by Mary Hughes
I returned to bed but I was wide awake now and not going back to sleep any time soon. What made it worse was that Bo and Elena were at it again. Not only were they contributing to the noise keeping me awake, if a mugger or thief did break in, I wasn’t so sure Mr. and Mrs. McMoany would hear my screams.
Not to mention all that giggling and bedspring creaking brought back images of Ric. The tactile memory of Ric. The smell of Ric, locked in my nose to stay.
Yeah, that was responsible for the most tossing and turning. I replayed every searing look, every soft caress, every masterful touch. Every kiss. Oh, that man…vampire…guy could kiss. I slid a hand where it would do the most good and replayed it all, with self-added moan track and tactile stimulation.
I got so hot I rolled off the bed.
Picking myself up, I went back to bed without finishing—fantasizing over a guy I barely knew only dug the infatuation pit deeper—and tried to get some rest. I was dozing when I caught a flash of light through the blinds. What…? I glanced at the clock. I must have fallen asleep because it was four in the morning.
I waited, growing chilled. If that flash of light was Nikos and Twyla, why hadn’t they come inside yet? And what would anyone else be doing out this late, or this early? Anyone human, that was. All good little diurnal humans should be in bed. Unless the troll was taking out more garbage.
After a breathless few minutes, the light didn’t come again. I’d probably imagined it. Gradually I relaxed enough to laugh at myself. All good little humans should be in bed, including me. I had a meeting with a hunky ad man in a few hours.
Which started me thinking of Ric again, and his touch. His kiss. His expensive, spicy scent…
I didn’t sleep any more that night.
The next day I arrived at Holiday Buzz at nine sharp…or actually a bit groggy. All that wine, chocolate, and rich food topped off by night noises, not to mention my extracurricular activity fantasizing about Ric’s incendiary kisses, had kept me from getting much restorative sleep.
So when I arrived and was sent by the uniformed guards directly to the windowless workroom, I threw open the door without caution.
Ric paced the small room with the fierce energy of a caged lion, his elegant hands folded behind his back, his tawny, exquisitely tailored suit intensifying the king of beasts image.
The minute he saw me he whipped around. His tense expression tightened to a scowl. “You look like shit.”
“So sweet. Did you get me flowers and candy too? You don’t look so hot yourself.”
“I was worried about you. I am worried about you. You need to take better care of yourself.”
He cared. I suddenly looked more kindly upon that scowl of his. “It’s no biggie. I didn’t sleep well.”
“I didn’t sleep at all. I thought about you the entire night.” His voice was all sexy growl as he shut the door behind me.
“I did too. Thought about you. About us.”
“Synnove. My sunshine.” He pulled me into his arms.
Maybe if the last few days hadn’t had a surreal, timeout-from-reality feel to them; maybe if that dream the night before hadn’t knocked the camera completely out of focus; maybe if I hadn’t spent last night imagining exactly this, being in his embrace, smelling him, feeling him, I would have said no. Or at least I wouldn’t have jumped into his arms like a treed cat.
But it had, and I had, and I jumped. “Kiss me.”
His hand tangled in my hair and he pulled me into a wild kiss. He’d been drinking something sugary, fresh and hot, like tea with honey and lemon. His tongue thrust into my mouth. I wasn’t small but he filled me with masculine fire.
All that fantasizing, the replay of tactile memories, the self-stimulation, was a fuse to the bomb of his hot, questing mouth. My passion unleashed. I grabbed his head and kissed him back like I’d crawl down his throat.
I ran my hands over him as I tasted him. Tactile memory became a tactile riot. His cheekbones and jaw were razor-sharp. His hair was silky soft. Scrubbing it released a scent fresh as an ocean breeze. Skimming his skin stirred the spice of his cologne, tangy with overtones of Oriental ginger and hot pepper, all of it heightened by pure male heat. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him was complex and compelling.
He set me on my feet and slid hands down my back, stopping on either side of the small of it. He pulled me relentlessly into his hips, where the thrust of passion was starting. A sharp response lanced my belly.
