Like his lips, mere inches from hers. And his breath, so warm on her cheeks. She went up on tiptoe and looped her arms around his neck, driven by a need that surprised her all over again with its intensity.
His head bent. His mouth came down on hers. She could taste his hunger, smell the sweet, hot lust that rose to meet hers.
“Wait!”
When he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pushed her away a few inches, Delilah growled infrustration. She came within a hair of throwing him across the room and onto the bed. She curbed the impulse just in time.
“Your pupils are still dilated.” He shook his head, self-disgust stamped across his face. “I’ve done a lot of things I regret, but I’ve never seduced a doped-up female.”
“The buzz is fading.” Her eyes held his, inviting, compelling. Her husky laugh rippled on the cold air of the cabin. “What you’re seeing is something entirely different.”
Still he resisted. Surprised at his stubborn strength, she laid her palms on the planes of his chest.
“Look into my eyes. Look deeply.”
She could tell the moment his will began to disintegrate. A flush rose in his whisker-stubbled cheeks. His voice roughened.
“We’ve got too many layers on,” he said, his fingers digging into her upper arms. “Let me shed a few of mine, then we’ll start on yours.”
She didn’t even try to hide her triumph this time. “Sounds good to me.”
He yanked at the buckle of his leather belt. The canisters and assorted weapons attached to it thunked as he draped them over the back of a chair.
Delilah’s hunger mounted with each second. Her hands eager, she helped him with the buttons of his brown uniform shirt. His Kevlar vest came off next. The white cotton T-shirt underneath molded a very impressive set of pecs. He worked out, she guessed. Regularly.
“Everything,” she ordered as he tugged his undershirt over his head. “Your shoes. Your pants. Your small clothes.”
His hands stilled. He glanced up, and the hot haze in his eyes cooled a few degrees.
“My what?”
Realizing her slip, she smothered a curse. She couldn’t believe she’d used that archaic term for under wear. She worked hard to keep current on contemporary slang and speech patterns. Most of her clan did. Nothing roused unwelcome curiosity like someone spouting ancient Persian or medieval French or, in her case, prim and proper Victorianisms.
The Seekers who searched out the night gathering spots helped in that regard. Fascinated by all things vampire, they were eager conversationalists and even more eager donors. Delilah con versed with them regularly and rarely tripped over her words anymore. Her only excuse this time was the hunger this man roused in her.
She wanted Brett Cooper now as she’d wanted few other partners. No other partner, she realized with a small shock.
He wanted her, as well. She could see it in the heat that leaped back into his eyes when she planed her palms over his chest. Hear it in the hiss of his breath. That was all the encouragement she needed to stretch up on her toes and run her fingers over his lips.
When he nudged her hand away and covered her mouth with his, her senses exploded. The logs in the stone fire place suddenly flamed vivid and bright. The moon glowed in can descently outside the window. She could hear Brett’s heart slamming against his ribs, loud and fast.
She reveled in the feel of him against her. His arms locked around her. His skin hot to her touch. His erection rock hard and straining against her. She wedged her palm between their hips, slid it downward, gripped his rigid flesh. Before she could get in more than a stroke or two, she felt her belly convulse, low and tight.
Hellfire and damnation!
She didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the medication or the feel of his hot, pulsing flesh against her palm that pushed her to the edge. Whatever the cause, she had only a second of warning. Maybe two. Barely enough time to throw back her head and ride the waves of pleasure that crashed through her.
She wanted to howl like the wolves who hunted her kind. Scream her delight and astonishment that it had happened so quickly. She managed to restrain herself, but couldn’t hold back her embarrassment when the in credibly intense pleasure subsided.
Mortified, she mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry. I’ve never, uh, finished so fast.”
“We’re not finished.” With a wicked glint in his eyes, he tugged her toward the bed. “Far from it.”
She would give more than she took this time, Delilah vowed. Much more.
