“Been and gone. It’s noon.” The woman leaned her shoulder against the plaster wall and tucked her fingers in the front pocket of her jeans. The gesture drew his sleepy gaze to her flat belly and the V at the top of her legs.
He stretched. Her eyes glazed as the sheet draped down his body. It caught on his pubic hair, both hiding and revealing the shape of his hardening penis.
Her words finally penetrated his brain.
“Shit!” He scrambled with the blanket. “The shelter—”
“All taken care of. Glenath is there, running things more competently than any general. She’s got everyone and everything eating out of her hand. I’ve sent her a bottle of bourbon. No sign of the tiger.”
She tilted her hip in a blatant erotic challenge.
James Dean had never been Lance’s type before, but her attitude lit a growl in his throat.
“We have a problem,” he finally said.
“Other than you’re being hounded by the press, your shelter is being swarmed by every homeless being in a three-county radius, and a crazy vampire wants to kill you?” The husky note in her voice made all his problems sound like a seduction.
“Nope.” He threw the pillow back to reveal his pulsing erection. “This is the problem.”
Finally, he was ready to party. Valerie had been waiting all night to claim him as her own.
Lance ran his hand up his thigh to his balls, rolling and displaying them, and she suddenly couldn’t care less how long he had slept. His blue eyes shone with green tints, like the center of afire. As Lance beckoned her, his gaze holding hers as surely as if he had a knife to her face, she knew that what was about to happen would change her in ways she could not predict.
Valerie knelt on the bed, consenting to everything.
She refused to close her eyes. She would fully embrace her destiny. And as his lips touched hers, she opened her mouth and let that angelic fire sweep through her.
Lance’s mouth was warm and sweet, coaxing and demanding.
If I had a soul left, I’d sell it for a lifetime of this.
Her hands came around his shoulders and held on. He tipped his head and stroked her tongue, turning the kiss hot and lewd. Valerie shivered and felt her long-buried sexual aggressiveness erupting from its own grave. She clasped him to her.
Lance held her face in his hands, careful of the soft skin of her cheeks. Her bones had a curious delicacy to them, as if death lightened her. If she had been any more serious in life than she was now in death, Lance didn’t want to know. The wet, enthusiastic point of her tongue flicking his brought him back to the present. The clutch of her hands on his shoulders signaled desperation. He nipped at her lower lip.
“Are you in a hurry?” He landed a soft kiss on the side of her mouth before she could overtake him again.
Lance had escaped death last night. He wanted his lovemaking to linger.
“Do you have to catch a train?” He licked her ear.
At his words, her shoulders softened. When their teeth met in another deep kiss, she moaned. He moaned back. The sounds vibrated between them until his penis throbbed in time to their beat.
She clutched at his back, her hands running up and down his spine until she reached his backside.
The man owned a perfect ass, muscular and round, fitting her hands, filling her palms with fire. She took that hot butt and squeezed hard, forcing him against her. Using her hold as leverage, she twisted and shifted until he completely covered her, his crotch riding against hers.
He looked like an avenging angel above her, his hair haloed in the light.
Lance shook his head and thrust hard, shoving. The seam on her pants rode against her clitoris, sending silver-hot bolts of sensation up her body.
“Ahhh!” She threw her head back and bared her teeth, the muscles in her neck twitching.
He eased back as she tried to force him against her. Valerie’s eyes popped open and she frowned.
“Come on,” she protested.
Lance shifted against her center and pulled back, a playful tease. “This isn’t a race. Sex is a dance, a story, music even. We have all day.” He lowered himself back on top of her. “So, give me your lips.”
A hot blush rose up her cheeks at his rebuke, gentle as it was. She obeyed and flicked her tongue at him. He smiled and kissed her.
Even after his admonishment, she still wiggled and squirmed under him, trying to get him to speed up. Poor girl. Just couldn’t give up control for anything. One would think she hadn’t had sex in years.
He ran a finger down her neck, enjoying the way she whipped her head around. Her body wasn’t cold, more room temperature. Her skin shivered at the simplest caress as he experimented with touching her exposed skin. He finally slid his hand down to her breast and bit his own lip at her uninhibited howl. His erection tried to burrow through her clothes.
Instead, he yanked her shirt up to her collarbone and swallowed at the sight of her small bare breasts. Perfect mouthfuls, he barely had time to think before action took over. Her pink nipples fit against his palate like they were made for him to suck.
“So warm,” she hissed between gritted teeth. “So damned warm.”
Her face twisted up like she was in pain. Lance nearly faltered, but the way she pulled him against her crotch told him that she was in the throes of something she didn’t expect.
She pulled her shirt all the way off. Before it cleared the bed, she dragged her nails down his back. Slowly, slowly, he dragged the tip of his tongue from nipple to nipple, tracing figure eights across her breastbone, licking hot stripes over and over her breasts. Her fingers clawed at his back as he teased and flicked her left nipple over and over.
How could a man of God be such a tormenting devil? Every attempt to wrest control ended up with her still on her back. Every grappling move she made, he countered, while he kept touching her, licking her, stroking every millimeter of her skin.