Two could play at that game. I ground myself into him so hard he gasped.
His erection unfurled inside his slacks against me. He held my hips tighter and ground into me in return, a pelvic swirl so lithe that it conjured hot images of limber erotic strength, given the proper horizontal playground.
I nibbled his jawline, stretching myself along his chest to nip his tender ear. “Why don’t we take this to a motel room?”
“Can’t.” He tongued the cord lying along my throat. “Sun’s outside.”
Grr. “Does the door at least lock?”
“Oh yes.” Keeping me firmly curled in one arm, he twisted to spin the thumb lock. It gave a comfortingly secure snick. He regained his two-handed grip on my hips, ground into me with another athletic swirl. “The room’s soundproofed, in case you’re worried about that.”
“Good to know.” I twined arms around his neck and offered my lips.
He took my mouth with satisfying swiftness, kissing me greedily. His mouth ravaged mine, tongue plunging, teeth tugging, sucking and nibbling. All the while he grew harder and bigger in the escalating heat between us.
But his hands stayed flat on my back and aside from the raging intimacy of his mouth and the insistent pulsing of his erection against my belly I’d have thought he had no intention of going further.
That was going to change.
I untwined my arms and slid a hand onto his pants. The fine wool was taut, leading me directly to his cock. I palmed it; it overflowed my hand.
“Mmm, Synnove. Do that again.” He kissed hungrily across my cheek, my ear, to the tender skin below.
I curled my palm over the thrust of him under tented cloth, was rewarded with another, louder mmm, almost a purr. So I rubbed.
Teeth brushed my neck, edged, sharp. “Yesss.”
I started a rhythm, rubbing and squeezing. His hands convulsed on my hips. I thought it was reaction until cool air brushed my thighs and I realized he was winching up my skirt.
Heh. He was in for a surprise.
His tongue glided along my neck as he worked my skirt up, warm licks soothing the skin scraped by sharp teeth. He kept rolling the skirt until it bunched around my waist. Having exposed my panties and pantyhose, his fingers gently, delicately went exploring.
Except I wasn’t wearing panties and pantyhose. I was wearing thigh-high silk stockings. And nothing else.
His fingers met bare skin. He hissed. His head dropped to the crook of my neck. There was the thinnest film of perspiration on his forehead. “You…” he breathed heavily, “…are a wonder. A paragon among women. May I?” His fingers curled and uncurled.
Hell yes. “Please.” I squeezed his cock under the worsted of his pants. “If I may, in return.”
His answer was to unzip himself so fast that sparks flew. A yank, his hips jerked, and then he was naked and warm and pulsing in my hand.
And huge. His cock, smooth and throbbing, filled my circling fingers.
While I was enjoying the feel of him he cupped my nape in one powerful hand, bent and kissed me, his mouth like drugged honey.
And he slid one finger onto my aching sex.
I nearly exploded. His touch, anticipated for hours, was even better than I’d dreamed. Strong, warm, confident. He began to stroke me with tongue and finger in rhythm. I melted against him. He was wonderful, this was wonderful. His cock bobbed gently in my hand like it agreed.
The firm thrust of his finger along my hood made me quiver. I wanted more. Harder. I moaned my needs, grate
ful for the soundproofing.
He began thrusting two, then three fingers along my groove. I dug a hand into his soft hair, thrust in counterpoint with my tongue in his mouth. He synched up, rubbing me at the pace I set. My hand on his cock squeezed automatically in the same rhythm.
Suddenly he caught my tongue with his lips, pulled himself out of my hand. “Not yet.” His voice was tight. He kept hold of my head, kept thrusting with his hand as his eyes, azure heated to violet, burned into mine. “You’re so beautiful.”
Beauty. Style over substance. My arousal started to turn off.
Until he added “—So beautiful like this, flushed from my kisses, enjoying yourself so honestly. You’re a wonder, Sunshine.”
His words rushed through me like a wildfire. I pressed into his thrusting hand, tilting my hips so the next thrust went in.
I gasped. He echoed it. “Damn me. You’re so slick. More. I want more from you.”
