by Lani Aames
"Very well, I break into Flora's chamber in the middle of a storm. What's my motivation? Other than my appetite for her nubile flesh and sweet blood, of course?"
His breath ruffled Eloise's hair. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and she felt her face flush. "The house," she said, trying to catch her breath. "He left England in the seventeenth century, when he turned into a vampire after Cromwell's men killed him. Now he's back, and the Bannerworths are living in his mansion. He's tired of wandering and thinks he can find peace in his ancestral home. He wants to scare them into selling it."
"Is Flora frightened of him?" Claude's hands moved to her upper arms and stroked up and down, making the bare skin prickle with heat. He seemed to savor the sensual motion as much as she did.
"At first. Who wouldn't be, with a man crashing in through her window? Not to mention a man with fangs and claws and glittering, silver eyes."
"Hold on, the book says his eyes look like polished tin."
"Never mind that," Eloise said, her breath coming shallow and fast. "It's my script, and I don't think polished tin sounds very romantic."
"Oh, so you want a romantic vampire?" A hint of soft laughter underlay the remark.
She blushed still hotter. "You've read my stuff. You know what kind of vampire I like." She'd sent him autographed copies of a couple of her novels, and his reply had made it plain that he'd done more with the books than glance at the title pages.
"Will this film have an R rating? Where will Varney pierce Flora's tender skin? Here?" To Eloise's surprise, he bent to kiss the side of her neck with a butterfly-wing flicker of his tongue. "Or here?" One fingertip traced a line from the hollow of her throat to the swell of her right breast above the V of her gown.
Her heart raced. A melting sensation flowed from the spot where his touch lingered to the hollow between her legs. She forced a deep breath and said, "I think you'd better leave."
He flung off the cloak and draped it over a chair, then removed his bow tie and tossed it on the desk. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," he said in a tone of genial firmness. "And I'm nowhere near ready."
Chapter Three
Eloise knew she ought to lash out indignantly at that arrogant pronouncement. Instead, when he put an arm around her waist and steered her towards the bed, she found herself following him without a moment's hesitation. Somehow she was sitting beside him on the edge of the mattress rather than shoving him into the hall. Weird, she thought. Not only her own behavior, but his. I've heard of the casting couch for actresses, but never for writers!
"I'm thirsty now," he said. "For your lips." He nibbled the edge of her mouth, darted his tongue in and out, then withdrew to gaze into her eyes.
What a hokey B-movie line, she thought. Yet "thirsty" seemed a perfectly apt word for her own dry-mouthed, head-whirling excitement. Or possibly "fever". "We shouldn't—" she began.
"You desire this as much as I do. I wouldn't touch you, otherwise." His hand rested between her breasts. "I feel it in the beating of your heart."
She opened her mouth, whether to confess or deny, she wasn't sure. He cut off her answer with a deeper kiss. A taste and scent like hot metal flooded her senses. His tongue and lips seared hers, while his hand on the curve of her breast sent electric currents through her, switching every erogenous zone to "on". The flutter in the pit of her stomach migrated lower and became a full-fledged throb of need.
Good thing he couldn't read her mind. He couldn't know how her nipples strained against her bra, begging for a caress, or how her clit tickled maddeningly and wetness pooled between her thighs. She crossed her legs and squeezed. With his fingers creeping under the V of her dress, the pressure didn't bring any relief.
As if he did read her mind, he abandoned that tactic and instead cupped her right breast through the satin. Rubbing in slow circles, he coaxed the nipple to a hard peak. The other one ached for the same attention. Instantly, Claude draped his free arm around her shoulder to reach her left breast and fondle both in the same rhythm. Meanwhile, his tongue continued to probe her mouth. She fought to keep from squirming. Without her conscious will, she unfastened the top buttons of his shirt and ran her fingers over his chest. No undershirt, just cool skin and velvety hair. With the fog of lust clouding her brain, she gave no more than a fleeting thought to the difference from the usual texture of male body hair.
