by Karin Harlow
When he moved and settled against her, Jax held her breath. But instead of taking her, he kissed her. He took her face into both of his hands, lowered his lips to hers, and, in a light, almost reverent, way, he kissed her. The gesture nearly did her in. Anger, embarrassment and a dawning sense of gratitude for his consideration overwhelmed her. She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. Desperately she tried to stay them, but they leaked out.
“Don’t cry,” he softy said against her lips. His kiss deepened. She could taste her tears on his tongue. His body swelled, yet he did not push, though she wanted him to.
When he dropped his lips to a turgid nipple and sucked, Jax closed her eyes and arched.
Damn.
He took his time, savoring her until she felt wet between the legs and a deep buzzing of desire inside of her. He released her nipple and licked it, then licked her neck and chin, then hovered above her lips. Jax panted like she had just run a marathon. When he slid his hand down her belly, she hissed in a sharp breath. Slowly, his fingers brushed across her soft, downy mound and found her clitoris.
“Jesus,” she gasped. His fingertips slid languorously across her moist curls.
“Now, tell me, Jax, who do you work for?”
“I’ m”—she gasped as his fingers dipped just slightly into her wet opening—“self-employed.”
His hand cupped her mound. She nearly came. He increased the pressure. “Stop—” she gasped.
“Not until you tell me what I want to know.”
“Nothing until you finish what you started.”
He smiled against her skin and trailed his lips down her belly to the inside of her right thigh. His hot breath singed her. His teeth scraped along her skin. Her entire body quivered. She could feel the moisture between her legs pool.
“Tell me,” he softly urged as his teeth scraped harder into her skin.
Jax moaned and arched. “I told you, I work alone. I’m gathering intel on Senator Rowland for an ultraconservative group of investors who want to keep a very low profile. The two guys with me work for them too.”
He licked the crease of her thigh where it met her pubis. “What kind of information?”
She swallowed hard and bit her bottom lip. “Anything that can cost him the election.”
He nipped her thigh. “You’ re lying.”
“No—no lies,” she swore and almost believed herself.
His body stiffened; he knew she was not being honest. Would he carry out his threats? He slid back up her body and lowered his lips to hers, deeply kissing her. The rush of sensation was dizzying. He pulled slightly away and said, “If we’ re going to work together, there must be trust, Jax.”
His implication that they might work together, as well as his asking for her trust, startled her. “I trust you not to hurt me,” she said. And at that moment she meant it.
His eyes softened. “Ah, Jax, you make me forget what I am.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “You make me forget everything.”
He parted her thighs with his knees and gently pushed against her. Slowly she opened up to him. Keenly he watched her. This was it, the point of no return. She ran her fingers down his back and arched her back. He entered her then. Slowly. Fully. Deliciously. Shock waves of pleasure crashed through her entire body.
Jax’s eyes widened. Oh, God. Marcus smiled and lowered his lips to hers. “You’ re perfect.”
Emotion she didn’t know she possessed welled up inside her chest. He moved slowly, reverently, as if she would break if he pushed too hard. His gentleness cut the last vestige of hesitation from her soul, and she gave herself completely up to him.
TWENTY-ONE
I won’t break, Marcus,” she whispered in his ear. His body stilled. Then, as if a switch had been tripped, his long arms wrapped tightly around her, bringing her as close to him as he could. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched as he drove deeply into her. They hung suspended as one entity, each wide-eyed at the depth of sensation they extracted from the other. Jax closed her eyes and let him take her away to any place he wanted to go. In the mad rush of their union, they rolled onto the floor, Marcus buffering her fall with his big body.
Out of nowhere, a fierce orgasm caught hold of Jax. Then, in a wild race against her next breath, it crashed with such velocity inside her that she screamed and dug her nails into Marcus’s shoulders. The waves were so intense, so deep and so long, that she thought she would die. He moved deep inside of her as she came, never once letting up with his wild pace.
