Midnight Rose

by Shelby Reed

  “From pregnancy,” she whispered, caressing the dark hair at the crown of his head. “But not from you.”

  “Are you still frightened?”

  Why should she be? The room was shadowed but empty. She’d imagined multiple hands touching her; it wasn’t real. Gideon was real, about to become her lover, to bring her mind-boggling delight and the fulfillment of countless fantasies. Yet she was afraid…of him, of the power in his cool, talented hands, the gleam of perception in his gaze. She feared the magnitude of the pleasure he would give her, unsure of what he’d take in return.

  For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to expect.

  “Are you afraid of losing control?” He drew her panties down her legs, and the silk moving over her skin left a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Of feeling too much, of going too far?”

  “Yes.” She touched his face with a trembling hand, the shape of his chiseled jaw, his chin, the sensuous curve of his lips.

  “Me, too.” He caught her fingers, turning his mouth into her palm. Then holding her gaze, he slid her hand down to enfold his erection. It pulsed and swelled in her grasp, demanding and insistent. “Feel me, Kate. I need you now. Are you ready for me?”

  The knot of anxiety in her stomach dissolved as heavy desire sluiced through her. “Yes,” she said, holding out her arms to receive him. “Oh, yes.”

  His fingers twined in her hair as he positioned himself against her slick, vulnerable center, his mouth hovering over hers. “Take me inside you.”

  Her body opened to him of its own accord, rising and falling and following his slow push forward, until he sank inside her to the hilt and kissed her, muffling the wild sound that escaped her lips.

  He filled her, stretched her nearly to the point of pain, but it was pleasured pain, borne more of burning need than the sweet invasion, and she pushed her hips against him in a bid to hold him when he withdrew.

  His second thrust, just as slow, just as deliberate, drove her up the mattress. Lacing their fingers together, Gideon drew her hands above her head, so deeply imbedded within her that Kate felt him in her bones. Moisture dampened their skin and bound them. Her perspiration, not his. He was cool, focused, rhythmic and graceful. Kate was wild beneath him, uncontrolled, pulling him impossibly deeper, wrapping her limbs around him as though she could draw him into her soul.

  For a fleeting instant she opened her eyes and watched the tightness of his features, the concentration that darkened his brow, the way his lips fell open to released ever-quickening breaths. She would never forget the beauty of his face, and stored it away in that dim place where snapshots of lovers forever linger.

  Then her body arched to meet his, ravenously seeking that hard, thrusting contact, found it, and shattered with a helpless cry.

  The orgasm went on and on, pleasure and pain merging, racking her and twisting a lover’s expectations into something darker and deeper than she could have ever fathomed.

  And all the while she shuddered and cried, Gideon never stopped moving. He merely slowed, his mouth brushing hers and drinking in her harsh breaths as she quaked endlessly beneath him.

  And then it was over, fading gently into sporadic jolts of waning delight.

  Thunder rumbled directly overhead, and the soft patter of rain commenced, as steady as the sinuous thrusts he continued to make inside her body.

  “Oh,” she whispered with a helpless laugh, amazed she could survive such a wrenching release. “You…are…incredible.”

  He nuzzled the side of her face, his hips rocking slowly between her thighs.

  He wasn’t done.

  Dazed, replete, she let her legs go lax around him, fingers tracing his spine down to revel in the undulation of his muscled buttocks. Her eyes opened, sought his, found his emotions sheltered beneath long lashes. For an instant, the tension lulled.

  Then a low sound vibrated in Gideon’s chest. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his arms slid around her and clasped tight to lift and turn her, so that she sat astride him, impaled.

  “Like this,” he ordered fiercely, throwing back his head. “Ride me. Hard.”

  Stunned, still shivering with aftershocks of pleasure, Kate clung to him and moved with the guidance of his hands on her hips. Slow and uncertain at first, then faster, driven by the hoarse encouragement he murmured in her ear, by the steely tension building in his muscles each time she sank down on him and he thrust up to meet her.