"You'll be more comfortable lying down," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. She felt him grope behind her to unzip her dress.
This would be the proper moment to cut the encounter short. Never in her life had she fallen into bed with a man on first meeting. Claude's erotic expertise and her crush on him shouldn't matter. Contaminating business with sex, losing her self-respect, and, for all she knew, risking some ghastly disease would be far worse than a few minutes of frustration. Besides, she could remedy that frustration by herself as soon as he left.
Before she realized she had moved, though, she lay on her back, with Claude reclining on one elbow next to her. He captured her mouth for another long kiss while he slid the dress off her shoulders. His practiced skill at undoing the front clasp of her bra stung her with a pang of jealousy. How many women did he seduce per year? Probably one at every convention.
She forgot that question the moment his tongue traced a path to one breast and spiraled inward to the peak. After slipping off her bra, he licked that nipple while teasing the other with thumb and forefinger. Somehow he knew just the pressure and speed to send ripples of pleasure through every nerve.
Involuntarily, she clutched his shoulders and eased her thighs apart. One of his legs covered hers with tantalizing pressure against her slit through her skirt. Already she trembled on the edge of orgasm. He abandoned the nipple for a brief, hard kiss on her mouth. "You taste as delicious as I expected." Passion roughened his voice, lending the words a tone of sincerity she hadn't anticipated.
He probably uses that line on all his victims. By now it didn't matter, though. Her clit and her vagina ached for relief. And hearing the same need in his voice, she couldn't deny him.
She arched her hips, trying to press her swollen clit against his leg. He moved aside, drawing a hiss of protest from her. Removing her shoes and reaching under her skirt, he swept his palm up the inside of her calf and thigh. On this summer evening, she hadn’t worn pantyhose. Her bare skin tingled, making her tremble with impatience for him to reach her hot, wet center. He cupped her mound through the bikini panties, silencing her moan of pleasure with a kiss.
Fumbling inside his shirt, she dug her nails into his chest. He growled and nibbled a path from her mouth to her neck. At the same time, he stretched the elastic of the panties to part her petals and caress the throbbing bud. Her clit started to twitch the instant he touched it. The frenzied licking of his tongue at her throat matched the rapid strokes of his fingers. When the throbbing began deep inside, he plunged two fingers into her slit, while his thumb kept rubbing the spot that ached most desperately.
She erupted like that volcano they had mentioned earlier, pumping her hips in time with his finger-thrusts. When she hit the peak and began to spiral down, he nipped her neck and flicked her clit in some magical way that sent her even higher.
At last, soaring to a height so rarefied it sucked the breath from her lungs, she fell off the precipice into oblivion.
Chapter Four
When she opened her eyes, a rosy mist clouded her vision, and her throat felt dry. After dragging herself to a sitting position, she rubbed her face and looked around. Oh, Lord, I can't believe I acted that way! How can I ever face Claude again?
Come to think of it, where was he? His cape still hung over the chair, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she didn't hear any sounds from the bathroom. No way could she look him in the eye, at least not until she'd put some distance between herself and her humiliating cat-in-heat behavior. Maybe he'd be gentleman enough, next time they met, to pretend the encounter had never happened. Meanwhile, she had to get out before he reap
peared. When he saw her gone, with luck he would return to his own room and leave her alone.
Standing up, she had to grab the bedpost until a surge of dizziness faded. Noticing how loosely the bodice of her dress hung, she reached behind and pulled up the zipper. Muzzy-headed, she staggered out the door and along the hall to the elevator, one hand on the wall for balance. By the time she'd ridden to the ground floor, the danger of toppling over at every step had passed. Her brain still felt like oatmeal, though. She drifted through the lobby to the main doors, with a vague idea of letting the night air clear her head.
She shoved through the double glass doors and meandered to the corner of Wilshire Boulevard.