When the last wave receded and her body lost most of its strength, he swelled thicker inside of her. Jax felt his quickening. He pressed his palm to her chin and pushed back her head, exposing her neck as she arched her back and took him deeper still inside of her. His touch sparked another harsh wave of desire. It caught immediately. Jax’s eyes widened. Dear Lord, she didn’t know if she could physically survive another orgasm.
“You can do it, Jax,” he harshly said as he lowered his lips to her jugular. “Keep up with me,” he whispered against her slick skin. He licked the thick artery and, as their bodies prepared for devastation, he urgently asked, “Allow me to drink from you.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
His fangs sunk into her neck. Jax cried out and closed her eyes in sweet sublimity. Her body exploded from within. She clung to his body as he drank from her. She wanted him to take more.
As her body undulated, she pressed herself closer to him, reveling in the intimateness of his coming inside of her as she came with him, of him taking her blood into his body. If only she could take the same from him. As the thought swirled in her head, she felt his body swell. He jerked away from her neck and pressed her back into the twisted sheets, his body still inside of hers. His lips glistened with her blood. Jax arched, reached her lips to his and kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his lips.
The darkness nearly overcame him. Barely, Marcus controlled it, as well as the ridiculous urge to press her against his chest and give her his lifeblood. If that happened, they would forever be connected. It was so damn tempting.
She was everything he’d known she’d be. And more. And knowing it, he knew she could not live. She would be his end if he allowed it.
The agony of that realization hit him hard. He threw his head back and cried out as the final wave of his orgasm hit him. His body pounded into hers. His body needed the violent release. When it ended, he collapsed beside her on the floor.
Breathing heavily among the damp, wrinkled linens, it took only seconds for him to realize he wanted more—needed more. More sex. More blood. All of her. But if he took more, he would lose it all. He needed to leave. Now, and not look over his shoulder. She would get them both killed.
As winded as he was, it only took him a few minutes to recover. It took his partner much, much longer. As he pulled away from her, she lay with her eyes closed, gasping for breath. He closed his eyes and tried to probe her thoughts. He felt her fear, her excitement, and he was glad to know any thoughts of that pig who had violated her were far away. He wished he could erase them for her, but he didn’t possess that power. At best, he could read her emotions and soothe her with his thoughts. He wondered if having taken his blood, though only a slight bit, she could read his emotions, as well. The idea bothered him.
He turned to his side and studied her, slick and breathless beside him. Her full breasts rose and fell with each harsh breath she took. Her pink nipples were hard, her breasts full, round. And soft. He resisted the urge to rub his cheek against them. His gaze traveled down her belly to the jagged scar there. He scowled.
Lightly he traced a finger along the raised skin.
“Don’ t,” she commanded and grabbed his hand, halting his touch. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing angrily.
He didn’t push it, but he didn’t withdraw his touch, either. “What happened?”
She sat up, shook him off, and grabbed her knees to her chest. �
�Nothing that concerns you.” Standing, she strolled to the open bathroom door, wrapping herself in feigned composure, as if it had been body armor. She paused and, without looking over her shoulder, said, “I want you to leave.”
Marcus snorted and stood. He walked slowly up behind her. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired.”
He lowered his lips to her right shoulder. “Me too.” He kissed her, not wanting to leave and not buying her sudden show of bravado. “But I need to shower before I go.”
Her body stiffened. “Go shower in your own room.”
He slid his arm around her waist and brought her against him. He closed his eyes and inhaled her wild scent. God, he wanted to go back there with her again. “Jax, I’m afraid we have a problem.”
She tried to face him, but he clamped his arm tighter around her. He felt her heartbeat accelerate and her blood whoosh in her veins. “What problem is that?”
He turned her slowly around, entwined his fingers through hers and raised her hands above her head, pressing her up against the wall. “I want you all over again.” And God help him, he never wanted to stop. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. Her body sparked against his. The mad rush of her desire hit him broadside. His body swelled in response.
