Books by Maggie Shayne (72 page)

He sighed into her mouth as his arms came around her waist to crush her against him. The pressure of his lips forced hers to part for him, and he tasted every bit of her mouth, even reaching his tongue to the back of her throat in a forceful, thrusting motion that hinted at far greater pleasures to come. His hands moved over her body, one holding her to him while the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back farther to accommodate that probing tongue more deeply. She felt his hot arousal pressing into her belly, telling her how much he wanted her. She moved her hips against him, to let him know she felt the same mindless need.

When the fire in her blood raged out of control he pulled away, panting. "This is not the way, Tamara. With everything in me, I want to take you right here. I want to lift you to the wall, or take you on the floor, damn-lit. But it is not the way. You might hate me tomorrow, when the fire no longer burns in your eyes." He stroked the hair away from her face. He pressed his lips to each eye in turn. "Agree with me, before I lose control."

Tamara's body was screaming that she wanted him to lose control. Her mind knew he was right. She didn't know him. She had once, she was certain of it now. But she couldn't remember that. It would be like making love to a stranger, and that would make her feel cheap and ashamed. She stepped away from him. "You're right. I—I'm sorry."

"Never apologize for kissing me, for touching me, Tamara. Your caress is a gift worthy of any king... one I will be grateful for whenever you choose to bestow it."

* * * * *

Eric could barely bring himself to stop what she'd started in St Claire's corridor. He'd only just restrained himself in time. The desire she stirred in him was a beast he could hardly subdue. He had to, though. The blood lust in him intertwined with sexual desire. The two were so closely linked among his kind that there was no separating them. If he took her, he'd take her blood as well as her body. She'd know the truth then, and she'd despise him forever.

Or worse. . .

No, he refused to believe she could be party to Daniel St Claire's machinations.

Refusing to believe it does not make it impossible.

If she was plotting his destruction, he'd know, he reminded himself as he descended the stairs beside her. He'd see it in her mind.

Vampires can learn to guard their thoughts. Why not her?

She is no vampire, he thought angrily. I've never known a human to be capable of such a thing.

You've never known a human like Tamara.

At the bottom of the stairway Eric glimpsed a light glowing beyond a doorway at the far side. She'd flicked off every other glaring electric light she'd come to, so he touched her shoulder now, and pointed. "Do you wish to shut that light off, as well?"

She shook her head quickly, opened her mouth to explain, then seemed to think better of it. Not before Eric heard what was in her mind, however. To go through that door was forbidden to her. St. Claire's basement lab lay at the bottom of the staircase there, and he'd deemed it off limits. Eric would have liked to go down there now, to examine the ruthless scientist's files and equipment. But he'd given Tamara his word that he'd come here only to be with her. How could she believe him if he betrayed her trust in such a way?

He'd spoken the truth when he'd spoken those words, yet he could've told her more. He wanted to be with her because he feared for her safety. That St Claire had known of the connection between them from the start was obvious. He'd orchestrated events to gain custody of the child, Eric felt certain of it. Whether to brainwash her into helping him in his plots or to use her as unwitting bait remained to be seen. Either way, though, Tamara was no more to St Claire than a pawn in a high-stakes game. She could not be safe with him. That Eric had to leave her side by day had him at his wits' end, but what choice did he have? He would stay by her side when he could, and he'd try to learn exactly what St. Claire had on his mind. He'd protect Tamara if he had to kill the bastard himself. In the three times Eric had seen her since returning from his travels, he'd learned one thing he hadn't fully realized before. He still adored her.

The emotions had changed, radically. She was no longer the small child in need of bedtime stories and lullabies. She was a woman grown, a woman of incomparable beauty and incredible passion. . . a woman capable of setting his pulse throbbing in his temples, and his blood to boiling for want of her. He knew what he felt for her. He understood it. Constantly he needed to remind himself that she did not. She couldn't, nor could she fathom her own feelings for him. To her, he was a stranger. . . at least until her memory returned, and until she became aware that she could know anything about him simply by searching his mind. Now, though, at this moment, he was a stranger.

