The Community Series, Books 1-3

by Tappan, Tracy

  “You’re not.” Deep grooves set into the sides of his mouth. “I said that about Hadley being so great to hurt you. I…Pandra, I…” He turned his head aside, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he clearly struggled for the right words. “You wanted to know about my best kiss?” He brought his turbulent gaze back to her. “I don’t have any good ones. And do you know why? Because I always pick the wrong women, always, even going back to my first kiss. It was with Trinnía. You know her?”

  “Ţărână’s hairdresser,” Pandra said. And probably the most dishy Dragon Vârcolac in existence, besides Jennilith. Figured.

  “So you’ve seen her. She’s a damned piece of fluff. A great girl, yeah—no offense to her—but that kiss was like, Jesus, so ridiculously careful. Lips all nicey-nice, when what I wanted to do was crush her against me and get my tongue going hard and wet with hers. And with Hadley…? Even worse. I had to walk on tiptoes around her all of the time. I hated it, but couldn’t admit that she was wrong for me because I was so in love with the concept of her, or what she meant: wife, sex, family, blood that didn’t taste like a drunk’s upchuck. Then Fate came along and picked you for me: the absolute best mate. A woman who’s tough enough to call me on my shit and kick my ass back into line when I need it, but who’s also soft enough to crawl around on the floor playing with a bunch of school children. Someone who’s strong enough to come out the other end of a sucky upbringing with the fight still left in her. But who did, definitely, get battered down by a doucher of a father, and so could stand a husband who really wants to make her happy.”

  She stared at him as needles of emotion pricked at her tear ducts. If he was expecting a comment, he wasn’t getting one. Her throat had started to shrink roundabout his admission that Hadley was the wrong woman for him, and had battened down completely when he’d said he wanted to make her happy.

  “Don’t let all these months of my hard-headedness cloud the truth of what I’m saying to you now. Okay? Please.”

  A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and forged a path down her cheek. She pressed both palms over her face. Arr, what was this? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

  “Oh, shit. Please, don’t cry, Pandra.”

  Another sob wrenched out of her, and another. She tried to choke back her tears. This was ludicrous. What would Raymond say if he saw her like—? She immediately cut off the thought. Sod him! She’d gotten herself into a sorry state because of too many years spent keeping her feelings locked away. Sod him! Sod him! Sod him! Pressing her palms more firmly to her face, she wept harder.

  “That’s it.” She heard Thomal shift along the stretch of his seat. “I’m coming over to your side and hugging you, because, seriously, you’re killing me with this.”

  She felt the vinyl of her booth give, and then Thomal’s warm body was next to hers, his arms enfolding her in an embrace. The gentleness of his touch was both foreign and welcome in one amazing instant.

  She hiccupped. “If you ever hurt me again…”

  “No way,” he came back. “Not happening.”

  “I realize that you might sometimes, by accident.” Tears gushed uncontrollably, soaking her palms. “But if you ever do it on purpose, I’ll quit you, Thomal. I swear it. No second chances.”

  “You have an absolute deal on that.” He drew her closer.

  She sank against him. Her lips wobbled and her spine shook. Bugger me. “Why did you have to snub me for so bleeding long, you god-awful toe-rag?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her brow.

  A spasm of pain clutched her sternum. Cobras, cobras, so bloody many. They twanged out of her, fast and straight, like cartoon snakes miraculously transmuted into arrows. Her heart expanded and filled her chest, taking up the space left beyond. She nestled her face into one of Thomal’s sturdy pectorals, his scent filling her nose. She loved how he smelled…although tonight there was an unwelcome hint of strangely scented soap about him. But underneath that he was pure Thomal, a scent of darkness, almost like a foreign spice, and danger, like polished steel, but also earthy, natural smells, like what color and light and texture might smell like if those things had scents.

