A Vampire's Christmas Wish (Vampires On Holiday #1)

by M. L. Guida

  “Wait,” she said. “Can I put that one up?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She got up and slowly padded over to the tree. If he’d made any quick moves, she’d flee. He put the little horse on the coffee table and backed away. Deirdre snatched the horse and hugged it to her chest. She edged over to the other side of the tree, farthest from him and hung the ornament on a branch.

  She reached for another horse, a white one with a black saddle. “My family decorated our tree at Thanksgiving.”

  Janus bit back a smile as she hung the white horse. Another interesting choice.

  He chose a gold bell. “Didn’t your tree die?”

  “We always had an artificial tree. Dad didn’t like pine needles.”

  She picked up a brown horse with a silver saddle and white roses. “Where did you get all these horse ornaments?”

  “In London.”

  Deirdre swayed and stumbled back. Janus caught her before she crashed onto the hardwood floor.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She stared into his face and her hand cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, her lips brushed against his.

  Holy hell, he couldn’t resist. He had waited so long, for so damn long. She parted her lips and scraped her teeth on his lower lip. He gave into temptation and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, holding him to her. He savored the taste of her—fiery, sensual, the promise of past fervor— and explored the recesses of her mouth, remembering where each of her secrets lay, wanting to rekindle the passion that was once theirs. He stroked his tongue gently, not wanting to frighten her, but was surprised at the hunger she had for him. Her tender kiss turned possessive.

  Not wanting to disappoint her, he met her intensity and released his need to delve deeper into her hot mouth. Her body was soft and sensual, her small breasts pressed against his chest. She felt right in his arms, a part of his world again. Familiar warmth surged through Janus like flowing lava. Nothing mattered but Deirdre’s mouth claiming his, whirling him back into a world where they had once indulged in an endless days of erotic passion.

  Deirdre dug her nails into his shoulders, her heart beating as hard as his. She was casting aside the last of his resistance, igniting hunger and desire. God forbid him, but he couldn’t pull away. Had she kissed Brandon the same way? Damn it, she was his, only his, always his.

  She pulled her away and he struggled to allow her to retreat. She frowned and put her palm on her forehead.

  “Deirdre?”

  “It’s another headache.”

  Her hands slipped away from his shoulders. Her eyes fluttered and she fell slack in his arms. He lifted her into his arms and laid her on the couch. She moaned. Terror and concern pooled into his gut. This was his fault.

  He hurried into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it. He knelt next to her. Her eyes were closed and she was pale, so very pale. He shouldn’t have told her he was a vampire. What compelled him to tell the truth?

  “Deirdre, can you hear me?”

  She didn’t answer. He cursed silently and drew on his vampire powers to command her to wake, but her eyes remained closed. Damn it!

  He gingerly placed the washrag on her sweating forehead. The grandfather clock donged two times, two hours after midnight. Deirdre didn’t stir. He rubbed her wrist and kept watching the clock. If she didn’t wake soon, he’d call for help.

  She moved her head and he held his breath. “Deirdre?”

  She put her hand on her forehead. “What happened?”

  “You passed out.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “I did? How long was out?”

  “Twenty minutes. I was about to call an ambulance.”

  “You were?”

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  She nodded, but didn’t answer. He filled a glass and then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, helping her sip the water.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He lowered her onto the couch. “How are you feeling?”

  “Room’s spinning.” She closed her eyes. “I feel strange.”

  He scowled. “Strange?”

  She opened her eyes. “I had a dream at least I thought it was. Snow blew around a shop and a thin balding man was sitting at a table painting porcelain horses. He had spectacles on the tip of his nose and he had a tiny brush in his hand. I walked into the shop and I could smell the paint. You were there.”

  Her face reddened to a soft ruby.

  “And then I felt something cool on my forehead.” She stared at the tree. “I’ve never had a dream so vivid that I could smell something.”

  Janus’s heart stilled. Her memory was returning. Or at least he hoped so.

