Bailey rounded on him. “You don’t ‘buy it’ when the waiter pushing dessert promises the cheesecake will never show up on your thighs, Griff. This? If this was a game of hangman, you’d be one silent consonant away from spelling psycho.”
Seth snorted and began unbuttoning his shirt.
She opened her mouth to object.
Griff spun her around, one heavy arm banding around her and locking her arms to her sides.
She started to argue. Loudly.
His free hand settled over her mouth. Chin resting beneath her temple, his breath skated across her cheek. “Bite me and I’ll take you over my knee.”
Seth paused in the act of shrugging out of his shirt. “I don’t care how close we are, man. Bro Code says I do not need to know your proclivities in the bedroom.”
“She’s a succubus, Seth.”
“That explains the influx of men in the club. You’ve put a serious cramp on my love life, sweetheart.” He smiled before dropping his shirt.
A narrow, very realistic flame tattoo started somewhere below his waistband and snaked up to lick at his belly button. Reds, blues and yellows ran together and gave the erotic art depth. Every breath made the vibrant ink undulate across his skin like a living thing. He ran a hand down his chiseled abs and traced the flame’s edges, following the dark outline without looking.
Her heart pounded. Every shallow inhale and fast exhale burned. She couldn’t get enough air. Sagging in Griff’s arms, she started to tremble. Cold sweat slicked her feverish skin. It was impossible to drag her narrowing gaze away from those fingers tracing a sensual path along the flame.
Seth’s voice, tinny and far away, cut through her awareness. Shouts echoed in her head. She heard her name, tried to respond. Her jaw locked tight and made it impossible to make more than rudimentary sounds. Sight had abandoned her. Then a familiar smell hit her.
Sex.
Terror gripped her as that familiar fever raged unchecked. Her muscles began convulsing.
A heavy body pinned her to the ground.
Whispered words carved through her terror. “I’m here, baby.”
Firm hands gripped her arms and held her steady.
Griff.
“Breathe through it with me.”
His intoxicating smell wound around her, stoking her senses until they blazed with awareness.
“I’m not going anywhere, Bailey. You hear me? I’m right here.”
As her world fractured further and true blackness obliterated her awareness, she caught her breath. She might be going under, but she wasn’t alone.
Chapter Five
“Go,” Griff ordered, struggling to pin Bailey without hurting her.
Seth snatched his shirt off the floor and shoved his arms down the sleeves. “She going to be okay?”
“If I can get the seizure stopped.”
“How?”
“Just go, okay?” He grunted when her fist connected with his chin. “Lock the elevator behind you.”
“Don’t let her go.” The elevator doors slid closed on Seth’s parting order.
Griff shifted to get a better grip before scowling down at the woman in his arms. “You need to feed, Bailey.”
Her sightless stare roved around the room, unfocused and eerie as hell.
“Dammit.” He rolled and wiggled like a preteen wrestler, struggling to get Bailey turned around. “You’re going to make me break the rule of two Cs in sex—woman’s got to be conscious and consenting.”
He maneuvered an arm around her torso and his legs around her thighs. He ripped at her jeans. Long minutes later, after wriggling and shoving with his hands and feet, he managed to get the denim wrapped around her ankles. Mutually slick with sweat, it was hard as hell to hang onto her as he worked his own pants free.
She froze the second his cock brushed her ass.
Blood flooded his groin in a near-painful rush as his body responded to the ever-present need of what he’d become.
Painful keens escaped her.
“Easy, baby.” Arms still locked, he rolled the two of them over so he pressed against her back as she lay facedown on the Oriental rug. He hooked a foot in her jeans and shoved them free of her feet before easing her legs apart.
She arched and lifted up, presenting herself to him.
“Son of a bitch.” Griff dragged a shaking hand down his face. “I’m not a damn saint, Bailey.”
The smell of her arousal hit him like a fist to the throat and left him grappling with his need and his hesitation.
Need won.
He grabbed his hard length and fed it straight into her welcoming heat. Thigh to thigh, Griff refused to fall into the despair that often accompanied his couplings. This wasn’t just empty sex. This was Bailey. This was about saving her life.
Liar.
He ground against her, the action earning him a low mewl. She bucked against his long, hip-rolling drives forward. The response wasn’t to him, though. Just his body. Any body would have done just as well. She had no idea who held her. He could have been anyone. Still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
Sick bastard.
“Say my name, Bailey.”
No answer.
Anger washed over him at the situation, her body’s timing, his genetics, everything. The power of his thrusts increased. His grip on her hips tightened, slipped and then dug in. She’d bruise.
Skin slapped skin as he drove into her again and again. The cold light of the city washed over them and gilded their bare skin in oranges and whites. A siren sounded from the street below. And still that damn faucet dripped.
Griff fought to keep himself removed, to keep this practical. It was a matter of saving her life and extending his. But this wasn’t living and he knew it. This was existing. Sex had become a matter of drive-through dining—no flavor, no atmosphere, no experience. Every night was a matter of empty, forgettable calories. He was an excellent lay as a matter of necessity, not because there was any connection with his partner.
