Would someone ever love her just for herself?
"And have I ever told you that you move damnably fast?" she whispered. His heart beat a comforting tattoo in her ear.
He chucked and the vibrations tickled her. "It's the jungle cat in me."
Jennifer couldn't prevent the snort of undignified laughter and pushed away from him, "Alley cat is more like it."
Strong fingers closed around her wrists, his thumbs lazily stroking the tender skin of her inner wrists causing an answering heat to expand in her belly and move languorously through her limbs. "We should finish eating. You'll need your strength for later."
She was torn. This man saw too much in her that she needed to keep private in order to keep her sanity. She wanted to leave his side and mourn his loss again, in private, but he wouldn't let her, yet. Damn her weakness for this man. And damn his ability to see so much of what she tried to keep hidden from him.
"I think I need to go to bed..."
He dipped his head and Jennifer was startled as warm lips caressed her the inside of her left wrist. "I promise not to bite," he whispered against her overheated skin.
Shaken, she pulled away from him and walked back to her seat. "I don't think you should make promises you have no intention of keeping," she admonished shakily.
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Mac reseated himself across the table and Jennifer envied the easy manner with which he picked up his utensils and began slicing the thick sausages.
"And I still think you presume too much," she replied, picking up a croissant.
He smiled enigmatically and Jennifer had to look away from his knowing eyes, her heart in her throat.
Jennifer was never quite sure what to think about Renault.
It wasn't anything outward she could put her finger on. In reality he wasn't much different than any other revenant she'd known. Except that she wasn't sure that he was a revenant at all. His past was even murkier than Mac's. No one knew where he came from or how old he was. He certainly never volunteered information about himself. She didn't even know if Renault was his first or last name. To her and everyone else, he was simply known as Renault and he'd been around forever, or so it seemed.
Renault was rolling out a large blueprint on the coffee table. Dressed in burgundy leather pants that clung to every inch of his tightly muscled legs, black boots and a sinful black velvet vest that showed off his broad chest and thickly roped arms, he looked intimidating, menacing and sexy as hell. His thick black hair looked impossibly silky in the light of the room. More like the thick rich hair of a cat than that of a man. It fell like watered silk to the middle of his broad back. Today he wore it pulled back with a silver barrette carved in an intricate Celtic design.
While Renault was disturbingly handsome and shockingly sexual, he didn't hold a candle to Mac in her eyes. Jennifer stifled a sigh. Maybe if Renault did attract her and she had a hot and heavy affair with him, she could finally banish Mac from her life.
She glanced over to Mac seated on the couch. Then again, maybe not.
Dressed in worn blue jeans that were almost faded to white and a gray cashmere V- neck sweater, he looked mouthwateringly handsome. His thick brown hair was brushed back from his face and his hot chocolate eyes that seared her soul when he looked at her were now fixed on the blueprints.
He emitted a low whistle as Renault finished unrolling the sheet of paper. "This is quite the house. When did Mikhail build this monstrosity?"
"It is thirty-two thousand square feet. He bought the original manse about seven years ago and remodeled it. Three years ago it was heralded as one of the greatest restorations of the century on the front of Architectural Digest." Renault kneeled by the coffee table, his movements curiously elegant, almost animal in their grace.
Jennifer rubbed at the gnawing ache behind her breastbone. Something was terribly wrong. Was it Miranda? She couldn't tell for sure but something in the air wasn't quite right. Menace lurked in the city beyond their windows and she could feel it out there, waiting for her. Waiting for them.
She forced herself away from the fireplace. She headed toward the armchair opposite where Mac sat. Strong fingers captured her wrist, halting her progress and pulled her around the coffee table and down onto the couch beside Mac, her thigh brushing his. Tensing, she started to move away as his strong arm encircled her shoulder, tucking her against his warm side. She glanced over at him and he wasn't even looking in her direction. He was already memorizing the blueprints. Lazily his hand began stroking small circles on her shoulder, an answering warmth sprang to life.
"I'm not exactly a reader of Architectural Digest," Mac's tone was dry.