* * * * *
Claude came back from his foray to the vending machines with a full ice bucket and a can of Coke. After her involuntary donation, Eloise would feel dehydrated. Even before unlocking the room door, he sensed her absence. What the devil had got into the woman? He hadn't expected her to wake so quickly, but what had possessed her to run off the moment she did?
And without her shoes, he noticed. Or her key, which he'd taken with him. While these thoughts ran through his mind, he was already heading for the stairs. He could dash to street level on his own power faster than the elevator could arrive and carry him down. If Eloise hadn't gone all the way to the first floor, he could search the hotel at leisure. The first priority was intercepting her if she was indeed wandering around the lobby barefoot and half-conscious. Damn, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing after the mutually satisfying "dessert" they'd sampled.
Hurrying from the stairwell into the lobby, he scanned the area. Just in time, he caught a glimpse of Eloise disappearing out the main entrance. He strode after her as fast as possible without breaking into a trot. She paused at the corner. As he walked toward her, he noticed the dreamy vagueness of her gaze. She stepped off the curb with no sign of noticing the red stoplight. Claude darted into the stream of traffic, wrapped his arms around her, and flashed back to the sidewalk too fast for human eyes to follow.
Clinging to him, she shook her head in obvious bewilderment. "Claude—?"
He sensed the fog lifting from her brain. In a second she would start complaining about the way he'd chased and grabbed her. He also sensed eyes boring into him. Not just the curious glances of people who wondered how a man in a tuxedo and a barefoot woman in a formal gown had suddenly appeared on the sidewalk. Hostile eyes that felt not quite human.
He wasted no time processing this impression. Choosing action over analysis, he draped himself in a psychic veil that repelled vision. He projected a "you don't see me" aura that amounted to invisibility. With Eloise held close to him, she fell under the same curtain. Casual passers-by would blink at their "disappearance," then instantly forget about them. As for the watcher who troubled Claude the most, if he, she, or it existed at all, the illusion might provide enough time for an unseen retreat to the shelter of Eloise's room.
Claude carried her, murmuring confused protests, up the stairs to that refuge. "What the blazes is wrong with you?" he said as he plopped her on the bed. "Where did you think you were going?" And why did his own heart hammer with alarm at her narrow escape? He tabled that question for the moment.
"Out, if it's any of your business." Her flushed cheeks stirred his appetite, even though he'd just feasted on her.
"It's my business when you nearly get yourself killed. What the devil did you want to run away for? Surely I didn't do anything to frighten you, did I?" He smoothed the hair straggling out of her braid.
She jerked her head away from his hand. "Of course not. I just wanted to be alone."
"Really?" He captured her eyes with his.
"If you must know, I was embarrassed." She gasped at her own frankness. He knew she must feel baffled by the way the truth had popped out.
Maintaining the gentle pressure of his mind on hers, he prompted, "Why in the world would you be embarrassed?"
"Humiliated. The way I acted when you, you know, touched me." The heat radiating from her skin made him want to absorb every drop of her essence.
"I enjoyed every minute of it. And so did you, didn't you?" He stroked her head, and this time she didn't resist. His hypnotic gaze and touch already had her partly tamed. "Here, you're thirsty," he said. He held the cold soda can to her mouth. She drank half of it and licked her lips in a maddeningly sensual way. He held her close and crooned a wordless song of languid pleasure until she went limp in his arms. "Don't worry about it. Lie down and rest. Everything is all right now."
He lowered her head onto the pillow and turned her on her side to unzip her dress. After peeling it off, he folded back the covers and tucked her in with the sheet up to her waist. He knew he ought to leave now, but her half-closed eyes watched him with drowsy lust that sparked a burning in the pit of his stomach.
Damn, I want her again! I can't remember the last time I was this hungry for a donor! If he couldn't remember, he told himself with an ironic smile, maybe the answer was "never". In any case, resisting temptation had never been his forte. Earlier, he could have satisfied his thirst without bringing her to climax. Her arousal alone would have spiced her blood. Her eagerness, though, had inflamed him past caution. Now the sight of her bare breasts, flushed with passion, and the aroma of her female musk, tinged with traces of soap and bath powder, overcame the remnants of his scruples. After all, what harm would another sip do?