He hoped to remedy that to some extent tonight.

She locked the door, pocketed the key and turned toward him. Eric allowed himself the pleasure of encircling her shoulders with his arm. No matter how good his intentions, it seemed he couldn't prevent himself from touching her, holding her close whenever possible. Her coat was too thick for his liking. He could scarcely feel the shape of her beneath it. He urged her down the curving driveway, and felt her start in surprise when she caught sight of the vehicle that awaited her there. One horse's ears pricked forward and his head came up at the sound of their approach.

Tamara stopped walking to turn wide eyes toward Eric. He smiled at the delight he saw in them. "I thought a sleigh would be more enjoyable than any other mode of transportation," he said.

Her smile took his breath away, and she hurried forward, sending a powdery blizzard ahead of her as she plowed through the five inches of new snow on the ground. She stood in front of the black, speaking softly, for the horse's ears only, and stroking his muzzle. He blew in appreciation. Eric joined her there a second later. "This is Max. He's a gelding, and I think he's as enchanted by his first glimpse of you as I was."

She glanced up, meeting his eyes, her own acknowledging the compliment, before Eric continued. "And this—" he moved toward the golden palomino beside Max "—is Melinda, his partner."

Tamara stepped to the side and stroked Melinda's sleek neck.

"She's beautiful—they both are. Are they yours, Eric?"

"Unfortunately, no. I was able to rent them for the night." He watched the emotions in her face and felt those in her mind as she touched and caressed one horse, then the other. "I'm thinking of buying them, though," he added. It was true. The moment he'd seen her joy at the sight of the animals, he'd wanted to own them.

"Oh?" Her attention was, at last, on him again. "Do you have a stable?"

"I'll have one built," he announced. She laughed as he took her arm and led her around the horses, to help her into the sleigh. Eric climbed in beside her and picked up the reins.

"I've always loved horses. When I was a little girl I wanted to own a ranch, where I could raise them by the hundreds."

Eric nodded. He remembered her love of horses. He'd hoped it still existed. He snapped the reins lightly and clicked his tongue. The sleigh jerked into motion, and Tamara settled back against the cushioned seat. He took them off the paved road as soon as possible, onto a snow-coated side road that was barely more than a path. He watched her more often than the road ahead. She remarked on everything with little sighs of pleasure—the full moon glistening on the snow, making it sparkle as if it held tiny diamonds just beneath the surface, the ice-coated branches that made ugly, bare limbs turn into sculpted crystal. The crisp, clean air that touched her face, and the scent of the horses' warm bodies.

Eric nodded in agreement, but in truth he was aware of none of it. It was her scent that enveloped him. It was seeing the way the chill breeze played with her hair and reddened her cheeks and the tip of her nose that entranced him. He felt only the warmth of her body, pressed alongside his own, and saw the moonlight glistening in her eyes, rather than upon the snow. Beyond the rhythmic thudding of the horses' hooves he heard the music in her voice.

Her arm was wrapped around his, and her head rested upon his shoulder. "This is wonderful, Eric. It's the most fun I've had in..." She blinked and considered a moment. "I can't remember when I've enjoyed a night this much."

"Nor I," he whispered, certain it was true. "But you must tell me if you grow tired, or I'll likely keep you out all night."

"I don't get tired at night. Not ever. I haven't slept a night through in over a month... closer to two. So if you want to keep me out all night, I'll be more than willing."

She seemed so exuberant and happy. Yet he worried about this sleeplessness. She'd mentioned it before. "Are you able to sleep by day, then?"

"No, I have to work. I usually catch a few hours in the afternoon, though." She tipped her head up and saw his frown. "Do I look like I'm suffering from exhaustion to you?"

"Quite the opposite," he admitted.

She settled against him again, then straightened, snapping her fingers. "It's French, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Your accent."

"I wasn't aware I had one." God, she was beautiful. Her eyes in the moonlight seemed luminous, and he noticed again the thickness of the lashes surrounding them.

"It's very slight. I barely notice it myself. I've been trying to place it. Am I right?"