"I didn't know you could read at all," Renault replied blandly.
Jennifer grinned at Renault, liking him more each second. "He likes the shiny pictures," she teased. "He thinks they're real pretty." Returning her attention to the blueprint, she leaned forward, effectively slipping out from under Mac's arm. "The doorway to the basement isn't on this blueprint." She pointed to the right of the wide curved staircase. "It's here, right under the staircase. "
Renault shrugged. "That isn't too surprising. This house was remodeled from the remains of a fifteenth century fortress. It isn't beyond the realm of thought that Mikhail would keep the dungeons intact."
Mac leaned forward, his shoulder brushing Jennifer's and she forced herself to not flinch from his touch. "Is there a blueprint of the dungeons?" The faint scent of sandalwood and warm male curled around her, setting her senses spinning.
"There is a blueprint of the basement." Renault produced another sheet that showed a large basement roughly the size of the house. No walls or rooms were marked on the diagram.
Jennifer looked at the dimensions on the basement and shook her head. "No. This isn't deep enough to be where Miranda is. These dimensions are roughly fourteen feet below the house. I was at a minimum, twenty-five feet below this depth. There has to be a subbasement under this one. There were at least thrity-five steps spiraling down and they're very steep. This basement isn't nearly deep enough for that many steps."
Renault frowned. "It isn't hard to get blueprints altered for the right price." He pointed, "The entrance to this subbasement is on that side?" He leaned forward and scanned the main floor plan again. "Any kind of alarm system on the house?"
"It is an Excalibur system but I can get the code to disarm it." Jennifer tensed as Mac's hand brushed her waist.
"Good," Renault nodded. "Any pressure pads on the floor or electronic eyes?"
She shook her head. "The foyer flooring is marble and there are no electronic eyes. Mikhail thinks his reputation alone will keep out any mortals. He's just arrogant to assume that any immortals will keep their distance."
Mac nodded. "How about ten A.M. tomorrow morning? I want to make sure Mikhail and his she-devil are sound asleep when we arrive."
"Mikhail can walk around in the daytime. What if he isn't in his little coffin dreaming his bloody dreams?" Renault began rolling the floor plans up neatly.
"He can but that's rare. He usually keeps a standard sleep schedule," Jennifer replied. She felt Mac stiffen beside her.
"Good," Renault rolled up the plans and slipped them back into a hollow tube. "I will see you tomorrow then and we will rescue the fair Miranda from this madman." He rose gracefully to his feet.
Jennifer escaped her seat. Moving over to Renault she placed her hand on his sinewy forearm. At once she felt the muscles ripple in a very catlike movement beneath his golden skin. "Thank you, and please be careful," she whispered. She was struck with the strangest urge to stroke and pet that warm skin and see if he would purr for her.
Renault's golden eyes gleamed for a split second and Jennifer thought he would say something. With an abrupt nod he turned away and reached for his leather jacket. A sudden chill rippled over her body. Wrapping her arms around herself, she watched Mac walk him toward the back door that led to the garage on the ground floor.
Coul
d they get Miranda out alive? Fear snaked around her heart as despair formed an ache low in her throat. It blossomed, threatening to choke her. Tears stung her eyes as she stumbled toward the French doors and threw them open. The icy wind penetrated her clothing as tears began running down her cheeks. Stifling the urge to howl out her agony, she stuffed her fist into her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the sobs.
Mac closed the door behind Renault, frustration gnawing in his gut. The thought of leaving Miranda in that hell another minute churned inside him like an acid burning everything it touched. Silently he sent a prayer up for her safekeeping. He'd always had a soft spot for Miranda. She was a good drinking partner, even though she didn't drink and she loved to prowl for willing sexual partners almost as much as he did. Vampire or not, she had a big heart and she was always willing to help anyone, mortal or immortal. She didn't deserve to be a pawn for a lunatic. No one deserved that fate.
He walked back to the living room. "Jen...." he began. The room was empty. Frowning, he started toward the stairs when the faintest of sounds reached his ears. A sound no mortal ears would've detected. He stopped abruptly and turned toward the French doors that now stood wide open.
