Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (21 page)

The party was in full outdoor swing, a couple dozen people sharing the small grassy space with a quarterbarrel, a table of munchies and a game of rubber horseshoes. Everyone was having a great time, drinking and laughing.

Except for Julian’s “assistants”, hot Greek Nikos and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Nikos was Twyla Tafel’s squeeze. I didn’t know Rebecca except by sight. She was the kind of woman who wrestled bulls for fun. She wore bib overalls with no shirt and I kept expecting to see hay in her hair. Rebecca was actually her name, but probably not the Sunnybrook Farm part.

They stood like grim-faced bookends to the party, which made sense if they were really Julian’s guards, alert for vampire rogues.

Twyla was waiting for me with my pink satin jacket. Lips compressed, she handed it over. “
Where
did you get this?”

“Don’t dis the jacket,” Mishela said before I could reply. “I’d love it for my costume closet. It’d go great with my poodle skirt.”

“Your skirt’s the color of cherry vomit?” Twyla’s moue of distaste underscored her words. “The style makes Frankenstein’s bolts look chic.”

“Mom gave it to me.” I shrugged the satin on. “Mothers prefer comfort to style.”

Twyla raised a fine brow. “Not all mothers are fashion-blind.”

“The Lutheran Ladies are.”

“I thought your mother was Italian.”

“She’s a born-again German.”

“Huh. Well, if you ever want to give it a facelift, I’ll bring the gasoline. Your instruments are inside.” She pointed at a townhouse, then exchanged a brief, inexplicable thumbs-up with Nixie, hooked arms with Mishela and wandered off.

Glynn, standing beside me, watched them go.

I frowned at him. “Why aren’t you doing the Mishela-hovercraft thing?”

“I’m off duty.”

“Go party then.” Plastic glasses of beer sat in neat rows on a nearby table. I snagged one. He was still there. “You don’t have to hang around for me. I know these people. I’ll be fine. Go on.”

He nodded. “That would be best.”

“Okay. See you later.” I sipped beer, pretended to ignore him.

He didn’t move. “Do you think tonight’s incident will affect attendance?”

I took another sip, but it didn’t make Glynn’s behavior any clearer to me. “It’s theater. Murphy’s the lord of chaos. I’m not making bets either way.” I took another sip. I was a bit warm—maybe the jacket, maybe the May evening turning muggy. Certainly not Glynn’s blue gaze running over my skin like his big, hot hands… I cleared my throat. “Well.”

“Well.” An awkward silence. Glynn crossed arms. “You’ll be all right then?”

“I said I would.” My neck prickled with perspiration. Damn hot tonight, not anything to do with Glynn’s intense body. I drank more beer.

“I’ll just be going then.” He turned reluctantly.

I released a pent-up breath.

Behind me a horseshoe whipped through the air, headed straight at me. I swore. At the sound Glynn spun back, eyes red, canines flashing.

I barely registered the shock of seeing Glynn in half-vampire mode before the horseshoe hit…the cup in my hand. Beer kicked up and out, a flying arc of night-silvered amber—and splashed full force on his chest.

His black tee absorbed the liquid with barely a change in color, but I could tell it soaked him from the annoyed
tchah
he made and the way he plucked the shirt from his skin. His fangs abruptly retracted, his eyes cooled to an irritated blue.

“Sorry, guys.” Nixie stood across from the horseshoe stake, a second U in her hand. “Guess I threw it a little hard.”

Her smile looked more smug than sorry.

Glynn blew a disgusted breath, shucked his leather jacket. “It’s all right.”

And then in front of me and everyone, he stripped the wet tee over his head and tossed it at the nearest townhouse door.

All partying screeched to a halt. My jaw hit grass and bounced. Sure, I’d seen him shirtless, but hunched over in a cramped bedroom.

Straight on in the bright night…yowsa. Glynn’s shoulders were crowned with bowling-ball deltoids, notched with tongueable grooves. His pectorals, swelling big and round from iron-bar collarbones, screamed “pet me”. His torso, exposed for the world to drool over, was r-r-ripped.

