Bond of Darkness (11 page)

But Ethan wasn't a marriage candidate, since he was a vampiro. He'd never offer a gold ring or a family. She could relax with him and simply enjoy herself.

He stilled for a moment, his hands falling silent on her.

"Ethan, dammit!" She pushed against him, demanding his full attention again.

He chuckled, long and low, silky and dangerous. She shivered, recognizing the promise of eventual fulfillment—but not necessarily in the gentlest fashion.

He flipped up her skirt, half-tearing her panties to bare her. Hot cream from her core gushed to follow, sliding down her thighs, scenting the air.

"Feeling eager? Feeling ready?" he queried, his voice harsh and demanding.

"Yes, dammit!" How often did she have to tell him?

A single, callused finger slipped between her legs and played with her. Rough, blunt, dragging through her slick folds, playing with her clit, teasing her, circling, probing and withdrawing until she was nearly insane. She rode it, adapted, fought to keep it. Her breath caught in her lungs, her legs rose and sank down to match its rise and fall, her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She clutched at his shoulders, keening his name.

So long, so very long since she'd had a man. Since she'd had anything more than her hand or a vibrator.

Wonderful. Best of all, it was Ethan.

He pressed down on her clit, in that expert stroke of his—and she climaxed, every bone and sinew vibrating with pleasure, cascades of joy tumbling through her.

Long moments passed while she fought to recover, shuddering with the need for air. Then she slowly began to breathe again, frustrated she still hadn't had his cock inside her. "Damn you, Ethan!"

"What's the matter, Stephanie Amanda?"

"Ethan!" Only he dared to call her that.

His face was harsh with leashed hunger but he managed a hoarse laugh. "Still haven't had enough—Stephanie?"

She snarled but managed a civil response. There'd be no satisfaction until she accepted the name. "You know I want more of you, Ethan." She swallowed, her eyes drifting down over his chest. "Please," she whispered.

He picked her up and she tucked her head against his shoulder, her bones slowly regaining their stability in the shadow of his strength. It had been so long since anybody had simply offered her sexual release, without her job making them awestruck or turning them into sycophants.

He kissed her hair, murmuring something unintelligible, and deposited her on the enormous, silk-covered bed.

She bounced upright, staring at her lover. The bedroom was as modernistic as the living room. It, too, had probably come from an expensive designer—and a very hedonistic one, judging by the luxurious bed.

"What on earth?" she spluttered. When was Ethan going to do something about that enormous erection he was sporting?

"Perfect, isn't it?"

"For what?" she asked suspiciously, staring down at him. If she wasn't so irritated at him for putting her down, she'd say something to him about how he'd opened up her dress so she was basically lying on top of it. Hell of a way to undress a girl without taking off any of her clothes.

"For this." He knelt down and lifted her legs over his shoulders, sliding her hips to the edge of the bed.

"Huh?"

He took a long, assessing lick along her thigh, then another. "Very nice."

She shivered, fireflies dancing through her skin and into her bones to shimmer into her blood. "Very
nice
?"

"But I think I'd prefer a taste of this." He buried his face in her cunt and nuzzled her.

She gasped, tension winding like a fire-edged watch spring along her spine.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her skin and deep into her bones, sending Shockwaves from her womb to her heart.

She moaned on exactly the same frequency.

He settled down to eat her with the skill and wicked finesse of a master, clearly willing to take any amount of time at it. He slid first one finger then another into her, stroking her, probing her. She heaved herself against them, tightened herself around them, howled her fury at his delay. She needed him inside and around her, him!

Orgasm after orgasm rattled her objections, especially when he began to slowly finger fuck her.

"Ethan, ohmygawd, Ethan! Please, Ethan, I want, oh I want… Ethan!"

She lay panting from yet another orgasm, three of his fingers buried inside her, one broad fingertip lightly drumming on her most sensitive spot. Her eyes met his through a cloud of tangled hair. "Ethan, please, I just want you. Please?"

His features were edged in pure granite—or sexual desperation. "Are you begging?"

Beg? She tried to think but only instinct answered. "Yes, I'll beg. Please, Ethan?"

His eyes gleamed brilliantly green and his mouth curved in triumph. She smiled faintly, recognizing the signals.

An instant later, he'd shucked his jeans and was kneeling over her. "Steve," he said fiercely and lifted her hips.

A single lunge brought him into her—and she was almost virgin tight around his big cock. Fire, which she'd thought banked down to a comfortable flame, reignited into blazing fury. Desire's eager quest flared back into full throbbing demand.

He froze, gritting his teeth. "Steve." His voice was barely-recognizable.

"Please, Ethan, now!" She clawed his shoulders, instinctively drawing blood.

He snarled, baring his fangs, sending joy and lust swirling through her veins.

His control snapped completely. He took her fast and deep, slamming into her with the implacable fury of a summer thunderstorm.