“I’ve got something for your Christmas stocking,” she teased as he peeled off her fur vest and caught the hem of her black sweater.
“That right?”
“Pleasure like you’ve never experienced before.”
He was more interested in getting her naked than anything else at the moment. “Lift your foot.”
“Pleasure that only one of my kind can give,” she murmured provocatively while he removed her boots.
“Yeah?” he muttered, disposing of her leggings in one swift roll. “What kind is that?”
She stood before him in her bra and bikini briefs. That was one thing twenty-first-century women had all over their nineteenth-century counterparts. Delilah missed her family and the familiar surroundings of her time, but she did not miss bloomers and bustiers and corsets laced so tight she couldn’t draw a full breath. Not that she needed to draw a full breath anymore. Or any breath at all.
“What kind am I?”
Her skin gleamed pale in the moon light streaming through the bedroom window. Her eyes smiled into his.
“I’m one of the undead. Some call us night stalkers. Or vampires.”
“Right. Okay. Whatever.”
He won’t remember any of this, she thought as he tumbled her to the bed and dragged down her lacy briefs. But she would. She’d take the memory of his hot skin, his broad shoulders, his flat belly away with her.
And the feel of him! The moist head of his erection thrusting against her hip. The knee wedging hers apart. The fists he buried in her hair to anchor her while his mouth ravaged hers.
His hunger fed her own. She locked her arms around him and took his crushing weight eagerly. Then he began to work his way down her body. He used his tongue and teeth, nipping, kissing, leaving a trail of stinging sensation. Her nipples were already tight and aching when he reached them. By the time he finished, Delilah was squirming with a pleasure so intense it knifed from her breasts to her belly.
Belatedly she remembered her determination to give instead of take.
“My turn.”
Rolling over, she straddled his hips. She was wet and ready and eager. So was he. One shift and he was inside her. One thrust and he filled her. Hard. Hot. Pulsing with an urgency that magnified her own.
She searched his eyes, saw only raw desire. Smiling, she bent her head and sank her fangs into his throat. They went in cleanly. No snag, no drag, no pain. The dentist had done his job well. She’d give him that.
Brett went stiff under her. She felt his muscles coil and his hips lift in an instinctive attempt to throw her off. Then he groaned, or she did. Delilah didn’t know. Didn’t care. All that mattered, all her soaring senses could absorb was the feel of him inside her and the hot, sweet rush of blood that fed her being.
SHE WAS SLICK with his sweat and limp with pleasure when they finally finished.
She curled against him, her back to his chest, her bottom cradled on his thighs. She didn’t feel as energized as she usually did after a feeding. Two cataclysmic orgasms and the dregs of the drugs swimming in her system probably ac counted for that. But nothing could account for her monumental stupidity in falling asleep in Officer Cutie’s arms before she’d blocked his memory.
And before she’d secured herself against the dawn!
She realized her fatal error when she jerked awake an in determinate time later and found the cabin filling with the gray haze of dawn. With a gulp of dismay, Delilah lunged for th
e side of the bed, or tried to.
That’s when she discovered her right wrist was hand cuffed to the iron bedstead. She gaped at the cuffs in utter disbelief until a sudden burst of light whipped her head toward the window.
Her throat went bone-dry. Her skin got clammy. If she’d had any blood in her veins it would have congealed as a ray of dazzling sunshine sliced through the clouds and slanted across the tangled covers.
CHAPTER THREE
BRETT TRAMPED THROUGH the half inch of snow that had fallen just before dawn. If it lasted until tomorrow, they’d have one of Oklahoma’s rare white Christmases.
His mind wasn’t on the crystalline white, though, or the sunlight spearing through the hazy dawn. As he hauled an armload of wood from the rack at the side of the cabin, his thoughts swirled around the woman he’d picked up last night.
What kind of whack-job was she? Had he been hearing things or had she really spouted some craziness about being a night stalker? A vampire, for God’s sake! With a sore fang yet. Who’d managed to leave a hickey the size of New Jersey on his neck.
