by Lisa Childs
“Did you want me to?” he asked as he settled onto the bed next to her, his hip pressed against hers.
“I—Of course not,” she replied. And she tried to shift away, but he stretched his arm across her and planted his palm atop the blanket on the other side of her, trapping her in the bed—her face just inches from his. She tried to ignore his closeness and tried not to stammer as she demanded, “I want to know why—how—when you brought me here.”
He opened his mouth, as if he intended to answer at least one of those questions. But Sienna needed to know something else first, so she put a finger across his lips. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Julian Vossimer.”
The name meant nothing to her. But the man did—if he really was the one she remembered from that old nightmare. Yet everyone had told her that that had been just a dream, her mind playing tricks on her…like Nana’s had been playing tricks on her at the end.
“I don’t understand,” she said, “why I’m here.”
“We need to talk, Sienna,” he said, his deep voice lowered to a soft whisper. “I have some things to tell you, some things you need to hear.”
“I remember.”
“What?” He tensed. “What do you remember?”
The memories didn’t surge back like they had, violently, at the funeral home. They were just there now—like she was just here with him. It hadn’t been a dream or a trick of her mind, no matter what anyone had tried to convince her.
“I remember that night,” she said, “that you were the one who pulled me from the wreckage.” He hadn’t just pulled her, though. He’d had to manipulate the twisted metal, wrenching it apart before he’d been able to get her free. Maybe she had dreamed that part because no man was capable of such strength. Since he had saved her once, she shouldn’t fear him now. “I guess I owe you…my life…”
A muscle flinched in the deep crease of his lean cheek. His face was all sculpted planes and hard lines that tempted her finger to trace and touch. Did it matter what else he was, or why he’d brought her here?
“You’re my hero…”
The muscle jerked again as he shook his head. “I’m no hero.”
“Did you bring me here to hurt me?” she asked, but she already knew that he hadn’t. If she’d felt she was in real danger from him, she would have started fighting to escape him. It wouldn’t make sense for him to have saved her all those years ago to hurt her now.
“No,” he answered her, his dark eyes serious and sincere. “I brought you here to protect you.”
“See, you’re my hero,” she said. Maybe it was his eyes—those deep-set dark eyes that pulled her into his soul. Maybe it was the attraction, quivering inside her, that she’d never felt as intensely for another man. But she leaned forward and lifted her face to his. Her lips skimmed across that diamond-shaped scar on his chin before she kissed him.
His mouth moved against hers as he took possession of her. His lips parted hers, and his tongue slipped inside, tasting her. He eased her back onto the pillow and followed her down.
Sienna had never been kissed as thoroughly. She slid her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers in the silky black strands as she clutched his nape. But he pulled away, breathing so heavily that his chest pushed against her breasts.
“I’m not cold anymore,” she murmured. But then reality intruded, reminding her that she didn’t know this man. Not really. She had only a child’s exaggerated memory of the man who’d saved her life. This same man, who appeared not even a day older, although nearly twenty years had passed. She shivered again.
“You’re not?”
“I’m scared,” she admitted. Scared of the feelings he drew out of her—feelings she’d promised herself she would never risk experiencing. She’d already lost too many people she cared about; it was easier to stop caring.
He said nothing, just continued to stare at her with that molten dark gaze.
“This is where you’re supposed to tell me that I have nothing to fear,” she prodded him.
“I can’t.”
“No, because then you wouldn’t need to protect me.” She reached up and traced the line of his jaw to the scar on his chin. “Why do you need to protect me?”
Did he know about the mounting debts? Did he pity her for having no one and nothing left?
He stared down at her, his conflict apparent in his dark eyes. “I thought I needed to protect you from…from something else…but now I think I need to protect you from me.”
A smile twitched at her lips. “I don’t need protecting from anyone,” she assured him. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long while.” Except for that night, when he’d pulled her from the twisted metal of what had once been the family sedan.
“For a long while, you’ve been taking care of everyone else,” he said. “Your grandfather. Your grandmother.”
How did he know so much about her? How did he know that she had cared for both her grandparents through long illnesses? Both had died from cancer. “Have you been watching me?”
All these years…
“I know you,” he claimed, “I know that you haven’t taken care of yourself.”
“I said that I had—That I can…”
He shook his head. “You were so focused on your family that you didn’t take care of yourself. I don’t think you know how.”
“Of course I know how.”
“When have you ever done something for yourself?” he asked. “Something just for you?”
She slid her fingers back into his hair. “This. You. This is the first time in…” Forever that she remembered thinking only of herself, thinking only of her pleasure. Not her pain. And she had no idea why. Remembering who he was had brought all that pain crashing back, the force of it so strong that it had rendered her unconscious. But now, in his bed, in his arms, desire held that pain at bay.
She knew it would come crashing back again with the reality of all that she had lost and with how alone she was. But in his bed, in his arms, she wasn’t alone. And she wanted that feeling to last. She wanted nothing to do with reality for the rest of the night.