A memory swept through him. His rhythm faltered. “Just feel,” he’d admonished Bailey. Now here he was fighting that very thing. Hypocrite.
Nothing new there.
He’d give anything to take the advice back.
Because to survive this fate, she’d have to learn to do just the opposite.
* * *
Bailey ached. Everywhere. She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to clear the fog that swirled through her consciousness. Nothing made sense.
She rolled over and right out of an unfamiliar, very high bed. Sheets and a heavy jacquard comforter wrapped around her lower body and created a tangled, high thread count mess. Kicking free, she grabbed the mattress and popped up on her knees.
Griff lay on his side, head propped in his hand as he watched her.
Embarrassed, she dropped low so her chin was level with the edge of the wide mattress.
“All I can think is that this is my favorite version of the Whac-A-Mole game ever—very adult and very naked.” Words that should have been playful were impassive.
“What happened?”
He arched a single brow, slow and almost insolent. “This is the first time a bed partner has passed out on the front side of a session.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Now, afterward? That’s not uncommon. Should I be offended? By all measures, you enjoyed yourself.”
Memories blinded her as they illuminated the dark corners of her mind. Recollections flashed like lightning in a stormy sky, each strike a precursor to the emotional boom that rattled through her with jarring percussion. She traced the small wound in her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “Why?”
“Why did you enjoy yourself? Because I’m a good lover.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
; He closed his eyes and lifted one shoulder in an attempt at indifference. “You would have died.”
She slid down the side of the bed and turned, resting her back against the rail.
The mattress lurched. Air moved as he settled beside her. “You feel any better?”
She opened her mouth, closed it and cleared her throat before trying again. “Still a little sick.”
“You’ve got to feed. It gets better after you do.”
When she started to object, deny, question him, maybe even argue, he laid a hand on her thigh. “Your Marker’s coming in, Bailey. You can deny it all you want, but that ink isn’t going away.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I prefer psycho. I’m all about the silent consonants these days.”
An unexpected laugh broke free.
Griff gently squeezed her thigh before withdrawing his hand.
The loss of his touch was sobering, the tremor in her voice profound. “This is real, isn’t it?”
“Wish it wasn’t.” He laced his hands behind his head, his pecs and abs rippling as he moved.
“I don’t want this.”
Instead of meeting her eyes, he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “No doubt, but it’s like a kid with brown hair wishing he’d been born blond. He can dye it a thousand times and tell the world to believe what they see, but it doesn’t change the truth.”
Leaning over, she rested her forehead against Griff’s biceps. She’d never seen him this quiet. He was forever in motion—running Desire, working the crowd, unloading a truck, filling in behind the bar or seducing women. Now? Only the steady rise and fall of his chest said he was animate.
She didn’t want to leave, but staying here made everything far too real. Besides, hiding wouldn’t change anything. “I should probably go.”
“You need to stick around in case you get in trouble.” He gathered his legs under himself and pushed up, rising with preternatural grace. “I’ll be in the office until about three. You going to finish your shift or do you want to, ah...” A rough gesture toward his bed said what he hadn’t been able to articulate.
“It’d probably be wiser for me to finish my shift. I’d imagine Keith’s ready to kill me.” She accepted the hand he held out.
He hauled her to her feet. “Seth covered for you. When I called down for him, his phone rang through to the bar.” Heavy hands settled on her shoulders. “Promise you won’t leave without checking in with me.”
She bit her bottom lip. “You really expect me to believe this, don’t you?”
“You’re too smart to deny it.” He chucked her under the chin. “It’s one of your best assets.”
She winced. “Sorry about that.”
“No apologies. Just don’t leave. And...” He rolled his shoulders.
“And what?”
“If you start getting light-headed or sick, come get me. I’d like to see you through this.”
“Why?” She blurted, only to hold up her hand and stop his response. “You know what? Forget I asked. If I need you, I’ll find you.” Heat burned her cheeks. The idea of popping in and asking him to... Yeah. Definitely blushing. She looked around, her brow wrinkling. “What about my clothes?”
Griff grinned. “Pretty much destroyed. You’ll have to wear the uniform.”
“Oh, hell no.”
* * *
Griff leaned against the wall at the end of the bar and watched Bailey take orders, flip bottles and flirt like a pro. Hell, she was a pro. He grinned when she bent over and swept up a fallen towel. Half the men at the bar had to adjust their zippers. The half that didn’t clearly hadn’t seen the move from behind.
She’d grumbled like mad about wearing the cocktail waitress’s uniform—cut-off denim short shorts and a tight, low-cut crop top with the name of the club over the breasts and “You can’t help it...and neither can I” across the back. Damn if she wasn’t rocking it, though. Men were stacked three deep at her end of the bar, and they were all vying for her attention. She’d emptied her tip jar more than once.
Nickelback came across the sound system, the beat hard and fast. One of the men closest to her held a folded benjamin between his fingers and motioned her forward. Griff read the word “dance” on his lips.
She grinned, shook her head and turned away.
