she could only hang there in his hands, bound and helpless. The thought made her close her eyes in wicked delight.

  Suddenly Archer crowded hard against her, his thighs trapping hers against the side of the couch as he reamed her in short, hard strokes. One hand gripped her breast as the other dragged her head back by the hair. She stiffened, realizing what he intended.

  Just as he sank his fangs into her throat.

  Dana convulsed helplessly, the combination of pleasure and pain kicking her over into a long, rolling orgasm that continued to shake her while he drank, still pistoning into her, ruthless, hungry and possessive.

  Until he lifted his head from her and roared out his own climax.

  It took Archer thirty minutes to recover enough to carry her back to bed. Dana protested sleepily that she was perfectly capable of walking under her own steam, but he suspected she was lying. He shouldn't have drunk from her so soon after the last time; he never did that. He had a firm rule against taking from the same partner twice in a six-week period.

  But then, he'd never made anyone a vampire before.

  Holding her as she sank into a doze, Archer realized that was exactly what he was going to do.

  She was everything he'd spent two centuries searching for. A vampire had fantastic power, and he'd always feared giving the Dark Kiss to someone undeserving. But Dana would never misuse those superhuman abilities; she had too keen a sense of idealism and morality. She would be the perfect agent.

  More than that. she'd be the perfect wife.

  Archer loved her humor and intelligence—not to mention all that shy sensuality. He could easily imagine spending the next three hundred years being fascinated by her, working with her, making love to her.

  He almost woke her up right then to blurt out his proposal. But there was no rush.

  They had forever.

  So he let her sleep, savoring her warm, smooth curves as she nestled into him. Until finally she stirred against him and woke.

  Then, heart in his throat, he began telling her everything.

  "I met the Countess when I went to her estate in France to negotiate the purchase of a wine shipment," Archer said, his chest vibrating under her chin.

  Dana had been staring dreamily into his handsome face. Now she sat up, attention instantly caught. The Countess had been the one who'd made him a vampire. "Shipment?"

  "We were merchants," he explained. "My family owned a number of ships, and I'd heard she bottled the best wine in France. We traded letters for a year before she finally invited me to her chateau to finish the negotiations." Archer smiled faintly. "God, that house. I'd never seen anything like it. The furnishings, the art. We were wealthy, but not like her" The amusement drained away. "She realized I could survive the change the moment she met me."

  "And s
educed you" Dana felt a sting of jealousy, then was instantly ashamed when she remembered he'd said the Countess had been killed by a French mob.

  Archer nodded, the look in his eyes distant with memory. "She

  was lovely—all dark beauty and wicked fascination. It didn't take me long to fall in love. I was willing to do anything for her. Even become a vampire."

  She propped her chin on her fist and studied him. "Was she in love with you?"

  Archer shrugged. "She said she was. And I know she was lonely. It gets very lonely, after a hundred years or so. You become willing to do damn near anything for company" He hesitated. "But we were very happy in the three years we had together.

  "Then my brother wrote to tell me my parents had been murdered."

  As Dana listened in horror, he described how his father, James, had thrown his support behind the American fight for independence. During a trip to Boston to meet with leaders of the rebellion, a rival British merchant and a gang of Tories attacked James and Archer's mother at the docks. The men dragged them into a warehouse, where they used clubs to beat James Archer until he was broken and dying. Then they turned their attention to his wife.

  The couple was dead by the time they were found two days later.

  "Their deaths haunted me," Archer said, his voice distant and terrible. "The thought of my parents dying in that filthy warehouse, each knowing the other was suffering, neither able to help. All because some greedy bastard wanted to get rid of a rival, and some Tories wanted to make a point."

  He'd booked passage back on the same ship that had brought his brother's letter. The Countess had cried and begged him to stay, but Archer had turned a deaf ear. She finally told him she'd get her affairs in order and join him.

  Archer arrived in Boston like an avenging demon. He used his powers to hunt down the men who'd murdered his mother and father, then systematically killed them all.

  "I had no mercy," he said. "They deserved none. My parents weren't the only innocents they'd killed trying to terrorize supporters of the rebellion." Archer paused, his eyes chilling. "And they weren't acting alone. Before he died, one of the Tories told me they'd been carrying out British orders. A particularly brutal Redcoat major out to build a name for himself." His voice flattened. "He told them to make my parents an example."

  "What did you do?" Dana swallowed, caught between fascination and horror.

  Archer looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. "I slipped into British headquarters when he was working late one night. And I made him an example."

  But that wasn't the end of Archer's war. He left the major's bloody body and headed straight for the nearest Continental commander to offer his services. Archer couldn't join the army because he couldn't fight daylight battles, but he could become a spy. It was no job for a gentleman, but in his hate and grief, he didn't care.

  Archer spent the rest of the war among the British, assuming various guises to observe their fortifications and troop strength, sometimes even gaining access to commanders and using his psychic influence to discover their plans.

  "You could have influenced them into deliberately losing," Dana observed.

  He frowned, stroking her slim fingers absently. "There were times I was tempted, but I always drew the line. It didn't seem honorable. Like beating a bound prisoner, there are some things you just don't do"

  As Archer went on telling her about his experiences, Dana realized he'd become addicted to the idealism and the danger of his cause. Even after the war was over, he continued using his talents to gather information and undermine the country's enemies.

  Yet even in his zeal, he hadn't forgotten his Countess. Archer continued to exchange letters with her, even traveling to France for frequent visits, but he never stayed long. Conditions in the fledgling United States were too uncertain, and he couldn't stand to be away. The Countess swore she'd join him, but busy with her estate and the worsening conditions in France as the country spiraled into revolution, she never did.

