Dance with Me, My Lovely

by Jaye Roycraft

  She purred deep in her throat. “What are we waiting for? Let's get a wiggle on.” She gave him a wink and a cat-smile, as if she was the one with a secret to divulge.

  In less than an hour Neva was in his bed, naked except for the long strand of pearls around her neck. She held the strand with both hands, pulled it tight, and rolled the pearls over her breasts until her nipples stood erect. The sight did the same to a different part of his anatomy. He straddled her, balancing on his knees so she could get a good look at her effect on him. She smiled, then dragged the pearls to her mouth and held them between her teeth.

  When she started sucking on the pearls, he returned the smile. “Is that an invitation, my love?” Tonight was all about pleasing her, but he wasn't one to turn down an offer.

  The white pearls popped enticingly from between her pursed lips, and he went lightheaded with the blood rush to his cock. Her mouth relaxed into a wide smile, and it was good to see her without the haunted look that she wore so often lately.

  He lifted himself to a kneeling position so that the head of his cock wavered just above her mouth. She spit the pearls out, and he thought he'd faint. She circled his shaft with one hand and guided the head to her mouth, then snaked out her tongue to give him a lick. The pearls had worked her salivary glands into overtime, and her tongue was deliciously wet. She took him into her mouth, not closing around him with her lips, but letting her tongue do all the work, painting every part of his head. She drew him in deeper so that the tip of his head pressed against the roof of her mouth while she ran her tongue around the split that separated his head and shaft. He closed his eyes, feeling nothing but the wet heat of her mouth.

  No woman had ever done this to him except the whores he'd visited over the years, and once again he dared to hope that providence had something other than damnation in store for him. The short, light strokes of her tongue made him ache for more, and when she took him deeper still and his head pressed against the back of her throat, he thought he was going to die ... again.

  Just when he thought he could stand no more, she released him with a smack of her lips. “Actually, darling, it was a request, not an invitation, but I'm happy I could be of service. Now it's your turn, if you please."

  He didn't mind returning the favor one bit. He scooted backwards and bent his head to one breast, taking the hardened nipple between his teeth and tugging on it. He nipped it, then took her as deep into his mouth as he could and suckled on her.

  She twisted beneath him with the pearls in her mouth like a bit, but instead of mounting her, he moved his mouth to the juncture of her thighs. She obediently pulled her knees up and dropped them to the side. With his fingers he spread her lips and pulled back her hood, exposing her clit. He drew it into his mouth, gave it a quick suck, then let it go, happy that he was the one with hard flesh between his teeth and not a piece of jewelry. He drew on her clit again, alternating slow sucks with quick flicks of his tongue. His own body screamed for attention, but he fought his own desire to bring her to climax.

  She writhed beneath him and tried to lift her hips up to him. “Oh, God, baby, yes!"

  When he inserted two fingers deep into her and nipped her clit with his teeth, she came, and her juice spurted all over his hand. He ached to drive into her, but as she relaxed her legs, he licked her clean instead. As slender as she was, he still loved her body. She was tight everywhere, as responsive as ever, as she gave as good as she got. Tonight, though, he'd delayed his own pleasure to please her. It was all part of the plan.

  "Mmm. So what's this secret you promised?"

  She remembered. He smiled, for suddenly she had just made it easy for him. He stretched out next to her. “I can give you everything you want, Neva."

  "You do that now."

  No, he didn't. He knew it, and she knew it. As good as they were together, something was missing. He shook his head. “I'm not just talking about sex. I'm talking about life."

  She laughed. “Baby, you're the cat's meow. But marriage? No handcuff for me, thank you very much."

  He frowned. “Marriage? I didn't say anything about marriage. I said..."

  "Not just sex, but life. Exactly.” She reached over and stroked his cock, teasing it to renewed rigidity. “Trouble is, I like ‘just sex’ just fine."