The guy didn’t take no for an answer. Instead, he lunged forward and grabbed the back pocket on her shorts.
Griff came off the wall with a snarl, intent on ending the contact by whatever means necessary. He hoped the means involved force. Lots and lots of force. No one else had the right to touch her.
He stumbled to a stop, shock making him lightheaded. Jealousy hadn’t ever been his gig, so what the hell was this little pissing contest about? He blinked several times and refocused on Bailey.
She rounded on the customer, grabbed him by the shirt and stared him down before nimbly plucking the hundred-dollar bill from his fingers. The guy’s face lit up before giving way to confusion when she crawled up on the bar. Springing to her feet, she started down the bar top with the same hip-rolling gait that had lured Griff into innumerable fantasies. She pulled the pins from her hair. A fast, loose roll of her head flung the loosely curling mane out and around. Then she began to move in ways that were surely illegal.
He couldn’t call it dancing because dancing wasn’t inherently carnal. What she was doing? It could turn saint to sinner and make him grateful for the lick of hell’s flames. She stalk-walked down the bar with exaggerated steps. Men stared at her, open lust decorating their slack-jawed pusses. She was the incarnation of every male fantasy. The way she moved to the music would be burned into their tiny brains and there would, no doubt, be a YouTube video.
Griff growled. Starting tomorrow, cell phones were banned inside the club.
Every few feet she’d stop to grab a beer and toss it to a customer or catch a bottle to pour a shot into an open mouth. Then she turned toward the beer taps and bent forward to pull a draft. Ass out. The crowd came off the chain. Keith and Seth were emptying the tip jars as fast as they could, finally resorting to dumping them into the laundry bin just to keep up.
The guy who’d proffered the cash that got her up there made a grab for her ankle as she passed. Someone yanked him backward and he disappeared under a barrage of fists and shouted curses. Bailey winked and traced her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. A shout went up. Male-fueled sex hung heavy on the air.
Acid churned in Griff’s stomach.
The song wound down. Bailey took a bow and blew kisses amid shouted requests for an immediate encore, offers to buy her everything from drinks to diamonds and even proposals of marriage. She laughed it all off before leaping to the floor, high color staining her cheeks.
Her legs wobbled on impact, folding beneath her. Hands out, she managed to break the fall and keep her face off the floor. Bravado she’d worn only moments before fell away. Fresh panic replaced it.
Shouted obscenities and threats flooded the human wake Griff created as he plowed through the crowd. Flipping up the pass-through, he charged toward Bailey.
Seth, who was closest, scooped her up and started for the end of the bartenders’ galley.
People on the other side of the bar suddenly realized something was wrong. Yet the music still rocked. Rapidly volleyed questions formed an indecipherable buzz. Laughter rang out somewhere beyond the first three or four rows of onlookers. The party carried on.
Griff met Seth halfway down the chute.
The man gave Bailey over without hesitation. “Help her.”
“Plan to.” Griff pivoted and started for the private hallway. He tried to ignore the way her scent wrapped around him with proprietary intimacy, the way she shifted toward him without hesitation, the way cradling her in his arms touched the void in h
im. He clenched his jaw so hard his molars ached. The last thing he needed was some ridiculous, albeit temporary, complication, but that was exactly what this was turning into.
I’ll cut her loose as soon as this is over.
He couldn’t bring himself to look down.
Loping strides carried him beyond the pass-through and into the crowd. A hard hand landed on his forearm and tightened. Momentary confusion interrupted his mental ranting. He looked back.
The man’s face was familiar in that Griff had seen him tossing money at Bailey. Beyond that, the guy was a complete stranger.
Griff’s arms tightened around Bailey. “Step aside.”
“Who are you to her?” the stranger demanded.
There wasn’t an easy answer. Boss. Friend. Incubus to her succubus. Lover. “Nobody special.” The thump of his admission took up like a drumbeat in his chest, pounding hard enough to steal his breath.
“Why don’t you hand her over? I’m a doctor. I’ll look her over, take her to the E.R. if necessary.” The guy held out his arms.
Griff shifted Bailey closer to his chest. Her breathing had become irregular. “I don’t have time to discuss your Boy Scout badges and charity work. Out of the way. Now.”
Shouldering his way through the door, he headed toward the elevator. Screw this. No way was she going to get behind the bar again. She’d just have to stay in the apartment until she finished her Change. This was such bullshit. No way could she die—
“Griff.” Bailey’s voice, sultry and rich, loosened the tangle of his thoughts.
“I’m taking you upstairs.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look down.
“Good.”
The relief in her voice soothed him. Why? Examining that little nugget of curiosity would have to wait. He hit the elevator button with his elbow. The doors slid open and he stepped inside.
She turned her face into him and mumbled something against his chest.
“Couldn’t understand you, Bailey.” The moist heat of her sigh spun him up all over again.
“I need you.”
Such a small admission, yet it frayed the edges of his composure as effectively as hemp cut by a dull razor. Need. He’d learned the bitter truth about the often capricious line that existed between want and need. Women wanted him. Always. No one needed him. Ever.
Immortal Desire Page 4
