Red Blooded

by Deidre Knight

  Her hands slid about his hips and she pressed right up against him, trembling. “It’s not something I’m wearing, Dillon,” she said. “It’s just…me.”

  Barely. Somehow. Amazingly, Kate managed to disengage her hands from about Dillon’s waist. She’d been about an inch away from leaning up and kissing him. Talk about a sneak attack. Geez, Louise, but that would’ve hit him out of nowhere.

  Taking two steps back, she tried to regain her equilibrium. “Here. Have a seat,” she indicated, and he found the small sofa at the foot of her bed.

  He flopped down and began petting his dog as she quickly searched the room. There were things on the floor, the sort he might trip over, and she rushed about scooping up discarded sandals, books, and magazines, tossing them onto a corner chair. Her heart hammered out a frenzied pace. She’d never had a man in her room before—ever. She’d invited him back here as if it were an everyday occurrence, but now that he was sitting only a few feet from her bed, she found that her mating urges were hitting whole new levels. If she couldn’t rein in her reactions to him, what then? She might actually seduce him, and it wasn’t like he’d understand that she was in the throes of a vampiric mating frenzy.

  How could she stop this crazy train now that it had left the station? If she wasn’t careful, she was going to wind up mating with Dillon by accident. And what then? Her family would shun her, Dillon would find out she was a vampire and that her kind existed outside of movies and novels. Failing all that, if Toby came back from the beach soon and discovered she had a Normal in her room, he might beat a blind war hero within an inch of his life. And that would be very bad indeed.

  “I…need a drink,” she blurted. “I mean, I’ll go get us both drinks. Wine? You like wine? Or, no. You’re probably more of a beer or tequila guy?”

  He smiled up at her, his beautiful blue eyes unfocused, but lighter somehow, filled with amusement. “I make you nervous.”

  “No. No, that’s not true. I’m good. It’s all good, really.”

  Yeah, she’d just keep on whistling in the proverbial graveyard and ignore current events. A human male in her bedroom? If Toby and her father figured out what she’d done, they might send her to the Rectory until her mating time…or worse.

  “You’re nervous,” he repeated, extending a hand. “Come here, Kate.”

  She froze, and he patted the spot beside him. “Forget the wine and come sit with me.”

  “Did somebody say wine?” came Sunny’s chipper voice, along with a chilled bottle of white and two glasses, as she leaned in through the door, extending both in her hands. She beamed at Kate conspiratorially. “I know how you like your Chardonnay, sugar.”

  And your hot human men, Sunny mouthed after that, waggling her dark eyebrows.

  Kate scowled. “Dillon, um…this is my best friend, Sunny Renfroe.”

  “Oh, I’m not staying,” Sunny declared musically, with a glance over her shoulder. “But it’s nice to meet you all the same.”

  And then, damn it all, dear Sunny had the nerve to close the bedroom door, shutting them into the smallish room alone and unchaperoned except for the watchful presence of one Seeing Eye dog. What hope did she have of keeping her virginity intact now? Her hormones were cranking up higher than an air conditioner in a summer heat wave. Only they were making her even hotter, not chilling the mating fever at all.

  After pouring them each a glass of wine, she decided music might be a welcome distraction and began sorting through a lopsided stack of CD’s as she turned on the player. Unfortunately, The Clash came booming out far too loudly. She hit stop immediately. “Train in Vain” wasn’t exactly mood music when you had a gorgeous Normal in your bedroom. Not that she’d know, apart from movies and such, because no man—vampire or human or otherwise—had ever entered her room, much less been with her behind a closed door.

  “Why’d you turn that off?” he asked curiously. “I like to rock out. Clash, Stones, the Who, I’m not picky.”

  “No Metallica?” She smiled, wishing he could see the teasing light in her eyes.

  “Don't tell me you're a metal chick.” He snorted, pressing the wine glass against his lips.

  “No, but when it comes to music I'm an equal opportunity offender.” She began searching through the CD’s again, looking for the perfect mood music.

