Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  She read on, wondering just how deeply he’d snooped into her business. It seemed he knew the job had a vampire element, but not much else. That meant Dave Harrington had probably tracked her as far as Hermosillo, but hadn’t managed to squeeze any info out of Vincent’s people. Given what she now knew about the vampire hierarchy, that didn’t surprise her, especially since the only vampire who actually knew what was happening was Michael. Dave could still find her if he was determined, but it would take a long time, maybe even long enough that the job would be over.

  And she considered, for the first time, that when the job was over, she and Vincent would go back to their separate lives. The idea that she might never see him again . . . hurt. It was an actual, physical pain in her heart. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to tell herself it was something else, all the spicy food, maybe. But that didn’t explain the tears stinging the back of her eyes.

  The sheets rustled as Vincent stirred awake behind her. Pasting on a smile, she looked over her shoulder to see him watching her.

  “You can read my e-mails, too, if you promise to do it naked,” he purred.

  She laughed, relieved that he hadn’t noticed her mood. “I was waiting for you. I need a shower.”

  “Shower sex. Even better than naked e-mail.”

  “Who said anything about sex?”

  He didn’t say a word, simply threw back the covers and stood in all his naked beauty, his erection jutting hard and thick and proud. Lana didn’t realize she was staring until he walked over and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at his face.

  “Hellooo? My face is up here,” he said in a singsong parody of the time-honored female objection.

  Lana laughed again, feeling it this time, as she rose to wrap her arms around his neck. “Shower sex sounds good,” she murmured, nuzzling his skin. She took Vincent’s hand as she stood and headed for the bathroom, pausing only long enough to close her laptop without opening any of Dave Harrington’s e-mails.

  VINCENT LIFTED LANA against the tiled wall and slammed his cock into her, driven by the need to possess her as much as by anger that she made him want her that much. They’d spent the entire previous night in bed, mostly with him inside her, with only brief pauses for rest and food, in Lana’s case anyway. He didn’t need any food but her blood, and he didn’t need much rest either.

  And still, he’d woken this evening hard as a rock and reaching for her. Maybe if he fucked her enough, he’d get his fill. Maybe this hunger driving him to claim her, to make sure no other man so much as looked at her, would finally be sated, and he could go back to his life. Back to fucking whatever woman caught his fancy. Except he didn’t want to fuck any woman but this one.

  He snarled his anger, grabbing her thigh and wrapping it higher around his waist, crushing his mouth against hers. Lana echoed his snarl, digging her fingers into his hair so hard it hurt, which only fueled his desire for her. He tasted blood as her lip split from the ferocity of his kiss, then more blood as she bit him back, her laugh low and sultry. His cock grew impossibly harder at the sound and her sex, hot and tight, pulsed around him. He pulled back and met her gaze, her eyes as full of wild abandon as his own must be. Christ, they would fuck each other to death at this rate.

  And what a way to go.

  He let his fangs emerge, relishing the pain as they split his gums, the widening of Lana’s pupils as she eyed their sharp, gleaming lengths. And then, with her eyes never leaving his, she grinned and tilted her head, baring the elegant length of her neck.

  Fuck. Me, he thought and snapped his head forward, his fangs slicing into the dewy heat of her skin, piercing a vein so swollen with blood that it burst like a ripe fruit, flooding his mouth, rolling down his throat. So much blood, and so delectable, that he had to close his eyes against the ecstasy lest Lana see it and know the power she had over him. This was more than blood. This was the blood of the woman who could be his mate if he allowed it to go that far.

  Lana’s scream had his eyes flashing open. He pulled his head back, wanting to watch as she climaxed around him, as she lost control, caught in the same trap that he was, her body shuddering in the throes of an orgasm that Vincent had given her, that she was helpless to resist.

  “Vincent,” she whispered his name, so soft and sweet, so full of emotion. So vulnerable.

  Fool that he was, his heart swelled. Bending his head, he licked the puncture wounds from his bite, sealing them shut and stopping the flow of blood. Then he nibbled his way to her mouth, taking her in a different sort of kiss, one full of desire and longing. And as he did, he slid his cock in and out slowly, feeling her body convulsing around him, her nipples scraping his chest, her heart racing as the orgasm rolled over and through her. And when she was nearly done, when he felt the contractions of her belly begin to slow, the caress of her sheath start to lose its frenzy, he cupped her ass, holding her wide open, and he fucked her in earnest, slamming his cock as deep as he could go, grinding against her clit with every thrust.

  Lana’s eyes flashed open in shock as a fresh climax seized hold of her, as her pussy rippled around his cock once more. Her arms tightened convulsively over his shoulders and she cried out helplessly. Vincent felt his own body respond, his orgasm rising up like the heat of a volcano, roaring through every muscle, searing every nerve until his release poured forth, claiming his woman with his cock as certainly as he’d done with his fangs.

