"All right," he whispered.
Giving them both time to adjust to her dominant role, she stroked her fingers over his shoulders, then combed through the hair on his chest, enjoying the feel of the springy strands before finding his nipples, circling and teasing them.
When he sucked in a sharp breath, she smiled down at him, then trailed one hand lower, over his ribs, his abdomen. His muscles jumped under her fingers.
Probably he thought she would go right for his cock. It was standing up tall and firm, begging for her attention. With a little pang of guilt, she bypassed that hard shaft and stroked her hand over first one thigh and then the other.
"Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"Haven't you ever seen that TV ad—for anticipation?" she asked, then leaned over his body, to give him a long, lingering kiss on the lips while she brushed her breasts against his chest.
When she lifted her head away, he looked up pleadingly.
"Maybe it's time to get specific," she said as she reached down with a hand he couldn't see and took his cock in her fist, giving him a few sensuous strokes that wrung a throaty exclamation from him. Before he could get too far into that, she switched to a lighter touch, using her fingers to stroke his hard shaft and then circle round and round the head.
He gasped out his pleasure, his hands digging into the sheets. Then he gasped again as she leaned down, dragging her tongue along the length of his erection before taking as much of it as she could manage into her mouth. He cried out when she began to suck on him as though someone had just given her a delicious lollipop.
His hips bucked off the bed, and his cry of pleasure ended in a strangled groan.
She pulled back, nibbling her lips against the head of his shaft as she spoke. "You like that?"
"I… didn't know anything could feel that good."
She smiled at him, lifting his balls into her hands, gently playing with them as she slid his penis into her mouth again, moving up and down his length as she sucked and licked, devoting herself to what she knew would give him pleasure.
He was making deep, strangled sounds now, his hips straining as she felt tremors gathering in his body.
One of her hands reached to link with his as she quickened the pace of her attentions to him. He cried out, orgasm rocketing through him.
Swallowing had never been her favorite part of going down on a man. But she remembered from the previous experience that his body produced only a small amount of ejaculate.
So she continued to pleasure him until she felt his hand on her chin.
"Taylor. Taylor." Her name rumbled in his chest, and she looked up at him, seeing the satisfaction—and the wonder—in his eyes.
He reached for her, and she came down beside him.
"I… didn't know… that would be… so intense," he whispered.
"I thought you might not. My guess is that your partners were pretty conservative."
He stroked her hair, then raised up on one elbow so that he could look down at her.
"That was beyond anything I could imagine. And I want to return the favor."
"I was hoping you would."
"But I've never done that to a woman. My mouth was always busy doing something else."
"Well, you're a wonderful lover. I have every confidence in you."
When he lowered his head to her breast, she remembered he had plenty of experience using his mouth to give pleasure.
"That's so good," she whispered.
He gave her a wicked grin, then trailed his tongue down her body, pausing to play with her navel before finding the hot, swollen folds of her sex.
He was a quick learner. Or more accurately, he was adapting techniques he had already learned. He had made himself into an expert at arousing a woman and bringing her to the peak of sensation, and now he pressed two fingers into her, stroking in and out while he used his mouth and tongue on her labia, then her clit.
But he didn't finish it quickly. Maybe he was acting on the concept that turnabout was fair play, because he brought her close to orgasm, then backed off, until she was writhing on the bed, raising her hips.
"Jules, for God's sake, Jules," she pleaded, grabbing frantically at his hair, and he went back to her clit with his mouth and tongue while he thrust deep into her vagina with his fingers.
She made a high, frantic sound as her inner muscles clamped around those fingers, and she went up in flames. He kept stimulating her until the aftershocks subsided. Then he moved up beside her and gathered her in his arms.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"The pleasure was mine. All of it."
He held her, stroked her, rained small kisses on her face and neck. And when she felt his cock pressing stiffly against her thigh, she raised her eyebrows. "Are you telling me you're ready for another round?"
The smug expression on his face was priceless. "Maybe this time we can try what I think is called 'the missionary position.'"
"Just so you're willing to try something more adventurous after that."
They spent the night making love. The Viagra combined with his iron constitution was mind-blowing. When it was close to dawn, she raised her head and looked down at him. "I'm exhausted. Do I have to go home for the day?"
His expression turned uncertain. "I'm going to sleep like the dead. Especially after that workout you gave me."
"Do you mind my staying?"
"A little."
She knit her fingers with his. "I'll go if it makes you feel… safer."
"No. I have to keep reminding myself that I can trust you completely."
She squeezed his hand tighter. "You can. The way I know I can trust you."
"Yes."
He folded the comforter at the end of the bed, then slipped under the covers, and she settled down beside him.
"If you go downstairs, close the door behind you."
"I will."
After he had fallen asleep, she sat up, stroking back the dark hair from his forehead.
It was still hard for her to grasp that she was in a relationship with a man who was so much more than he had first seemed to be. And it was still hard to come to grips with their future.
They had agreed to be together—for now. But there were things they hadn't talked about in detail. He'd told her that making her like him was dangerous. Was she willing to take the risk? Not yet. Not now. But when she got old, would she change her mind? She didn't know.
