He knew that, not because he was a vampire and could see her every thought. Because he couldn’t—not while she wore a blindfold. Rather, he read the desperation in the rapid rise and fall of her luscious breasts, the frantic gasp that parted her full pink lips, the way she lifted her hips and arched into his mouth.
She clutched the sheets and threw her head back. A cry burst from her lips and an orgasm gripped her voluptuous body.
He felt the rush of warmth against his tongue and tasted her sweet, vibrant energy. He soaked it up, licking and sucking and holding her close until the last spasm subsided and she went limp, her legs spread wide, her body spent.
Easing back, he stared at her for a long moment and relished the sight of her before his appetite reminded him that it wasn’t nearly satisfied. He unzipped his jeans and shoved them down. His erection sprang forward, hot and pulsing.
Old habits died hard and he fished a condom from his pants pocket. Ripping it open, he rolled the latex onto his cock. His fingertips brushed the engorged head and a hiss sizzled past his lips. Hunger gnawed at him, pushing and pulling at his insides.
He settled himself between her legs, arms braced on either side of her, his hot erection pressed against her damp cleft. She was so wet and warm, and Rayne forgot all about the soft touches and seductive petting he engaged in with most women. The more turned on they were, the fiercer the climax.
But this was different. This was Lucy and suddenly the need to be inside her preceded everything.
His first thrust was deep and urgent. Light exploded behind his eyes and his heart seemed to stop. Her body felt so soft and slick and right.
The thought struck just as she lifted her hips to draw him in a fraction deeper. Pleasure, hot and acute, rushed through him and for the next few moments he forgot all about the demon that now lived and breathed inside him. Time sucked him back and instead of the hunger, he felt the pure, bone-deep ecstasy of being with Lucy Rivers.
He thrust into her again, fast, furious, desperate. He kept going, pounding over and over until his own climax hit him like a freight train. His muscles bunched. His body tightened. Before he could stop himself, his lips pulled back, his fangs tingled and a fierce cry rumbled up his throat.
Lucy froze, her hands going to the blindfold.
“No,” he growled. He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.
“But something’s wrong—”
He pressed his mouth to hers and silenced the rest of her words. She tasted so sweet and he ached to sink his fangs into her bottom lip, to feel the spurt of blood as it rushed over his tongue and burned down his throat and—
No!
He shot to his feet. Yanking on his clothes, he hit the door as fast as his vampire speed could carry him.
As much as she made him feel like just a man when he was in her arms, he knew better. He felt the beast eating away inside him, demanding more. His body trembled and his hands shook. It was all he could do to make it around the side of the building to his pickup and haul open the door before it was too late.
Before he sank his fangs into her sweet flesh and drank his fill—the way he had that first time when he’d all but killed that poor woman outside a village in Kabul.
He’d tasted the first few drops and he’d been out of control. An animal. A murderer.
All the more reason for him to finish his business in Skull Creek and get the hell out. Before the bloodlust got the best of him and he finally lost complete control.
He intended to be far, far away from anyone when that happened again.
Shoving the truck into gear, he peeled out of the parking lot and hauled his hungry ass in the opposite direction.
LUCY PUSHED THE blindfold from her eyes just as the peel of tires echoed in her head.
What the…?
She glanced around the cheap motel room, her gaze searching for some sign of him. His boots tossed on the floor. Jeans in a pile. Shirt hooked over the back of a chair.
Nothing.
It was if she’d just imagined the entire encounter.
Except for her body.
Her nipples ached from being sucked. Her skin tingled from the rasp of his fingertips. Her clitoris pulsed from the stroke of his erection as he’d plunged into her.
She tossed back the sheet. Heat fired her cheeks as she pushed to her feet. She stumbled to the nearest window just as the grumble of the engine faded. Catching the edge of the shade, she pushed it aside and stared through the dingy glass. The motel signed buzzed near the road, the VACANCY light shining in bright green letters, illuminating the gravel parking lot. Wispy white dust lingered in the air, settling on the hood of her small red Saturn that sat nearby. There was no sign of a second vehicle. A motorcycle. Not even a bicycle.