London was lit up like hundreds of strings of gaudy Christmas lights and snow was beginning to fall once again. But his eyes weren't on the town laid out before him. They were on the woman who stood in the corner of the snow-covered balcony, sobbing silently into her clenched hands.
Anger burned through his heart as he watched this incredibly strong woman cry. Damn Mikhail. Her shoulders shook with the force of her tears; no easily discernable sound escaped her. He reached for her shoulder and she flinched as he touched her. Ignoring her evasive movements, he pulled her into his arms.
The scent of warm woman and jasmine reached him as he tugged her close. She remained stiff as a board against him as he slowly stroked her back in long, sweeping movements. Sliding one hand under her thick hair to the tender skin of her neck, he rubbed small circles in the knotted muscles, willing her to relax and lean against him.
Slowly, by degrees, she leaned into him. Her fisted hands moved from her face to encircle his waist. He released the breath he'd not realized he was holding as he felt her clutch at him. Her grip tightened and she moved restlessly as if she were trying to crawl inside his skin, inside his soul.
He pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head as a muffled moan sounded against his chest. "Let it out, Jen."
A sound of protest escaped and almost instantaneously a sob was torn from her throat as she sagged against him, her knees buckling. Deftly he caught her up behind the knees and swung her into his arms. The light of the living room beckoned but he bypassed it, striding for the stairs and the bedrooms above. His bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden glow of a candle. Darkness was always preferable when an emotional outburst was to be had.
The bed was soft and welcoming as he settled Jennifer onto it. She emitted a broken sob and released him, reaching for a pillow. She pulled her knees into a fetal position as he moved around the bed. Settling himself on the edge he began removing his boots. Behind him he felt her stir.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice husky with her tears.
"Getting into bed." He dropped his boot carelessly and reached for his black leather belt.
"Here?" she squeaked.
Mac smothered his grin. "Here." He dropped the belt on top of his shoes and climbed back on the bed.
Jennifer startled him by releasing the pillow and lunging for the edge and freedom. "Oh, no you don't." He caught her by the back of her skirt before she could roll over, preventing her from leaving the king-sized bed. A cry of frustration escaped her as he pulled her back toward the middle. Her arms flailing, she caught him on the chin with one elbow as he tugged her into his arms.
"Oww...now quit!" He wrestled her into a position facing him, then pinned her by trapping her skirt between him and the bed. "You're going to hurt yourself..."
"Let me go and then I'll quit," she raged.
He caught her fist right before it would have plowed into his eye. "I'm afraid that isn't an option." Neatly he trapped her persistent hands by stretching her arms over her head and holding them in place with one hand.
"An option for who?" She grunted, twisting desperately to free either her hands or her body. She managed to work one leg free when the seam of her skirt gave up the battle. He missed her triumphant smile as she brought her knee upward in a quick, jerking motion.
Shifting, Mac narrowly avoided a knee in the groin. He scowled and caught her thigh and threw his legs over both of hers, pinning her to the bed. Looking into her enraged eyes, he smiled, "Isn't this better?"
"Than what?" She was winded and she gasped for breath.
"Than being upright. Laying down is almost always a better position to be in." He pressed a kiss on her forehead and he caught the shivers that vibrated through her body. She was so terribly pale. Dark circles marred the perfection of her lovely face. Mikhail's attack and the stresses that followed had taken much more out of her than she would ever admit. Whether she acknowledged it on a conscious level or not, she needed him. Her body knew it even if she wouldn't admit it to herself.
"I won't let you use me," she snarled.
He smiled at her enraged expression. Stroking the back of his forefinger down her soft cheek, repeating the motion until her expression began to relax and her eyes quit darting around the room as if seeking an escape, or a weapon to use against him. "I won't do anything you don't want to do."
"Then let me go," she whispered. "Please," her voice broke.
Mac knew how much that plea cost her. He released her hands and as she shifted he wrapped his arms around her, cuddling her to his chest, his heart giving an uncomfortable twinge at their perfect fit. For a long a while he held her tense body cradled against his until finally she relaxed into him. "I can't do that, Jennifer. I can't let you go," he murmured.
