Biting Me Softly: Biting Love, Book 3

by Mary Hughes

  “Logan was only doing his job.”

  “Don’t tell me he suckered you too. Naw, you’re too smart. You must know his Prince Charming is all an act.”

  My cheeks heated.

  “And if it’s charm you want, give me a try, dollface. Tonight. I can be just as good. And as an added insensitive”—he meant incentive, I supposed—“I won’t tell Elias or Steel who ’shopped that X-rated pic.”

  I shuddered. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think all you want, dollface. Then be at Nieman’s, six p.m. sharp.” He hung up.

  Mechanically I stooped to clean up the mess on the floor. If only a dishrag would fix the mess of my life.

  I was awake so I showered, then dressed skin-out in worn-soft jeans and a T-shirt from the bottom of my closet (no clean bras, and after the Brazilian waxing and repeated pounding, it felt better to wear air panties) and trudged in to work. Blackmail first thing in the morning could really KO a gal. I wondered how in Carl Sagan’s wide universe I was going to get out of my date, either one. If my life were a reality show, at this point I would have voted myself off the island.

  And why the heck was Race so insistent about meeting with me? I didn’t want any thanks. In fact I wished I hadn’t done it, even though my pocketbook and my mother’s radiation bills would be happier.

  Outside the Blood Center, I pawed one-handed through my purse for keys, the other covering my yawns. I dug past a motherboard, a pill bottle of screws, and six batteries (heaven help me, they were reproducing in there) before finally landing on my Pinky and the Brain key ring. Covering yet another yawn, I raised key to lock.

  There was no keyhole.

  I stared, wondering if my personal memory chip had shorted out. The lock was gone. In fact—my eyes rose. In fact, the whole door was gone.

  In its place was a state-of-the-art security door. Polycarbonate with titanium mesh, if I remembered the specs right. On the brick wall next to it was a pad, no numbers, just touch screen. I brushed fingers over the wall, wondering how to get in.

  Unless that was the point—I wasn’t supposed to get in. My job was gone, over, kaput, and this was how Logan decided to tell me. No severance package or job planning. No pink slip or even a Post-it note on the polycarbonate.

  I just got a locked door.

  “The pad is keyed to your fingerprints. Go ahead, try it.”

  “Logan?” I swiveled my head to find the disembodied voice. If there was a grill I didn’t see it. “Where are you? How are you talking to me?”

  “I’m inside, princess. Speaking through the miracle of technology. Digital intercom. Try the fingerpad.”

  I pressed my index finger to the pad, a little unnerved when the lock clicked open and the door immediately shooshed wide.

  Logan, bent over my desk, grinned and waved me in.

  I felt awkward, and not just because we’d had deal-breaker sex last night. My Blood Center was now foreign territory. “I thought you were going to take a nap.”

  “I was. But I got a phone call.” His grin morphed into a grimace. Not a welcome call, then. Hopefully not Race Gillette.

  As I rounded the corner of my desk I saw my bottom drawer was open. Sweet Turing test, my cartoons and cheesy curls were exposed to an international CEO. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for your install discs.” Logan’s grin returned. “I saw Visual Studio on your laptop. Figured it ran on your ancient hardware like a squirrel in lead boots. So I brought you some new hardware.”

  He gestured to a slim, sexy notebook sitting next to my old laptop.

  It was a seventeen-inch Falcon Northwest. Warmth suffused me, driving away the chill. “Is that a FragBook?”

  “Yep.” Logan looked awfully pleased with himself. “Two nVidia GeForce 9800 GTX, so your games will scream. Speaking of games, where are your DVDs? I want to try out Fallout 3.”

  Logan was loading my software on his hardware. Ooh, and didn’t that just smack of sexual overtones? Then I realized— “You hacked my laptop?”

  “You hacked our code.” He shrugged, perfectly balanced strength. The smooth play of hard muscles under his tight T-shirt—I choked on my own spit.

  Discreetly wiping at my mouth, I said, “Someone else’s bad behavior is no excuse for yours. Besides, my install DVDs are at home.”

  “Oh well. I enjoyed looking in your drawers.” He wagged his golden brows, his eyes particularly bright.

  “You keep your hands out of my drawers, buddy. And that goes double for any other tools you happen to have with you.”