“Be gentle this time,” she whispered as she gave herself over to him.
Hours later, just moments away from the first rays of the sun breaking through the night, Marcus stood over the sleeping body in the big rumpled bed. Her hair was still damp from their shower. The impression from his body was still embedded in the sheets beside her. Once had not been enough for him. He’d taken her in the shower, then once more in this bed. He was insatiable. As he buttoned his shirt, his cock thickened. There was so much more he wanted to do to her before he had to stop. He cracked a small smile. She had begged him to stop in the shower. Begged him for more in the bed until, finally sated, he had relented and laid down beside her as she’d tumbled into a deep sleep.
Her creamy skin had paled. Dark crescents framed her eyes. Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed her dark hair from her neck. Her skin was cool to the touch. He traced his fingertips along the slight bruise marks his fangs had made. In a few hours, they would be barely visible, by tonight gone. He brushed his thumb against the marks. Jax stirred slightly and softly moaned.
Had he taken too much from her? He felt a hint of something he’d not felt in a long time. Guilt. Guilt, even though she’d given so freely of herself.
“Jax,” he called as he gently shook her.
She moaned slightly and reached out for him in her sleep.
“Are you all right?”
She smiled and nodded.
Marcus smiled in return. He gazed toward the sliding glass door. The dark was beginning to gray. He had less than an hour to go to ground.
As he shrugged on his jacket, Marcus contemplated his next move with Jax Cassidy.
It was obvious she was not going to willingly give him the information he wanted. But what if she were telling him the truth? That she was an independent and not associated with the organization Rowland called in? Part of him wanted to believe her; part of him knew he shouldn’ t.
During his twenty-eight years as a human and the last seven as a soulless immortal, he had never felt more alive. She made him realize how much he wanted to live again. In an unexplainable way, she gave meaning to his lifeless existence. And until he had no choice, he would not give up the sensations she elicited from him. Not until he absolutely had to. He strode to the door and looked at her one last time. She looked sated, content. At least one of them was. He exhaled loudly. He still had a job to do. He’d just take a different approach. As he thought of her two cohorts down the hall, he smiled. Looked like he’d have to get his hands dirty after all.
TWENTY-TWO
Marcus softly closed the hotel room door behind him. Immediately, his head snapped back and his nostrils flared. He looked down the short hall to an alcove. A tall, muscular body appeared, followed by the words, “The colonel is looking for you.”
Marcus scowled at Gideon Dimarco, the colonel’s guard dog. “How did you find me?” The why didn’t matter nearly as much as the how. Marcus took great care concealing his scent from those who were as cursed as he.
Dimarco strode out into the harsh light. “I could smell you fucking all the way out on Filmore.” His sharp gaze went past Marcus to the door he had just exited. “Any left?”
Marcus strode toward him. Dimarco was bloodthirsty and lacked self-control. Although he was older than Marcus by a few decades, his maker, Gustav, was not nearly as powerful as Marcus’s maker—Thorkeel Rus, aka Colonel Joseph Lazarus. That in and of itself made Dimarco of no consequence to Marcus, except for the fact that he didn’t trust him.
Or like him.
Just as he passed Dimarco, Marcus reached out and grabbed him by the throat, shoving him so hard against the wall that the impact dented the drywall. A light fixture shattered, dimming the area. Gideon’s eyes burned red in his fury. “Don’t fucking go there.” Marcus let go of him, then proceeded past him to the elevator.
A short time later, Marcus strolled nonchalantly into the colonel’s Oakland lair. He didn’t feel nonchalant, however; quite the opposite. He was pissed. Pissed because an underling like Dimarco had tracked him down and, in the process, inadvertently tracked down Jax. But Gideon he could handle, if he had to. He’d pay for it in the end, but he’d protect what he had to and deal with the consequences.