He nodded. "I was born in France."

"Where?"

He smiled down at her, amazed that she even cared to ask. "Paris. I haven't been back there in... years."

"You sound as if you'd like to go, though," she said, studying his face. "Why haven't you?"

"Bad memories, I suppose. My father was murdered there. I nearly suffered the same fate, save for the intervention of a good friend." He saw her eyes widen. He'd vowed to be as honest with her as he could without giving away the secret. He wanted her to feel she knew him.

Her hand clutched his upper arm more tightly. "That's horrible."

He nodded. "But a long time past, Tamara. I'm recovered."

"Are you sure?" He met her intense scrutiny. "Have you talked it out with someone, Eric? These things have a way of festering."

He tilted his head, considering his words. "It was... political. and utterly senseless. It left me without any family at all, and if not for Roland, I'd have been without a friend, as well." He looked down to see her listening raptly. "I never had many to begin with, you see. I always felt separate—set apart from my peers."

"You didn't fit in. I know exactly what you mean."

He looked deeply into her eyes. "Yes, I imagine you do."

"Tell me about your friend. Do you still keep in touch?"

He chuckled. "It is sometimes a long time between letters, or visits. But Roland happens to be staying with me at the moment."

Her head came up, eyes eager. "Could I meet him?"

He frowned. "Why would you want to?"

She had to give her answer a long moment's thought before speaking it. "You... said he saved your life. I..." Her gaze fell to her hand, resting on her knee. "I'd like to thank him." Eric closed his eyes at the warmth her words sent through his heart. "He's a recluse. Perhaps I can arrange it, though. Unlike me, he still has a residence in France, though he rarely lives there. He owns a sprawling medieval castle in the Loire Valley. He hid me there for a time after we fled Paris."

When he glanced at her again it was to find her gaze affixed to his face as it had been through most of the ride. "You are a fascinating man," she whispered.

"I am a simple man, with simple tastes."

"I'd love to see your home."

"Another time, perhaps. If I took you there while my reclusive friend was in residence, he'd likely throttle me." He slipped his arm around the back of the seat, and squeezed her to his side. "It is furnished almost exclusively in antiques. Electric lighting is there, of course, but I seldom use it. I prefer the muted glow of oil lamps to the harsh glare of those white bulbs, except in my laboratory."

"You're a scientist?"

"I dabble in a few projects that interest me."

Her lovely eyes narrowed. "You are being modest, I think."

He shrugged, gave a tug on the reins to stop their progress and reached beneath the seat for the thermos he'd brought along. "You told me once, a very long time ago, that your favorite beverage was hot chocolate. Is it still the case?"

* * * * *

For the first time in years Tamara felt completely at ease with another person. The hours of the night flew past almost without her knowledge. They talked incessantly, touching on every subject imaginable, from music and art to politics. He fascinated her, and the more she learned about him the more she wanted to know.

Through it all she was constantly aware of the physical attraction that zapped between them. She'd deliberately sat close to him, so her body touched his. She liked touching him, so much so that she felt cold and alone when they hit a rough spot in the road and she was jarred away from his side. Without hesitation she resumed her former position. He seemed to share her need to feel her close. He touched her often. He kept his hard arm around her, managing the reins with one hand. When they passed beneath an overhanging branch and a handful of snow dusted her, he stopped the sleigh and turned to brush it away from her shoulders and her hair. Their eyes met, and she felt the irresistible pull of him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers with infinite tenderness. He held himself in check, though. She sensed his forced restraint and knew he was determined to go slowly with her. . . to give her time to adjust to what was happening between them.

She wondered exactly what was happening between them. She knew that it was intense, and that it was real. She knew that she'd never felt this way toward another human being in her life. And she knew that whatever it was, she didn't want it to end. She wanted to tell him so, but didn't quite know how.

He left the sleigh in the same spot near the end of the driveway when they returned to the house. He walked her to the door, and stopped as she fit her key into the lock. Her heart twisted painfully at the thought of leaving him. The lock released, but she didn't open the door. She turned and gazed up at him, wondering if he knew.