Because he’s long gone.
Her chest tightened and her eyes burned and she stiffened.
So what if he’d left already? It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to have an actual conversation with the guy. She had to be up early tomorrow. She was buying a new blanket for Miss Wilma to replace the one Dr. Jekyll, aka Cupid, had destroyed a few days ago. After that, she had to head into work early to do some inventory for Zeke before the Horseshoe opened at lunchtime.
She didn’t have time for small talk.
Still…he could have at least said something. “It was nice.” “I enjoyed it.” Something.
She forced her hand away and flipped on a nearby lamp. Pulling on her discarded clothes, she tried to ignore the crazy disappointment that whispered through her.
She should be happy right now. Ecstatic. Relieved.
She’d given in to her traitorous hormones, which meant she could face Rayne Montana without the overwhelming urge to jump his bones.
Holding tight to the hope, Lucy pulled on her clothes, snatched up her purse and headed back to town.
There would be no more lewd thoughts or wet dreams or erotic fantasies.
She was good to go. Back in control. Satisfied.
SHE WASN’T EVEN CLOSE to being satisfied.
Lucy admitted that much when she finally turned into her driveway a half hour later. Her hands shook and her skin tingled and she felt as anxious as when she’d first pulled up at the motel.
She tried to ignore the strange feelings as she let Cupid out in the backyard to get a little exercise and turned her attention to what was left of her laundry room. She swept up the dog food he’d spilled and threw out the blouse he’d shredded. And the pillowcase. And a pair of her favorite jeans.
But no matter how hard she worked or how many ingenious deaths she plotted for the mean little dog, she couldn’t seem to distract herself from the memories.
They stayed with her, keeping her nerves on edge and her body primed.
She tried everything she could think of to unwind—a glass of warm milk and meditation and even a few hours of mindless infomercials. Nothing helped. Instead, she wound up buying two juicers off the QVC and a night cream guaranteed to stave off crow’s-feet for another twenty years.
By the time she finally relaxed enough to doze off, it was almost daybreak.
Cupid woke her up an hour later with several sharp barks.
“Just be quiet for a half hour,” she grumbled as she forced her eyes open and glared at the dog that perched on the end of the bed. “Please. I’ll give you anything you want. Just name it. An extra jerky treat. A rawhide strip. My first born.” The animal wagged its tail and dipped its nose. That was when Lucy noticed the small pink pillow at Cupid’s feet.
The pillow was the result of her first home-economics assignment. Since she hadn’t had any money to buy real material, she’d cut up an old party dress she’d bought for a quarter at the local Salvation Army. The result had earned her first A ever and it had been the first time she’d felt really proud of herself.
She’d wanted to be a designer from that moment on.
Cupid growled and nuzzled the pillow and Lucy knew immediately what the dog had in mind. “Don’t even
think about it.”
Cupid dropped the pink sequined square and stepped on the edges with both paws. He let loose a tell-tale growl and eyeballed the pillow.
“I mean it.” Lucy struggled upright and reached for the stuffed memento, but Cupid was faster. The animal snatched it up, threw it to the floor and pounced. Fabric ripped and stuffing flew.
“Noooooooo!” Lucy scrambled from the bed and hit the floor on all fours, but it was too late. The pillow was a shredded mess. “That’s it. You’re dead meat.”
“I knew it,” a voice declared from a nearby window.
Lucy glanced up from her hands and knees to see Eileen Warner from the local animal shelter peering in the open window, a clipboard in hand. “Need I remind you that death threats violate the ninth code of the Skull Creek Animal Shelter Bill of Animal Rights.”
