by Selena Blake
But today, surrounded by friends and guests decked out in masquerade costumes, his touch was insistent and his voice was dark and demanding. Temptation incarnate.
Damn the need he created within her. Damn him for still having any power over her. She shouldn't be the least bit curious about him after he'd broken her heart so coldly.
But she was…
Desperately curious.
Feigning nonchalance, she gave a casual shrug of her shoulders and then turned and stepped into his embrace. Once upon a time they’d been the stars of any dance floor they’d stepped onto. Somehow their bodies had spoken their own language. But that was a long time ago.
She couldn’t let him know about the silent war going on between her mind and body so she closed off her mind and opened her ears to the music. Her heart was currently neutral, like Sweden, which scared her.
Some would call the array of brightly colored costumes and dazzling jewelry chaotic, but that was nothing compared to the emotions clattering inside her: surprise, hatred, anticipation, confusion.
How had she not felt his presence? They were bound. Did he have a special power she didn’t know about?
More importantly, had Latham known Dameon would be on the island? Why hadn’t her friend said anything?
Dameon’s right hand slid around the curve of her waist and trailed down so slowly that she wondered if he’d managed to slow time. But then he snapped his left hand out as the first immortal notes of La Cumparsita began to play.
Suddenly she was plastered against his torso and he took a deep step forward that drove his hips against hers.
“I spent six years in Buenos Aires after the second world war,” he said.
As had she.
It’d been easy to get lost in the atmosphere. He’d obviously learned the Argentine tango from masters. His movements were so sure and effortless that she had no trouble following. As they spun their way around the floor, the world once again melted away and her universe focused on him. Always him.
“You are still ze most beautiful woman in any room,” he said as he applied a gentle pressure to her hip that had her crossing in front of him with her right foot, swiveling and stepping back across with her left. Ochos, they were called, had always been one of her favorite dance moves. She thought of it as the woman’s way to truly cement her partner’s attention and she had Dameon’s.
He was totally focused on her, his muscles tense enough to hold a perfect frame and yet loose enough to guide her easily.
“And you always thought you could get out of anything with a few sweet words.”
“It’s been rare to fail me.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
He tightened his hold on her hand and brought it down between them as he sank downward. When he straightened, she was in the air, right leg out, left leg tucked. She pointed her toe as he spun them in a tight circle.
“I recall having many firsts with you,” he murmured as he let her down.
They took three slow side steps that were perfectly timed with the music. His arm was high around her back now, holding her chest close to his. She tried and failed to ignore the closeness, the feeling of home and completion that filled every cell in her body.
It had been a long time since she’d danced with such a confident partner, had felt so fluid and graceful. That, she reasoned, was why she was enjoying herself so much.
Was he relishing the feel of her again? Did he miss having her in his arms, her breath on his cheek, and her head on the pillow next to his? Did he yearn for the days before life had spiraled out of control? Did he miss her, honestly miss her or was he simply saying what he thought she wanted to hear?
As their feet and legs tangled in complicated steps, she searched his face for a sign. Against her better judgment, she reached out to his mind.
“Trying to see what I’m thinking, chérie?”
“You would like that too much,” she said and snapped her head to the left.
The music paused as he dipped her and as she met his incredibly blue eyes again she wondered if he’d committed this song to memory. She relaxed into his hold, sure that he wouldn’t drop her. His hand was cool against the back of her neck. More than that, it was familiar.
But he’d always been familiar. They’d known each other all their lives. And at first he’d been the bad boy, the rake, the man she was to have nothing to do with. He’d been her first lover, her first dance partner, her first love. He’d stolen so much, so easily. Only later she’d realized he hadn’t stolen anything at all; she’d willingly given herself to him.
They’d found each other against all odds, a Romeo and Juliet story if there ever was one. And theirs had just as tragic of an ending despite the fact that their families had arranged a union between them. Their marriage was to do what nothing else had. Stop the fighting between their covens. Create a bond, a strong pair, a stronger coven, a leading couple that others would follow.
His heart hadn’t been involved, but his body had been. He’d never been able to resist her touch or hide his reaction.
Did she still have that kind of power over him? It’d be fun to see.
She pulled away from him, turned and took three carefully placed steps away that made her hips sway. Then she pivoted back, raising her right arm over her head.
It was then that she realized they’d once again cleared the dance floor. She hadn’t given a performance in ages. While the dancer in her had taken a vacation, she was never far away.
Valencia undulated to the music, from her shoulders all the way down to her hips. Slowly she sank down to the floor, keeping her gaze locked with Dameon’s. She’d learned a lot about seduction after she’d left his bed. In fact, she’d considered herself a silent student her whole life, watching, taking mental notes.
And as she kicked her left leg out she was careful to keep her toe pointed so the line of her leg would be the sexiest. Luckily, the front of her dress hit at her knee and the back trailed down in an almost mermaid like fashion, making such a deep lunge possible. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes followed her every move.