He drove two fingers into me, then thumbed my clit hard.
My whole body lit with pleasure. He began to thrust and rub rhythmically with the pressure of an earthmover. I clutched his neck with both arms, rocked against him. Need built deep in my pelvis, throbbing, heavy. I groaned louder.
“You’re so lovely, moaning in my arms, slick under my hand. Come for me, my lovely sunshine.” He kissed me deep.
Two days of attraction, a wet dream, a full night of fantasy and a hot expert touch came to a head. I exploded under his fingers. Sweet climax flooded my body, my brain. It washed me clean. When I came to, panting in his arms, I was at peace for the first time in months.
“There’s my sunshine.” He smiled down at me, eyes softened to the blue of a warm sea. With all the variations of his smile I’d seen in the past two days, from deadly to happy, this almost loving look was my favorite.
I smiled back. “What about you?”
The smile grew. “I am a bit tense. Think you can help with that?”
“I know I can.” I straightened in his arms, not moving away, simply freeing my hands. I got the feeling this would be a two-handed job and touching him, I was right. He was like a baseball bat in my hands.
I slicked my fists over him, watching his eyes fire from gentle blue to fiercely glowing violet. If I’d thought about finishing him with my mouth, that kept me from it. I wanted to see his face as he came apart.
His eyes closed. His hard jaw and thrusting cheekbones glistened with a fine sheen. His nostrils flared. Peeking from between his lips were two pointed teeth.
My hands faltered, seeing that. He opened his eyes, compassion warming them, and laid fingers over mine. “You don’t have to.”
That released me from my fears. “I want to.” I regained my rhythm. He swelled even bigger in my fists. Good thing I hadn’t gone for oral sex—I’d have choked.
He began to thrust his hips counter to my hands. A flush rose above his collar, impending orgasm. His eyes were closed and now his mouth opened, exposing long, lethal fangs. I wondered what they’d feel like, sinking into my flesh. Seeing him so beautifully aroused, the idea was strangely attractive.
He pulled the handkerchief from his suit pocket, wrapped us both in it. Then, with a shout, he came in my hands. Hot passion spilled into my palms, overflowed into the cloth. It went on and on.
Finally he straightened, opening his eyes. The blue was so startling that all the oxygen seemed sucked from the room. “Thank you, Synnove.” His teeth were normal now, fangs gone.
“Sure.” I felt oddly embarrassed. I’d had sex before, but usually the men muttered something about it being great before going comatose. No one had ever said thank you, certainly not with this apparently heartfelt gratitude. Me, or the quality of men I dated? It no longer seemed to matter. “Thank you too.”
He smiled. “You’re very welcome. Let’s cuddle.” Without releasing me he turned a chair out and sat us both in it, with me between his thighs. I relaxed into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
So caring. In a way, he knew me better than I knew myself. It was perfect.
He whispered into my hair, “You deserve happiness, Synnove. The forever kind, with someone special.”
I absolutely glowed.
Until he added, “But not with me. You need to marry someone else.”
Chapter Eleven
Chicago, 1816
Fourteen-year-old Ric’s panting breaths stirred the dust on the sheet-covered couch hiding him. Aiden crouched nearby, prying the top off a crate. To Ric’s hypersensitive ears, the boards’ creaks of protest shrieked, “Here we are!”
The tiny female child huddled in Ric’s arms didn’t seem to hear a thing. But she was human.
Aiden finished prying off the top, revealing a painting. “Damn,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“I told you,” the girl piped, her voice unnaturally loud in the dark storeroom. “I watched from the window the whole time he posed for it. But you didn’t trust me.”
“We trusted you, Pumpkin.” Ric stroked her silky hair.
“But you didn’t believe me.” The little girl’s voice was pouty. “Now maybe you do. He doesn’t want anyone to see that picture until he has the painter paint out the gun. If we take it, it’ll keep him from following us.”
“If we can steal it without his knowing. And if we can get it out of here before he catches us.”