  “Which would explain the Chaka Khan and Jackson Five I heard out on the deck?”

  “Yeah. And my Motorhead and Radiohead CD’s. And Portishead.” She laughed. “Way I look at it, if it’s got a head, it’s bound to be good.”

  “Well I certainly am,” he said coyly.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing then and there that she’d absolutely embarrassed herself. What kind of virgin went around spouting those kinds of double entendres?

  “And you know what they say,” he continued. “Two heads are better than one, so you can even choose—run your hands all through my hair…or try something much lower––much, much lower.” He lifted a flirtatious eyebrow, leaning back into the large cushions on her sofa with a self-satisfied, devilish grin.

  “I won’t touch that, not for a million dollars, Dillon Fox.”

  “Too bad. Touching was exactly what I was hoping for. To let me see what you feel like, so to speak.”

  “While stroking head A or head B? Those are my options?”

  “Never said I wouldn’t be exploring the landscape myself, you know.”

  He rubbed fingertips along a strong jaw that was dusted in stubble. Great, as if her hormones needed anymore bait, she’d just noticed that five o’clock shadow. Her chest actually constricted as she watched him touch his own face, and it was all she could do not to leap into his lap just as she’d been fantasizing about.

  “Drink your wine,” she blurted, rubbing both cheeks in embarrassment. His dimples deepened as he smiled in her direction. His blue eyes had seemingly changed hue in here, away from the sun. A little hint of green in them, framed by sensually thick lashes that stood out when he slowly closed his eyes, seemingly not even realizing he was doing so.

  She braced herself against the dresser, stealing a moment to truly look at Dillon. Maybe it wasn’t fair, staring at him when he didn’t even know it, but at least she was ogling out of intense, aroused fascination.

  He laughed, husky and low, sipping from his wine and opened his eyes again. “So, Metal Chick, tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Mason didn’t provide that part of my description?”

  “Sure, yeah, he said you were trussed up in a leather bustier and a thong. Right out there on the deck, no less. I like a forward kinda girl like that. I did ask where he thought your whip was and he told me it was back in here. Good thing you invited me in.”

  “You are such a liar.”

  He took another slow sip of wine, grinning like the very devil himself. “When you can’t see the woman you’re interested in,” he said, “your imagination gets a little frisky.”

  She turned and adjusted the stereo volume and put on the Stones’ Sticky Fingers. Clicking to her favorite song, she hit play, and the first notes of “Wild Horses” began, quiet and mournful. “Frisky doesn’t begin to cover you, Dillon,” she answered, turning back to face him. And what a man to face, with his sculpted cheekbones and haunting, lovely eyes.

  He shrugged, totally unaware of how she gawked at his beauty. “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  “So that’s your story?”

  “A big damned part of my tale,” he replied, frowning slightly.

  The twangy Rolling Stones song made her feel like they were in some smoky backroom bar, ready to slow dance.

  As if reading her mind, very carefully he stood, extending a hand with gallant decorum. “Dance with me?” he murmured, stepping around his dog Lulu and boldly into his own darkness. She was thankful she’d scooped up all the obstacles that had been on her floor.

  She moved toward him, feeling unsteady. “Why…do you want me to dance with you?” Do you know
my mind, my thoughts?

  “Just come here,” he said, and she took hold of his hand. He easily spun her into his embrace. “It’s been too long since I held a gorgeous woman up close. Too long since I had a good slow dance.”

  He stepped back abruptly. “You’re wet,” he said, and only then did she remember her ruined dress.

  She tugged on the front, fanning it outward to air it. “Oh, yeah, that’s from the dog and cat fight moment. Spilled my drink.”

  He nodded. “Take it off.”

  “Excuse me?” She stammered, blushing furiously.

  He only smiled some more, perfectly assured, obviously very aware of just how handsome he was. “You can change in front of me. I don’t care.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I can see anyway.”

  She wrapped arms about herself protectively. “But that feels kinda…naughty.”

