Vampire's Captive

by Aurora Rose Lynn

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  Total-e-bound

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Aurora Rose Lynn

  First published in 2008, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  VAMPIRE'S CAPTIVE

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

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  A Total-e-bound Publication

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  www.total-e-bound.com

  Vampire's Captive

  ISBN #978-1-906590-75-8

  ©Copyright Aurora Rose Lynn

  Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright June 2008

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Total-e-bound books

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2008 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  VAMPIRE'S CAPTIVE

  Aurora Rose Lynn

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  For my wonderful readers

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Armani: GA Modefine S.A. Corporation

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  The moon bathed the ocean and the dilapidated carnival on the pier with its silvery glow and cast the forlorn woman in her long wedding gown in breathy, expectant shadows. Brett's guilt washed over him for the hundredth time since seeing his ex-wife step out of her fancy, expensive heels and, without giving them a backward glance, stroll dejectedly onto the beach, her shoulders slumped and her back hunched forward. He'd wondered for a year, five months, two days, and five and a half hours—give or take a couple of minutes—if he'd done the right thing in divorcing Sierra.

  He was an eternal vampire and she was a mortal, although a devastatingly lovely mortal with sleek dark hair that swept her waist and an innocent, beguiling expression that lured jaded, hardened men from their complacency about the fair sex. And yet the man she now loved hadn't even bothered to make it to the altar today. He'd left her standing in the annex holding a wilting bouquet of pale pink roses and baby's breath and a heart that had been hurt far too many times. Brett didn't believe in God, but he tossed a short prayer into the air asking that Sierra forgive him for what he was about to do.

  He spoke her name softly, like a dry leaf scudding along the sidewalk. “Sierra."

  She didn't jump as he'd expected. She merely turned to gaze at him over her shoulder, then, without a spark of recognition, returned to her survey of the pounding waves and the invisible horizon darkness had obliterated. He knew he shouldn't have come, should have stayed away from her, but how could he when she felt betrayed, as if her whole world had collapsed? First him and then this man with whom she'd thought she could spend the rest of her life.

  He took a deep breath, seized her wrist, and spun her around to face him. “Look at me."

  She was exquisite in the off-the-shoulder gown. Bare neck, bare shoulders. She blinked several times. “What do you want, Brett?” she asked in resignation.

  He heard the unspoken accusation, wanted to take her in his arms and make her promises of forever, but the tears rolling down her cheeks, one by lonely one, stopped him.

  She frowned. “So? You're not often left speechless. A man who must have a great deal of experience with all types of women. Why did you come?” Under the jewelled bodice, her breasts rose and fell. Anger simmered near the surface, waiting with eager tentacles for the wrong words to leap into life.

  Brett didn't want her to be alone. Or ashamed at being left at the altar, which was partly his fault. If he hadn't divorced her, would she be happier with him? “I wanted to see if you're okay.” Lame, but it was the best he could do.

  "Really?” She would have turned away, but he grabbed her other wrist and held her at a distance in case she decided to fight him and perhaps knee him in the groin. He didn't want the night to end before it began.

  How could he tell her he'd made a mistake? She was in the throes of rejection, and this wasn't a good time to mention his deepest regrets. “I want to be your friend."

  "Why? So you can jilt me like Ade did? Or better yet, divorce me after you promised me the moon?” Sierra laughed at that, a high-pitched nervous laugh. “Promise the moon and you know what I end up with? Broken promises and a hurt that sinks so deep, you can never get rid of it.” She kicked sand towards him with her bare foot attached to a slim, shapely ankle that got his heartbeat racing with desire.

  He'd come partly to console her, partly to get her back into his bed. He missed her warm presence, the laughter of delight and the sensuous woman usually hidden under clothes that didn't do her perfection justice. Her breasts were small and firm beneath his palms, her waist tiny, and her thighs were as soft as spun silk but as strong as steel during their passionate encounters. “If I admit I'm a sleazeball, will you forgive me and give me another chance?"

  Her nostrils flared. She squinted her eyes shut as if thinking, flashed them open and asked, “For what?” Bitterness enveloped the words. Her eyes met his, questioning, determined not to be hurt again and yet hurting at a fathomless depth he could only imagine.

  Then the truth kicked him in the nuts with a woomph. She still loved him, had never stopped loving him. The gaping chasm of loneliness tore at him. She was the only women he'd ever loved and he'd pushed her away, alienating her, perhaps forever. He could try to persuade her with every method he knew, but once her mind was made up, he knew from experience, it was almost impossible to change it. Almost.

  He released her hands and let his own fall to his sides, although he yearned to take her into his arms and make love to her until the sun rose to create glittering diamonds of the morning dew on the grass by the carnival.