A sigh sounded from the region of his sweater.
"You're overly tired. You should try and get some sleep."
"You're bossy. Quit treating me like a child."
He chuckled at her petulant tone. Sliding his hand beneath the hem of her ivory sweater, he caressed the warm skin underneath. She shifted as if to move away from his touch, instead she managed to press herself closer. Her knee brushed his burgeoning arousal. "Trust me, darling, I do not think of you as a child."
"Typical male," she growled without heat.
He shifted on the bed until they lay facing one another. Tugging her even closer, he slid his leg higher between hers, taking her by surprise. "That makes you one lucky woman," he caught the burst of heat in her eyes as he lowered his head to the soft skin revealed by the V-neck of her sweater.
"No, that makes you one conceited man," she shot back.
"Is it conceited to be aware of one's talents? I don't think so." He pressed a gentle kiss to the exposed flesh. His tongue snaked out, tasting her.
"Mac," she pressed her hands against his chest as if to stop him.
He brushed aside her sweater and caressed the upper slope of one breast with his forefinger. How would she taste, he wondered. Sweet like spun sugar or spicy like mulled cider? Whichever it was, he could barely wait to find out. He dipped one finger inside the very edge of her bra and she stiffened in his arms.
Whether she knew it or not, she needed this worse than he did. Reluctantly he stopped caressing her skin and turned his attention to her sweater. The delicate pearl buttons slipped through their holes and he caressed the tender flesh as it was revealed. At the release of the last button, he spread the halves of the sweater to reveal the woman underneath.
Pale skin gleamed in the candlelight and the ruby colored velvet of her bra looked dark and erotic against it. He lazily drew his finger over one peaking tip and smiled into her dazed eyes. "Jennifer, I had no idea you had such stunning taste in lingerie."
Sudden mischief sparkled in her dark eyes. "They were a gift
," she feigned a yawn.
Mac neatly undid the clasp and then smiled as panic overwhelmed her and she struggled to cover her full breasts. "Oh really." He repositioned himself on the bed until her breasts were even with his mouth. He pressed a kiss against the underside of one pale mound. "A gift." He nipped at the exposed skin. "From whom?"
"You wouldn't know him," she stammered, trying to reach for the elusive scrap of velvet is if to retain her modesty.
"Him, eh?" Her nipple poked through her spread fingers and he gave it a quick lick. A thrill ran through him at her squeak of surprise that she failed to squelch. "What is his name?"
"N-n-name?" she quavered as he renewed his assault on her exposed skin.
"Yes," he breathed against the damp V between her breasts. "Name. I am assuming that your benefactor of lingerie does indeed have a name. I for one would like to send him a thank you note. I really like this velvet number."
"T-t-thank you-u-u note?" Her voice broke as she hastily reached for edges of her retreating bra, exposing herself to him.
"Oh yeah..." he purred as he latched onto her nipple and suckled deeply.
Her response was instantaneous. Her body arched, bowing up into his, forcing more of her into his mouth. Desire electrified him, setting every nerve ending in his body on full alert as her hands fisted in his hair, holding him in place against her. He reached for the other nipple as he lavished attention on the one currently in his mouth. He rolled the pearled flesh against the roof of his mouth, teased it with his teeth, all the while retaining a steady pressure that had mewling sounds coming from Jennifer's mouth.
Reluctantly he released the tasty nubbin. Kissing and nipping his way down the valley of her breasts and up the other rise, he attached himself to the other one, suckling it until it was damp and standing at attention. Reaching down, he located the hem of her tattered skirt. Raising it, he clawed his fingers up the inside of her taut silk-clad thigh, wrenching a cry from her.
Easily he rolled her onto her back and parted her legs. Bunching her skirt around her waist, he settled his arousal against the summit of her thighs. He rocked his hips against her as he reluctantly let go of her nipple. Spicy, just as he suspected. Picking up a rhythmic rocking motion, his hips ground against hers.
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 2 Page 6