  God, how quickly she makes me hard. He ached to finish what he'd started with the foreplay, but more than that he wanted to reach her—truly reach her. He'd tried dancing, and he'd tried sex. The truth was the only weapon he had left. “No. I'm talking about never having to worry about growing old. Never having to fear death. You can have eternal youth, Neva. I can give that to you."

  Her smile faded, and she pulled her brows together like he was some palooka she'd never seen before. “Give it to me on the level. If you're not talking about an engagement ring, then what?"

  "Immortality. Eternal life. Freedom from fear."

  She sat up and reached for her undergarments. “Are you bent? I never heard such baloney."

  He ringed her forearm with his fingers and held her tight. So strong, yet so fragile. “It sounds crazy, but just think about it for a moment. If you really could have eternal youth, would you want it?"

  "I don't want to be like the face-stretchers I see at the dance halls, if that's what you mean. I don't want to be an old woman trying to look young.” She faced away from him, and he loosened his grip. “Then again, I don't want to be like my mother. She doesn't even try at all. She's old, and she looks old. I don't know which one is worse."

  "You don't have to be either. You can live out eternity looking exactly as you do now. You can be as I am. How old do you think I am?"

  She turned to him, and her gaze drifted from his hairline to his jaw. Her lavender eyes glimmered, as if they held all the things she was afraid to face, and the touch of her gaze was as palpable as fingers against his skin. “When I met you I figured you for two bits, but your eyes look older.” She looked away again. “Doesn't mean anything. I've seen lots of fellas who came back from the war. They all have eyes like yours and they aren't any older than Robert would have been if he was still alive. He'd be twenty-eight now."

  "I'm sixty-one, Neva. I'm immortal. The undead."

  She looked back at him, and her eyes widened. “Says you."

  "It's the truth."

  "What, like that gruesome bald creature in Nosferatu that killed people and controlled the plague-carrying rats? A vampire?"

  "A vampire, yes, but not like Nosferatu. It's a film, nothing more.” Did she really think he was like the creature in the film? Did she think of him as a monster like Graf Orlock with rat teeth and long claws? Was she afraid she'd die, as did the heroine in the film? He cursed the film for undoing the romance of Bram Stoker's novel.

  "I'm the reality, Neva. I'm not an actor, and this is me, not makeup and make-pretend. I can give you my gift of immortality. Tell me, would you rather kill yourself with hooch and dope? Because that's what you're doing."

  "What I do when I'm not with you is none of your business, and I still don't believe what you're telling me. You're right—the film is make-believe. There's no such thing as vampires."

  "There is.” He bared his fangs. “If danger is what you want, I can give you all you can handle."

  "God, Garran. I don't want to die."

  "If you want eternal youth, I can give it to you."

  She was slipping away from him. He could feel it even before she shook her head, got up and pulled on her clothes.

  "I'm leaving, Garran. You're some sort of freak, you know? You belong in a sideshow."

  Short of using force on her, he didn't know what to do. He wanted her as much now as he'd ever wanted her, but he longed for more than just her taut body. He wanted all the things she'd never shared with him—all the things he knew were bottled up inside her. There was so much she denied, even to herself.

  She reached the door.

  "Geneva."

  She turned, her hand on the knob.

&
nbsp; He played his last card. “I love you."

  She smiled, but it was a sad little smile, an acknowledgment of everything they'd shared, but not a promise for the future. “Good-bye, Garran.” She closed the door softly behind her.

  She loved him. He knew she did. But he'd gone from the sheik to the Nosferatu in just a few short minutes. He let out a long breath. One thing was in his favor, as it always was, for time was forever the vampire's friend.

  There was always tomorrow night to try again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garran had to admit it. He'd bolloxed the affair with Cate. A bigger mess he couldn't have made had he tried. Maybe Cate was right—he was trying too hard. Another sign that his life was growing more out of balance by the day.

  He did as she said and called her, but she was curt on the phone and refused to talk about anything but business.

  "Be here at nine o'clock, and no dinner, dancing, or drinks, understand?"

  He got it, and he got it again when he arrived at her house and suggested she let him accompany her this time to the Land of the Dead.

  "No."

