And Richer

by Jackie Ivie

  He didn’t know what her reaction had come from, then. And he was really grateful for the size of this bed. And the fact that the mattress must be filled with down. Because his movement didn’t reach where she was perched. She might be in complete ignorance of his trouble. That might mean she’d reacted and blushed for another reason.

  ...and that could mean anything. He’d like to think it might mean he affected her. And that made the room seem pretty bright all of a sudden.

  “My uncle says it’s stupid,” she whispered.

  “What is stupid?” Had he missed something?

  “Playing guitar. He says it’s not a good career. It’s not even a choice. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  “He does?”

  “You’ve probably been home schooled. You probably don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.”

  Home schooled? Just how young did he look? Nigel’s back stiffened even more. He sat up straighter. The silk comforter finished sliding to his lap. The thing had a weight to it of-a-sudden that it had previously lacked. It felt like a brick smacked him. He sucked in a breath as far as his bandaging would allow.

  “Well? Aren’t you?”

  “I graduated.” He sounded defensive. Well, hell. He was feeling all kinds of defensive. And injured.

  “College? Really?”

  “Oh. That.” He lifted the comforter material a bit. The thing weighed next to nothing. He was just too damn sensitized and erect and ready. And jerking in place. And paining. And silk pajamas had absolutely zero value for defense. “No. Not college. I don’t want to attend one.”

  “Me, either.”

  “I didn’t even know what I wanted to be,” Nigel continued, talking mainly to his lap. “I mean, how could I attend college? And why should I be stuck in a life that my father chooses? What about what I want?”

  “That’s it! Exactly. I wanted to play in a rock band at one time. Then, I wanted to be a singer. I even tried playing drums. Now, I don’t know what I want. My uncle thinks everything that interests me is a waste of time. He doesn’t care if I have talent. He says I have a role in society. It’s almost like my entire existence is scripted, and nothing I can do will change it. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “Well, I...” He looked up. His words stopped as she turned her full attention toward him. He forgot what he was saying. And why. Her blue-green eyes sparkled. She was bouncing a little in place. Buzzing filled his ears.

  “It’s probably because it’s late. And we just met. And you’re so...easy to talk to. I mean, you’re...um. Ill. Weak. I hope you’re not offended, but you feel so...safe.”

  Safe? His hand tightened on the comforter. He had to consciously release it before he tore the fabric.

  “You don’t have any preconceived ideas about me just because of my name. You can’t be jealous. I mean, you look richer than my family ever thought of being. And you wouldn’t be shocked...because of who I am.”

  “Who...you are?”

  She got animated the longer she spoke. And he was getting more tortured. Her name? What was he supposed to know? Oh, yeah. Mandy. They hadn’t progressed to last names, and if she asked, he was claiming Akron’s surname.

  “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  “Okay,” Nigel answered. He didn’t care what her family name was. Where she came from. What she’d done. None of that bothered him. It was up against a whorl of passion-imbued craving. He was holding back all kinds of aggressive needs. Reining in desire that was a physical pain. Everything on him ratcheted tighter with every passing second. Just from watching the woman behind it gesticulate with her hands and bounce while her breasts accompanied it. And she thought he was safe?

  “My grandfather is a duke. He’s almost royalty. You should know. You were born there.”

  “Um. I left.” Nigel replied because he had to say something in the silence that followed her statement. Even to his ears, the words were growled. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “My uncle is my guardian. The heir to the dukedom. We all live at Robes Parkland. It’s a very grand estate, with a long past, and a lot of tradition.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think my grandfather is even a member of the Order of the Garter.”

  “He must be...old.”

  “Yes. And very strict.”

  “Strict?”

  “Yes. I even made an appointment to talk to him about college. Know what happened?”

  “An appointment?” Shit. He’d thought his father, Lord General Beethan, had been an aristocratic asshole. Her grandfather sounded immeasurably worse.

  “I chickened out. I didn’t go through with it. And then I received a written remonstration for making an appointment and failing to honor it.”

  “You’ve got...to be kidding.”