“Lots of ifs.” Aiden replaced the crate’s top. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“You and your bad feelings,” the little girl said. “You’re trying to get out of doing your part. But I did my part and now you two have to do yours. Because that’s how partners work, everybody doing their part.”
“We will.” Ric patted the top of her head. “We’ll protect you.”
“Silly Ric. Partners don’t need protecting. I meant our escape. You take me along. I did my part,” she repeated stubbornly.
“You have indeed.” Aiden left the crate to drop a kiss on her head.
Her face cleared. “So now that you see the picture’s real, when do we leave?”
“Tomorrow.” Ric’s heart beat with fierce excitement. It was finally here. After four years, their vague plans for escape from this hell hole had snapped into place with this last piece. “Tonight Aiden will sneak the painting out and hide it. When he has it secured, we’ll be safe to go—”
Bam. The storeroom door slammed open. “You!”
At first all Ric could see were the glowing red eyes of a pissed-off vampire. But the dry, raspy voice shot acid arrows into the pit of his stomach.
It was Nosferatu himself.
“What are you trainees doing here?”
“Nothing, sir.” Aiden unfolded to his full height, already tall for sixteen. He edged in front of the painting. “We were practicing our concealment skills.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me.” Nosferatu stalked into the storeroom, face half-plated and fangs protruding from between fleshy lips. “Not with her here. You think you’re the first assholes who’ve tried to escape? You’ll never escape me. I’ll destroy you first.”
Fine hair rose along Ric’s spine. The vampire knew. Their plan was falling apart before it had begun.
But their training had been brutally effective; they had a fallback plan, even for what was only supposed to be a short exploratory trip. He glanced at Aiden. They had one shot to get out of this with their skins whole. He flicked eyes to one side, then to the girl, then to the other side of the room.
Barely, Aiden nodded.
Ric counted a mental one, two, three.
He picked up the girl. At the exact same moment, Aiden snatched up the crate. Aiden ran one way and Ric the other.
“Damn you,” Nosferatu snarled. But giving chase was ingrained for a vampire. He flickered into the center of the room where the boys had been, then paused, head churning between them. Before he could choose, Ric and Aiden both spun for the doorway.
They were lucky. Nosferatu had come alone.
The doorway was unblocked.
Aiden reached it first, Ric a split second later. They were through like bullets. Both headed left, into the maze of dimly lit underground passageways below the vampire’s house.
Nosferatu sped out behind them.
“What are you doing?” The girl struggled in Ric’s arms as he ran. “We don’t need to run from him anymore! We have the picture.”
“It’s…not safe.” He panted it, fear making his lungs into bellows.
“You’re wrong.” She wriggled out of his grasp.
He’d been running fast, fast enough that hitting the ground would hurt her badly. He spun on a dime and caught her by her waist, managing to keep her from completely cratering. But when he tried to lift her again, she shook him off to stand on her own.
Aiden disappeared around the corner. Nosferatu shimmered to a halt a few yards from the girl.
“You can’t stop us,” she flung at him. “We have the painting.”
“We do, do we?” The vampire started moving again, stalking them slowly, his red eyes marking his advance along the corridor. Instilling fear. Even though Ric knew the technique, it was working, his heart hammering so hard it nearly cracked his ribs. Nosferatu went on, “Seems to me only one of you has the painting. If that’s actually what was in that crate.”
“You know it is,” the girl said. “Or you wouldn’t have stopped.” Gloating triumph shone on her face. Ric felt slightly sick. The triumph was premature, the gloat ill-advised.
“I haven’t stopped,” Nosferatu said.
“Please. You’re trying to bluff. But we have the power.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
Ric heard the pair of assassin trainees behind him before he saw them. They herded Aiden around the far corner, his friend still grasping the picture crate. Ric didn’t hold out any hope the pair would help him and Aiden. The training program was cruelly adversarial.
They blocked one end of the corridor. Nosferatu blocked the other. His smile wasn’t pretty. “Who has the power now?” he asked the girl.
Aiden and Ric turned back to back, the girl between. So they were to die, Ric thought. But they’d go down fighting.