  He laughed, running his fingertips along her shoulder until he found the strap of her dress. “I have some experience in that department.” He slid his fingers underneath the thin band of material, stroking her bare skin with the rough pads of his fingertips, caressing her. Then dislodged the strap so it fell down along her upper arm. “Besides, I like naughty,” he added softly.

  She didn’t dare even try and answer, not with the honey-rich way he’d whispered the last words. So he added, “Marine, remember?”

  She took hold of his hand again, moving much closer. She wasn’t honestly about to change clothes in front of a man, especially not one who was this seductive, even if he couldn’t see her. “Is that how you lost your sight? In the war?”

  He buried his face against the top of her head, slowly swaying her even nearer, but didn’t answer. The Stones crooned, “I have my freedom, but I don’t have much time….”

  After a long moment, he finally answered. “Here’s to being one of the guys who made it home,” he said, “and into your bedroom, Kate.”

  She opened her mouth, wanting to know more about what had happened, but there had been obvious pain and regret in the words. So instead, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder and focused on the music, on feeling it all through her body, and on Dillon being so warm and close. His chest was firm, wonderfully hard and strong against her face. He was tall, had at least half a foot on her, so they fit together in that way men and women had always been meant to do. Like a puzzle, like a missing piece finding its place and locking in tight.

  She slid both hands along his lower back, relishing the muscular strength, how his soft T-shirt slid over the flesh as she stroked him. “Just so you know,” she whispered, “I’ve never had anyone else back here. So you making it into my bedroom was a pretty big feat.”

  He froze, clasping both of her shoulders. He leaned down, almost as if he thought he could look into her eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed. “Why the hell not?" There was a warrior’s gleam in his eyes, like he was ready to go kick somebody’s ass on her behalf.

  “What? You wanna go beat somebody up about it? Defend my honor?” she tried laughing it off, but tears suddenly burned in her eyes. She’d been forced to lead a life that no Normal woman ever would. Kept on the shelf, held there like a porcelain vase that belonged to some unknown master. Preserved and unused, dusty from lack of true care.

  He shook his head. “I just want to know what kind of losers live in this town of yours. Are you for real? No guy’s ever been in your bedroom? Any bedroom of yours?”

  She stared at the carpeted floor, chewing on her lip. The tears welled much stronger. “I…I’m a virgin,” she admitted, feeling ashamed and pathetic. “I just…I’m not––”

  “Shh,” he said, and she had the eerie sense that he knew she was crying. “I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” Slowly he sat back down on the settee, reached for his glass of wine where it rested on the end table and murmured, “Now undress for me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I…I can’t do that, Dillon.” Kate was sputtering, a charming sound somewhere between gasping and strangling. “I can’t…can’t…no way! I’m not disrobing with you sitting there sipping wine like we’re at some bistro or something.”

  He folded arms over his chest. “Seems like a perfectly good idea to me. More than good, matter of fact.”

  “I don’t even know you! Hello? Reality alert, Marine.”

  “Reality alert, beautiful. I can’t see for shit. Knock yourself out, drop trou, do a little pirouette. Show me the twins. Do whatever you want, and I will still be sitting here in the dark.”

  “Why’s it so important to you?” She sounded completely suspicious, and he could hardly blame her. He wanted her. Badly. Enough that he’d use his wiles and charms to lure her right across that carpeted floor and onto her bed and between those sheets. But he wanted to make her feel beautiful first; in fact, that was how he wanted to accomplish his mission. It was a win-win scenario: he could make love to a gorgeous woman, and by doing so, he’d probably get the intel he was after. They could murmur sweet nothings until he learned the truth. And when she wasn’t in the room, he could find that ring. Or at least grope around, try and do his best, and see what he turned up.

  But somehow the thought of even trying to search for it felt wrong now, like a betrayal—he no longer felt comfortable about the mission. She’d never asked any man into her bedroom before, so how could he set out to destroy her when she trusted him? He couldn’t. The search for her mating ring was off the table, it had to be. He’d learn what he could from her personally, but he wouldn’t snoop or pry into her private things.

