by Nancy Gideon
Nor did he want to.
They stood together, Stacy's palms clasping the sides of his face, their gazes lost in one another's as the moment steeped in anticipation. In those dark, jade green depths, she found an answer to what she sought so desperately.
A connection. A link to another's heart.
Hers was a life of such isolated loneliness, at first from necessity then by design. Relationships were fleeting, a momentary release, like a sugar high that felt great during its indulgence but quickly dissipated because it lacked real sustaining substance.
Nothing about Louis Redman was sugarcoated.
He was mysterious, dangerous, not even a man by precise definition.
But tonight he was the answer to the fear and emptiness inside her. And perhaps tomorrow, he would become the answer to her dreams.
And she pursued him without further hesitation, sensing he would not make that first overture until he knew she was ready. She was ready. She'd been ready since the first time she'd experienced the polar pull of his magnetism at the fund raiser and knew she couldn't stay away.
Her hands skimmed down his arms, fingers entwining on the right, removing the scarf from the other to let it filter to the floor forgotten. Wordlessly, he followed her to her room.
He glanced about, but there was none of Cobb's alarm at the surrounding fluff and femininity. Perhaps because Louis had been wed and had raised a daughter, such things were shrugged off as insignificant. After that cursory gaze, he had eyes only for her.
He smiled faintly as he took in her attire.
Blushing as she took off her ball cap to release a waterfall of blonde hair, Stacy murmured, “Not very fashionable, I know."
His fingers were already undoing the buttons of her bulky flannel shirt. “The well-wrapped gift is more fun to open. If you know the content ahead of time, it tends to lessen the surprise."
Was he chiding her for her daring wardrobe? He quickly kissed her frown and that concern away as he pushed the shirt from her shoulders. She shivered at the deliciously cool feel of his palms upon bared skin.
"It's been a long time for me,” he told her as his mouth tasted the curve of her cheek and the whorl of her ear with teasing nibbles.
"It's like a bicycle.” When he paused, she explained, “You never forget how."
"I rather like the idea of learning all over again."
Seduced by that sentiment, she melted against him as he fumbled with the fastenings to her bra. Smiling to herself, she reached back to give assistance then sighed as he charted her bare back from waist to shoulders with slow, massaging circles that kneaded the tension from her. The urgency building inside her then had nothing to do with anxiety.
She would forget what he was and think only of what she needed from him. What they needed from one another. Comfort, reassurance, security, and yes, for this night love. There was no great risk in loving Louis Redman, no reason to fear commitment might be demanded. They were alike in their solitude, giving to each other for only this moment, knowing there could be no permanence, no obligation.
At least not yet.
She could lower her guard and respond as herself for the first time.
And in that aspect, it was like learning all over again.
Eager to explore and enjoy, Stacy tugged his sweater over his head then gloried in the rugged terrain of the densely muscled arms and midsection that could have easily belonged to a body builder. Or a god. Her fingertips revered rock-hard abs and swelling pectorals. The human body had always been her favorite subject, but delighting in Louis Redman was far preferable to any of the anatomy lessons she'd done in the past. Though one could argue that he was technically no more alive than her previous cases, there was nothing inanimate about his response to her.
His hands skimmed around her torso, sliding up beneath the fullness of her breasts. And Stacy's passion knew a moment's pause.
She'd developed at an early age and had been mortified by her generous proportions. When other girls were still in undershirts, she was sporting an ample C-cup and the fantasies of every boy in seventh grade—along with a goodly share of its teachers. She'd compensated for her embarrassment by boldly displaying her charms in tight sweaters and daring halter tops, dismaying her parents with the number of times she'd gotten sent home from school for the sake of decency. She had never learned to appreciate her shape, but had honed it like armor to hide the shyness of an awkward intellectual. The tongue-tied chemistry major never garnered the same attention as her eye-popping curves. And as it became obvious that men were more interested in her dramatic exterior than in the more slowly developing woman inside, her body became a threatening rival and finally a shield behind which she could safely hide.
But Louis's gaze never left hers to fixate upon her twin competitors. His hands caressed them as part, not paramount, of the entire woman. And for the first time, Stacy felt comfortable, complete and adored.
"What was it that attracted you to me, Louis?” Her fragile ego needed to know.
As his touch continued to chart her swells and valleys, he murmured, “You had the sexiest mind and most beautiful soul."
"You didn't like the way I looked?” Her vulnerable surprise made him smile.
"Your looks distract from the true value of the woman you are. You purposefully create a confusion of signals to keep admirers away. Did you really believe that none would see beyond the obvious?"
Her gaze grew lambent with sultry cynicism. “Until you, none had."
"Good."
He followed that pronouncement with a kiss that curled her toes and startled butterflies of excitement in her belly. Until this point, she'd had sex, but never had she made love.
Their hands hurried the remaining clothes off bodies that desired nothing more than the feel of flesh upon flesh. Louis took her down upon the bed, layering himself above her like a cool evening breeze that teased her skin into a shiver of sensory anticipation. Though she was anxious to take the strength of him inside her, he refused to rush the sensations to a premature end. His kisses were slow and thorough. His fingertips learned her form with a cartographer's skill, until each area knew a newly discovered expectation.