  "It's dangerous. I can protect you."

  "I know it is. And, no, you're not coming with me. You may be in charge at the studio, but I'm in charge here."

  He relented, saving his battle for another place. Once in the spirit world, he would help her whether she wanted him to or not. He lay down on the blanket, and Cate performed her ritual with the rattle and drum music. Soon after she joined him on the floor Garran felt his mind slip from reality to the spirit world. They descended through the close air of the tunnel when a figure appeared out of the mist. It wasn't the black wolf of the previous journey, but the spirit of a woman. The spirit's black hair shimmered with other-worldly blue highlights, but its features, like the words of the love poem, were too familiar to ever be forgotten. Geneva. Its wide eyes gleamed, bright and blue, and he couldn't hold the spirit's gaze. Maybe it was guilt, or simply fear. He wasn't sure.

  "Cate, let's go back.” Garran tugged at her black cloak, but she didn't budge.

  The woman-spirit smiled, but it was a small, sad smile at odds with the spirit's brilliance. “Garran Lux. I see you haven't forgotten me. I'm glad.” The spirit's gaze shifted toward Cate. “I also see you haven't told her your secret yet. You must, you know. You'll never find what you seek here otherwise."

  "No.” He would not make the same mistake with Cate that he'd made with Geneva.

  "She must know the truth, or she'll never be able to help you. Tell her, now."

  Cate looked at him with raised brows. “Tell me what?” she asked, as if surprised that a corpse-spirit with rotted flesh and black eye sockets would have anything to hide.

  "Nothing, Cate."

  He turned back to the spirit. “Why, Neva? Why did you leave me?"

  "You frightened me. I was afraid, and you were the one person I couldn't admit fear to. Enough stalling.” The smile fell from the woman-spirit's face, and her eyes gleamed with a fire that burned like sunlight, terrible and bright. “Tell, her, Garran, or I will. For your sake and hers she must hear it all."

  "She'll fear me as well."

  "No. She's stronger than I was.” The spirit spread her arms wide, like a preacher supplicating his flock. “This is a place of truth, and you know it. There are no deceptions here, no lies and no masks."

  He did know it. The appearance of their spirits was proof enough. Cate's and Geneva's were beautiful and pure, and his was the epitome of death that would not die. In the voluminous cloak his spirit wore, he felt more naked than he ever had making love to an Italian Stallion groupie. Here, there was no pretty image to hide behind, no mesmerizing stare to bewitch, just bald take-it-or-leave-it truth.

  There was nothing else to be done. He turned to Cate's spirit and raised his empty eyes to her gaze. “Geneva's right. We were lovers once."

  He watched Cate's eyes carefully, but they didn't blink or look away.

  "Geneva's been dead for almost ninety years,” he added.

  This time she blinked.

  "I'm an immortal. One of the undead."

  Cate blinked again, and her lips parted, but no words followed. It was the look Garran had seen years ago as a mortal in Brooklyn when he'd seen men stabbed in a bar brawl. It was the moment before death, when one has so much to say, and no breath to say it. He felt as she did, cut to the quick, but he doubted either Cate or Geneva could read emotion on the rotting flesh of his corpse-spirit.

  "Cate, let's go.” He took her hand and led her back up the tunnel. She didn't resist being pulled, but her eyes were vacant and her skin was cold. Geneva's spirit remained behind, and though he couldn't see it, he felt Geneva's spirit smile.

  The real world materialized around them in the form of Cate's office, but when Garran looked to his new love, her quickened breathing was not a sign of joy. She was in shock.

  He yanked the blanket out from under them and covered her with it, then wrapped his arms around her. “Come on, Cate. Don't leave me now. I need you.” The compelling nature of a vampire's voice was a powerful tool, and he hoped it would be enough to bring her back from whatever brink she tottered on. He continued stroking her hair and whispering in her ear, and he wondered if she'd heard everything he'd said in the tunnel. Would she open her eyes and look at him with revulsion?