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Forgive me for letting you go."

  She toyed with the pendant at the base of her throat. Two hearts intertwined. A forefinger caressing the cold, lifeless diamonds. Listlessly, she gave him a brash head to toe appraisal. He'd dressed the way she liked. Black two piece Armani suit with spotl
ess white, long-sleeved shirt and polished shoes she could see herself in. And not a stitch underneath the costly clothes. “Is that why you came tonight?"

  Brett realised he'd somehow missed a vital connection point with her. “I made a mistake. The biggest one of my life—"

  "And how long has that been?” She already knew the answer.

  "Four hundred years, give or take a few seconds or so."

  She harrumphed, still disbelieving that anyone could live that long.

  "Let me make love to you, Sier. To show you how I feel.” He held his breath in anticipation of her reply. Would she tell him to shove off or would she fall into his arms and allow him to fully undress her, to make love to every single inch of her gorgeous body?

  The waves crashed onto the beach in an otherwise still world illuminated by the moon's bright orb. Behind him, the carnival rides, long ago having fallen into disuse, stood like grim, watching ghosts of a time gone by. A stiff breeze surged to life, played with the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He shivered.

  She swallowed. Her skin was pale under the moonlight.

  How he forced himself to stand still and keep his hands to himself, he didn't know. He was rapidly losing control of his urge to have her. And she liked her lovemaking rough the first time and tender after. Sudden inspiration came, quite probably brought to life from his heavily aroused state. “If I make my intentions known and ravish you, then will you make love to me?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed speculatively. Brett had his answer from the tiny huff she gave and the slight panting from parted lips. His grin was broad and non-threatening as he pushed up his sleeve to take a disinterested look at his watch. “There are all those old rides there. I'll give you five minutes to hide, then I'll come searching for you. And then you're mine tonight."

  Sierra didn't immediately launch into playing the lust game, as they'd called their foreplay before sex. “What makes you think I want to play with you? Or anyone else?"

  So she wasn't going to give in without a fight. “For one, you find me irresistible. Two, I'm trying my damnedest to take your mind off the day's events. Third—"

  She put her hand up with her palm up to stop him. “I get it. But don't you think it's too soon to hop into bed with you? Can't you let me grieve over what might have been?"

  He took hold of her fingers and raised them to his face. He felt her pulse trip over itself. “Don't you think you've had plenty of time for that? Like the whole afternoon?” He licked her forefinger. Liquid fire raced up his spine. His cock was harder than a rock, and he thought he might explode. She wouldn't say “no", would she? If she did, he'd end up in a whole heap of trouble.

  "You've never been very patient, so why start now?” she murmured. Her eyelashes fluttered over her eyes, veiling them.

  "No.” Brett knew then he had her hooked. When she bestowed her heated gaze on him, he sensed the afternoon's tumultuous happenings dissolve into the comfort of relief.

  She threw herself at him, pressed her length against his body. He smelled the faint trace of fragrant roses and the summery scent of hairspray.

  "You never stopped loving me, did you?” she exclaimed, the hurt still in her eyes, but there was something else there now. A playfulness he hadn't seen in a long, long time. Not since before the divorce.

  He shook his head and drew her face to his, demanding a furtive kiss before her pleasure, and his, began.

  She laughed, a pretty sound filled with naughty suggestions. “Look at you, Brett. You're really hard up, aren't you?"

  The vixen ran her palm over his rigid dick, giving it a tight squeeze before she lifted her skirts and sprinted off towards the carnival. Glancing over her left shoulder, she shouted, “You'll have to earn that kiss!"

  Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from her and loosened his black silk tie in an attempt to alleviate the pressure at his throat. He dug in his pocket for a cigarette and sank to his ass to sit cross-legged on the sand. Unlit, he shoved the cigarette between his lips and told himself five minutes of waiting in his condition would be far worse than an eternity in hell.

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  Chapter Two

  Patience wasn't part of his mental makeup. Brett sweated and toiled to remain calm even though his heartbeat did the cha-cha and his erection pulsed with a fierce ache. What stupidity had led him to divorce Sierra in the first place?

  Fear, he admitted. Fear that he'd lose her to the one thing that eluded him with its finality. Death, the enemy of all mortals who lived. But divorce hadn't been the right solution. He'd realised that as soon as the finalised divorce papers had arrived. Sitting at his desk in his opulent Southern Californian home by the ocean, a haunting emptiness, so reminiscent of being in a damp and cold room made of stone, overtook him in its tenacious grip. His pride had deflated when he'd learned of Sierra's upcoming wedding, but he'd wished her happiness from the very depths of his being.