He bit her, his fangs tapping deep into her jugular. Blood flowed, fiery, rich, intoxicating, kicking her passion into overdrive. And orgasm slammed into her, knocking her into a world of spinning stars and black worlds where Ethan was the only shred of reality. Familiar and priceless, yet not completely hers.

He poured his come into her, filling her core with its heat. Higher she went, still higher, consciousness spilling into and over Ethan until there was nothing left of either of them except pleasure shared.

A cell phone's all-too-realistic impersonation of The Who jolted Steve from her doze. She groped blindly, coming up with a handful of sheet falling away from Ethan's strong hip.

"Templeton."

She rolled to listen in on the conversation. He was rapidly pulling on his clothes, silhouetted against the light from the living room.

He froze, his belt halfway through his jeans' loops. "How long ago? Do we know if there was anybody with him?"

Her skin prickled at his tone and she sat up, pushing her hair off her face. Her gun was in the other room, dammit. But why would she want to go into battle beside him? He might be a reliable confidential informant but that didn't make him one of the good guys.

"Yes, start searching immediately. I'll be there right away."

He hung up, holstering the fragment of plastic and electronics with the absentminded efficiency of someone completely at home with multiple weapons strung from a belt. His eyes met hers, remote and shadowed from more than the room's darkness. "I'm sorry but work calls. I have to go."

Steve nodded and came to her feet, wondering yet again about his world. She knew he wouldn't harm her. But he'd also helped her more than once in a criminal investigation, displaying an appalling familiarity with the completely illegal. He always brushed off any questions about his friends, business dealings, or how he'd gained such expertise.

How many vampiros like him were there, anyway? And how trustworthy were they?

"If there's anything a Ranger understands, it's duty. I'll just head back to my room and get some sleep." She wrapped a polite mask over her face, the same one she used when she didn't want to answer questions from the public, and smiled. Drat it, she'd fallen into his grasp far too easily, yet again. "It's been great seeing you again."

He caught her chin in his hand, his eyes narrowing. "Don't say good-bye too fast, Steve. You'll be the one calling me for a date."

She bristled. She might be newly divorced and alone in town, without even a relative handy to make introductions. But she sure as hell wasn't desperate enough to crawl. "Like hell!"

His eyes narrowed. "Because I'm the best sex you've ever had, Steve—and the best partner on the job."

An instant later, his mouth came down on hers, all hard, assured persuasion.

Why was he doing this? Why was he acting almost as if he wanted to stake a claim on her? He'd always been the love 'em and leave 'em type before.

Worse, why was she just standing here, even though her body was rejoicing in every contact with him, even the rub over his jeans' rough denim? She shouldn't do this, not if she wanted to have a future with anybody else.

Her hands came up to his shoulders to push him away.

He slanted his head, catching her mouth at just the right angle. His hand slipped over her shoulders, stroking the small of her back.

Dammit, she'd never been able to resist his kiss.

Helplessly, she sighed and yielded, enjoying the heated dance of their tongues, of shared breath, of exploring the tastes and textures of each other's mouths.

And the arrogant prediction that they'd meet again. The first time he'd ever offered that affirmation.

She was still lightly patting her bruised lips like a dazed high school girl when she wandered back to her room, his business card in her other hand.

SAN LEANDRO. THE NEXT NIGHT

Lightning sparked halfheartedly in the east, hurling a few shards of light against the black clouds. Green lurked near the edges, as if anyone who looked long enough would see a doorway into hell—or a tornado, which was often the same thing. As it had been this evening for too many people in the surrounding counties.

The small town had been scoured clean by torrential rains, as though Mother Nature had decided to blast every grain of dirt away in a single hour. The World War II soldier glistened high atop his granite plinth in the middle of courthouse square, his bayonet poised to charge. Every business was freshly washed, their creamy limestone walls glowing as if alive under the streetlights. The twenty-four-hour drugstore's neon lights blazed, flashing a multitude of cures for the world's ills.

But not for everything. Not for what lay behind endless strands of yellow and black tape beside the ice cream parlor, under spats of harsh white camera flashes.

The ice cream parlor had always been one of the most popular gathering places in town. Now its small tables and tiny chairs carefully separated anxious townsfolk, while they waited to give their statements to the cops in the corner booth. Right under all the photos celebrating San Leandro High's football victories and the flavors named for San Leandro's most popular beauties.

Roger Bresnahan's car's siren whined irritably but no cars moved. A few people glanced at him but only shuffled their feet.

"When was the last time you had an unexpected death here?" Steve asked Roger softly.

"About fifty years ago." The local sheriff—her former partner—slammed his car into park, grinding the gears slightly. He still smelled of crawfish, onions, and spices, the rich scents of his wife's famous jambalaya which they'd been eating when the call had come in. They were good friends, who'd even tried to teach her how to dance once so she'd look graceful in a bridesmaid's dress. "But don't worry, we'll figure out what happened here."