Slivers of panic shoved into her brain, fighting the sensual fog. No human should have been able to do that.
“I can keep up with you. Imagine what we could do if you stopped fighting and played with me,” he murmured in her ear before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Goose pimples chased down her neck at his breath and touch. His golden aura rolled around her.
His voice felt like silk against her sensitive nerve endings. The promise in his words froze the panic, had her opening her eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, her gaze trained on his face, she reached down between their bodies and undid the snap on her pants. He shifted aside as she dragged the zipper, tooth by rasping tooth down to its base. Her knuckles grazed his impressive erection, hot against her center.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew how a woman would do this. Feminine power, unfamiliar but delightful, filled her as she lifted her hands over her head and braced them against the wall above the bed frame.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he leaned back on his heels. She puckered her lips ever so slightly at him as his warm fingers tugged her naked. He eased them down her hips, kissing his way past her black boy-cut panties.
Cool air met her skin as he pulled her slacks all the way off her body and tossed them to the floor. Lance lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the fine dark hair on her legs.
Defiance had her lifting her eyebrow right back at him. The transitory fashion of body shaving held no sway over her.
“Is there a problem?” she challenged.
“Not at all.” He ran his palms up and down her legs. He smiled. “Just getting acquainted.”
Making good on his words, he leaned over and dragged his lower lip over the inside of her calf. She closed her eyes at the hot glide forcing the hair against the grain. It ever so slightly tickled. He drove her mad for what felt like hours as he introduced himself to every nook and cranny of her. Her fingers shredded the sheets as she fought with her dominant impulses to let him set the pace. As she spread her legs and let him in, the pleasure rewarded her a million time
s over.
Lance fitted the head of his penis inside of her, chewing on his lip at the clench and flutter of her tiny muscles against his swollen cock. A vampire should be cold everywhere, but she was hot inside, hotter than any human woman he’d ever known. He knew her now: cold on the outside, white-hot on the inside. Her nails clenched on his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his hips before he could thrust. The muscles in her thighs trembled, but she stayed still, waiting for him.
Inch by fiery inch, they joined fully. He looked up from the enticing sight of their bodies and saw tears of blood leaking from the corners of her eyes. His elbows took his weight so he could wipe her tears with his thumbs. Red smeared over her forehead and temples.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t stop,” she rasped back at him. She flexed her thighs and forced him into her even farther. “If you stop now, I will rip your ears off and string them up over my bed.”
Her tongue flickered around her fully extended fangs.
He pulled out and thrust back in. “Threats are so sexy,” he ground out.
She rippled and clutched him to her. Her strong arms held him fast as she looked him in the eyes and whispered, “Ride me.”
Lance rolled onto the bed. Lying on his side, he wiped the pinkish glitter of Valerie’s tears and sweat off of her face with his thumb. “How are you doing?”
She turned onto her side to face him. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know.
Lance couldn’t keep the smug grin from his expression. Was there anything in the world like the face of a sexually satisfied woman?
Her hands wiggled free from between their bodies and she gave him a long slow stroke down his back. Her hand stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
Valerie opened her eyes. “You have scars?” she asked, tracing the ridge of skin.
“What, you want to see them?” he asked, startled. His few lovers, the ones who hadn’t been scared off by his calling or his knowledge of the supernatural, had been either disturbed or repulsed by his scars. Valerie nodded and pushed him over. She crawled, naked and sticky and smelling of sex and blood, on top of him. She started at his neck, touching and pushing the skin around.
“You’ve been bitten?” She poked at a knot above his collarbone.
He was surprised she had taken him so literally. But she was a literal sort of woman, after all. “No. My friend pushed me off a fence,” Lance answered.
She kissed the white skin. “I’m glad you’ve not been bitten.” She found the smooth lines that crossed his forearms. “You attempted suicide?” She frowned at the direction and pattern. “You attempted suicide badly?”
Lance snorted. “No. That was Afghanistan. Some night hags had taken up residence in the caves and objected to having to make room for us.”
She touched these scars with her soft cheek. “What happened?”
“They live outside.” He grinned at her.
She stared into his eyes. Whatever she saw satisfied her, for she nodded and moved on.
She found the tiny indent on his stomach. “And this?”
“Appendectomy.” Lance smiled inwardly at her frown. Scars for her must only mean conflict. Healing left scars, too.
She placed a kiss low on his belly, right above his pubic hair and continued down his body.
“These?” She placed her hand on his thigh.
“The tiger, last night,” Lance said.
Valerie nodded again. She looked down to his feet and traced the Alpha and Omega tattoo there. A slight wisp of steam came up from her fingertip. “So you are always walking on holy ground?” she asked, blowing on her finger.
“Something like that.” He took her hand. “You shouldn’t have touched it.”
She shook her head. “I will not be afraid of any part of you. Roll over.”
Lance snorted in amusement and rolled over. She kissed the back of his neck. He shivered from the contact of her cool lips. She perched on his buttocks.
She laid her hand on the stripes and gouges that decorated his upper arm. “What happened?”