And big. His chest was wide as a freeway, his pecs twin semis, his abs fast, sexy coupes jockeying for position. His waist was a two-lane country road I’d just love to travel by tongue. The dent of navel and feathering of black hair were two definite tourist stops on my licky way.

Did I say it was a muggy night? I meant steaming. I meant flaming…suddenly way too hot, I grabbed blindly for another beer. Drank too quickly and started choking.

All that chest was instantly in my face, undulating centimeters from my mouth, nipples ruby bull’s-eyes…as Glynn slapped my back. Only being helpful. I tried to regain control by sucking in air, got a lungful of hot male and started choking on slobber instead.

He pulled me close. Rubbed my spine as I hacked up lung. “Breathe,
babi
.” The heat of his breath on my ear was searing. The heat of his naked skin was incinerating.

“Drink,” I rasped.

He gently extracted the beer I was clutching and offered it to me. I managed a sip. That cleared things so I could breathe. He held the cup as I sipped until I nodded that I could hold it on my own.

He handed me my cup and stepped away.

It was like Google maps. Nipples zoomed out to chest, abs, jeans fitting an impressive package… Power and grace sculpted in muscle and bone, the entirety of his male perfection filled my sight.

Desire slugged me, stole my breath like a cold Lake Michigan wave walloping shoreline. My breasts tightened, my nipples peaked.

My fingers ached to grab all that muscle. I clenched my plastic cup as a substitute and knocked back beer. Corners people drink beer in moderation with meals, but sometimes we drink just to get drunk. I opened my throat and poured the whole thing down, trying to douse the fire of lust in my belly.

Yeah, alcohol to douse flames. As a business major, chemistry wasn’t my strong suit.

The beer hit my stomach. A fantasy hit my brain. A muscular torso over me, rippling with strength as it drove long strokes of male hips. My legs pulled high over bowling-ball shoulders, ripped power framed by my thighs. Lust slammed me full in the groin. Exploded, a rush of fire through my veins, searing me until I could barely breathe. Until I could barely move.

Until I was scared shitless.

Was I my mother’s daughter after all? Had this bonfire of lust been smoldering all along? Was I a late bloomer and now getting wet in my bloomers?

Damn, underwear again.

I tossed my empty onto the table. “I need to go.”

“So soon?” Glynn’s tone was almost wistful—until the breeze shifted and his nostrils flared. His fingers clenched and his eyes turned a distinct violet. “Right. I’ll go change to take you home. Wait here.”

“My instruments are inside. I’ll come along.” I grabbed his forearm. Mistake, because the heat of his skin, the feel of lean and powerful tendons under my fingers… I released him and cleared my throat. “I mean I’ll follow.”

He nodded and took off for the farthest door. I started after him, got an eyeful of tight ass and clamped my lids shut. Couldn’t see to walk so I slit them, but I kept my gaze firmly on my toes.

Which meant when he stopped inside the townhouse, I plowed into his back. My hands slapped onto flared lats, steel cables winding under his skin. My fingers snaked along their tempting length before he stepped away. I hissed an embarrassed breath.

He was kind enough to pretend not to notice I’d been feeling him up like a melon. “They’re not here.”

“What’s not…oh.” Once I got my head out of my vagina, I noticed a front hallway of terra cotta tile. My instruments were nowhere to be seen. “We’ll have to ask Twyla. After you put on a shirt.” I waved in the general direction of his naked, ripped, luscious…everything. I didn’t look directly, his chest entirely too much like a solar eclipse in both its temptations and its dangers. I still wanted to run my palms over those hard planes and blind myself licking.

His mouth quirked. “I have a better idea. Come with me.”

“What?” I was startled enough to look him in his twinkling sapphire eyes. “Come with you to your room? Are you nuts?” Come, nuts
…oh
fuck
get your mind out of his pants, Junior
.

“A bit insane, perhaps. But I think I know where your instruments are.” He glided off, leaving me to race after him through a cozy den. “Based on the snickering from Nixie and Twyla.”

