by Heidi Betts
She really wished she had some paper and a pencil handy. Or a micro-recorder. Or cell phone. Or even a Morse Code machine so she could tap out a few notes about her night with a vampire. He still intended to wipe her memory later, and it might be nice to have a few facts jotted down in case she ever did get the chance to write her article. Or even just so that she might recall a few valuable personal moments from this whole experience.
But then, if vampires were as accomplished at scrubbing brain cells as he claimed, she would probably only wonder what the heck she’d written down all that scrawled nonsense for, anyway, so what was the point?
With a yawn, she gave up—at least momentarily—on the idea of being some ace investigative reporter and stayed wrapped safely in his warm embrace. And she slept, more soundly than she could ever remember.
Straight Flush
It was the sliding rise of the steel window coverings that woke her. Until then, she had been so deeply asleep that she hadn’t even been dreaming. Just floating in the ether, enjoying the quiet, endless black of post-coital bliss.
And maybe a small bit of blood loss from Sebastian’s rather aggressive nibbling. But that was nothing she couldn’t recover from—and wouldn’t do again in a minute, if given the chance.
Stretching beneath the warm and satiny sheets, the crisp hairs on Sebastian’s legs tickled the backs of her calves, his chest pressed along the length of her spine. Lower, clear evidence of his morning arousal nudged against her butt.
Or would that be evening arousal? And did vampires call erections “wood,” or did they have an aversion to that word because of the whole stake-through-the-heart thing?
Wiggling around, she turned to face him and realized it was nearly dark outside. The Vegas skyline was once again inky blue, bleeding into black, dotted with spots of light and color and sparkling proof of The Strip’s twenty-four-hour adult revelry.
Despite the amount of research she’d done before deciding to take her sister’s place and stalk the elusive Sebastian Raines, she had a lot to learn. Being involved with a vampire was definitely going to take some getting used to. Sleeping all day, doing all the important stuff at night . . . eating her weight in red meat to keep her iron up so she didn’t pass out in the middle of suckingly good sex. . . .
That was, provided she would actually be involved with a vampire. She had no problem admitting that she wanted to continue seeing Sebastian. They didn’t know one another very well yet, but already she found him fascinating. Already, she found herself imagining a future with him. Maybe only a near future rather than a far-into-the-future future, but a future all the same.
And they both knew the sex between them was IN-CRED-I-BLE. That was worth exploring, at least, wasn’t it?
The question was, did Sebastian want to keep seeing her? Was she, a mere human, worthy of a vampire’s time and affections, or was she nothing more than a one-night amusement?
Dragging her gaze away from the view out the windows, she looked down at him only to find him staring up at her. She gave a small jerk, startled, realizing he hadn’t moved a muscle when he’d come awake. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
Not that he needed to, but . . . you know, it would have been nice. Less like lying in bed next to a corpse.
He didn’t feel like a corpse, though. He was still toasty warm, whether from being tucked under the covers and against her or from feeding so heavily on her only hours before, she wasn’t sure. And his flesh was smooth and alive over the hard planes of masculine muscle.
“Hi,” she said softly, her tone tentative and weaker than she would have liked.
“Hello,” he returned.
Raising a hand from beneath the sheets, he cupped her shoulder, then ran his palm down the length of her arm. Chill bumps lifted across her skin, but had nothing to do with being cold.
He tipped his head, studying her for a moment, then murmured, “Regrets?”
She shook her head. “No. You?”
One dark brow arched over smoky gray eyes. “Certainly not. In fact, I’m considering an encore.”
With a tiny smile, she said, “I think that can be arranged.” But first . . . “Just give me a second to use the bathroom, okay?”
His hand slipped away from her arm as she threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. But as much as they’d shared last night and as comfortable as she’d been sharing her body with him, she wasn’t quite brave enough to traipse across the room in front of him bare-ass naked. So even though he teased her a bit with a lighthearted game of tug-o-war, she managed to walk away with the navy blue duvet wrapped around her like a toga with a very long train.
“If this were Olympus instead of The Inferno, you’d fit right in,” he commented, lifting up on one elbow to watch her walk away.
She gave a cute little curtsy and even stuck her tongue out at him before shutting herself in the bathroom to the echo of his muted chuckle.
Sebastian’s master bath was as luxurious as the rest of his penthouse, and probably every property he owned. Marble floors, double-basin marble vanity, giant Jacuzzi tub, and a separate marble-lined shower that was roughly the size of her entire bathroom at home. She could fit everything she owned in here, live in here, and she didn’t think she’d mind it a bit.
Her daydreams of how the other half lived were fractured, however, when she used the restroom and saw red splotches dotting her thighs. For a minute, she thought maybe she’d started her period. But that couldn’t be right, considering her recent cycle and how regular they typically were.
A tap at the closed door drew her from her confused distraction, and she quickly finished up, re-draped her makeshift toga to cover all the pertinent body parts, and went to answer it. Not that there was any question of who would be on the other side.