All she knew was that, for the present, she and Jules DeMario had something together that she had never imagined. Something good. Was it going too far to call him her soul mate?
She couldn't answer that yet, either.
But she thanked God that she had the time to explore their relationship. She slept for a few hours. When she woke up, she turned to kiss him on the cheek.
He stirred, and his eyes blinked open. For a moment, he looked shocked and confused. Then he focused on her, and he smiled. "I never wake until the next night," he murmured.
"A lot has changed," she said.
"Yes."
"Maybe we'll have you out waterskiing on the gulf."
He managed a sleepy smile. "I doubt it. But we've already done things I never imagined."
"And there's more to come." She pressed her face against his shoulder, loving the feel of his strong arm around her. No couple had a guarantee, but what she saw for herself and Jules was bright with all kinds of possibilities. And maybe forty years from now, they'd have to reevaluate where they were going.
VELVET NIGHT
Rosemary Laurey
Chapter One
« ^ »
Vickie Anderson propped her feet on the porch railings, flaking off old paint in the process, sipped her ice tea, and leaned back in her rocking chair. It had been a long, hot drive from DC, but worth every mile. She hadn't realized how much she needed to get away. Up here she could forget crime, job stresses, and regulations. As the first firefly flickered in the warm June night,
Vickie let out a long sigh and tension seeped out of her aching body.
This old house, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, was the perfect haven from the pressures of being a cop in the nation's capital. She had the warm night, honeysuckle in the woods, crickets in the long grass, two owls calling to each other in the trees, and the sound of an engine racing up the road.
Who on earth was it? This was the only house this far up the mountain—not counting the old fishing cabin on the lake.
The noise grew louder. Not a car or truck. It was tinnier and shriller, and getting louder by the minute, until a red motorcycle raced around the bend, bringing with it an aura of power and speed, the smell of fuel, and a cloud of dust on the dry road.
Who in the name of sanity was that? The southwest Virginia representative of Hell's Angels? Whoever it was, they slowed, turned around, and were coming back. Vickie grabbed her empty glass but unbreakable plastic wasn't much use for self-defense. Pity she hadn't brought her gun with her. Was Gramp's shotgun still in the closet beside the fireplace? Did she have time to find it?
As the motorcycle came to a halt, Vickie stood, ready to run for the gun. The rider looked up at her, waving a leather-gauntleted hand as he set the bike on the kickstand. He was tall, covered in black leather like a second skin, his eyes hidden behind the dark visor of the red helmet. If she had any sense, she'd run and pray the spare shotgun shells were still in the Mason jar on top of the fridge.
Instead, she stared like a snared rabbit as he lifted a long leg over the saddle of the bike and turned to face her. "You must be the Andersons' granddaughter," he said, as he unsnapped his chin strap.
Vickie was all ready to say that yes, she was, and armed (fingers crossed) and had four brawny brothers out back. But before the lies of self-defense came to her lips, she looked up at his face, and without quite knowing why, walked over to the porch railing. He came closer, helmet under his arm, a dark mass of curls framing his face.
He paused, just a yard or so away, and from the height of the porch, she looked down at the most compelling pair of dark eyes she'd ever seen. "Hi!" was all she managed to get out. The steamy night was making her breathless.
"Hello!" He smiled. "I'm Pete Falcon. Mrs. Burrows mentioned I'd be having a neighbor for the next few days."
Mrs. Burrows, at the general store and gas, gossiped too much! "I'm Vickie Anderson, just up here for a few days of utter solitude." As heavy a hint as she could drop without actually saying, 'bugger off!'
She should have gone for 'bugger off!' Or should she?
As Pete stepped forward, placing one leather-booted foot on the first step, he moved into the full circle of the light.
Dear heaven! She had the distinct impression she had seen him before—in a "hunk of the month" calendar. He was beautiful: dark eyes glinting in the night, and a wide, full mouth smiling up at her. And tall. Heavens, yes! With broad shoulders that filled his leather jacket. And she was gawking at him! Her tongue was as good as fused to the roof of her mouth—until it flapped loose. "Would you like a glass of tea? Have a seat on the porch." What a stupid thing to say! Especially as he took the rest of the steps two at a time, his leather-clad thighs gleaming in the glare of the porch light.
"Sure. Thanks! It's been a long, dry ride up from Boones Mill."
"Have a seat! I'll get it!"
The screen door crashed behind her as she darted into the house. She all but ran through the living room into the kitchen, grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, and yanking open the fridge before she made herself calm down. The cool of the freezer soothed her flushed face as she reached in and grabbed a handful of ice. She hadn't asked if he wanted lemon. What the heck, he was getting it!
By the time she squeezed two wedges of lemon into the glass, the panic attack—or whatever it was—had eased. She still wasn't sure exactly why she'd invited a total stranger onto her porch and offered him refreshment. He could be the local rapist for all she knew. Nonsense! He was merely a hot and thirsty biker just ridden up the mountain.
Hot being the operative word.