  “Harder,” he whispered. “Faster. Oh, yeah. Fuck me, Kate.” His fingers wound in her hair and he drew her mouth down to his, breathing his pleasure into her. “Fuck me.”

  Hard. Fast. Ecstasy laced with pain.

  “Kate, now!”

  “Yes,” she whispered, triumphant in the wake of his rising passion. And then, in the sweet echo of a dream, “Come.”

  A gasp escaped his throat. He thrust so fiercely he nearly unseated her, clutched her motionless, his muscles like granite under her palms, and muffled his cry of release against her breast.

  Heat jettisoned within her, searing and welcome. Cradling his head, she kissed his open mouth and inhaled his harsh pants. “I love you, Gideon.”

  With all his darkness and duality and secrets, she loved him.

  For a long time they didn’t move, just clutched each other, limbs tangled, pulses matched and slowing in tandem. Then he lifted her free and lowered her to the pillows to stretch out beside her, his fingers laced loosely through hers. And in the drift of ecstasy, the shadows no longer seemed to haunt, but embraced her and carried her down to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gideon stared into the darkness, reading the serpentine figures that lurked around the room. They hardly moved, only watched, their topaz eyes glinting in intermittent flashes.

  The rain fell steadily outside, although the thunder had long since passed. Finally he relaxed against the pillows, one arm folded behind his head and the other cradling Kate against his heart.

  She slept; the silent cadence of her breathing washed him with tranquility.

  He’d made love to her, man to woman. Like with Caroline so many years ago, the bloodlust had awakened within him as expected, stirring and clawing its way to the surface, its power snuffing the lights and creating an electricity all its own. But then, to Gideon’s joyous bewilderment, it had retreated in the instant Kate reached out her arms to take him inside her. Why was it different with Kate? Why hadn’t he been driven to the blood supply he kept in the wine cellar, hands shaking, barely able to control the rise of hunger that unfailingly consumed him after mating with any female, mortal or otherwise?

  The answer crept over him, both painful and bittersweet. Caroline had given of herself, but never as much as she took. She’d loved him in a wild, volatile way that intoxicated him, but he hadn’t known the meaning of unconditional love in her arms. In the end she cursed him and had no desire to look upon their child’s face. The love they shared hadn’t been enough to deliver them from his black truth.

  The others—and there had been many—were pleasurable diversions, a way to temporarily fill the emptiness. Like with Delilah, the give and take had been equal, and bloodlust was par for the course where love in its purest form didn’t exist.

  But Kate…Kate took nothing from him. She filled him up and made him whole. And for the first time in one hundred fifty years, he saw a glimmer of a chance that he could divulge his secret without being condemned by the woman he loved.

  Love is the great redeemer, the Franciscan had said. Through love, all things are possible.

  Gideon bit back the triumphant laughter rising in his chest. He’d beaten the monster. Just once, but if he’d restrained it once, he could do it again.

  Through love, all things are possible.

  He loved her. Gazing down at her sleeping profile against his chest, the honey strands of hair brushing his skin, he felt the rare emotion rise within him, more powerful than bloodlust, more mighty than the drive to hunt and destroy. He
loved her, and he would die to protect her. She belonged to him now, and he hadn’t drawn her blood to make it so. It was a phenomenon beyond him, his powers, his darkness, his sins. Kate was the touch of redemption.

  Peace settled in his heart. The creature within him slept. And when the sun filtered dimly through the curtains and chased the dark figures away, Gideon slept, too.

  * * * * *

  “You’re up bright and early,” Martha said when she let herself in the kitchen door and found Gideon at the kitchen table, dressed for the day and reading the paper. “Did Jude have a bad night?”

  He shook his head. “He slept straight through. Still in bed, as a matter of fact.”

  “Hmm.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him, stealing the arts and leisure section from beneath the article he was reading. “Why are you up? I thought the horticulture program was on hiatus this summer semester.”

  “It is.” He cleared his throat and offered nothing further.