  Warmth flooded her veins, spreading calm through her. Her stomach did a punch-front forward flip and round off cartwheel—gymnastics again, like when she’d seen him in his shaggable glad rags in Rufskin. She sniffed back the last of her tears. “I have a term,” she said, taking some of his shirt in her hand and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

  He ran a palm lightly down the curve of her back. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  “I want us to have sex.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Pandra cut a sharp right out of Garwald’s, Thomal hurrying at her side, both of them legging it down Main Street. Several meters from the mansion, they broke into an outright run, and by the time they were halfway up the grand staircase, she’d already wrapped herself around him—legs clamping his waist, arms enfolding his neck…lips kissing a path up his throat. Thomal uttered a growl.

  Pounding up to the second floor, he kicked open his bedroom door, sending the wood panel banging against the wall, and in five long strides, he was at his bed, tumbling her onto the mattress and coming down hard on top of her. Her insides clenched with quickening desire…and the instinct to roll him beneath her and take control. She never let a man be on top during a tupping.

  But then he levered his own body up, bracing himself on straight arms as he gazed down on her with a wolfish expression, his lungs working. “You know what I’m thinking?”

  An unsteady laugh broke from her. “I’d say the possibilities are too endless at this particular moment, love.”

  “I was thinking that we’ve never even kissed.” He lifted a hand and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.

  She gave him a heavy-lidded look. “An oversight you plan to rectify, dare I hope?”

  The dark centers of his eyes lit. He took her lower lip between his thumb and forefinger and tugged gently on it as he lowered his head at the same time. His lips met hers, his fingers sliding to rest at her chin. The sweet taste of his breath washed over her tongue, his mouth warm and soft and greedy. She drank him in…and grew more thirsty. Intoxicated. Sparks of fire skittered up and down her spine as he molded his lips to hers with soft caresses, his attentions caring and reverent.

  An unfamiliar uneasiness spiraled through her. Palming the back of his neck, she pulled him closer and slanted her head to the side, roughening the kiss into something hard and hungry. Familiar. Comfortable.

  Thomal groaned into her mouth, then lifted his head and offered her a crooked grin. “I definitely have a best kiss now.”

  She smiled back. “Go shut the door.”

  “Hell if I’m moving.” His voice was a hoarse snarl.

  “Thomal.” She gave his shoulder a shove. “You want every Tom, Dick, and Harry to see us at our business?”

  “Right now? Don’t care.” He angled his hips forward, prodding her vadge with the hard length of his stalk.

  A low moan came out of her. Another move like that and she’d be throwing prudence to the dogs, as well. “If you go close the door,” she coaxed, “I’ll be in the buff by the time you get back.”

  He was off her at Dragon speeds, blasting over to the door and slamming it shut before she even had a chance to blink. He turned to face her, chin down, peering at her through the fan of his lashes as he kicked his shoes into the corner. Then his pants came off, revealing that magnificent dobber of his, driving out from a golden thatch of hair.

  She ran her tongue across her lips. Her nipples tightened.

  He prowled toward her, pulling his shirt off over his head, a task that rippled and delineated an astounding array of muscles, tendons, and ligaments. And then he was standing in front of her, arrogant and strong and proud, a sexy smirk aimed at her. “You said something about naked?”

  “Oh.” She laughed. “Didn’t mean to muc
k about, hubby, but you’re a right distracting article.” She hauled off her tank top and cast it aside along with her bra.

  His gaze dropped to her naked breasts and lingered there…for so long that a blush actually rose. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  “Gonna have to attend to those.” With a hand on her shoulder, he urged her down flat on the mattress, and leaned over her, his lips lowering to within a scant inch of her nipple. He hovered there, his hot breath slipping over the crest of her breast and rolling in a lightening tide of warmth down the sides.

  She squirmed. If she grabbed him by the temples and muscled him down the rest of the way, would that be bad form? His tongue darted out and flicked over just the tip. Her eyes fell closed as her nipples crinkled and her vadge warmed.

  He placed a kiss just below the cleavage of her breasts, leaving her aching nipple behind as he forged a path downwards.

  Frustration twitched and pulled at her.