Was it his vampire blood or simply the normal Y chromosome men possessed that made him so comfortable standing there completely nude? Of course, he looked really good nude, so she wasn’t exactly going to complain.
The fact that he was semi-aroused—which she noticed, but was trying scrupulously not to stare at—didn’t help, either. It made her want to drop her coverlet and see what it felt like to make love with heated marble tile at her back.
“Everything all right?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned, making her realize she must have spent longer than she’d thought trying to figure out the mysterious stains on the insides of her thighs.
“Sorry,” she apologized, inclining her head, “I was just . . . thinking.”
Her response apparently didn’t ease his worry. He reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “About what?”
Even before she decided to tell him the truth, her cheeks heated, and she could feel the flush climbing all the way to her hairline.
“It’s a little embarrassing,” she began quietly, averting her gaze, “but . . . I think I may have started my period.”
“Why?” he asked, and when she looked back at him, she found one dark brow raised quizzically.
“Why do you think?” she practically squawked, hugging the blanket tighter to her chest, as though it could protect her from any more humiliating questions.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would . . . know if it was your time of the month.”
It was her turn to lift a curious brow. “And how would you know that?”
His mouth twisted, half-amusement, half-chagrin. “I don’t think you’d appreciate the details. Suffice to say it’s a vampire thing.”
Since she was beginning to suspect she did understand what he was talking about, she let the topic drop. But if he was right and that wasn’t the case, then it still left the question of what the heck was going on.
“Oh, my God,” she blurted out at the sudden thought that darted through her mind.
“What?”
“I think I was right. I think my virginity grew back.”
He chuckled at that, but she cut him off with a stern look. “I’m not kidding. I told yo
u how long it’s been since I had sex, and I was just thinking that I wouldn’t be surprised if my virginity was growing back. Then we have sex, and I’ve got blood on my legs, so you do the math. I’m a medical marvel,” she murmured, half under her breath. “I can write a story about myself for the Tattler.”
Though he wasn’t laughing at her anymore, he still looked highly entertained. “I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve never heard of anything like that, not even in the vampire world. Let me see,” he said, reaching for the portion of duvet covering her hoochie.
She gave a yip and jumped back. “Don’t you dare,” she told him, slapping at his hand.
“You can drop the modesty act, sweetheart,” he said, taking a predatory step toward her. “I’ve already seen everything you have to offer. Seen it,” he stepped closer, “touched it,” closer still,“ tasted it.”
The low drawl of his voice rolled across her skin like warm honey, making her quiver. When he reached her, crowding her against the outside shower wall, he ran his knuckles along her bare arm from elbow to wrist. Taking her hand, he tugged her arm from her waist, carefully loosening the blanket until it fell away to pool at her feet. She tensed, expecting him to crouch down and start inspecting the goods, like some car mechanic checking under the hood.
Instead, he bent slightly and scooped her up, carrying her to the edge of the massive, step-up tub. Setting her down on the wide ledge—which was startling to her bare bottom, warm or not, but she bit her lip to keep from letting him know—he reached around to turn on the water. While the tub filled, he knelt before her and put his hands on her knees.
“Let me see,” he repeated in a low, persuasive tone, keeping his eyes locked intently on hers. “Please.”
Taking a deep breath, she let her legs fall apart, opening herself to his gaze. He studied her carefully, even sliding the pad of his thumb over one of the rust-colored smears.
When he was finished, he lifted his face to hers again and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “At the risk of frightening you with too much information about the secret lives of vampires all at once,” he said carefully, “this is nothing you need to worry about. It’s not your blood, it’s mine.”
Chuck blinked. She wasn’t frightened, but she sure was confused. “I don’t understand,” she told him.
With a sigh, he reached around her, shutting off the water, then slowly got to his feet. Taking her hand, he pulled her up with him and helped her step into the tub.
She thought he would join her, but instead he saw her settled, then turned to sit on the edge of the tub ledge to face her. He grabbed a washcloth and a bar of fragrant soap, and dipped them into the warm water.
“Vampires are filled with blood,” he began, working the soap into a thick lather within the dark terry of the cloth. “More so than humans. Which means that our bodily fluids tend to be tinged with red. Tears, sweat . . . et cetera.”
It was the et cetera that caused her to blush, because she knew exactly what he was talking about. They hadn’t used a condom; hadn’t needed to use a condom, at least not to prevent pregnancy or disease. But apparently there were still a few fun side effects of letting a male vampire come inside of you. No wonder all of his bedclothes were so dark.
But even though there was a certain ick factor involved, she found his explanation fascinating. It was one more factual detail about real-life vampires that she hadn’t known before. Something none of her extensive research had turned up, and that she could use to make her own article even more authentic and powerful.
At that thought, her brows drew down. Wait a minute.
“Tip your head,” Sebastian said softly. “Let me see your throat.”
She did as he asked, her head currently spinning like one of those brightly colored whirl-a-gigs people stuck in their flower gardens.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, wiping the washcloth gently over the abrasion.