Eyes narrowing in challenge, his hands moved to the buttons of his jacket and he undid them hastily. Shrugging out of the jacket, he tossed it aside and strode forward.
Hand out to her, the look in his eyes made her stomach quiver. He spun her around three times before pulling her up into his arms. Those strong arms wrapped around her waist; chest to chest, he dragged her forward but her toes never left the floor.
“Why are you here?” she asked, plastered against him.
“I’ve never said no to a party.”
She stared over his shoulder and stamped down the little flutter in her stomach that his scent caused. He was just another man. Just another good looking, arrogant man who thought he could have any woman he wanted. And for whatever reason, right now he wanted to dance with her.
“I don’t believe you,” she challenged. She’d once lived a rather public life for a while. And she’d always owned property in France. He could have found her at any time. Looked her up, popped by for a “hello, sorry I decimated your heart with the heel of my boot.”
He obviously didn’t miss her that much.
“Believe what you want, Val-dear.”
Did he have to keep calling her that? The endearment sent her straight back to a time when she’d had stars in her eyes and love in her heart.
The possessive palm at the small of her back didn’t help her keep the past locked away.
“I always do,” she assured him.
She’d believed him when he’d looked into her eyes and told her he loved her. Luckily, three hundred years had given her wisdom; she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
Right now she believed he wanted something. And he was willing to make a scene to get it.
She glanced at the other couples surrounding the dance floor as she shimmied her hips against Dameon’s pelvis. Werelions, tigers, bears, vampires all dressed up as something th
ey weren’t. The kaleidoscope of colors was breathtaking and she was pleased that everyone seemed to be laughing and having a good time even if she was afire with emotion.
“You always were a fabulous dancer.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Say my name.” The tone of his voice was deep, almost pleading. But Dameon LeBeau had never pleaded for anything in his life, certainly not the attentions of a woman.
The next steps were quick and intricate and required her to rest her cheek against his shoulder. He kept his arm high around her back, leading her easily. If she’d been stronger she would have shrugged out of his grasp and told him to, what was the phrase Avery used? Stick it where the sun does not shine.
She smiled as she studied his crisply ironed shirt and then tipped her head back so she could see his throat. White hot need flashed through her.
“Valencia—” His voice was stern.
She raised an eyebrow behind the mask, glad that she wasn’t the only one affected by their close proximity. “Why?”
“I’ve been dying to hear it on your lips.”
He sounded so honest, so raw she couldn’t reconcile his words with the man she knew. With the words she’d heard from his lips the night before their wedding day.
Breaking his lead and his hold, she did a series of figure eights in front of him.
“What is it you want?” she asked, chin up, daring him to lie to her. The dance reminded her that she was still a sensual being even though she kept that side locked away. But it’d gone on far too long. It was time to sort out his appearance in her life and get rid of him.
“To hear you say my name.”
“I mean why are you here? On Mystic Isle.”
“I own a suite here and I have since opening day. You can ask Latham since you’re so chummy with him.”
Oh that was rich. But she’d save it for later.
“So you just happened to be on island during the opening of my jewelry store. Of course.”
He dipped her and as she folded back over his arm, she caught the glimmer of desire in his eyes. Keeping her movements fluid, she extended her left arm back, over her head until her fingertips gently touched the floor. He ran a hand up her torso and stopped just beneath her breastbone.
He was after something, wanted something. From her most likely. Did he take her for a fool? For an idiot? He’d had plenty of time to find her, to make contact but he’d chosen today. Why?
She didn’t get a chance to press for details before he lifted her and started spinning in a tight circle. Clinging to his shoulders, she did a split to keep her legs from clanging into his. The world spun by as the music reached a crescendo.
He stopped abruptly, releasing his hold but controlling her decent. With her right leg hooked around his left, she slithered to the floor and grasped his thigh as she caught her breath. She’d seen the move many times on the dance floor. But with him, with the way he bent over and stared down at her as he cupped her cheek… He was so arrogant, the position so intimate.
Breathless and aroused, her heart demanded she give him anything he desired.
And then he said two words. Two words that took her brain a few seconds to compute. Two words that set off an explosion inside of her.
“Marry me.”
Chapter Three
Dameon stared down into the incredible blue eyes he knew as well as his own. He watched, waiting for her response to his hasty demand, aware that the party goers had gone silent and the song had ended. He had no doubt their keen ears had heard him clearly.
He hadn’t meant to lay his cards on the table so soon, so abruptly. He hadn’t meant to demand her compliance. On the contrary, he’d wanted to be with her, talk with her, and see if the connection was still there.
Technically, he’d completed all three tasks.
Valencia’s breasts heaved in the tight bodice to the point where he thought she might spill out. His breathing was as labored as hers and he was acutely aware of how intimate, how sexy their position was.
Her eyes flashed silver, giving away the depth of her emotion.
He trailed his thumb along her cheekbone, relishing the smooth skin and his ability to touch her after far too many years apart.