  Was she a vampire? Quite probably, given the strange, alluring scent that had filled the room like the clouds of incense in some ancient temple. He felt a little drunk, too—and that definitely wasn’t the wine speaking to him. It was all her. So hell, yeah, she was probably something so totally other, he wouldn’t know what to do if he did get her in that bed. But deep down, on the gut instinct level—which was where he’d operated from during all his years in the Corps—he knew she was good. And safe. Well, maybe not to his heart, but that was another story entirely.

  “Are you going to answer me, Dillon?” He heard her stamp a bare foot against the carpet. And then she did it again, even harder, jarring the room slightly. Maybe she’d repeated the gesture just to be sure he could tell she’d made it in the first place.

  He grinned, raking a hand across his forehead. Impatient, strong women. His total thing. Forget about vampires. If anyone was a sucker around here, it was him, and for an independent-minded female just like Kate Rabineau.

  “It’s important because,” he began slowly, “I can’t see you. And so I desperately—and, Kate, darling, I really do mean desperately…want to feel you. All of you.”

  “You had me at desperately,” she said, her voice light, excited. Her breathlessness obvious.

  He kicked off his flip flops, feeling the soft carpet between his toes. “How do you feel about urgently?” he purred with a wicked grin. “Hungrily? Eagerly? Wickedly?”

  “I’m a word girl. I sell books for a living,” she replied. “I mean, we own a bookstore.”

  “I like descriptive words, but I like real world action a helluva a lot more.” He patted the spot beside him on the sofa. “Now get your sweet little ass over here beside me, Kate. Now.”

  She slid out of her sundress before taking so much as a step toward him. It did feel naughty, but in a powerful, intoxicating way. She was defying her family, the will of her own people. Every law and edict that existed among their tribe said she could not choose a man on her own and that her virginity was not her gift to give. But at the moment, she’d passed some realm of rational thought. Her body and hormones and mating urges had declared another fate entirely, one that her family would not decide on her behalf.

  Dillon Fox was hers. She’d dreamed of him for at least a year, seen the world through the darkness he lived in, known his frustrations, his struggles, his strength. Standing with the soft cotton fabric pooled about her ankles, she st
udied him. He cocked his head sideways slightly, listening.

  “Are you still dressed?” he asked, absently stroking his dog who nuzzled at his bare feet.

  “Did you lose your sight about a year ago?” she responded instead, already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah, that’s right. How’d you know?”

  “When I said I don’t know you? That wasn’t totally true…because I sorta do.”

  She took several steps closer, standing in front of him in nothing but her satin lace panties. He reached out toward her, his hand brushing against her flat abdomen. His eyes widened slightly, and then with languid slowness, he stroked her belly, feeling the taut muscle, before trailing lower until he discovered the edge of her underwear. The only sound between them was that of their breathing, the rush of blood in her ears.

  “How do you know me?” he whispered, pressing his lips against her belly and kissing slowly, licking the bare flesh. “God, you taste as good as you smell. You’re magic, aren’t you?”

  He nuzzled his bristling cheek against her abdomen, rubbing it back and forth as she dug her fingertips into his short hair, stroking it, loving how shockingly soft it was beneath her hands.

  “Dreams,” she moaned as he slid a hand about her buttocks, squeezing. “I know you…I’ve dreamed about you for a year.”

  He froze, while still holding her close. “Did you recognize me?”

  “I recognized your scent. The dreams were always black and dark. I felt afraid but…I wanted something so very much. I just never knew it was you, Dillon. So, no, I don’t know you…but at the same time I know you very well. It’s crazy.”

  “I dreamed about you, too,” he admitted hoarsely, sliding his hands about her waist, a wondrous expression on his face. “I knew it when I met you. The aroma…. I couldn’t see you in the dreams. I was blind. That’s not usually how it is for me. But I felt you and sensed you…. I was so lonely after I lost my eyesight, I just thought––shit––that it was because of what I was going through. Until we got all the way in here, into your room. That’s when I knew for sure that something really intense was going on all along.”