“I wasn’t threatening him. I was just—”
“Trying to get him to quiet down by whatever means necessary in order to catch a few more minutes of sleep? You have a dog now, Miss Rivers. A living, breathing creature that depends on you for everything. That is a hefty responsibility. Now if you’re not up for it, I will be glad to take Cupid with me and find him a new owner—”
“I didn’t mean to threaten him. It’s just that he ripped up my—”
“That’s what dogs do,” Eileen cut in. “They chew on things and rip them up. Get used to it, or give up Cupid to someone who doesn’t mind catering to the eccentric behavior of such a dear, sweet boy. I know a dozen people right now who would love to take him off your hands. I, myself, would even be willing to give him a good home. I’ve been meaning to get a dog of my own since Hank and I tied the knot. Our new house has a fenced-in backyard and everything.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe Miss Moon left him to you in the first place. She worshipped that dog. It makes absolutely no sense at all.”
To anyone but Lucy.
Miss M had been skeptical of Lucy’s vow to turn her life around. The old woman had nagged and predicted failure. But when Lucy had scrimped and saved enough money to put the deposit down on her house, Miss M had finally been convinced. Lucy was, indeed, changing her life, and the old woman had been proud.
She hadn’t said as much, of course. We’re talking Miss M. But Lucy had arrived at her new home to find a huge fruit basket on her front steps and a note that read, You Can Do It.
She’d known the sender’s identity right away. She’d also known that Miss M was trying to encourage her without blowing her own reputation for being an uppity hard ass, which was why she’d neglected to sign her name.
Still, Miss M had wanted her to succeed.
Which was why she’d given her Cupid.
Lucy glanced at the ball of fluff. He sat there looking like anything but the spawn of Satan. He wagged his tail and barked at her as if to say, “Let’s play.”
“He’s such a sweet dog,” Eileen remarked. “Anyone would be lucky to have him.”
Lucy ignored the yapping dog, pushed to her feet and reached for her robe.
“Anyone, that is,” Eileen went on, “but you.” Her gaze narrowed as she eyed Lucy. “It’s obvious you can’t handle him. Why don’t you just admit that you’re in over your head and—”
“Thanks so much for stopping by,” Lucy cut in. She reached for the window. “But I’ve got it under control.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me—”
She shoved the glass down, threw the latch and pulled the curtains. Drawing a deep breath, she turned back and glared at the schizophrenic dog. “Look, I don’t like you and you obviously don’t like me, but we’re stuck in this together so we might as well call a truce. You stay away from my stuff and I won’t feed you to Zeke’s German Shepherd. Agreed?”
The animal’s response was to launch another attack on the one scrap of fabric that had survived the first offensive.
So much for making a deal with the devil.
Lucy reached down and pried the fabric from Cupid’s mouth. She herded the animal into the backyard and then turned to what was left of her pillow. She blinked back the tears, steeled herself and gathered up the pieces.
She spent the rest of her morning hunched over her sewing machine, trying to stitch together the odds and ends. Cupid might have won the battle, but she fully intended to win the war. She wasn’t giving up on him anymore than she was giving up on herself.
Nor was she picking up the phone again for another sex date with Andre.
No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.
9
HE WAS DYING. He knew that even though he could have sworn he’d been attacked just two days ago.
Or was it three?
He couldn’t seem to quiet the pounding in his skull and sort through the strange images that filled his head. He just knew he was here on the side of some mountain. The quarter moon hung suspended in the sky, casting just enough light for him to see the narrow path that cut through the rough terrain.
Pain gripped his entire body. Clenching his muscles. Digging down deep and biting at his bones.
He stumbled forward, slamming into the rock walls that surrounded him as he wound his way down. Sharp edges sliced at his skin, but he didn’t feel the warm dribble of blood. The terrorists who had attacked him had sucked him dry and he was all tapped out. Empty. Hungry.
A hallucination.
That was what he told himself. He was weak. Tired. He needed food and shelter and some much-needed sleep. Then his brain would clear and he could remember what really happened.