In the bright light of day, he couldn’t believe he’d swallowed her story about some dentist doping her up. Or that he’d brought her to his cabin instead of taking her in and requesting an Emergency Detention Order pending a mental health evaluation. The EDO would come now, and fast. Christmas Eve or not, the woman needed help. So did he, if last night was any indication.
Disgusted, Brett shook his head. His behavior was in excusable. He had no idea how he would explain his actions to his super visor when he brought the woman in. He couldn’t explain them to himself.
All he knew was that he’d ached for her almost from the first moment he’d pinned her in his cruiser’s head lights. Her dark eyes and full, red mouth were imprinted on his brain. Even with all that had happened, the memory of how she’d hooked her legs over his and writhed under…
“Hellfire and damnation!”
The curse cut through the cabin’s thick walls, so filled with fury and pain that Brett dropped the firewood and took off on a run. He slammed through the front door, sending it crashing back on its hinges, and felt his heart almost jump out of his chest.
He barely recognized the creature he’d left cuffed to the iron bedstead to prevent her from doing something crazy while he’d dressed and gone outside. She was crouched beside the bed, naked, her lips curled back, her arm almost pulled from its socket. Cursing, straining, panting, she fought the steel cutting into her wrist while she dragged the heavy bedstead away from the window, inch by screeching inch.
Her strength astounded Brett. That bed weighed a ton. He’d had to have one of his buddies help carry it in, and the thing was in four separate pieces then. That she could move it even a few inches blew him away.
“Calm down! Delilah, calm down! The cuff was just for your protection.”
And mine, he admitted as he rushed across the cabin. He was halfway to the sleeping area before he caught the stench of burning flesh.
He spotted the smoke a heart beat later. Thin and gray, it curled from the gaping wound in Delilah’s forearm, a few inches from her elbow. Her skin was charred, the muscle below exposed and sizzling.
“Christ Almighty! What did you do?”
“Don’t bring Him into it,” she snarled, her eyes wild and feral. “Just get these cuffs off me!”
He yanked the key out of his pocket and attacked the lock. The moment the bracelet sprang open, she leaped to her feet and raced for the bathroom.
“I’ve got a first-aid kit in the car,” Brett shouted after her. “I’ll put some burn cream on your arm, then we’ll get you to a hospital.”
He was back within moments, hammering on the bathroom door. It swung open under his assault and flooded the small room light. Delilah was holding her arm under the cold water faucet. She whipped her head up at the intrusion and skewered him with a furious glare.
“Shut the door!”
Brett just stood there, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the raw, gaping wound he’d witnessed just moments before was now only a patch of blistered flesh.
And even that was healing.
Right before his eyes.
“Shut the damned door!” she shrieked, jerking to one side to avoid the light coming in over his shoulder.
He swallowed, hard, and kicked the door closed. The bathroom plunged into gloom. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Brett didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just watched in silence as the skin on her arm grew smoother and whiter.
When every sign of the burn had disappeared, she let the water splash over her raw wrist. Flesh eaten almost to the bone by the steel cuff healed itself, exactly as her other injury had. By the time she grabbed a towel to dry her arm, a cold lump had formed in the pit of Brett’s stomach.
“Who are you?”
“I told you! Delilah Wentworth.”
Her chin came up. Fire burned in her dark irises, making them appear almost red.
“Tell me, Officer. Is that your standard morning-after technique? Hand cuffing women to your bed to keep them there?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, he dropped his gaze to her arm. “What are you?”
“I told you that, too,” she snapped. “I’m one of the undead.”
“Undead. Right.”
She tossed the towel aside and shed some of her belligerence. “Look, I don’t have time for lengthy explanations right now. I need to sleep during the day. In here, because this is the only room in the cabin without windows. So do me a favor and use the great outdoors as a bathroom until dusk, okay?”