  * * * *

  Cate heard a voice and followed it, and when she opened her eyes, Garran's perfect face told her she was back in ordinary reality. Ordinary reality. The term had just turned into an oxymoron. She stared at him, almost hoping it was just herself who'd gone crazy, not the whole world.

  "Is it true? Are you dead?” she asked.

  The haunted look in the blue depths of his eyes answered her before his words did. “I'm not exactly dead. I'm undead, Cate—immortal."

  Undead? She tried to think beyond the implication, but knew of only one being referred to as undead. She was afraid to ask.

  But he nodded in response to her unspoken question. “Yes. I'm well over a hundred years old. I can't take a stroll in the sunshine. My diet is rather restricted. If you guessed vampire, congratulations. You win the grand prize—everlasting love with Black Gar Luxovious, born in Dublin in 1865."

  "Let go of me.” She couldn't think with him so close, let alone navigate past the roadblock her thoughts had just slammed into. Vampire!

  He released her, and she scrambled to her feet, wrapping her precious blanket around her shoulders as if it could insulate her from her new reality. All the warning signs that had sailed right past her came back to her now. His spirit's appearance as a corpse. His familiarity with the Land of the Dead. His deadly charm and ability to mesmerize women with his body.

  She thought about the unbelievable sex they'd shared in her office. It had been unbelievable. She'd thought the sex had been one of those fortunate accidents in life—one of those happy mistakes that turn out more perfect than a planned event. But had he seduced her? Had it all been a deliberate scheme? Had any of it been real at all?

  "We can make this work, Cate."

  "You lied to me."

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “I didn't lie to you when I told you I needed help. And I didn't lie when I told you how I feel about you. That was all real, believe me.” His voice rose as he stood, as if volume and height could add weight to his words.

  The part of her that hadn't heeded the warnings wanted to believe him now, without questions or doubts. But she was a healer, and if the legends were true, this man was a predator. “How can I trust anything you tell me?"

  "Because I'm bound to you now, just as you're bound to me. You know my secret. My survival is in your hands."

  Bound. Another word she didn't like. It had all kinds of negative connotations, both literal and figurative. Tied up. Enslaved. “I'm not letting anyone bind me to anyone or anything ... including you. Especially you. Get out."

  He stared at her, but she couldn't stand to look at his face and know that behind
the perfection was a creature that preyed on others. “Leave now, please. I need to think."

  A muscle twitched under his flawless skin. A sign that the “other” Garran Lux was itching to be unleashed? “I'll be at the studio.” He seized his coat and paused at the door. “You and I are together in this, joined together, not shackled together. Remember that."

  He shut the door behind him, and she was alone. She tried to slow her racing heart and thoughts and plow ahead logically, but as she did, she realized how truly alone she was. Who could she discuss this with? Certainly not her friend Merri. Merri already thought she was nuts. Who would understand or even believe her? Even if she found someone in the community of spiritual healers who believed her, who would accept as fact that her new love was a vampire?

  She'd always led a solitary life, but never had she felt more isolated than now. Even her big dream had been torn from her. That had been her future—a future she'd been certain would come to pass—and suddenly it was gone.

  That thought alone made the walls feel like they were pressing in on her, sealing her up in a box. Was it worse to be confined by loneliness or tied to an immortal creature? She wandered from the office to her living room to the kitchen, but none of her familiar surroundings or possessions gave her solace.

  Cate swore the walls were moving in on her, trying to trap her. She grabbed her coat, ran out of the house, and made her getaway, grateful for the roads that led, if not to a known destination, at least somewhere. She wanted to head the car for Interstate 94, where she could push back against the world, even if it was just pressing a gas pedal. But her driving was as aimless as her thoughts, and escaping the confines of her house brought her no sense of freedom. Where could she go? If she drove south, she'd end up in Chicago, where the construction on the Interstate would get her lost, even if her lack of knowledge of the city didn't. If she traveled north, she'd hit Milwaukee. She had acquaintances in both cities, but no one she knew well, and she had no close relatives in Illinois or Wisconsin.