  He remembered Mr. Wickle. Mr. Wickle was famous for his detailed painting on porcelain figurines. Even the gentry visited his shop. Deirdre had described him perfectly. They had kissed in the tiny shop among the busy Christmas shoppers. His cock hardened as he recalled what happened after they left. He was hungry for it. Did she remember? Her face was flush. Was it from passing out or something else? He bit back the urge to tell her it wasn’t a dream, but a past life vision. “Your face is still pale. How about something stronger than water?”

  She struggled to sit. “Maybe a shot of whiskey?”

  He cocked his eyebrow and poured her a shot. “Here.”

  She clasped the glass and he shivered as her fingers brushed his. Just the merest touch sent chills of desire through him and he wanted to kiss her. She was striving to sort out the events of tonight and didn’t need him pawing over her.

  Deirdre flung the shot back and rested the back of her palm on her forehead. “That was nice and smooth.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. Would you like another one?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  He stood, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the couch. “Deirdre, what are you—”

  Before he could finish, Deirdre clutched his chin and tilted her head. He couldn’t breathe, not sure she was doing, but when she pressed her lips against his, he stiffened. “Kiss me,” she urged.

  “Deirdre, you’re hurt and confused. I thought you wanted another shot of whiskey.”

  “I do. From your lips.”

  He groaned, “You’re killing me.”

  She laughed, the sexy laugh he’d missed for over two hundred years.

  “Yes, I am.” She gripped his shoulders. “I want to forget my pain. Save Christmas for me. Kiss me.”

  He gazed at her through hooded eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Please.”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down.

  “Why do you want to kiss me now? I thought you said I was crazy.”

  “Maybe it’s the dream.”

  “The dream?”

  “Kiss me, Janus.”

  He bent his head and captured those luscious lips. After all these centuries of conquering control, one kiss from her and he was reduced to surrendering all his self-discipline. She was the dominating one. He was used to being in command. But now, he didn’t even know what questions to ask, let alone finding the answers. “Deirdre?”

  “You taste spicy. I’ve never tasted anybody like you.” She ran her fingers down the side of his face. “Thank you for the drink.”

  Trembling, he released her. Her lips were bruised where he’d kissed her. He should have been more thoughtful. “You’re welcome.” His voice was husky and he couldn’t deny the passion she stroked in him. He wanted to thrust his cock inside her, but he reluctantly moved away from her. “I just need a moment to get control.”

  “I didn’t feel your incisors,” she said.

  He tensed, not able to look at her. “And?”

  “So, you’re not a vampire.”

  He leaned his head back on the couch and clenched his fists, struggling to restrain his desire of wanting to kiss and touch her again. “Still don’t believe me?”

  “No. Besides, vampires seduce their vic
tims without their consent.”

  He rolled his head to the side to peer at her. “Some do, but I don’t.”

  Chapter Five

  Her heart still racing, Deirdre stared at Janus. He was a man possessed with many demons and struggled to control them. The dream hadn’t been just of the London Christmas shop with the horse ornaments. Janus had been there. Devilishly handsome. His eyes illuminated fire, need, hunger.

  She had burned for him. Burned. Customers milled around in the store and she hadn’t cared. This wasn’t like her. In the dream, she had been bold, brazen. She parted her lips and clutched his wool jacket.

  Tilting his dark head, he had kissed her and it was a dominating, sinful. His tongue had explored her mouth, tingles raced over her and she trembled. He tasted sultry, savory, arousing.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. Blood rushed, a chorus of sensation of heat pulsing through her. Her breath ragged, she whimpered as an orgasm seized her. No man, not even Brandon, had reduced her to having an orgasm by a simple kiss. She had to know if it was real. Or if he was playing mind tricks on her.

  Her lip throbbed where he’d kissed her or should say, she’d kissed him. He’d been reluctant. But when he finally consented, her dream became reality. She lowered her gaze. The kiss was only the beginning, a teaser of what the man could offer. She wanted so much more.