“Hell, no, it’s not okay.”
“Please. I really, really need to sleep. The medication…all our activity last night…the fact that you almost fried me this morning… I’m tired, Brett. Exhausted. Totally wiped.”
He had to believe her. The fire had gone out of her eyes and her face now had a grayish cast.
“Please,” she muttered, dragging another towel from the rack and tossing it onto the floor. “Let me sleep. And close the door behind you!”
Brett reached behind him and fumbled for the latch. He’d figure this out, he thought as he backed out. He had to.
DELILAH BLINKED AWAKE, remembered her terror the last time she’d opened her eyes and came up so fast she banged her head on something hard and cold.
Cursing, she identified the object as the bathroom sink and sank down again. She was safe. Only a small sliver of light showed under the door. Artificial light, which meant it was night or at least dusk.
Okay. All right. She was safe. Some where in Oklahoma, she remembered. With Officer Brett. Who’d treated her to two in credible orgasms before tethering her to his bed.
She tried to work up a good mad over that, but the realization that the hard-eyed, suspicious cop had let her sleep through the day kept getting in the way. He must have believed her. Otherwise she would have woken up in a padded cell. Or dead—really dead—from exposure to the harsh winter sunlight. The burn on her arm must have forced him into a huge leap of faith. If so, she supposed the searing agony she’d endured was worth it. Barely!
Vowing to steer clear of his hand cuffs in the future, she reached for the red plaid shirt hanging from a hook on the door. The warm flannel enveloped her from neck to midthigh. Breathing in the scent of the man who owned it, she rolled up the sleeves and emerged from her dim cocoon.
The first thing that hit her was a combination of scents. Burning logs. Tangy pine resin. New snow and gravy. Rich brown gravy swimming with beef and potatoes.
She tracked the last scent to the kitchen. An empty stew can sat on the kitchen counter, a covered saucepan on the stove’s back burner. She couldn’t digest regular food, but it could still tantalize her. Shrugging off a twinge of almost-for gotten appetite, she looked around for Brett.
She didn’t have to look far. He was sprawled in one of the over size leather chairs by the fire place, legs out stretched, ankles crossed. He’d traded his uniform
for jeans. Snug, well-washed jeans, Delilah noted as she stepped up to the living area, teamed with a long-sleeved black T-shirt. She had ample opportunity to admire the way both items displayed his muscular torso before he broke the taut silence.
“How’s the arm?”
“Good. Fine.”
He nodded once. Just once. He was back in cop mode. Hardly surprising, considering how she’d practically gnawed off her arm to escape the sun this morning.
“Thanks for letting me crash in your bathroom.”
“Yeah, well, consider it an early Christmas present.”
Not that early. Unless she’d slept longer than she thought, this was Christmas Eve. The second of her clan’s five-night conclave. She’d missed the critical first night completely.
The reminder made her chest squeeze. If she took off now, right this moment, she might arrive in time to mitigate some measure of Sebastian’s wrath. Yet she knew she couldn’t leave without answering the questions in Brett’s eyes.
“You still can’t quite accept what I am, can you?”
“I’m working on it.” He dropped his feet to the floor and nodded to the chair opposite his. “Sit down. We need to talk this out.”
She owed him that much. Or was she rationalizing, trying to steal just a few more minutes with this man? Knowing it was a combination of both, she sank into the chair. The well-worn leather creaked under her as she smoothed the plaid flannel shirttails over her thighs.
“There’s not much to talk out. I lived. I died. I’m living again between worlds.”
“I need more than that.”
Of course he did. He was a cop.
“What do you want to know?”
“Start at the beginning. Who is…or was…Deli l ah Wentworth?”
“Ah, there’s a question.”
She rarely thought about her previous life anymore. Her parents had died long ago. Everyone she’d known then was gone. The woman—girl—she’d once been no longer existed in anyone’s memory but her own.
Christmas With a Vampire Page 3