  “No.”

  Her lips turned down into a pout again. His heart stuttered. Wow. This mating thing was truly something special. She glanced at him. She had a distinct gloss atop her eyes. His heart thumped a couple of quick beats before resuming what must be her normal rhythm. Light. Quick.

  “Um...Nigel? Am I keeping you up?”

  He choked. Was she keeping him up? In more ways than one. He was about to try a quick trip to the water closet and a good plunge into cold water. He shook his head.

  “Oh good. I’m a night owl. You probably noticed. I’d sleep all day. Stay up all night if I could. That’s about as popular as wanting to be in rock band around my family. You?”

  “Uh...the same.”

  “Oh. I forgot. You’re light sensitive. You can’t go outside during the day, can you? Of course you’d be nocturnal.”

  “Uh. Right.”

  “So. Nigel? Can I ask you something?”

  He hoped Akron was happy with this. Nigel was playing an invalid. Acting weak and harmless as they talked, while everything on him was over-primed and ready for so much more. Angry-ready. Pushing against the constraint he practiced as they’d conversed. Her lips made words, beckoning a kiss with every movement. The rose-shaded tint drew his gaze. They looked soft. Moist. Kissable. They were infinitely perfect for a starting point. And then there was her throat. The gown she was wearing had what was called a portrait collar. It was wide and scooped, grazing her shoulders, skimming the tops of her breasts. Perfect for displaying a graceful neck. With a perfect jugular vein. Nigel focused in on it. His canines started tingling again. He managed to grunt something she took for acquiescence.

  “Um. This is going to sound weird, but...have you ever heard of the Beethan family? Near Manchester?”

  And with that question, everything came to a screeching halt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You’re going to think this is weird. Um. It is weird – but, you look a lot like my boyfriend, Paul Henry Beethan. His family hails from Manchester. That’s why I asked.”

  “Your...boyfriend?”

  “I told you I thought you looked familiar. You’d think I’d have noticed it sooner. But it’s not that apparent. I mean, it’s not so much your features – what I can see of them, anyway. Your mouth is shaped a little different. And your eyes...well. His are not remotely as blue. And...don’t take this wrong, but you are a lot thinner. I mean...leaner.”

  “Your...boyfriend?”

  He asked it again, only this time the emphasis was impossible to miss. As was the growling sound afterward. Mandy frowned a little.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s probably because you’re an invalid. Oh dear. You’re taking offense, aren’t you? Forget I said anything, okay?”

  His lips thinned. All kinds of things tightened through his chest putting a lot of definition to the pecs above his bandage. He’d also lowered his jaw. She’d been right about his eyes. They weren’t just blue. They were vibrant blue.

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  Mandy looked aside for a moment. “Oh. No. No. My bad. I mean my ex-boyfriend. We broke up...a week ago last Saturday. I wouldn’t
be here if I had a boyfriend, regardless of how safe you are.”

  What was she doing? Thinking? Saying? She was here with a strange man. A really cool one. One she could easily get attracted to. Still. The last thing a girl should bring up with a male was an ex-boyfriend. That was like dating error number one. And she wasn’t the type that unburdened herself, anyway. Even if her audience was innocuous. Ill. Wounded. He was still a guy. Maybe it was because it was so late. The room was dark. Their attire was suggestive. The candlelight romantic. The setting sensual. And Nigel looked especially wicked with that mask on. There had been a strange sensation in the room. It had started as a slight whisper against the nape of her neck. She’d ignored it at the time. That hadn’t stopped anything. More than once, she’d felt surrounded by something that buzzed, and warmed, and lifted strands of hair. Almost like it had a presence. The longer they talked, the larger it had loomed. If she looked, she could swear there was some sort of fog in the room, too. A milky haze of that slithered about the floor beneath them. And all around them.