“Snickering…oh no. They didn’t.” My two good friends had not just ambushed me with misplaced attempts at matchmaking.

“I suspect they did.” He snared my hand and started downstairs.

Down, to his
bedroom
. Images of him and me, in his room, on his
bed
, rolling and surging and crashing… I grabbed the railing, dug in my heels. “Wait. I can’t get…can’t do…I
can’t
.”

I tried to tell him all the things I couldn’t do. I couldn’t smell him and not want to bury my nose between his pecs. I couldn’t see his powerful muscles without wanting to touch, to pet, to caress. I couldn’t be near his naked skin without wanting to lick, to suck, to sink to my knees and…all that came out was an
uhhh
and another, “I can’t.” Apparently between the beer and raging lust, I was lucky to be using language at all.

“
Babi
.” Glynn took my face between his hands. “I know how you feel about sex. About commitment. I know you have duty and dreams and I understand why you wish to remain unattached. You’re safe with me.”

“How do you…then what…last night…?” Yup, there went the language.

“Last night was desperation. I am desperate for you tonight as well, but we’ll only be downstairs for a few minutes. Junior.
You’re funny and caring and brave to keep duty first while you attempt your dreams. I respect that. You’re safe with me,” he repeated. “Hold my hand now. The stairs are steep.”

Of all that, the word that stood out was
desperate
. Glynn was desperate for me? The thought of a male wanting me badly, any male but especially one so incredibly talented and attractive as Glynn…there were no words for it. Wouldn’t have been even if my brain hadn’t unevolved to one step above amoeba.

Midway along the dimly lit basement hallway, Glynn opened a door, paused before flicking on the lights. The gesture made me think he didn’t use them, had only turned them on for me. Maybe vampires could see in the dark or had some form of sonar.

There sure was a lot I didn’t know about v-guys. I’d have to find out if I was going to spend more time with Glynn…which I
wasn’t
.

I took a step back, meaning to wait in the hall, but my gaze smacked on His Bed with a capital Hhhhggg. King-size, five pillows across, with a royal purple comforter the exact shade of his eyes heated with arousal.

Not a bed but a cruise ship for sex.

I remembered his intense lovemaking on my small twin mattress, thought of how much more active he could get on this battleship of a bed…and nearly snapped my neck looking away.

A small, candlelit table sat in the opposite corner.

Even without Nixie’s curiosity to prime me, I’d have known that here was something important. Precious, and not referring to Gollum-like Steve. Glynn’s mysterious little altar banked my lust. What knickknacks would be on this special table? Sex trophies? Or keepsakes of a lost love?

I floated closer, coming fully into the room. A heavy cloth covered the table, woven brocade. Red, but an old red, like it had been dyed before the colonies were discovered. Not faded from years of sun but whitened with the simple passage of time.

Three tchotchkes sat on the cloth, arranged in an equal-sided triangle. Each was illuminated by a tealight set in front like an offering. One extra tealight was near the center.

A small dragon roared left bottom. Red-painted pewter, it stood fighting-ready, front paw raised. I seemed to remember the dragon was a symbol of Wales.

A white clay pipe was bottom right. Unglazed, long-stemmed, a smell of cavendish indicated it was sometimes used.

And what was the tchotchke at the top of the triangle, clearly the most important by its placement?

A simple clay round with a wooden handle.

I leaned closer, practically put my face down by it, but I finally had to pick it up to tell what it was. Glynn’s sharp intake of breath didn’t stop me from turning it over to see—a cookie stamp.

What would a warrior-prince vampire be doing with a homey cookie stamp? I cast him an inquiring glance.

Arms crossed, he braced against the wall farthest from the table. Even without the sucked breath, I knew he wasn’t happy, not in that defensive stance.

Still, I needed to know. “What is this?”

“Nothing.” His tone was flat, not with indifference but from a wealth of suppressed feeling. He pushed away from the wall, strode over and took the stamp from me. With a dark, slashing look, he placed it carefully at the exact top of the undrawn triangle.

Then he turned his back to stride the two steps to the dresser. The conversation was emphatically over.