She shook her head. She’d glanced at the bite in the mirror when she’d first entered the bathroom, and though it was possibly the most gnarly injury she’d ever had, it didn’t bother her. Two small, round puncture marks that had already scabbed over, surrounded by a bit of tender, bruised tissue.
While it might mean turtlenecks and scarves for a while, the memory of how the marks had gotten there, why they were there, who had given them to her . . . Well, frankly, it made her hot, and she wasn’t opposed to collecting a few more, either.
She might just need to increase her iron and orange juice intake to make sure she didn’t turn anemic. Wasn’t that what blood banks gave their donors to keep them from passing out?
“I’m sorry,” he murmured in a low voice. “I was too rough with you.”
Lifting her head, she met his gaze. “No, you weren’t,” she told him with stark honesty. “You were perfect. And I liked it.”
She was surprised to see him flush slightly at her words, then felt her own temperature rise as she realized the blood rushing to his face was in part hers. Their blood was mingled in his veins. Talk about a turn-on.
“Still,” he insisted, “I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Next time,” she muttered, her knees unconsciously coming together when he slid the cloth down her chest and between her legs to dab at the stains he’d left there.
A part of her didn’t want to say anything about “next time.” Even though he’d brought it up. Even though the curiosity was killing her.
But if she mentioned it, if she asked, he might realize he’d made a fatal mistake and rectify it. If she kept her mouth shut, then she stood a chance of retaining her memories of her time with him for a while longer, at least.
But the curiosity . . . was . . . killing . . . her.
She needed to know. Couldn’t stumble through life wondering what the next minute or day might bring—not where Sebastian was concerned.
So, much like removing a thick, sticky bandage, she took a deep breath and riiiiiiiiipped.
“Speaking of next time,” she began, thinking for sure he would jump in and correct her, clarify, work his woo-woo vampire powers to turn her brain into a blank magic erase board.
Instead, he remained silent, continuing to stroke the washcloth over the soft flesh of her inner thighs and lower. He held her gaze the entire time, though, those fog-gray eyes of his never wavering.
Steeling herself, she waded back in. “I didn’t think there would be a next time,” she told him. “You said there couldn’t be, that you were going to erase my memory first thing in the morning. Or . . . you know, whatever. As soon as we woke up.”
His hand stilled beneath the water, on the inside of her knee. He blinked a couple of times, as though warring with himself over what to say, then blew out a resolved sigh. Pushing up from the edge of the tub, he moved around until he was at her back. Next thing she knew, the water sloshed and he slipped down behind her.
He pulled her close so that she was reclining against him, her back to his chest, his legs bracketing hers. The hand with the washcloth continued to make lazy circles on her stomach and around her breasts. She ignored the beading of her nipples, just as he ignored his mild erection. Both would be dealt with eventually, she suspected, but for now they were comfortable simply lounging, relaxing, being with each other.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said just above her ear. His tone held an edge of uncertainty, despite the slow and easy motion of his hand. “Maybe I don’t have to wipe your memory quite as soon as I’d planned.”
Chuck’s heart gave a little leap in her chest. Hope? Excitement? She was afraid of giving too much credence to either.
“Why not?” she asked cautiously.
“Because I like you, and I don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”
Royal Flush
She nearly snorted at that. The first part was lovely. She believed him, and knowing he felt that way about her made her feel warm and tingly all over. But then he’d had to pull the rich, powerful, mega-millionaire playbo
y attitude on her.
He wasn’t finished with her yet? If she wasn’t sitting in twelve inches of water that might splash all over and make the marble floor dangerously slippery, she’d be tempted to whip around and punch him a good one, right in the gut.
Then again, she sort of knew what he meant. Provided he left her with her memory and full I.Q., she wasn’t sure she was finished with him yet, either. There was so much more she wanted to know, to do, to experience, and he was at the center of it all—both personally and professionally speaking.
So instead of smacking him, she said, “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means . . . I wish I’d met you long before now, under different circumstances. But since even vampires can’t go back in time, we have to accept the way things are now and deal with them as they are.”
Well, that was clear as mud. “Sorry, Dr. Phil, you’ll have to elaborate. That made about as much sense as feathers on a fish.”
He tightened his arm around her waist and nipped the lobe of her ear with his teeth. His fangs were less prominent now, so she barely felt them, but she certainly knew they were there.
“Don’t be cheeky,” he warned her. “I’m trying to open up and share, here. Not something men—or vampires—do very often.”
“Not well, anyway,” she quipped, which only earned her another nip with more fang and a tighter squeeze.
She grinned. She was actually beginning to enjoy this. The intimacy, the teasing . . . the openness he wasn’t quite as bad at as he seemed to think.
But she wasn’t just being playful; she really was confused about what he was trying to say.
“I still don’t understand.”
At her back, she felt his chest expand and contract as he took a deep breath, then let it out. “I don’t feel right asking you this, given who—and what—I am. Given who you are, and what you do.”
Her stomach gave a tiny lurch of nerves and anticipation. Was he leading up to what she thought he was leading up to? And if he was—how would she feel about that?