  “But Liese. You so enjoyed my big tool last night.”

  I blushed. “Do you have to hammer it home?”

  “Good one, princess. You really nailed that pun.” He flashed his white grin.

  Ye gods, that smile burned out my retinas and zapped my brain synapses. “So help me, if you mention your humongous screwdriver I’ll nail your ball bearings to my desk.”

  His grin brightened like a supernova. “Do you really think my screwdriver is humongous?”

  I was now legally blind. “Close your mouth. Now! Just close it.” I peeked. His grin had subsided to a smirk, but at least it wasn’t twinkling me out of existence. “It was a nice idea, Logan. But next time, ask first, okay?”

  He slid my drawer shut and sauntered over. “Ask what first?” He ambled right up to my toes, stared down at me with that particular heavy-lidded look.

  I fell back a step. “Um…ask before you load my software on your hardware.”

  He grabbed my coat and reeled me in. Murmured millimeters from my lips, “And what about loading my hardware in your software?”

  Sirens whooped. Red alert, Mr. Spock. Every cell was instantly wide awake. I was in imminent physical danger. My eyes were so wide I poked mascara into my brows—

  Only to have them flutter shut when Logan sealed my mouth with his.

  Have I mentioned that the man—er, vampire—could kiss? All sense of self-preservation drained from me, ran right down my legs and out my toes, leaving me limp. I was instantly as needy as if last night was only foreplay. A whole night of plunging, driving, steamy-hot foreplay. And only a sampler because his creativity had apparently been stifled by not being able to openly fang up.

  He wasn’t hampered anymore. Logan, kisser extraordinary, proceeded to teach me a whole new set of exercises. He rubbed the elegant lengths of his canines against my greedy lips, flicking the seam of my mouth with his tongue. My lips parted and he dived in, so deep he tongued my epiglottis.

  My hands found his broad shoulders, clutched. His caught my hips, pulled me into jeans stretched tight by a jackhammer erection. Talk about tools.

  One kiss and I was already in a frenzy. My fingers dug into his hard muscles, pulling in tight to lick his mouth and suck on his lip. He tasted like elegant wine and smoky sex. I drank him in, my heart pounding wildly, teasing, tasting. When my tongue curled over the ivory-smooth length of one fang he groaned. So I did it again.

  Logan jerked. His hips jacked into my belly, the Grand Teton gouging me. I gasped—and sucked his fang harder. He howled, urgently rubbed his enormous erection against me. He licked frantically at my lips, tonguing every square millimeter of skin he could reach.

  I drew deeper on his fang, suckling rhythmically, swirling my tongue over the smooth enamel. He howled again. His fangs grew longer and his hips rocked frantically.

  And I was the one doing it to him. It was so lovely I expected at any second to be interrupted by a phone call or Nurse Battleax or Zinnia and her little sprouts.

  Logan backed me into the wall where he began to beat his swollen zipper against my pubic bone so hard my butt thwacked drywall. I sucked his fang the whole way, sliding my lips up and down like it was his lovely thick erection.

  And maybe they were connected, because his fangs shot out full length as his zipper strained to the point of bursting.

  His breath rasped. His rhythm changed to bang and grind. Bang, so hard my eyes popp
ed open. Grind, the erotic pressure unbearable. Bang and grind, driving himself against me with the finesse of a sledgehammer, albeit an elegant, lithe sledgehammer.

  My pelvis throbbed. He was so strong, thrust so hard, I was going to be bruised. And I wanted more. More pounding, more grinding. I wanted him to smash me into bits against the wall, grind me into dust. I sucked both fangs into my mouth.

  He threw his head back and roared. His bellow was so loud and harsh I thought he’d bring down the ceiling. Tendons stood out in his neck, muscles pumped like balloons. And his pants—he was so huge I thought he’d explode from his clothes.

  He tore open his zipper. The Loch Logan Monster sprang from the depths, fully formed. I fumbled with my top snap.

  Logan pushed my hands away, undid and yanked my jeans to the floor, pulled them off over my shoes. I had no panties, but neither of us cared. As he rose he hooked my knees, lifted me off my feet. My legs folded as he slid me up the wall. My knees pressed into my breasts and my butt hung down under me, hips tilted in just the right position.