  Hidden from her sight, he'd watched her stroll into the church and out of his reach forever. She'd walked in a blaze of glory, the sun shining around her like a golden halo, and even with sunglasses the white of her gown had blinded him as he stood under the shade of a towering oak. Intermittently, gems from her bodice had twinkled at him, teasing him. Look at what you've done, you moron. You've lost the only woman you've ever loved.

  Seeing her in the voluminous gown had brought back memories of his own wedding night. He fell to his knees in the middle of the penthouse bedroom, an area he couldn't now describe although they'd spent four days and three nights there erotically wrapped around each other. His intention had been to worship her with his hands, to show her how much he loved her with every part of his body, including his hungering erection. In some respects, he was a lout, he admitted. He would have hastened to rip off another woman's clothes and thrust into her welcoming sheath as if the very devil was provoking him. But with Sierra it was different. She needed—no demanded—slow, tender lovemaking that made his head spin and his fragile control almost snap.

  Slipping his hand under the taffeta of her wedding gown and trailing his hot palm along her trembling outer thigh had made Sierra quiver with need under his experienced touch. She'd openly admitted she'd not had many lovers but he had discovered to his delight, that although she was old-fashioned, she was no prude. When he'd begun to tug the flimsy, lace garter down her thigh, she'd shattered into a blissful orgasm. Her fingers had dug into the fabric of his tuxedo and into his shoulders. Kneeling at her feet, he'd looked up to find her head tipped back, and her lips open in a silent cry of pleasure.

  He'd sighed and unsteadily gotten to his feet, putting aside his body's demands for the moment. One by one, repressing his impatience at the frivolities women indulged in on their wedding day, he'd unfastened each button at her back, pulling aside the whispering fabric and pressing tiny kisses against her spine.

  She'd moaned and tried to pull her arms out from the sleeves. “Wait, mon petite,” he'd exclaimed. “I haven't unbuttoned these infernal pearls yet."

  "Can't you just rip them off? I won't be getting married again, so I won't need it."

  A moment's apprehensiveness had filled Brett. Would she want to have children? She knew he was fine in the sex department but not when it came to creating babies. Would she miss that part of her life and accuse him as she got older and the time she was fertile withered away leaving her with nothing but regrets, and perhaps hate for the man she'd once loved? He couldn't let himself think of those things—not on their wedding night. Maybe later he could make amends and they could adopt children, but that in itself would open a whole can of proverbial worms. What child would want an undead for a father?

  "Brett?” Sierra had intruded on his morbid conjecture.

  He must have frozen, taken away deep in thought to places he should never have touched. “I love you,” he'd murmured, quickly unbuttoning the remainder of the fasteners.

  She'd spun around even as the bodice fell down over the tips of her breast
s and he'd caught a glimpse of his version of heaven, no saints or angels welcome. “Why did you freeze?” she'd asked, exposing her vulnerability that was usually so close to the surface but which she managed to cleverly hide. Her cheeks had flushed a delicate pink and her lips had parted erotically. A man, even though he wasn't part of the wholly living, had only to gaze at her to be tempted beyond what he could reasonably bear.

  "I was thinking how much I love you,” he'd replied in a husky voice unlike his usual careful tone.

  "I thought,” she'd paused, obviously grasping for the right words, “that you'd changed your mind."

  "About us?” he'd asked much too curtly as he'd cursed himself for being a stupid, bumbling oaf. Why couldn't he let worry about the future sink into oblivion on their wedding night?

  She'd nodded and played her moist tongue over her lower lip glossed with pearl pink lipstick. “I want you forever and forever.” Sierra had thrown her arms around his neck and held him close.

  Her heartbeat had hammered against his chest. How could he have been so stupid to think he could get married and live beyond the confines of perplexing future scenarios? He'd run his palm over the back of her head, catching the calloused skin on diamond-encrusted hairpins and cursed inwardly. “I love you, Sierra. Forever. You know that. No woman has ever snared me with her beautiful golden brown eyes and looked at me quite the way you do."

  She'd smiled with a poignancy that cut him right to his heart. “I don't know who you are, Brett Wolfe, but you make my life a good place to be."

  The image of her saddened eyes and the sensuous feeling of her breasts against his chest faded away at the repeated, “Brett? Brett? I'm ready. Where are you?"

  He opened his eyes and found his cheeks stained with tears. He'd started in on the regrets again. Even though he'd not smoked his cigarette, filthy habit as it was, he edged it into the sand as if he was putting it out and the flame still burned at the end. Hadn't he learned anything the first time around with Sierra? If he screwed up this time, there was no turning back the clocks. She rarely forgave anyone, preferring to number them with countless felons. He should be glad she'd given him a second chance.