“My very first run-in with a supernatural,” he muttered into the pillows. She stroked the matching claw marks on his other arm and traced them as they wandered down to the small of his back. Lance held still, letting her touch soothe his torn flesh.
“Will you share this with me?”
“I got caught out after dark by a were-bear.”
She slapped his shoulder lightly.
“Do not bring lies into this bed. Not after what we just shared.” Her sex-soft voice chilled with disdain.
The lie was so old, he’d forgotten it wasn’t the truth. He shifted, went for the distraction. “Are you done looking at my flaws yet?”
She sat back on his bottom. “Once, I saw a statue from Greece,” she said, so softly Lance could barely hear her. “The marble had been damaged like this”—she put her finger in the largest of the gouges—“but the sculpture was so beautiful, it looked like the artist had put them in on purpose, and it merely added to the glory of the figure.”
Lance craned his neck to look at her. Their gazes locked. She was leaving something very important unsaid, and he wanted to know what it was. He opened his mouth, but she was faster.
“How did you get them to accept you into the armed forces?”
He grinned, a gleam in his eye at the memory. “I got up on the recruiter’s desk and did push-ups until he let me in.”
She laughed. “How many did you end up doing?”
“About 300.” Lance rolled over onto his back and boldly rubbed against Valerie. “Ready for round two?”
Chapter 22
The unnamed man was short, unshaven, and dark circles of exhaustion ringed his eyes. Salt-and-pepper hair stood in unruly peaks. His rumpled suit needed a good pressing. And every heterosexual woman over the age of puberty stared as he marched swiftly through the Portland International Airport.
Not one of them approached him, despite his sensual, heavy-lidded eyes and the assured grace of his movements. They all recognized a hunting panther with no time for diversions.
And every one of them, from the heated schoolgirl to the respectable matron, wondered what it would take to be on the receiving end of that kind of focus.
The exhausted Frenchman leaned against the padded backseat of his taxi. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the international news had broken the story of a homeless shelter in the States integrating peacefully. Less than twenty-three hours ago, John Janté booked a patchwork of flights, and now he was here, in Portland, Oregon. True to the stereotype, it was raining.
He didn’t know why he had come, only that it was of dire importance. John chewed on his necklace’s chain as he closed his eyes and tried to relax.
“Where are you going, sir?” the driver asked as she closed her door.
“To the paranormal conference, yeux bruns,” he answered, remembering the woman’s soulful brown eyes.
A barely hushed giggle made him smile internally. How long had it been since he had enjoyed some quiet time with a lady? Working at CERN left very little time for entertaining. He shifted on the cloth seat, trying to ease his tired legs.
“Traffic is bad,” she informed him. “The conference has been overrun in the last day.” He’d forgotten the American love of automobiles. The drizzle spangled the metal bodies surrounding him as everyone inched along the highway.
Exhausted, John touched the backs of his fingers to his eyelids. “That is fine. Please wake me when we get there.”
This is going to be an adventure, he thought.
He leaned his hot face against the cold window and let himself remember the past. The plant woman had stolen years from John. But she had given him an unforeseeable gift.
Once the digestive enzymes cleared from his body, his immune system that was left was what his doctor called “turbo charged.” John now healed at an accelerated rate.
He couldn’t even g
et drunk, as his liver oxidized alcohol at lightning speed. Fortunately, he also shook off jet lag in hours instead of days. All he needed was a few hours of sleep….
“This is as close as I can get, sir,” his driver said before he could nod off. “The police have closed the streets.” John tipped his driver, hoisted his backpack, and weaved his way through the streets of Portland. The cool moist air woke him and the walk invigorated his mind.
He ticked off the observations he’d made on the hours of his flights.
Fact: Lance was in danger.
Fact: Lance was keeping company with a mysterious lady. Her cautious, beautiful eyes were both familiar and fascinating to John. Just from the few images he’d caught of her hiding in the background, John wanted to bite her lips.
John caught a whiff of seductive hot chocolate. He detoured into a small café.
Also, caffeine had no effect on him.
Dammit. He could really use some.
A quick visit to the bathroom for a change of clothes and some deodorant, and John was ready for both his chocolate and his thoughts.
Conjecture the first: If she fascinated John, Lance was surely and completely besotted.
The first sip crossed his lips as smoothly as a woman’s sweet fluid. He vaguely heard someone beside him sigh.
Conjecture the second: The pallor of her skin and her dangerous eyes insinuated that she was a previously unknown vampire.
Conjecture the third: Since so few vampires currently existed, and the ones left were much higher profile—how could anyone miss Radu Tepes and his lawyer?—she must be the vampire killer. Rarely did PNCs turn on each other. What would cause such aberrant behavior?
His inner eye wandered to the memorized image of the dark vampire. Lovely bone structure and an incredible sense of style. Too few women knew how to dress anymore. Once upon a time, vampires had been secretly hired to be the mannequins for the fashion houses. They had the stamina for the hours of fittings.
A strong, fearless woman with experience and stamina. One already attached to Lance, who never had had the courage to embrace the attraction between himself and John. This vampire would hardly allow such cowardice from a lover. John licked the chocolate from his upper lip. She would most certainly demand that Lance admit his heart.
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