  He must’ve heard her teeth come together. He chuckled low in his throat. “I’ll be back, horndog.” He kissed lower. Then stopped.

  She angled a glance down at him.

  Eyes the color of steel ice were pinned on her belly. His fingertips traced the ugly scar there. “You’ve been hurt so much in your life,” he whispered, bending forward to brush his lips over her scar.

  Every muscle in her body tightened. Bristling with irritation, she shifted rigidly under his touch.

  “Tell me what happened to you.”

  “No.”

  Thomal straightened. His gaze was cloudy and filled with a poignant ache. He took a step back.

  The absence of his body heat chilled her. My, what a recognizable feeling. Her fingers curled inward.

  “Maybe it’s too soon for this,” he said. “Too soon after Oţărât. Too soon for us.”

  “Why?” she snapped, sitting up. “Because I’m unwilling to subject myself to your pity?”

  “My—?” He looked at her as if she was a complete nutter. “Because I’m one of the people who’ve hurt you so badly, and you understandably don’t trust me, yet.”

  “You’ve been nice to me all of a few hours, Thomal. What the bleeding hell did you expect?”

  “Exactly my point.” Turning around, Thomal grabbed his blue jeans off the floor.

  She narrowed her eyes as she watched him tug on his trousers. Anger slithered a hot coil through her body. She vaulted off the bed, stalked across the room, and wrenched the door open. “All right, then. Get out.”

  He stopped dressing, his shirt draped over the palm of his hand.

  “That’s what you do best, isn’t it?” She squeezed the doorknob, forcing it from a circle to an oval. “Leave.”

  A sinew bunched in his cheek. “This isn’t me rejecting you, Pandra. The total opposite. I don’t want to get into that bed with you until it can be more than fucking. I want it to…I don’t know, to mean something beyond the obvious: that we’re both horny as shit for each other.”

  “Mean something?” She scoffed at the concept even as little muscles in her belly jumped and a queer bolt of panic closed off her throat. Old memories rose up: a poor mark in algebra class, second prize at the boxing club tournament, her inability to master Russian. Any less-than-perfect performance had been cause for disappointment to flicker through Raymond’s gaze, his encouraging smile to turn so utterly false. And now here she was again, standing on the edge of a precipice where she was certain to disappoint. Because she had no idea how to make sex mean anything.

  She stalked back over to Thomal and snatched his T-shirt out of his hand. “And here I thought you liked it rough, old boy. What was all that piffle about no tiptoeing?” She tugged the shirt on over her head, glad when the hem fell to the tops of her thighs. She didn’t want to be naked anymore. “Was that just a load of tut?”

  “Look,” he said in a measured tone. “You told me no second chances. So I’m not going to mess this up. I’ve done every wrong thing I could possibly do with you, Pandra, and I don’t want to keep doing that.” He dragged in a deep breath, the muscles across his chest tensing. “I don’t mean to ask too much of you. I know you don’t love me. I…this is the first time we’ll be together since the night of…” He trailed off.

  Her eyes drifted sideways, away from him. “And what if it can’t mean anything?” She fingered the soft cotton of Thomal’s T-shirt. Her heart suddenly felt watery.

  She heard a frown enter his tone. “You mean ever?”

  She shrugged stiffly. “Sex has always been about blowing off a proper head of steam for me, Thomal, usually involving violence to some degree.” She turned to look at him. “Something I’m sure you can attest to. There’s a good chance I’ll kick ten balls out of you when we’re done.” Especially should it mean something. How heinous.

  “You can certainly try.” A thread of amusement ran through his voice.

  Her skin flushed hot. “Flaming hell, now isn’t the time to get mangled up in your male ego. I’m dead serious here.”

  “So am I.” He scratched the side of his face. “I’m not afraid of you, Pandra.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. Everyone was afraid of her, the fool. “You ought to be. Stuff your Dragon speed and your Vârcolac strength. You can’t beat me.”