  She didn’t respond. Her gaze burned into him, though, and he tried to ignore her razor discernment by snapping the newspaper open to a new page.

  “What?” he said finally, raising his eyes to hers.

  “Gideon Renaud. What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what did I do’?”

  “There’s something funny about you this morning.”

  “Thanks a lot.” He brushed a hand through his shower-damp hair and stared back at the newspaper, squelching the self-consciousness that threatened to shatter his control.

  But Martha wasn’t done. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  He gave an absent nod, staring hard at the paper. “It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep will do for you.”

  Silence. “Oh, Gideon. You didn’t.”

  He flashed her a half-hearted scowl. “What are you talking about?”

  “Where’s Ms. O’Brien?”

  He took a sip of coffee, annoyed at the power the older woman wielded over his decorum, and swallowed a healthy dose of embarrassment. “Where she usually is at six-thirty in the morning. Asleep.”

  “And if I go upstairs now and tap on her door, will she answer?”

  “If you tap on the right door.” He shoved back his chair and folded the newspaper on the glass table, then retrieved a pair of sunglasses from the counter and jammed them on his face. Relief. Martha couldn’t see the guilt in his eyes. “I’m going to work in the greenhouse. Let me know when Jude wakes, will you?”

  “I’ll call you. But Gideon…about Kate. How can you break your own rules? You yourself said that it’d be ill-advised to—”

  “There’s nothing you can say that’ll change a thing, Martha.” A helpless smile crept across his lips as he paused at the back door. “I guess I’ll have to face any consequences that arise.”

  “But you told me you could control yourself. We both know what happens when you don’t.”

  “This time is different.”

  “How?” Anxiety crept into Martha’s voice. “How is this time different, Gideon?”

  “I love her.”

  “Like you loved Caroline?” she demanded.

  “More.” The ferocity in his answer caught them both by surprise, and he softened his voice. “I didn’t think it was possible, but she’s like no other. I knew it when I saw her, Martha. I love her.”

  She blinked at him, her face a maze of emotions. “Does she know that?”

  “I don’t see how she couldn’t.” He envisioned Kate curled in the middle of his bed, lost in sweet, exhausted slumber. “But I plan to remind her every day so she doesn’t forget. Tell her where I am when she gets up, will you?”

  The older woman sighed and shook her head. “I’ll tell her. You romantic, foolish man.”

  * * * * *

  Peeking out into the hallway, Kate saw no sign of Jude or the day maid, whose convenient habit was to clean the downstairs in the morning and upstairs in the afternoon. She dashed from Gideon’s bedroom to the east wing stairs, where she paused to check again before hurrying down to the landing and up to the west wing.

  Moments later, the hot beat of the shower pummeled her aching muscles. When was the last time she’d experienced such glorious pleasure at a man’s hands? When had she last reveled in the beauty of a man, the low expressions of his desire, the thrust and shudder, the taste and scent of his body?

  And this man…oh, this man, she loved.

  She tried it aloud. “I love him.” And laughed to herself as the words echoed off the shower’s marble walls.

  Gideon had awakened her sometime after dawn to make love again, this time with the rose for a wicked toy. He’d trailed the petals across her throat, between her breasts and down her stomach, scenting her skin and the air around them with the flower’s sweet, deep fragrance. And then…she shivered with desire at the memory of the silky petals brushing against her inner thighs, against her bare, aching center in sinuous sweeps until she nearly wept with frustration and pleasure.

  His hands never touched her. He brought her to climax with the gentle stroke of a flower, with the soft persuasion of a lover’s words, and it was an orgasm the likes she’d never known.

  Come for me, Kate. And when you do, I’m going to make you come again.

  And he had. Again with the rose, twisting its satin center relentlessly against her clitoris, then with the sinuous drag of his tongue, then, when she was crying for it, his hard, hot penis. Gideon was gloriously uninhibited, more skilled than any lover she’d had before. He made her feel adored and beautiful and whole again.