  LANA HUNG IN Vincent’s grip, so overheated between the hot shower and the even hotter vampire between her thighs that she thought she’d melt away. Either that or explode. She wasn’t sure which. She wasn’t sure she cared, because it was worth it. Vincent was worth it. Maybe that made her an idiot, because he wasn’t just a vampire, he was a man. And men like Vincent didn’t tie themselves down to one woman. She had to remember that. Had to remember that whatever they had was fleeting. That it could be hot and incredible, but in the end it was just fun. Something glorious to remember when she was old and gray.

  She stroked her hand over the back of Vincent’s head. His forehead rested against the tile behind her, and his breath was hot and loud in her ear. A cramp reminded her that her legs were still wrapped around his hips and she grimaced, not sure she had any strength left to move them . . . or to stand on her own two feet if she did.

  “I think I need a shower,” she murmured, aware of her sweaty skin, of the wetness between her thighs, both his and hers.

  Vincent chuckled and lifted his head, his eyes flecked with copper when they met hers. “Can you move?”

  “Maybe. If you help.”

  He squeezed her butt cheek, then trailed his fingers down into her wetness and along her thigh.

  “Stop that,” she scolded weakly. “We’ll be here all night.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know about you, vampire, but I’ll wrinkle like a prune. And that’s not attractive in a lover.”

  He slapped her ass, then stepped back, easing her legs to the floor and holding on to her until she was more or less steady. But this was Vincent, which meant he couldn’t let it go at that.

  Reaching behind her, he pumped a good handful of shower gel and began washing her, sliding his strong hands all over her body, washing between her thighs and over her ass. Feeling more relaxed than she’d ever felt, Lana closed her eyes and enjoyed the massage.

  “Rinse.”

  She blinked her eyes open to find Vincent gazing down at her in bemusement.

  “Rinse, querida. You’re all soapy.”

  “Right,” she said, as if she hadn’t been half asleep. Vincent backed away so she could get under the spray, but then grabbed the handheld sprayer and danced it over her body, pretending to be helpful by aiming it between her legs.

  “Give me that,” she snapped, taking it away and aiming it at his face briefly before finishing her own
rinse. It was fortunate, she thought, that she’d washed her hair before they’d had sex. Because if she had to stand this close to a naked Vincent much longer, there was only one way it could go. And then she’d be a prune for sure.

  Handing him the sprayer, she rose up on tiptoes to kiss his mouth, then slapped his ass on her way out of the shower enclosure. Instantly feeling about ten degrees cooler, she pulled on one of the fluffy robes, then grabbed a towel and a comb, and walked through the dressing area and out into the bedroom.

  Wrapping the robe more closely around her body, she tied it loosely shut, then stood in front of the mirror and began combing out her wet hair. Someone knocked on the room door and she frowned, checking the time. Maybe Vincent had ordered room service for her breakfast . . . or dinner . . . or whatever you called it when you slept all day and woke up at night. Or maybe it was the maid, since they’d missed the regularly scheduled cleaning.

  She crossed to the door and checked the peephole, covering it with her hand first, just in case someone was standing out there with a gun. She’d seen that in a movie once. The movie itself hadn’t made much of an impression, but the scene had.

  Pulling away her fingers—which were still whole and free of bullet wounds—she put her eye to the peephole and found something much worse.

  Dave Harrington. What the fuck was he doing here?

  She snapped the locks and ripped open the door.

  “What the fuck, Dave?”

  “You ask me that?” he demanded, shoving his way into the room. “I’ve been leaving messages, e-mailing . . . your dad’s worried sick. No one knows what you’re working on, or why you’re down here in the middle of cartel country . . . and on your own, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Get out,” she said, stepping in front of him, trying to stop him from going any farther into the room before disaster struck. “What I do isn’t any of your business or my dad’s. Now get out.”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re here. What are you working on?” He took several steps into the room, forcing her to move aside, a big man by any standard, strong and fit . . . and Vincent would tear him apart.

  “Not here,” Lana said firmly. “I need to get dressed. Why don’t I meet you in the coffee shop?”

  Unfortunately, Dave might be clueless, but he wasn’t stupid. He turned in a circle, taking in the tousled bed, staring at the closed bathroom door. She knew the moment he heard the water running in the shower. His entire body stiffened, and he spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “You’re fucking somebody? You ran out on your dad, on me, to have a fuckfest in Mexico?”

  But Lana wasn’t looking at Dave anymore. The bathroom door opened and she met Vincent’s gaze.

  “You didn’t tell me we had a guest, querida.”

  VINCENT HAD JUST stepped out of the shower, feeling terrific, when he’d heard a man yelling at Lana in the next room. He’d grabbed his sweats, pulled them up his wet legs, and opened the bathroom door to find a human male shouting something about a Mexican fuckfest.

  Vincent looked over the human’s bulky shoulder and met Lana’s worried gaze.

  “You didn’t tell me we had a guest, querida.”

  The human spun around, one hand going to the big pistol at his hip as he glared at Vincent, his gaze raking him from head to toe with unmasked hatred. Vincent didn’t have to dip into even the man’s most shallow thoughts to know what he was thinking. There might as well have been a light bulb blinking over his head. He saw a mostly naked Vincent, his hair and skin still wet from the shower, and he saw Lana, all shiny clean, wrapped in the enveloping robe, her long hair still dripping water.