Vickie had to stop herself from ogling him as she walked back with his tea. He stood at her approach and opened the screen door, closing it carefully so the spring didn't bang, and giving her the perfect chance to ogle his luxuriant blue-black ponytail. He turned back to her and smiled, and her throat went dry. He was close. Too close. And covered in black leather from his boots to his shoulders. His jacket was unzipped at the neck, revealing a vee of male skin and a fine sprinkling of dark hair. As if that wasn't already far too much for comfort, two other zips hung open: one on either side of his chest. For ventilation in the heat, she imagined, but right now, his thin, white undershirt shone against the leather like the moon overhead against the night sky. If she looked a little closer, she was certain she'd see the outline of two dark nipples under the soft, washed cotton.
She was not looking closer! "Here's your tea."
His hand closed over the cool glass, his fingers just missing hers by a hair's breadth. "Thanks."
He stepped away and sat down on the glider. She walked back to her rocker, angling it slightly so he was completely in her line of vision.
He took a long, slow drink, uttered an appreciative "Mmm," and licked his lips. She almost echoed the movement, but remembered, just in time, to take a deep, relaxing breath instead.
A few moments later, he broke the companionable silence. "You're very trusting. You ought to be more careful who you invite into your house."
He was telling her! "Should I turf you off my porch then?"
His smile had to be a trick of the light. No one in creation could look that sexy with just a smile—and okay, a glint in his impressive, dark eyes. "Nah. I'm safe enough but there are some roughnecks and reprehensibles around these parts."
He was so dead-on serious, she had to chuckle. "Oh. The Adamses are still around, are they?"
He looked. Just looked. His face stiller than she could have imagined. "You know them?"
"Everyone from here to Roanoke does! If they're lucky, only by reputation. When I was a kid, I was convinced the TV Addams family were named after them, and had no difficulty deciding scary, old Forrest Adams was a vampire."
Her visitor looked almost offended. Another trick of the light. "Yes," he said, "but there's not too many Adamses around anymore."
"All in the county jail again?"
His face relaxed. "A couple of them. There's even a few gone respectable. Just one or two reprobates left."
Quite enough! Vickie shuddered, remembering Sonny Adams rubbing poison ivy on her face, while his brother Micha sat on her. That Micha had also broken out all over had been scant consolation. "You live up this way?" Who wanted to talk about the George County Adams Family?
"Yup. In the house up the end of the road."
"The fishing cabin?"
He nodded. "Yes. I look out on the most magnificent view of the lake from the back porch."
"My grandfather used to take me fishing there. We spent hours on that jetty, with lines and bent nails baited with red worms."
"The dock has been rebuilt. You must come and see it sometime."
If he'd been eighty, she might have accepted, but as it was…"Thanks." No way! She'd come here for peace of mind, and just these few minutes with Pete whatever-his-name-was, was rapidly disturbing it. "You work down in Boones Mill?"
He shook his head. "In Roanoke. For an environmental group. I cover this part of the state."
That told her nothing, not that she was the least bit interested. She'd just wanted to change the subject from "come and see my jetty." But she couldn't help watching as he tilted the glass and drained the last of his tea. She had to be imagining the way his throat muscles undulated as he swallowed. No way in this light could she see that clearly.
"Thanks for the tea, it hit the spot." Pete set the glass down, smiled again—just to quicken her heartbeat probably—and stood. "I'd better be off."
Yes, he should
!
"Ride carefully. The woods are dark." Why was she worried about him? This was a man who could definitely take care of himself.
"I see well in the dark." And his teeth flashed well in the dark, too. "Thanks for the drink."
"You're welcome." She smiled. How could she not, when he took her hand in his, his fingers long and strong but surprisingly cool? So cool, his touch sent goose bumps skittering down her spine. Had to be because he'd been holding his glass.
His eyes gleamed down at her. "Take care, Miz Anderson, and remember what I said: there are some odd types wandering around these days. Just because you're miles from the main road, is no reason not to lock your doors and latch your windows."
And having a sexy hunk in black leather up the mountain was an even better one. "See you!"
She had no idea why she stood on the porch, watching long after his taillight disappeared up the road.
He was an unmitigated idiot! As a new-blooded vampire, he'd been warned often enough that he lacked the control of a mature vamp, but no one warned him he'd be as impulsive as a hormone-crazed teenager. Or even more stupid! He'd all but barged onto Vickie's front porch, just because he'd caught a whiff of human blood and a glimpse of her short, silky hair in the moonlight.
John, his mentor, had warned him to stay away from women for a few years, until he got his impulses under control. Damn good advice it had been too! But Pete Falcon had had to make a lunge for the first woman he glimpsed. Okay, not a lunge precisely. He'd restrained himself that much, and she wasn't the first. He'd seen several in the past few weeks, but Mrs. Burrows down at the shop and gas hardly counted. Neither did any of the other women living hereabouts. But Vickie Anderson! He could feel his fangs descending as he thought about her smile, the silvery, silky sheen of her short, blond hair, and the luscious scent of her body in the moonlight.
The woman sent every single one of his vampire senses into overdrive. And not only his senses. He'd just discovered how uncomfortable a vamp erection was under leathers. Hell, he'd been half-afraid she'd notice it even in the dark.
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