  He glanced at her with those magnetic eyes and she was drawn to him, wanting to feel his hands on her. She shook her head. Get away before it’s too late.

  “Janus,” she said. “I figured out what I wanted.”

  “Deirdre, I don’t think—”

  Not wanting him to reject her, she blurted. “I want a shower.”

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”

  She waved her hands. “Not with you.”

  For a second, his eyes darkened, passion reflecting there, but then it vanished. “Of course.”

  “I just meant…I can still smell the dirty jail on me and I would feel better—”

  “You don’t have to explain. The bathroom in my bedroom has a shower. Help yourself to anything you need. Another shirt, sweats. I’ll wait here to give you privacy.”

  She clasped his hand and kissed his knuckles. His eyes widened and he sucked in his breath. “Deirdre, please. I’m trying…”

  “I know you are.” She stood and gave him a quick kiss on his lips. She laughed at his startled look and hurried to the bathroom, almost hoping he’d follow, but male chivalry ran deep with Janus Morano and she got into the shower alone.

  Deirdre tilted her head back, allowing the hot water to trickle down her back. She grabbed a shampoo bottle, squeezed it and gel pooled into her palm. Quickly washing her hair, she couldn’t help inhaling sandalwood. Janus. The soap. The shampoo.

  She turned in circles in the shower, droplets splashing off her, until the water chilled. The door remained closed. Janus had kept his word. So, why did she feel disappointed he left her alone?

  She gritted her teeth at the steamy bathroom mirror. Purple and blue bruises marred her hip and a nice shiner had formed on her right eye. Fingerprints blotted her right arm and scratches on her back. How did she get the damn scratches? God, she was a mess.

  Her mouth was tender and swollen. She frowned. Why didn’t it hurt when she kissed Janus? It should have.

  She finger combed her brown hair and used a hair dryer to finish it. Janus’s brown robe hung on the door and she slipped into it, the terry cloth caressing her skin. Warmth filled her. She yawned and opened the door.

  The French patio doors were opened and Janus stood on the balcony. Moonlight outlined his broad shoulders, trim waist and long legs. He turned and she thought she glimpsed red in his eyes, but it was gone. Was he going to bite her?

  Her imagination was getting the better of her. He wasn’t Dracula.

  “Feeling better,” he asked.

  “Yes, much. Thank you.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Ah, yeah right.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  His husky voice sent chills racing over her clammy skin. “No, not at all.” She wasn’t sure he was her knight in shining armor. He was dark, mysterious, dangerous. She hoped he was a better man than Brandon.

  An itch to run her hands through his thick hair gripped her, but she kept her arms plastered to her body. She wanted to feel his lips on her body.

  He sauntered over to her. His mesmerizing eyes fascinated her. She had an urge to discard the robe and pull his head to her breast. She crossed her arms over her chest to stay sane. Had he put a suggestion in her mind? Or worse, had she become a wanton hussy?

  He rubbed her arm. “Would you like some anything to drink?”

  “I’d really just like to sleep,” she whispered, afraid she was one step away from losing control.

  He gestured to his bed. “You can sleep here.”

  He clasped her hand and led her to a canopy bed with a jade duvet comforter. She sat and sank into goose down. He caressed her left cheek. “Can I have a kiss before you go to sleep?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t just want a kiss. She needed something more, something to erase the nightmare of Christmas Eve.

  He bent his head and kissed her. She expected pain on her tender lips, but pain was the last thing she felt. The kiss deepened and she sighed into him. He invaded her mouth, bold, arrogant and determined, probing deeper, penetrating her defenses and awaking something buried inside her. Each lavish stroke awakened her passion. Forget Brandon, his temper, his control.

  Janus pushed her gently down onto the bed, his body covering hers, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his silky hair. He slipped his hand inside the robe and underneath the shirt. He cupped her breast, pulling and toying with her nipple. Her heart pounded, blood pumped through her, igniting a fiery heat.