He paid homage to each masterpiece as well as every flaw, suckling at her breasts, laving the hollow of her collarbone, nibbling at the backs of her knees and massaging the soles of her feet until her body was in a sensitive state of bliss, becoming a single excited erogenous zone. His fingers glided between her thighs, not as a destination but as another region for masterful exploration. He soothed over the pearl of her femininity then dove deep for other treasures, leaving her gasping for breath and a saving sanity as he moved on to pay equal attention to the languid line of her outstretched arm.
The only area left as a virgin frontier was the arch of her throat.
Even as he worshiped her as a man to a desirable woman, Louis was all too aware of the erotic pulse throbbing below her aggressive jawline. He felt its enticement with her every swallow until it became a lure he could not escape or ignore. He nuzzled the side of her neck, scenting her vitality, tasting her potent humanity with the drag of his tongue along that elegant curve. And abruptly, passion took a darker turn. One she did not ask for or deserve.
Though hunger pounded through his veins, swelling them with ravenous need until they burned from neglect, he couldn't violate her tender trust. He would not force the vileness of what he was upon her.
Not unless she understood and was willing to go beyond the perimeters of mortal ecstacy.
The suddenness of Louis's thrust inside her startled a cry of unexpected wonder from Stacy as she arched to accept him more fully. The sheer intensity of their joining brought her agonizingly close to completion.
Too soon. Too soon.
She breathed into the fiery sensations until a vague feeling of control ebbed back into her quaking limbs. She touched him, smoothing her palms over shoulders shaped as if in cool marble. Her nails dug in as their hips found and perf
ected an ancient mating rhythm, and thoughts of control spiraled out of reach. Then, there was only volcanic tension, building, building, reaching higher and higher until she grabbed on fiercely as the coalescing pleasure blew like Mount St. Helens. The breath left her lungs in an explosive huff, as seismic tremors threatened to shake the ruffles out of her coverlet. And a second later, Louis reached his own soul-shattering release, groaning her name from behind gritted teeth.
The silence afterward befit the stunning aftermath of a cataclysmic event.
Until Stacy's cell phone rang.
She would have cheerfully ignored it except Louis withdrew, and the sudden sense of emptiness had her grasping for balance. Her hand fumbled about her for her jeans, withdrawing the slim flip-top from a side pocket.
"Yes?"
"Stacy? It's Ken."
"Ken? Yes. Hello.” Did she sound as disconnected from planet Earth as she felt. She struggled for a grounding tether. “Yes, Ken, what is it?"
Beside her, Louis rolled onto his back to stare impassively at the ceiling.
"I wanted to let you know it was a false alarm. Some kids playing a prank or something equally stupid. I had to be sure you got home okay."
"I'm fine,” she murmured huskily.
"I hated to run out on you like that—"
"Really, Ken, I understand. I'm just glad it was a prank and that no one came to any harm."
"Me, too. Are you all right? You sound—strange."
"Just worn out. I'll talk to you later."
And she hung up on his inhalation as he was about to say more. She wanted nothing more of that outside world intruding upon this magical night. She set the phone on her night stand, putting away the distraction it represented as she turned back toward Louis.
Oh, but he was gorgeous. And for the moment, he was hers, body and needy soul.
"Sorry for the interruption."
As he brushed the tousled hair back from her brow, Stacy picked up on the sudden somberness of his mood.
"I was not there when you needed me this evening,” he murmured regretfully, claiming her soft skin and tender heart with the stroke of his gentle caress.
"I didn't ask you to be. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."
A pause. “Yes, I could have. And should have."
The mood already broken, Stacy gave up on trying to recapture it. Her sated lethargy disappeared as she came up on her elbow, all attention. “How?"
He dodged her direct demand. She didn't know why, but his evasion was obvious.
"You are in danger, Stacy. I think you are right about Quinton getting ready to strike."
This was not the direction she wanted their evening together to take. “Must we talk about this now?"
His stern glance was her answer. “When he does,” he continued, “if you are to survive it, I must be there. You must be able to reach me instantly should the need arise."
A faint smile crooked at that. “You have a cell phone in your casket, do you?” Then, more seriously, “You can't be with me every minute. What if he has someone snatch me during the day? What then? How will I let you know? You can't have your manservant guard me. That would leave you vulnerable, and you're in as much if not more danger than I am. It's a noble sentiment, Louis but I don't see how it could be effective. You can't be on watch twenty-four hours."
"There is a way."
His hesitation alerted her to the gravity of what he was about to suggest. “What way?” She gathered her sheet up around her, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.
He sat up, putting his back to her as if he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her reaction. Though his words came low and matter-of-factly, his tension telegraphed itself through the taut line of his shoulders.
"When a vampire initiates a human with his bite, a certain telepathy develops between them. They are aware of each other's thoughts. They can feel when the other is near ... or in danger."
If he expected her to respond with fainting horror, he misjudged the scientist in her. “How fascinating. Yes, I can see the benefit in that. That way the vampire can call to his victim when the need arises."