  Her heart thumped oddly. Her breath caught. A quiver went through her lower belly. Her thighs even trembled. She snuck a peek toward him again. Nigel was really handsome, actually. And he looked pretty intense with his jaw jutting forward and his unbelievably blue eyes fixated on her. As it raced down her arms, a shiver added to her problems. She rubbed them while working at stifling all the other reactions. This was really odd. She couldn’t be feeling anything for Nigel. He was a stranger. This was so unlike her.

  She was getting turned on by the guy she’d promised to stay with because he was an invalid and injured, and needed her help? That was unconscionable. Probably against several medical codes. She didn’t even have a good reason. Just because it was the middle of the night? Lame excuse. She must have drunk a little too much Spritz Veneziano? Complete fallacy. Was it because he was such a great listener?

  “I hope you aren’t upset,” Mandy offered when Nigel just sat there regarding her without even blinking.

  “I’m...safe?” he asked.

  Mandy’s eyes widened slightly. She twisted her fingers together. “It wasn’t a bad break-up, okay? It was actually a mutual thing. We ended it. He went his way. I went mine.”

  “Is he out of his mind?”

  “Who?”

  “Your ex.”

  “You’re so sweet to say so. But everyone actually...thinks he dumped me.”

  “No.”

  “He’s really handsome. Truly. I fell for his looks...but they can only go so far. You know? He’s just lacking...something. We just—. It’s just—. I don’t know. Some people are just not meant to be together. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Mandy.”

  His voice had lowered. The name resonated through the enclosure, adding to the weird sensation about them. The air had gotten electrically charged, becoming a physical presence that held weight, scent, and heat. Each breath contained a hint of spice. Musk. He lifted his arms, put his hands behind his head, and unfastened his mask. His arms came away. The mask dropped. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Except a gasp.

  He looked so much like Paul Henry they could be twins.

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you my name. Nigel. Nigel...Beethan.”

  “Nigel Beethan,” she repeated uncomprehendingly.

  “Paul Henry is...a relation of mine. A close one. But he is not your mate, Mandy. I am.”

  “M-mate?” Comprehension was elusive. The word had too much significance. It sent a wave of reaction along her skin.

  “And safe is not a word I would apply to anything at the moment.”

  He smiled. Light reflected off wicked looking spikes where his canine teeth should be. White. Sharp. Mandy’s heart did a huge leap. A lump formed in her throat, pounding in rhythm with each heartbeat. Making it difficult to swallow. Vocalize anything. Breathe. She should be shocked. Horrified. Frightened. Anything other than intrigued. Rapt. Absolutely fascinated.

  “You have...fangs.” The lump shifted in her throat as she whispered it. Paining.

  “I know. I am a vampire, my love.”

  “A...what?”

  “Feeling unsafe yet?”

  Nigel loomed larger somehow, yanking his shoulders and arms free of his shirt as he moved. He tore the bandage away from his ribcage. And despite what she’d just been told, she was surprised at the clear, undamaged flesh he displayed. And then impressed at the shadow of a six pack. Nigel was lean, but it didn’t detract from a masculine physique. Her eyes hungered, and then her body reacted. Another Mandy took over. One with no qualms about lust and passion, and sexuality.

  A heavy guitar riff started up from somewhere. The musician played exactly as she’d always aspired to. Loud bass tones bled into crystal-shattering high notes. The performance was masterful. The ability on the strings, pure magic. The sound hard. The cadence addictive. The scale movement rapid and massive. Sound reverberated through the chamber, dragging her pulse into rhythm with it.

  Mandy arched back onto her elbows, her crossed legs eased open as they lowered. Her head went back as she inhaled for breath. The obstruction in her throat eased, dropping to join the pulsation encompassing her lower belly. Upper thighs. Loins. The nightgown had felt insubstantial when she’d donned it. Embarrassingly so. Now, it felt restrictive and cumbersome. She pulled at the neckline, lowering it to her upper arms as Nigel came back into view. His arm hooked about her waist, lifting her against him. They connected...

  And the night erupted.