  Maybe it was the whiskey or the shower or Christmas Eve. She didn’t care if she was veering into foolishness. She was eager for his touch, skin-to-skin, his cock thrusting inside her. Kissing him harder, she wanted more than just his hand on her breast. She moaned into his mouth. “Janus.”

  He broke the kiss and yanked his hand off her breast as if she were a hot stove. “I’m sorry. I need to stop,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

  She caressed his face. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  “But you’re hurt.”

  “When you kiss me, all I feel is the ache to feel your lips on mine, your hands on my body.”

  “Bloody hell, woman. You’re killing me.”

  She clasped his hand and put it on top of her beating heart. “Love me. Take away the terror. Save what remains of Christmas.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She kissed his stiff lips. “More sure than I’ve felt about anything, Janus. Don’t make me beg.”

  He stretched out alongside her and pushed her hair behind her face. “I’ll never make you beg. You’re my sweet rose.”

  My sweet rose? Where had she heard that before? A movie, perhaps. A veil fell across her mind and the memory eluded her as Janus helped her wiggle out of the robe and slowly undressed her. His silk shirt fell across her naked shoulders.

  He stared at her with a hungry gaze. “You’re beautiful, just as I remember.”

  He kissed her and she forgot what she was going to say as he moved his hands over her body, discovering every sensitive nerve. He left her mouth and planted kisses down her throat. She was about to ask him to undress when he claimed her budded nipple. She couldn’t breathe or think. He twirled his tongue and she held him close to her. For some reason, this felt so right as if he had a right to be there. She’d just met Janus and was seducing him, but she didn’t care. She needed this. Wanted this.

  He steered his finger inside her feminine folds. “You’re so tight,” he murmured.

  She couldn’t speak as he guided his finger in and out of her, teasing her, building pleasure. Heat and arousal surged through her in lo
ng sweeping waves, taking her to coveted bliss. He was tender, demanding and masterful. She indulged in the sensations gripping her battered body and arched her back, wanting him to take more of her flesh into his mouth.

  He left her breast and she groaned in disappointment. He licked and kissed her down her torso, ending at her belly button. Her disappointment switched to delight. She tried to breathe, but her anticipation about what he was about to do, hoping he was about to do, made her forget how to inhale or exhale.

  Nearly jumping off the bed, she gripped the comforter tight when he removed his finger and molded his mouth to her core, sucking and licking her. More and more hot sizzling sensations rushed over her, sending her over the edge into a pool of pleasure. She opened her thighs wider, arching her hips, and encouraged him to feast upon her. She lifted off the comforter, pressed her core to his mouth, and pleaded for him to hold her there. He delved his tongue deeper insider, taking her places she’d only dreamed about.

  A stunned, satisfied breath brought her back to earth. “I want to feel your skin on me,” she said. “Now, please.”

  He kissed her mound one more time before he released her and stood. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. She ached to run her fingers over his ripped abs. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his legs. The man was torturing her. He was a somber God, one she wanted to discover his darkest secrets.

  With admiration, she licked her lips at his protruding cock, craving to feel him thrusting inside her. He stretched out on top of her, kissing her, and she ran her fingers over his back, his muscles rippling beneath her touch. She widened her thighs allowing his hips to settle between her moist heat.

  Janus braced his hands against her thighs and Deirdre trembled with anticipation. He thrust his cock into the wetness he so expertly prepared, opening a floodgate of sensations and Deirdre gripped his shoulders. Clinging to him, she clasped her legs around his rolling waist and rocked her hips, meeting his long thrusts for thrusts. He moved inside her, flesh to flesh, heat to heat, friction to friction, creating pleasure beyond anything she knew.

  Janus rode her, driving her further and further toward a fiery orgasm. Wild images popped in her mind that she couldn’t comprehend. Dancing with Janus, but wearing a long flowing gown, her hair piled high on her head. He wore a long gold coat, ruffled shirt and brown pantaloons. Another image flashed in her mind. They were on a schooner, docked in London. He was dressed as a dashing pirate, his shirt unbuttoned revealing his chest, a sword on his hips and loose trousers. What was happening?