  Until the day came when Archer got word she had been murdered.

  "A mob is the greatest danger to a vampire," he said, his voice

  soft, bitter. "Once it gets going, you can't stop it. Influence doesn't work on that many people in the grip of bloodlust." He stared broodingly at nothing. "They hacked off her head with a scythe"

  Guilt-stricken, Archer returned to France to try to find her killers. This time he had no luck, and he finally returned home to the cause that was now all he had left.

  "As the years went on, America became everything to me," Archer said. "Friends and enemies age and die, but she remains. I've watched her grow from a sickly newborn to the queen of the world. I've watched her act from greed and gallantry. I've seen her whore to rich men, then turn and sacrifice her own children for the freedom of others. There is no other nation like her. She's worth every lie I've told, every life I've taken, every morning I've faced with dread."

  As Dana listened in spellbound fascination, Archer described the wars he'd fought and the missions he'd carried out. He was brutally frank, describing not only the triumphs but the failures that still made guilt flare in his eyes decades later. His stories were an enthralling glimpse of the past, of the people and events that had molded the country.

  And as he spoke, he unwittingly revealed himself—a powerful man moving invisibly among powerful men, using his abilities to play a prominent role in history that he allowed few people to even know about. A ruthless man, yet quietly, intensely honorable.

  "Why are you telling me this?" she asked at last, uneasy. It didn't seem in character for a man who'd made secrecy a way of life for two centuries. "You can't make me forget it."

  Archer rolled over on his side and braced himself on one elbow. He met her eyes, his expression so serious her unease increased.

  "Dana, the Countess knew I could become a vampire because she tried to influence me into giving her a better price on the wine. And it didn't work."

  Understanding hit Dana like a punch so brutal she lost her breath. When her heart began beating again, she whispered, "Like me."

  "Like you."

  Dana licked her lips. "All this... These things you've told me..." She stopped and almost lost her courage, then forced herself to continue. The words came out in a rush. "Archer, are you saying you want to make me a vampire?"

  His blue eyes were steady, staring into hers with a quiet intensity. "If you agree."

  A crazy joy bloomed in Dana's chest. He wanted her to stay with him. Forever.

  "We could do so much," Archer said, and reached out to cover one of her hands with his own. "Dana, you have no idea how I need you—how the country needs you."

  She froze.

  "Even with all my abilities, I'm only one man. But working together, we..."

  A wave of shock washed over her skin, so cold that for a blessed moment she went completely numb. Humiliated understanding roared in behind it.

  Archer had been planning this from the first. He had guessed her secret fantasies, and he'd used them to bring her to heel. He'd played the demon lover, tied her and taken her and made her hotter than she'd ever been in her life. But to him it had been just another mission. It had never touched him at all.

  She had never touched him at all. While he had made himself everything to her.

  "...Have to undergo training, of course. Weapons and tactics. Languages. You'll need to.. ."

  "No."

  Archer blinked. "What?"

  Biting off the words, Dana said, "I'm not going to spend the next two hundred years whoring for this country." I'm not going to spend the next two hundred years in love with you, watching you seduce an endless succession of willing women.

  It was only after she'd thought the word "love" that she realized she meant it.

  Jesus, it had only been twenty-four hours. You didn't fall in love in a day. Not with a normal man.

  But Archer was not a normal man. He was so damn good, so

  damn seductive—not just his
body, but his intelligence and idealism and that damn honor. He'd slipped into her heart like the spy he was, and he'd taken it.

  "You're not just a spy," she said brutally, wanting to hurt him. "`You're a whore."

  "No" The word came out as a whisper, sounding somehow wounded. Another of his actor's tricks. "I've... done some things I'm not proud of, but I've also saved a lot of lives." For once his eloquence failed him. Dana could almost see him groping for a way to defend himself. "Just last year there was this terrorist with a nuclear..."

  "I need to get dressed" She couldn't take any more of this, or she was going to humiliate herself and start sobbing.

  Dana lurched off the bed, then realized she was nude. She couldn't stand to be naked in front of him—he'd stripped her enough as it was. She grabbed the hem of the sheet and tried to drag it off the bed, but it wouldn't come, caught under one of Archer's trim male hips. Dana gave it another ruthless jerk.

  Immersing her in a glare that was beginning to sizzle with grow-ling rage, Archer freed it.

  "Thank you." Back rigid, Dana wrapped the length of cloth around her body, then turned and made for the bureau where she'd stashed her folded jeans. "Look, do you have a T-shirt? You ripped mine."

  "I don't understand you." His voice rumbled with anger, threatening as the thunder before a storm. "I could make you immortal."

  In one fluid movement, Archer rolled off the bed and strode naked toward her. She refused to look at that magnificent, deceptive body as he stopped inches away. "You would never grow old. You could take a shotgun blast to the chest and survive. Hell, you could bench press a Toyota, see in the dark..."

  "Leap tall buildings in a single bound and turn into a bat. I know." Dana jerked on the jeans with trembling hands.

  The corners of his mouth twitched in a bitter fragment of a smile. "The bat thing is a myth."

  "Well, if I can't turn into a bat, why bother?" She zipped the jeans.

  "Hell, I don't know. Maybe for the men who died at Bunker Hill and Gettysburg and Normandy." Fury emanated from him like his potent body heat. "That old cliché is dead-on, Dana—freedom ain't free. Sometimes people have to step up and pay the bill."