  Her arms trembled, muscles still taxed as she raised them to rinse the shampoo from her hair. He’d slipped from the bed after she’d drifted back to sleep, and now she could hardly wait to see him again. It would be impossible to hide her joy. How was she going to get through today without a telltale silly grin stamped across her face?

  She dried off, dressed and paused at her bed, regarding the smooth coverlet with narrowed eyes. Quickly she threw off the accent pillows, yanked down the duvet, and rumpled the bedclothes so it looked slept in. Then, satisfied she’d waylaid any housekeeping speculation, she headed downstairs to the kitchen.

  To her amazement, Jude sat at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Kate tried not to stare. His complexion had returned to normal, no sign of scarring or trauma from yesterday’s horrific burns. If anything, he looked healthy and well-rested. He glanced at her as she seated herself across from him, then returned his attention to the cereal box in his hand.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her defenses already on alert.

  “Good.” He dug his spoon into the bowl and shoveled more cereal into his mouth. She thought he would elaborate when he was done chewing, but he didn’t. Only ignored her and continued to read the back of the box as though it held the key to the universe.

  Kate glanced at Betty, who was unloading the dishwasher. “Where’s Gideon?”

  “I haven’t seen him this morning,” she said cheerfully.

  Martha spoke from the doorway. “He’s down at the greenhouse, but he’ll be back to check on Jude.” She removed her glasses and let them dangle from their chain around her neck. “Will you be giving Jude his lessons today, Ms. O’Brien?”

  “He certainly appears well enough.” Kate gave a hesitant smile. For such a tiny woman, Martha had a way of seeing right down to the bone. She couldn’t possibly know Kate had spent the night in Gideon’s bed, and yet Kate felt like a teenager caught sneaking out in the middle of the night.

  “I’m well enough.” Jude shoved aside the cereal box to offer Kate a long look. “I finished Lord of the Flies. What’s next?”

  She hesitated. “What are you in the mood for? More gritty drama? I was thinking about George Orwell. Ever heard of him?”

  “He wrote Animal Farm.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s right. Good for you.”

  “Dad has it in the library. I was thinking I’d like to read som
ething more…” He squinted in consideration. “More gory. How about Dracula?”

  “It’s certainly a classic.” Kate felt inexplicably disconcerted at his choice. “Or we could look at Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s very dark and—”

  “I vote for Dracula. I know where a copy is. Come up to the library when you’re done.” He stood, shoved back his chair, and set his empty bowl by the sink. Then, as if on impulse, leaned to press his lips against the cook’s cheek. “Have a great day, Betty.”

  Betty startled and turned to stare at him as he slipped by Martha and up the stairs.

  “What in heaven’s name has gotten into that child?” she said, absently rubbing her cheek.

  Martha heaved a sigh and shook her head. “God help us, Betty. We could ask that question all the way around this house.”

  * * * * *

  “This looks like a collectible.” Kate examined the dusty, leather-bound text of Bram Stoker’s Dracula that Jude had pulled from the library shelf. “It’s probably very valuable. Maybe we should use a different version. I’ll run into Putnam later and pick up a paperback copy at the bookstore.”

  “All the books here are for your use.” Gideon spoke from the doorway, drawing her attention from the ancient text in her hands.

  She ignored the instant flare of desire that seared her, and set the book on a nearby table. “But it looks like an original printing.”

  “It is.” He strode across the room, his hand caressing the top of Jude’s head as he passed. “It’s even got notes in the margin.”

  Kate gave him an appalled look. “Who’d write in such a valuable text?”

  “Some mindless fool a hundred years ago, who was interested in what Bram Stoker had to say about the walking undead.” The dry humor curving Gideon’s mouth faded as he retrieved the book and gently flipped through its yellowed pages. He turned it, his black gaze scanning the faded calligraphy scrawled on every page. “Jude, you might be interested in reading the commentary as you go through each chapter. The person who jotted notes in this book seemed intent on defining the division between monster and man.”