"I prefer ‘initiate’ to ‘victim.’”
She ignored his wry correction. Her mind raced ahead with the possibilities. “If you initiated me, I could reach you mentally at any time."
"And if I am able, I would be there with you in a matter of seconds."
"And how is this done?"
"I would need to take your blood."
She sat up straighter, eager to begin. “I have a tourniquet and syringe in the other room."
He checked her enthusiasm with a staying hand and a dash of dry humor. “I'm afraid it will have to be accomplished the old-fashioned way."
"Oh."
She stared at him but was seeing Wanda, Lisa, Brianna and Glenna with their sightless eyes and punctured necks. He must have read her reluctant horror, for his mood grew gentle with empathy.
"It will not hurt, Stacy. You needn't fear that I will lose control and not stop in time. I've no reason to harm you and every reason to help. You must trust me. Do you, Stacy?"
Determinedly, she brushed her hair away from her throat. “Go ahead."
He smiled at her self-sacrificing tone. “No need to fall on your sword, Little One. It's not as unpleasant as all that."
Chagrined, she exhaled, trying to expel her anxiety along with her suspended breath. When she was able to respond with a shaky smile, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
"Your bravery is by far your most attractive feature,” he told her.
"That's not what most men say. But, I know, you are not most men."
"And they are fools."
He leaned toward her and, unconsciously, she braced herself. Instead of getting right to business, he detoured to her lips, letting his kiss linger to seduce her from her fears. She relaxed into it, parting for him, opening to him, luxuriating in the taste of passion as it rose between them, a delicious distraction. Her head tilted to one side as his tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear, waking helpless shivers of urgency. He licked down the long arch of her neck, sucking on the ridge of her collarbone, dipping into the sensuous well behind it, feathering upward until she felt his ... bite.
Swift and sudden pain jolted through her, followed by a honeyed rush of submissive pleasure. She sighed into it, into a feeling unlike any experienced or imagined. Freedom. Exquisite, relieving freedom. She floated upon a sea of soft sensation, where the tidal flow and ebb became the joining of their heartbeats. Though Louis was taking from her, Stacy wanted to give more. More of herself, more of her will, more of her soul, for that was what he drank when he drew purposefully from her veins. He swallowed up her sense of separateness, of isolation. And they became one.
Stacy swooned upon his shoulder as the insistent tempo of his heart became the primal rhythm of her pulse beats, matching, echoing in perfect harmony. And through that entwining cadence came the whisper of his voice, not aloud, but intimately within her mind.
Stacy, can you hear me?
She tried to nod but her head was so heavy, the effort too great.
If you can hear me, reach out to me with your thoughts. Reach out to me.
Louis?
Yes. It's Louis, and you are no longer alone.
Such a lovely idea. No longer alone. She drifted, holding that sentiment close, letting it wrap about her, warm and comfortingly just the way Louis's arms were as he laid her back upon her bed. When he straightened away, protest struggled up through her complacency.
"Don't go."
"I was going to get you some water."
"I don't want anything but you. Please stay.” The need for him to be close, to remain at her side neared desperation. She stretched her hand out to him, relieved only when his enfolded it.
"You must take care of yourself, Stacy. Your work is important, but your life is more vital still. You have not been completely truthful with me."
S
he said nothing, afraid to guess at his meaning. Then he explained himself with an inescapable demand.
"How long have you been ill?"
Chapter Seventeen
"How did you know?” Again, she gathered the sheets about her as if she could hide within them, covering her imperfection from the intensity of his gaze. But she could conceal nothing from him, not now.
"I sensed it before, but taking your blood confirmed it. Is that why you chose the direction of your research, to find a cure for yourself?"
There was no use pretending.
"I'm a fighter, Louis. Known treatments couldn't help, so I decided it was time I found a new way to go about it."
"I am that way?"
"I hope so. If my research works, and if my time doesn't run out first."
She wasn't talking about Quinton Alexander. This was a more insidious, a more destructive enemy, one without a face, without mercy. All the protection in the world wouldn't keep this killer from claiming her but, perhaps, her own skill could. And he would do everything in his power to aid her.
"Fate has a strange sense of humor,” she told him, wrapping her arms inclusively about her upraised knees. “What are the odds that catastrophic disease would strike two members of the same family? I guess we were just lucky."
"Not luck, Little One."
"I was working at the coroner's office, so you'd think I'd be immune to death. But having to stand by and watch someone you love just fade away, watching your father turn to alcohol for comfort. At first, she had mild, flu-like symptoms, then she went right into full-blown AIDS. She was prone to infections, so her room had to be completely sterile. We had to wear a plastic apron to visit her. I couldn't wash the smell of antiseptic solution off me. Finally, she developed pneumocystis and hope ran out.
"My dad, this big, burly cop, was reduced to being her nurse when the insurance ran out. He tried to keep working, to ignore the fear and suspicion, the rumors of how she had contracted the disease. It made him so angry. He kept getting into fights. The drinking got worse. He lost his job. Too many days off. Too many disciplinary warnings.” She paused to wipe at her eyes, but the tone of her voice never wavered from its quiet, clinical rendering.