  He shrugged, his expression remaining neutral. “That’s something we’ll never find out for sure, because I’m never fighting you again. If you come at me with violence, I’ll combat you with love—kisses, hugs, and a bunch of dorky jokes, poor you.”

  She gaped at him. She had no words for that, not a one. Nor did she have any idea what the devil she’d do if he actually followed through and played smoochie face with her nasty half.

  He walked over to her and reached behind her, gently closing the door, grinning as he said, “This is my bedroom, by the way.”

  She flushed.

  “Now you and I are going to do that thing couples do when they don’t have sex.” More humor rippled through his tone. “I think it’s called cuddling.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Pandra pulled her hand from Thomal’s when he tried to lead her to the bed, and instead strayed to the other side of the room. Her husband’s eyes followed her as she went over to his desk and slumped down at it. Cuddling? Playing little spoon to a man’s big spoon was another precipice she didn’t care to approach.

  “What’s wrong?” Thomal asked quietly.

  She peered up at the ceiling. “Why do you have to make everything so bloody complicated?” She spun around and started to prop her elbows on the desk. Then froze. What the dickens? She picked up the art pad off the top of the desk and stared down at the drawing with her lips parted, utterly stupefied.

  She heard Thomal move up behind her.

  A landslide of emotion and heat tumbled through her. She turned on her chair to gape up at him. “Is this how you actually see me?”

  Tenderness filled his gaze. “That is you.”

  She looked back down at the portrait he’d drawn of her, her throat closing off around an emotion too unfamiliar to name. Embarrassment? Pride? A sort of giddy that’s me wonderment? Her likeness stared back at her, the mouth turned in a smile both ironic and gentle, the depth of the eyes so… No…no…it was…

  Pandra outlined the edge of the art pad with her fingertips. For as long as she could remember, she’d felt like her soul resided on the outside of her body; that she had one, yes, but it was separate from her, walking hand-in-hand, perhaps, without a great deal of influence. Somehow Thomal, with no more than charcoal, dark pencils, and his own gifted hand, had merged the two, body and soul in one. That was the only way she could think to describe the indescribable something that he’d put on the page. In essence, he’d portrayed the woman she’d always wanted to be, and it was the furthest thing from Dirty Pandra in existence. “How did you do this?”

  His eyes warmed on her. “I was feeling inspired.” He stepped nearer, his fingertips drifting be
neath her jaw. His body heat floated around her.

  The hint of a shiver touched the base of her spine.

  “I have a way of seeing the truth in people,” he told her. “Even that night in the seedy hotel room, I sensed you were more than just some half-Rău bully.” His fingers floated partway down her throat, then wandered away. “It’s why I didn’t kill you.”

  She lifted her brows slightly.

  He smiled. “When I was feeding on you, I couldn’t drain you dry, but I definitely could’ve ripped your throat to shreds.”

  She exhaled a short laugh. “I wondered about that. I thought perhaps there was some natural Vârcolac law against hurting a host.”

  “Nope.” His mouth angled a bit. “Why would you let me bite you, if you weren’t sure about it?”

  She smiled thinly. “Self-destructive risk-taking was sort of my go-to back then.”

  Thomal’s mouth canted more to the side.

  She glanced down at her portrait again, marveling once more at the image staring back at her. “You are a dab hand at capturing a person, Thomal. Whyever did you give it up?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I figured it wasn’t manly. I had my dad and Arc to compete with in the household, and being an artist felt like a disadvantage.”

  She didn’t know about his father, but he was overestimating Arc’s level above him on that score. “There are many different ways to define masculinity.”

  He laughed. “No, there aren’t.”

  She made a moue of her lips.

  “But, yeah, if you mean that it’s time to figure out who I am based on who I want to be, I agree.”

  She snorted. “Welcome to the club on that.” She carefully set the picture back on the desk. “Maybe,” she murmured, “we’re closer to each other than either of us realize.” She looked up at him, holding his gaze for a long moment. “Remember earlier how you said you wanted to give our relationship a chance?”