Turning down the sheet, he scanned her aura, rose-tinted with desire. The blood humming just below the surface of her skin radiated heat, denser at her lips, the tips of her breasts, and the triangle between her legs. He kissed her while his fingers skimmed over her breast and abdomen, to the center from which the fragrance of her arousal emanated. With splayed hands he swept down her body, up again, over and over. Her excitement coursed along the path of his caresses to thicken and pool at her core. Rainbows of scarlet, magenta, and gold whirled in her aura. He stretched the elastic of her panties to probe her wetness. Her wiggle of pleasure almost goaded him into biting her at once. Clamping down on the impulse, he paused to slip off her panties.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His jaws ached, the roots of his teeth tingled, and saliva flooded his mouth. At the same time, her emotions and sensations swirled around him. He felt the mild confusion underlying her excitement and smoothed her forehead to erase that perplexity, before suckling her nipples and stroking the damp curls on her mound to stir her appetite afresh. Her legs eased apart, and she murmured wordless sounds of impatience. Licking the curve of her neck to prepare it for his teeth, he tasted salt and talcum. He felt the taut straining of her breast in his hand, the peak tantalizing the sensitive hairs in his palm. He felt the growing heat and tension spread from that point to the apex of her thighs. The air that enveloped them thrummed with the echo of her heartbeat.
He couldn't wait any longer. He nipped her throat with the razor-edge of his incisors, drawing a hot, tangy-sweet trickle of blood. The frenzied lapping of his tongue made her groan aloud, clutching his shoulders and pressing her heels into the mattress. Her urgency hammered at his consciousness. Exploring her secret places until he felt her excitement reach its highest pitch, he invaded her slit and simultaneously strummed the tight bud nestled in the curls. A keening cry burst from her. Her sheath clenched around his fingers. Flavored with her ecstasy, her blood rushed to his head like sparkling wine.
More than food, more than a sweet, intoxicating liqueur, her elixir ignited a miniature starburst in every cell of his body. He sometimes felt sorry for his prey, who experienced fulfillment only as a brief, localized spasm in the genitals. When he shared Eloise's climax, it flooded his entire being and went on and on, as long as his need demanded.
He goaded her to convulsions of delirium again and again. Finally, when both of them trembled with exhaustion, he blotted the tiny incision with a tissue until it stopped bleeding. "Sleep now," he murmured, stroking her hair. She relaxed onto the pillow with a long sigh
, her eyes closing. "The wound will heal quickly. You won't even notice it. Forget the details of this night. Just remember that we shared pleasure. I'll see you soon." He kissed her forehead.
Soon. Their next meeting couldn't happen soon enough for him. If she responded this passionately in a mesmerized trance, how would she react if he took her in full awareness? That way lies madness, old thing. Plenty of women relished the fantasy of a vampire's kiss. More often than not, forcing them to accept the fantasy as real meant disaster.
Chapter Five
Eloise awoke dizzy and dry-mouthed, with sunlight beating on her eyes. Why hadn't she closed the curtains the night before? Come to think of it, she didn't exactly remember going to bed. What was the last thing she remembered? Staggering to the bathroom sometime in the wee hours.
Okay, not very useful information. Before that? Blinking as her eyes adjusted to daylight, she flipped back the covers. She was naked. Oh, Lord, did Claude undress me and put me to bed? Why couldn't she recall any details? Only a muddled impression of lips and hands exploring her most tender places, followed by multiple explosions in a spot that tingled at the mere thought.
Yet she knew no penetration had occurred. In fact, from what few images she could retrieve, Claude hadn't even taken his pants off. So what did he get out of reducing her to a puddle of molten lava?
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow with a groan. And this was the man she expected to work with on the project that would save her from losing her home? She'd probably swoon the moment she met his eyes, like one of the fainting heroines in her script.