The pain. The blood. The death.
He slammed his mind shut to all three and forced his legs to move. Left. Right. Left. Right—
The silent orders slammed to a halt when he heard the sound of voices. He picked up his steps, pushing forward, expecting to find the source just around the next curve. The voices grew louder, more distinct, but there was no one there. He trudged on, gritting his teeth against what felt like a dull knife jabbing at his stomach. It would be so much easier to slow down. To give in.
To give up.
But he’d never given up.
Not when his mom had left him alone night after night to go hang out at the local bar. Not when his old man had beat the hell out of him after a drunken binge. Not back when he’d been captured by militants and tortured for three days during his first ops mission in Somalia. Not in any of the missions since.
Not ever.
Not now.
His stomach twisted and his legs screamed, but he forced another step. Then another. The voices blared in his head, along with a steady ka-thunk ka-thunk that sliced through the drum solo playing in his skull and forced his own pulse faster. He stumbled a few more steps and rounded a curve. The path faded into a thick stretch of trees.
He pushed on, ducking into the foliage. Branches scraped across his face and poked at his bare torso, but he kept moving. Just a little more…
The trees thinned and opened up into a small clearing. Small wood dwellings clustered here and there. A bonfire blazed in the very center. Even more, there were people.
Rayne felt a vise tighten in his gut. His hands shook and his mouth watered.
A soft voice pushed past the barrage of sounds and he turned to see an old woman standing behind him. Concern furrowed her brow as she stepped toward him and murmured in Arabic.
He knew her language as well as his own and there was no mistaking her distinct “Are you okay?”
He opened his mouth to answer, to explain his situation and ask for her help, but suddenly his mind went blank. The scent of warm, sweet blood filled his nostrils and his insides cramped. Something dark and deep swelled and a red haze clouded his vision.
A burst of energy rolled through him and he reached her just like that. He pressed her up against a tree and sank his teeth deep into her neck. Sweet, delicious life rushed into his mouth and poured down his throat and ecstasy washed through him. He sucked harder, taking and taking until—
RAYNE BO
LTED UPRIGHT, his nerves buzzing, his muscles strung tight. He wiped a hand over his face and tried to erase the memories. The woman’s helpless cry. Her old, withered hands struggling against him. The pain of a bullet ripping through his arm as the villagers spotted him and tried to save their own. The realization of what he’d almost done.
One more drop and she would have been dead.
Thanks to him.
He hadn’t meant to turn on her, but the temptation had been far too great, her blood too potent, the beast too powerful in his weakened, confused state.
That was when Rayne had realized that he could never go back. Not to the Navy. To what was left of his family. To his life.
It was over. All he’d known. All he’d once been.
Over.
“Shit,” he muttered, pushing to his feet.
He stalked over to the loft window and unlatched the old wood. The window creaked open. A soft breeze blew over his bare chest, but it didn’t send so much as a shiver through him. A faint tinge of orange clung to the horizon, but not enough for him to shrink back. The sun had all but set. Shadows played across the pasture.
He drank in the details that he never would have noticed before—the way the grass seemed to sparkle in the last few rays of daylight, the sudden hush of insects as they waited for full darkness to descend, the rustle of a raccoon as it raced from the field to the edge of the nearby forest.
His gaze shifted to the old tractor that sat near the back of the house. Once upon a time it had been a shiny blue. Now it sat faded and rusted out, ready to crumble into a heap at the first serious gust of wind.
Rayne had spent half his youth on that tractor, plowing when his old man was too sloshed to stand up, much less operate a major piece of machinery, or just when he needed to shut out the doubts in his head. Demons that had told him he was every bit as worthless as his old man had said.
The tractor had been good at drowning out reality.
If only it could help him now.
He ducked through the window and poised on the ledge for a split second before leaping to the ground. He landed smoothly. No twinges of pain. No jolt to his muscles. Nothing.
Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IV Page 6