  He drove into me with one hard thrust.

  I screamed in ecstasy. Logan began to ride me with fast waves of his hips, bouncing me shatteringly into the wall. Bolts of pleasure hit me from clit to coccyx. Need sparked my whole pelvis. My heart hammered. My vulva quivered and spasmed. I was climbing to the peak of desire, ready to take the plunge.

  “Hello?” Someone started hammering at the door. “Anybody home?”

  “No,” I shrieked. “Nobody here. Go ’way.”

  “Nice try, lady. My school marching band is raising money to go to Washington D.C. Wanna buy some cookies?”

  “No,” I bellowed as Logan sank his fangs into my trapezius.

  “How about concert tickets?”

  I hit the edge and shot over. But this time I didn’t drown in the huge waves of pleasure.

  “What about band candy?”

  No, the maddening band kid distracted me just enough so that I rode that orgasm like a surfer. Skimmed the top of a climax so big and powerful it pushed me far out to sea.

  “C’mon, lady. Nobody can say ‘no’ to band candy. It’s chocolate.”

  The orgasm washed me oceans away. It went on and on, the endless lapping of waves finally setting me down gently on the warm, sandy shores of heaven.

  Or maybe that was Logan settling me gently on my feet.

  “Hey, lady—how about candles? We’re selling wreaths too. Never too early to think about Christmas gifts.”

  Logan slipped my jeans over my shoes and up. I let him, having only enough energy to stare dazedly at his exposed hips. His giant redwood had apparently yelled “Timber,” too. It looked as pleasantly exhausted as I felt.

  “We’re also selling gourmet popcorn. If, you know, you’re on a diet.”

  “You okay?” Logan propped me up with one hand and used the other to deftly tug up and close his jeans. No underwear on him either. I should have guessed—or been surprised the jeans weren’t painted on, after all.

  “Yeah, just…just give me a sec.” My syllables were mush covered with drool.

  “Three kinds, lady. Caramel, butter and white cheddar.”

  I could barely stand. It was Logan who sauntered to the door. When he closed it a moment later, he had arms full of candy, cookies, candles and for all I knew concert tickets for the whole season.

  “Now.” He dropped the loot behind my desk. “Where were we?”

  Chapter Ten

  “You can think after tha’?”

  Logan smiled, teeth normal now except for the supernaturally white sparkle (think Tony Curtis in The Great Race) gouging my eyes. Ow, ow, ow. “Are you kidding, Liese? I feel terrific after that. Like I could do a triathlon, climb Everest and spec an alarm system for the Crown Jewels.”

  Figured. He got chatty after sex. I just wanted to roll over and go to sleep. If we weren’t the most backward of couples—

  Couples? Where had that thought come from? I stammered the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Like I said, I got a phone call. And since I couldn’t sleep, I decided to come train you. On the new systems, remember?”

  The systems I would never get to use, because of that damned incriminating picture. For a moment I couldn’t remember why I’d sent the stupid thing. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. I forced myself to keep to the conversation. “But it’s daytime. How did you get here?”

  His smile faded. He’d heard something in my tone, no doubt. The man—vampire—was so perceptive he was scary. “Bo’s limo is shielded. That’s how I traveled to Chicago yesterday. He’s got a shielded Maybach sedan too.” He paused. “What’s wrong, Liese?”

  I closed my eyes. “Please. Only one conversation at a time. My brain is still pudding.”

  “Then tell me what’s the matter.” His warm hands engulfed my upper arms.

  “Wrong conversation.” I opened my eyes, saw the concern on his face. Genuine concern. He would listen to me if I wanted. He would listen patiently while I spewed my problems, then cuddle me and stroke me like he had before.

  And I wanted that, with a deep gaping need that scared me. The urge to unburden myself was so strong I actually laid my head against his rock-hard chest. His heart beat steady and strong. I drank in the illusion of trust and safety. Just for a moment.

  Have you ever wanted something so heart-aching bad you didn’t recognize fact from fiction? Didn’t know what was real and what you only wanted to be real? It was why I’d kept the glass ring, to remember I was so easily fooled.

  I stepped away. I was my own rock. My own safety. Me, and my mother. I could trust her. Everyone else was suspect, especially Mr. Broncobuster here. Only, what a fast, hard ride…shizzle. “If you have a shielded car, then why all the after-dark subterfuge? Why wait until night to show yourself the first time?”