  The human cast a stunned look at Lana, then Vincent. And his expression changed, becoming more calculated, noting Vincent’s size and strength, the way he stood, balanced and ready to fight. And even more, his complete lack of concern over the human’s sudden appearance.

  This was Dave Harrington, Vincent assumed, based on Lana’s description of both the man and his disposition. He was an inch or two shorter than Vincent, but bulky with muscle, and probably used to intimidating people with his size alone.

  Only Vincent wasn’t intimidated, and Dave Harrington knew it.

  “You were saying?” Vincent asked mildly, hoping the fool would persist in insulting Lana, thus giving Vincent a reason to pound the asshole into the ground.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Harrington demanded.

  Lana stepped around him and took up a position next to Vincent, a significant move that was not lost on Harrington if his gaping glance at Lana was any indication.

  “I believe that’s my question,” Vincent answered, “since this is my . . . that is, our room that you’ve so rudely barged into.”

  Harrington looked to Lana, clearly expecting her to do something. Introduce him, maybe? Declare her undying love?

  But then Lana’s robe shifted, and Harrington got a look at her neck where Vincent had so recently bitten her. There wasn’t much in the way of a mark, but it was enough, given what the man obviously already knew, that he drew the right conclusion.

  But then he made the wrong move.

  “You’re fucking a vampire?” Harrington demanded and reached for Lana, though whether to push the robe aside for a better look or to grab her, Vincent didn’t know. And he didn’t care.

  Moving faster than the human could follow, he snagged the man’s wrist before his hand could touch Lana, then stepped into his space, stopping a hair’s-breadth from the human’s chest.

  “Don’t touch her,” Vincent snarled. “And you will keep a civil tongue in your head, or I’ll rip it out and shove it down your throat.”

  “Vincent,” Lana said quietly.

  He waited just long enough for the human to realize he was helpless against Vincent’s greater strength, then let go, shoving the man a step backward away from Lana.

  Draping a blatantly possessive arm around Lana’s shoulders, he touched his head to hers in a way that shouted intimacy and asked, “Who is this clown?” Even though he already knew.

  Harrington glared daggers at him. “I’m her fiancé, asshole. Who’re you?”

  Lana snorted in disgust, but tellingly made no attempt to dislodge Vincent’s arm. “You are not my fiancé, Dave. We have never been engaged.”

  “As for who I am,” Vincent interjected. “I’m the one fu—”

  Lana turned her head slowly and stared, as if daring him to finish that sentence.

  Vincent grinned and finished, saying, “—following Lana around the country. Keeping her safe . . . among other things.”

  “Vincent,” Lana chided softly, turning to touch his jaw with her fingers, fighting a smile that she probably didn’t want him to see. She turned back to Harrington.

  “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Dave. But this isn’t your business, or my father’s. I appreciate your concern, but as you can see, I’m perfectly safe. Now, I’ll ask you to leave.”

  Harrington, who was either clueless or had a major case of denial, stared at Lana in disbelief. “You’re choosing a vampire over us?”

  “There is no us,” Lana shouted, having finally reached her limit with the asshole. “Will you please get that through your head! We dated! A long time ago! Get over it!”

  “Lana—”

  “No. Damn it!” Calm Lana had disappeared for good. “Go home,” she snarled just as viciously as any vampire could. “And tell my father to stop butting into my business. I’m on vacation. Now, leave me the fuck alone!”

  Harrington finally seemed to clue in. “Fine,” he snapped. “It’s your funeral.” He stormed over and yanked the door open, pausing for one last volley. “Or maybe your dad’s, since this will break his fucking heart.”

  Lana rolled her eyes at that last bit of drama, but
didn’t say anything until the door slammed shut on his useless ass.

  “As if,” she muttered. “Sean Arnold will outlive us all just to prove he can.”

  Vincent slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her back against his chest, leaning over to rub his cheek against hers. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “He still wants you, you know.”

  “He wants my father’s business.”

  “Maybe. But he wants you, too.”

  “Too bad for him, then.”

  “Do you want him?”

  She turned to give him the kind of look a person gives someone who’s particularly clueless. “No, Vincent,” she explained patiently. “If I wanted Dave Harrington, I’d have been fucking him in the shower ten minutes ago instead of you. Happy now?”

  Vincent grinned, then leaned down and closed his teeth over her full lower lip before licking away the hurt. “I apologize.”

  “Hmph. I don’t need you to protect me, you know.”

  “I know that. But I need to.”

  She smiled reluctantly. “Vanity, thy name is man, or male, anyway.”

  “Naturally,” Vincent agreed.

  “Yes, well, now that the entertainment portion of our evening is concluded, we need to start looking for Xuan Ignacio. He’s the reason we’re here, after all.”

  “I thought we were here so you could take shameless advantage of me.”

  “That’s true. But I thought maybe I’d give you a break. You know, some time to recover your strength.”