She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with all the passion burning inside her. His mouth opened as he sighed her name, and Sienna slid her tongue across his bottom lip. And across the line of his teeth which was even but for the point—the sharp point of an incisor. Yet it was longer than a mere incisor and sharper.
Like a fang.
And she realized why he had not aged a day since he’d rescued her. The man was immortal. The man was not a man. He was a vampire.
She knew.
The minute her tongue had brushed across the tip, his fang had distended. Usually he could control it—usually he could control his passion. But not with her.
Not with Sienna kissing him, her fingers running through his hair, clutching at it to hold his mouth to hers. But then she pulled back and shoved her trembling hands against his chest, pushing him away.
Her eyes, wide with horror, stared up at him, and she stammered, “You’re—You’re a…”
She couldn’t speak the word aloud, but then neither could he, for so many reasons.
“Sienna, you’re upset—exhausted. You’re not thinking clearly,” he tried to convince her. “You need to rest.”
“I need to leave,” she said, her voice steady now and her hands stronger as she pushed at his chest.
He wouldn’t budge, refusing to ease up. Instead he lowered his body more heavily onto hers, holding her down. She wriggled beneath him, her hips grinding against his erection as her breasts pushed against his chest. He groaned and closed his eyes until she stilled. Her breath, ragged with fear and exertion, blew hot against his throat.
“Let me go,” she pleaded.
He shook his head. “I can’t let you go.”
“Yes, you can,” she implored, “you saved me once. No one else would have found the car. I would have died—if you hadn’t
come along when you had…”
Guilt wound around his heart, clenching it. He’d seen the car crash, but light had been breaking through the night sky, the sun rising. And he hadn’t been able to get to her then—not without risking his own life. He’d had to wait until darkness fell again. He’d had to leave her alone, for hours, with her dead parents—scared, possibly hurt. He would never forgive himself. And if she knew, neither would she.
“I’m saving you now,” he insisted, “by keeping you here. If I let you go, you won’t survive.” As she had survived all those hours alone in the tangled car wreck. She was in infinitely more danger now than she’d been then.
“I told you I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “I don’t need you…”
He was afraid that he needed her; his body ached and throbbed with desire for her. A desire more powerful than he’d ever felt before…for any other woman.
Her slender throat moved as she swallowed and added, “…to protect me.”
“You have no idea of the danger you’re in.”
She stared up at him, fear still widening her eyes. “I think I do…”
“You can trust me. I would never hurt you.” Intentionally. But inadvertently he already had. He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. Then he skimmed his thumb along the curve of her delicate jaw. Her skin was so silky. He lowered his head, his lips just brushing her throat as he breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and the sweeter scent of her blood.
Hunger burned inside him, hunger to taste her.
She shuddered, as if able to read his mind. And maybe she could. Her grandmother had certainly had that gift. She’d known things he hadn’t told her, things he hadn’t admitted even to himself. He hadn’t loved her; he’d only wanted her for her beauty. She’d been right to deny him. Sienna was even more beautiful than her grandmother and probably just as smart if not smarter. No doubt she would deny him, too.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said again, as he stared into her eyes, willing her to believe him. Willing her to trust him even though he wasn’t entirely certain he could trust himself—with her.
Her eyes dilated, the pupils eclipsing the glittery blue. “This seems like a dream,” she murmured. “I must be just dreaming…”
“What do you dream of?” he wondered.
“You…” Her breath caught, quivering in her chest. “I dream of arms reaching out, pulling me to safety, holding me close. I dream of you…”
“Sienna…” He didn’t deserve the gratitude he glimpsed in her eyes. He was no hero.
“I didn’t think you were real,” she admitted. “Everyone told me that I must have made you up, but they had no explanation for how I’d gotten free. No human could have twisted apart that metal. But nobody was around when they found me by the side of the road. So I began to believe them, to believe that I’d only imagined you.” She lifted her hands to his face, her fingers trembling as she traced his jaw. “But here you are, and I’m still not sure you’re real.”
“I’m real…” And desire had driven him beyond his guilt and regrets. He caught her hands in his and turned his face, nuzzling her wrist. Her pulse leaped beneath his lips, racing.
“But you’re a…” She shook her head. “I didn’t think Nana was lucid when she told me about…” She swallowed hard, the creamy skin of her throat rippling. “I thought it had just been the drugs making her talk crazy…”
So Ingrid hadn’t been lying. Sienna knew…things…no mortal could know and live.
“Hell,” she scoffed, “maybe I’m the one who’s crazy. Before I woke up—here—I had the strangest sensation as if I was flying…” She released a shaky sigh. “Or floating…”
“You’re not crazy, Sienna,” he assured her. But he was for thinking he could save her. Because now, knowing for certain that she’d learned about the Underground Society, there was only one way he could do that…
“Yes, I am,” she insisted, “because even knowing what you are, I want…” She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, as if willing the words back, or herself somewhere else.
“What, Sienna?” he asked, his heart pounding hard and fast. Maybe he wasn’t so crazy after all. “What do you want?”