  “Traveling by day is not as safe as it sounds.” Logan shrugged, a sort of flip of one muscled shoulder. His shrugs, I was coming to see, meant different things. This one spoke of deadly perils faced, of grace under pressure. “Sun damages us, no matter what time of day. Even reflected sun.”

  “All vampires? Even the new ones?”

  “Actually, young ones are more susceptible. Fledglings need full dark, regardless of shielding. An older vampire can withstand short periods of daylight, especially early in the morning or late in the evening.”

  “And you’re out this morning. You’re older, then?”

  “Yes. Dawn and dusk, as long as the exposure’s brief.”

  “And if you stay out longer? What happens then?”

  “I’d rather not go into the gory details.” He ran long fingers through his golden mane, disheveling it. My fingers longed to do the same.

  I clenched them hard. Intimacy with this man—vampire—was a drug, addictive. The more I had, the more I wanted. “Please. I know so little about you.”

  He lowered his hand, slowly. “Would it help you to trust me?”

  “Yes,” I said, though I didn’t really think it would.

  “Well, sun damage is like sunburn, at first. Red skin, blisters. But internally, our body temperature rises. The longer we’re exposed to even small amounts of sunlight, the hotter we get. Too long, and we burn, literally.

  The implications were horrific. “You mean—you go up in flames? And that’s just sunrise or sunset? What if you’re out at high noon?”

  “Depends on the age of the vampire. I’d fall unconscious in about a minute and fire up soon after. Strongwell could stand three or four min—”

  “Strongwell? Bo Strongwell’s a vampire?”

  “Yes. You started this conversation, Liese. Please don’t interrupt. Strongwell could stand three or four minutes. But when he flamed he’d go like a bonfire. Foosh.” Logan made an exploding gesture with his elegant hands. “Now will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  He was intelligent, perceptive and possessing a terrific and stupidly persistent me
mory. “No. Why would Bo last longer?”

  Logan’s slight roll of the shoulder was almost a sigh. “Strongwell’s older than me. A bit over a thousand. Emerson is older than that.”

  “Julian Emerson’s a vam—” I caught Logan’s pointed look. “Okay. Bo’s a thousand? A thousand what?”

  “Years,” Logan said, matter-of-fact, as if he hadn’t just rocked my entire conception of age.

  “O-kay.” I swallowed my incredulity. “And you are…?”

  “Just shy of four hundred.”

  “So Bo outranks you? He’s your master?”

  At that, Logan threw back his head and laughed, ripples convulsing his strong throat. “Hardly. Bo’s older, and so I respect him, of course. But my training easily puts me on equal footing with him. Liese, if you’re not going to tell me what’s bothering you, I’d like to get cracking on the new systems. We can discuss the vagaries of vampire age and relative strength over dinner tonight. By the way—I’ve got something for you. A gift.”

  “Um, yeah. About dinner—”

  “I thought I’d take you to that supper club on the edge of town. The Alpine Retreat and Bar. I hear they have good food.”

  That sidetracked me. “You eat?”

  “You know I eat.” Logan slanted an evil leer at me. With his blond good looks, it was less creepy and more…seductive.

  I imagined that leer rising up from between my spread thighs, all sparkling eyes and lush lips—and mentally whacked myself with my Microsoft Action Pack. “I meant food.”

  He grinned. “Not food. But you do eat, and I can pretend. What kind of date would it be, if I didn’t buy you a fancy dinner?”

  If it weren’t for Race… “That’s awfully nice, Logan, but you don’t have to go to all that trouble. In fact, since I may have to work late, um, learning the new systems, well, in town might be better.” I pretended to get a bright idea. “Like Nieman’s Bar.”

  Logan’s smile faded. He’d caught my panic, but hopefully not the reason. “Liese, what is it? You can tell me.” He stared intently into my eyes as if he could will me to tell.

  How I wanted to trust him, to unburden. But it was insanity. I couldn’t let my stupid need to be loved overrule my common sense. After all, a primo hunk of man—damn it, vampire—like Logan Steel would never get involved with a dumpy, nerdy woman like me. At least, not on the permanent double-M monogamy-gene basis that I needed.