  An invisible pressure wave pulsed through the chamber, muting the electric guitar music, blowing out several candles, causing all sorts of furnishings to rattle and crash. It bounced off the walls and returned with a vengeance. Mandy clung to him as something imperceptible rushed past, tossing her hair. Brushing across her skin. Making her gown ruffle. Her arms enwrapped his torso. She shoved upwards, lifting off the mattress. Getting as close as possible. Her breasts crushed against his pecs. Her belly slammed into his. And her legs wrapped about his hips, bringing everything in contact. Nigel might be lean, but he was hard. Everywhere. And substantial. Totally male. And infinitely dangerous.

  Sinfully so.

  “You are mine, Mandy Robes.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “And I am going to kiss you.”

  He put his lips to one of her upper arms; slid his tongue along her shoulder to her throat. The skin singed. And then iced. Mandy squealed. He chuckled. Her body trembled with it. She clutched him tighter. The mattress swayed. His hold drew her even closer. He’d reached her neck, then the area just below an ear. And then he started talking, turning everything into a mass of shivery reaction.

  “We are going to mate, my love. You and me,” he whispered against her skin.

  “Oh, my...yes!” she cried.

  “Be forewarned. Things may happen. Dark. Risky things. “

  “No. I mean, yes. Yes! Oh, Nigel...yes!”

  Mandy turned her head and slammed her lips to his. And everything went to a screeching halt. Lights extinguished, plunging them into darkness. The heavy metal guitar riff stopped, leaving a vacuum of sound. Their breaths stopped. Heartbeats ceased. Then Nigel groaned, moved his mouth on hers, and everything started up again. The guitar music resumed, added now with a wealth of drum rolls. Quick-paced. Intent. The scent of spice and musk grew stronger. A sharp pain touched her inner lip...and absolute wonder ensued. Light burst through her vision. Bright. Inexorable. It illuminated a vista of ocean. Clouds. Sky. And all from behind closed eyelids.

  She’d never experienced anything so massive. Tasted anything so exquisite. Felt anything so intense. And the immediate craving was for more. Legions more. She was on fire for it. Nigel seemed to know. He broke the kiss, and plunged his fangs into her throat. Sucking. Fulfilling. And making the entire room start to rotate.

  Tingling overtook her, moistening. Desiring. Her loins were alive with little sparks that struck continuously as if trying to ignite
. Match to flame. Fire to inferno. Mandy ran her hands along his back. Grabbed for his shoulders. Continually lunged against his hips. Her thighs grabbed and then caught his cock, and then she was riding it. The gown working as lubricant assisting her skin with each movement along him. Up. Down. Sliding along him while the sparks became flames. She plummeted into a pool of pleasure. It overwhelmed her. Cascaded over her. Took her breath. Sucked at her life force. She was gasping when it subsided, as if coming up for air. The movement dislodged his suction. And he wasn’t happy about it. Nigel’s cry was a tremor of sound that shook the room. Melded with the guitar riff. Added to the drum beats.

  Her neckline ripped, the sound barely heard. Whoever was playing guitar took the rhythm to a frenzied level. The notes coming fast. Harsh. Loud. Nigel’s breath touched her bare nipple, before he seized it with his mouth. Mandy’s cry carried surprise and joy as it added to the concert of sensation about them. And then he moved to her other breast, creating even more havoc. His tongue was like a live wire, shooting all sorts of stimuli from each breast tip to her loins. Generating more tension. Need. She pushed her fingers into his back, slid them down his spine, delved beneath the waistband of his pajama pants...molded her hands about his buttocks, and used the handhold to yank him into place against her.

  He released her nipple and arched upward, his groan adding a long keening note to the orchestration of sound. Energy. Movement. And then he lowered his head and speared her with a glance. The blue of his eyes had altered, going an even more vivid shade. As if lit from within. And Mandy’s entire body lurched. They dropped back to the mattress. She sank into it slightly as she shimmied about, hiking the gown’s hemline. Her hands shook with haste. Need. Wanton reflex. Getting material out of their way. Anything to get closer. Melded. Fused. He was right with her. Nigel shoved his pants down with a hand, giving her a glimpse of his size. Scope. Width. Length.