She opened her eyes, and along with her fear, he glimpsed the fascination. And desire?
Her voice whisper-soft, she admitted, “You.”
Chapter 3
P assion burned in his eyes—brighter than the flickering candles. And Sienna wished she could take back her admission, scared of his reaction and hers. This…man…had some kind of unnatural hold on her. His dark gaze drew her in, hypnotizing her into forgetting what he was…and the danger he posed to her.
She shook her head, her hair rustling against the satin pillowcase. “I didn’t mean it…”
“You didn’t mean to say it,” he astutely surmised. “But you meant it. I can see it in your eyes, in the flush on your skin. You want me.”
Even knowing it was too late, that she was in too deep, she shook her head again and hotly denied, “No!”
“Liar,” he accused, his low voice vibrating with a sexy chuckle.
Julian Vossimer with his long, silky hair and hard muscled body epitomized sexy. And Sienna was powerless to resist her attraction to him. As he had accused her earlier, it had been a long time—too long for her to remember—the last time she’d done something just for herself. But making love to him…
Did she dare?
Taking the choice from her, he rolled off her and left the bed. She must have imagined the passion in his eyes. While she wanted him, he didn’t want her.
Standing beside the bed, he stared down at her—his dark eyes still aglow. And his fingers went to the buttons on his shirt. First he undid the cuffs then the rest of the buttons down the front, parting the silk to reveal the sculpted muscles of his chest.
Sienna swallowed. His masculine beauty as the candlelight bathed his skin made her lose her breath. She found her voice, although raspy and weak, to ask, “What are you doing?”
His lips curved into a slight, wicked grin, and he reached for his belt, unclasping and pulling it free of his dark jeans. “I’m coming to bed…”
Then the jeans, and his boxers along with them, dropped to the floor. And Sienna’s jaw dropped, too. Her mouth fell open and she gasped. His erection jutted from lean hips and heavily muscled thighs—so thick and long. When once she’d been so cold, now her skin heated—burning—but before she could push back the blanket, he jerked it off her.
He reached for her next, his hands shaking slightly, as he wrapped them around her upper arms and lifted her to her knees on the soft mattress. “Try to tell me you don’t want me now,” he challenged her.
The lie caught in her throat, choked with desire. She couldn’t…resist him. She slid her hands over his chest, and his heart pounded against her palm—in perfect rhythm with the frantic beat of hers.
“You’re so arrogant,” she admonished him. But not without damn good reason.
Could any woman resist him?
The glow dimmed in his eyes for a moment, as if he’d taken insult at her comment.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“You’re not the one who has cause to be sorry,” he told her.
Not yet. But would she if they made love? Would she live to regret what she’d done? Would she live at all?
He must have glimpsed the fear in her eyes, for he stroked his thumb along her jaw again. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “I won’t hurt you.”
She already hurt, aching for his touch—for his kiss. For the possession of his body. She stared into his handsome face, mesmerized by his dark gaze. “Julian…”
He leaned over her, lowering his mouth until just a breath separated their lips. “Do you want me?” he asked.
She slid her hands up his chest, muscles rippling beneath her palms, and tunneled her fingers through his thick, silky hair to grasp his nape. “You know I do…”
She pulled his head down so that their lips met.
The kiss was feather-soft and nearly innocent. Then she opened her mouth, and his tongue slid across her lower lip, stroking the sensitive flesh before dipping inside to taste her. Innocence fled as he made love to her mouth, his tongue driving in and out, sliding over hers.
His fingers knotted in the fabric of her dress. Then he dragged it up—their lips parting as he pulled the velvet over her head then dropped it to the floor. His breath shuddered out as his gaze traveled over her body, over the bits of scarlet lace covering her breasts and the curve of her hips.
“You’re beautiful,” he praised, the words a raspy groan of appreciation. “So beautiful…”
It wasn’t the first time she’d been told, but it was the first time a compliment had affected her so that her nipples hardened, pushing against the thin lace, and heat rushed through her, burning between her thighs. She swallowed down a whimper that tickled the back of her throat.
But then he touched her, with just his fingertips, gliding them over her shoulders, along the ridge of her collarbone to the curve of her breasts. And the whimper slipped free even before those clever fingers reached the aching points of her nipples. When he touched them, sliding his fingers back and forth over the lace, she moaned and arched her neck.
Fear flickered to life. What if he took that gesture as an invitation to bite her?
“I won’t hurt you,” he repeated, his voice raspy with passion, as if he’d read her mind. His hands moved, sliding around her back to the clasp of her bra, which he undid. Then he pushed the straps down her arms so that the bit of lace fell away—leaving her breasts naked to his touch.
He cupped the mounds. And he kissed her lips again, deeply, as he gently massaged her sensitive flesh. Her nipples pushed against his palms, and she arched again—needing more from him than kisses.
His mouth broke from hers, and she panted for breath as his lips slid down her throat, his tongue flicking over her leaping pulse before moving lower. He traced the curve of each breast before closing his lips around one aching point. His tongue flicked across the sensitive tip.