It’d been too long since he’d held her, touched her skin, kissed her lips; heard the sweetness of her voice. Far too long.
Without breaking eye contact, she let go of his thigh, leaned away from his touch and flashed.
He blinked and when he opened his eyes, the spot where she’d been moments earlier remained empty. He wasn’t imagining things; she’d vanished into thin air.
Where Valencia Fabelle was concerned, he’d imagined plenty. Right up until the moment she made a fool out of him in front of the entire vampire society.
At the time, he’d believed his father had been right. You could trust a Fabelle as far as you could throw her.
His father had been wrong though, about so many things. Valencia wasn’t like the rest. Hell, she wasn’t like anyone else who’d ever lived.
But once again, she’d left him standing alone in a room full of people dressed in finery. And once again, it was his fault. He pulled his feet together and rather than meet their gaze and see the emotions in their eyes, he did the one thing he hadn’t been able to do on his wedding day.
He escaped.
A single thought sent him flashing to his private suite. The luxurious space was glaringly empty; he didn’t know why he’d expected her to just fall into his arms and let him whisk her away.
It’d been a fantasy.
A good fantasy where they forgot the pain and misery of the last two centuries and picked up where they’d left off. He’d never found a woman who was a more perfect match than her; he hadn’t expected to.
He strode to the floor to ceiling windows and looked out at the inky black ocean. Thousands of stars twinkled down at him just as they had every night of his life. They were a constant reminder of both the steadfastness that was the vampire and the constant change that was the world around him.
Lifting his hand to unlatch the lock on the doors, he caught of whiff of her perfume. The spicy and sweet scent clung to his hands, full of rich undertones that seduced and conquered, just like the woman who wore it. The scent complimented the heavy fragrance of roses from the large, domed arrangement on his coffee table. Their blood red petals reminded him so much of her lips.
As he stepped onto the balcony, both scents gave way to the warm breeze and salty air.
Though he didn't know exactly where Valencia was at the moment, he could still feel her lure. She was on the island, probably hiding in an exclusive suite or bungalow trying to figure out what to do about him.
Dameon smiled.
Let her mull it over. He wasn't going anywhere and he'd find her soon enough.
Valencia’s feet hit the cottage’s wooden floor with a soft thud. She snatched the feather trimmed mask from her face and threw it on the immaculately made bed.
“Marry him!” she shouted to the empty room. The sound coming from her lungs was foreign and momentarily startled her.
Unfortunately, the answer to his…insanity couldn’t be found within the four walls.
“Ugh!” She balled her hands into fists until her ruby red nails threatened to cut her skin.
Who does he think he is? Hadn’t he done enough damage? It was obvious that he’d lost his mind. Why else would he interrupt her party in such a public and embarrassing manner? Why else would he sweep her into a dance that put them in the spotlight? Why else would he demand she marry him?
After all this time… She couldn’t even finish the thought. She held a hand to her chest as her heart broke in two all over again.
She should have slapped his face, told him to go straight to hell. She shouldn’t have danced with him. She shouldn’t have let him touch her; his caress was her kryptonite.
Staring out at the dark ocean, she couldn’t stop herself from reliving those first ex
quisite moments when he’d pulled her into his arms. It’s where she’d once belonged, and for so very long, she’d yearned to return. How sick could she be? He’d used her. Betrayed her love.
How could she trust him again?
Her eyelids snapped open. What was she thinking?
“You will not trust him again, Valencia. You will not.” He’d taken everything she’d ever hoped for, dreamed of, loved and he’d ripped it in two. Him and his father.
And still, she’d waited for him. Hoped he’d come to his senses. Dieu, she was pathetic.
Sucking in a deep breath, she held it for two heartbeats and then exhaled. And again. And again, until she didn’t feel quite so breathless. When the organ in the center of her chest didn’t feel quite so bruised.
Who was she kidding?
Her knees gave. So did her tear ducts.
Fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks and she let them fall as she fell gracelessly to the floor in a flurry of silk and feathers. The grief had been a long time coming.
Knowing he was still alive and he hadn’t come for her during the two centuries they’d been apart hurt almost as much as the words he’d spoken that night. Almost.
Worse, one look into his eyes sent her right back to the last time she’d been in his arms, succumbing to his kiss, begging for his touch. They’d made frantic, sweet love before the sun came up. He’d left her with a kiss that promised an eternity of love and passion.
And that’d been it. The last time. Her final good memory of him.
The memories from long ago blended with tonight’s reality. The layers of fine fabrics hugging his tall, lean body to perfection. The bland scent of his soap. The tendril of hair that dared to curl over his forehead, begging for her touch.
Tonight he’d been as dapper as he’d ever been. Damn, the man knew how to fill out a tuxedo. He’d always kept up with the times. She’d once teased him that he dressed better than she did.
That still seemed to be the case. She fingered the golden embroidery on her skirt.
But today his scent, the hint of cologne clinging to him, reaching out to her…it’d been divine. She’d breathed him in and wanted to keep doing so indefinitely.