Marcus faltered for a split second. The thought of protecting the woman who had gotten under his skin unnerved him. It unnerved him almost as much as the unexpected warmth that had surfaced when he’d realized he had a sister. He had protected her too, by calling off Jax. And he knew Lazarus wasn’t going to like that.
Through the wide eastern-exposed window in front of him, he glanced at the pinkening horizon. The tall, dark figure of his maker was illuminated against the pastel sunrise. Unlike most vampires, Lazarus was, with considerable precautions, able to venture into the sunlight, but only for a short time. Marcus had long envied that ability, but not anymore. Recently, Marcus had discovered that he, too, could withstand the sun’s more tender rays, but only on the fringes of dusk and dawn, never at the height of the day. He was sure that by the time Lazarus was done with him, enough time would have passed that he’d be stuck here, forced to spend the day as the colonel’s guest—something he never enjoyed.
“Sir?” Marcus asked as he stepped farther into the room.
Lazarus slowly turned. As he did, Marcus saw the slight flare of his nostrils. He knew Jax’s blood scent was all over him. Hell, a damn rock could smell it.
“I see you had some good blood sport last night,” the colonel murmured.
Marcus nodded. “Very good.” And it was true. Being with Jax had infused him with a shot of mortality he had missed for so long.
As he approached the colonel, he too detected a new blood scent. It was pungent, floral, with a hint of perfume. Marcus halted in midstep. The scent. It was oddly familiar but distinctly different. Last night. In the Green Room. Eerily similar to his mother’s scent. He shook off the absurdity of his thoughts. He was mistaken. Many blood scents were similar. Besides, Lazarus would never betray him like that. Marcus smiled. “It seems, sir, I’m not the only one.”
Lazarus scowled, apparently not liking the fact that Marcus knew anything about his extracurricular activities. Before Marcus could consider the idea further, Lazarus spoke. “Why is the Rowland girl still alive?”
Marcus shrugged and walked toward the rising sunlight. He felt the warmth of the rays as they penetrated the glass. If felt good. Comforting. For the first time since he could remember, he wanted to wake up to the sun with a woman in his arms. One particular woman. While the image warmed him, the reality of his folly chilled his blood.
He shook the ridiculous longing off and turned to face the colonel, continuing to enjoy the warmth on his back. Gideon hissed
in the darkened corner, envious of where he dared not step.
“She’s still alive because I chose not to eliminate her last night.” Marcus decided at that moment not to divulge to his maker the fact that he knew Grace Rowland was his sister. If Lazarus knew, then it was simply a test, a test Marcus could pass on his terms. If he didn’t know, then things were certainly going to get more complicated.
Lazarus’s scowl deepened. He glanced at Gideon, then back at Marcus. “And since when do you determine these things?”
“I have always determined them, sir. It took me three weeks to finally get the opening I needed to take out Blalock. The stars were not aligned last night to eliminate Grace Rowland.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in nailing that piece of fluff this morning, you could have taken out the mark,” Gideon sneered from the shadows. Marcus raised his hand and shoved hard at the air. The centrifugal force sent Gideon flying into the corner. Gideon growled and came at him, but the colonel stopped him with one piercing glance. Marcus smirked.
“What I do on my time is no concern of yours, Dimarco.”
The colonel stalked closer to Marcus. “Tell me of this blood sport.”
“I suspect she’s part of the organization Rowland hired.”
The colonel smiled, his fangs glittering in the rising sunlight. “Ah, now I understand.”
He turned back to Gideon, who was literally beginning to simmer. “Go to ground, Gideon, before you turn to a pile of ash.”
Dimarco dashed past them both into the darkness of the hall and, Marcus assumed, to the blacked-out bedroom where he would spend the day untouched by the sun.
The colonel turned his attention back to Marcus and asked, “You’ ve grown less sensitive to the sun, I see.”
Marcus turned back to the window and raised his face to the golden glow. “It feels good.” Then he turned back to his maker. “Before I could only handle the first blush of dawn; then I had to go to ground like Dimarco. Why is my resistance stronger now?”
