Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) (12 page)

“He’ll be fine,” he told her, intentionally misunderstanding the look on her face.

“What?” she said absently, blinking her awareness back to him.

“Marc. He’ll be fine. The office is downstairs.”

“Okay,” she said, suddenly nervous. “Should I, um . . .”

Christian gave her a questioning look.

“Are
you
going to drive me back to get my car?” she asked, as if doubting he could actually drive.

“No,” he told her, standing.

“I can call a taxi—”

“No,” Christian repeated, moving into her space until his thighs were pressed against her hip where she sat on the bar stool. He speared his fingers through her hair, then gripped the nape of her neck in a blatantly possessive hold. “You won’t be going home tonight.”

“But I have to—”

Christian bent his head and took her mouth, a soft brushing of lips at first, enough to give him the scent of her, and to feel her lean into his kiss. He smiled inwardly and ran his tongue along the crease of her lips. Her lips opened in a gasp, and he took it as an invitation. Fingers twisting in her silky hair, he tipped her head back, and slid his tongue inside, exploring, tasting. Wanting more, he closed his teeth over her plump lower lip, and was rewarded by a hungry little sound as she strained upward, trying to get closer to him.

He growled softly, one arm sliding around her back and pulling her halfway off the seat, crushing her breasts against his chest. She was a slender woman, but her breasts were full and lush, the nipples poking through her blouse to rub against his chest.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the warm scent of woman, the delicate musk of her arousal. He could have her right now, if he wanted. He could lift her up onto the counter and spread her out for his pleasure. And her pleasure, too. But Christian knew women. And while the lovely Natalie would welcome him between her thighs, and would no doubt come screaming around his cock more than once . . . she’d regret it—as they say—in the morning.

And he didn’t want Natalie for one night, or two. He didn’t know exactly how much he
did
want. But he knew he wanted more than that.

He broke the kiss gently, touching his lips to the corners of her mouth, to her cheeks, her eyes. She made that hungry sound again, and the way her hands were gripping his waist made him want to devour her, but he pulled back.

She blinked up at him in confusion.

“It’s late,” he said quietly. “And you should stay here. You’ll be safer.” He made it her choice, but he had no intention of letting her go home.

Her mouth tightened briefly, and he thought she’d argue, but she didn’t. “Fine. But only because I’m tired.”

Christian bit back his grin. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest room.”

NATALIE WAS CONFUSED. She’d heard so much about the seduction skills of vampires, how everything for them was about blood and sex. And here she was, in Christian’s house, not even sure exactly where in the city she was, totally at his mercy . . . and he was turning on the lights of his guest room. His
guest room
! What the fuck?

After that kiss. . . . And, hell, that wasn’t just a kiss. That was a seduction. He’d made love to her mouth, kissing her more thoroughly than she’d ever been kissed before. And she’d assumed that was only the beginning. She’d expected to feel the scrape of his fangs at any moment, had braced herself for the overwhelming tide of sexual need that was featured in every story she’d ever heard about vampires.

But instead, he was leaving her alone in this very nicely furnished bedroom. He was being the perfect host, pointing out the fresh towels, the toothbrush still in the package, the terrycloth robe that would have been right at home in the most expensive spa. She checked surreptitiously to see if it had a monogrammed “C” on the pocket. Maybe he had so many female guests that he was always prepared.

But if that was true, then why was he leaving her here alone? Because it sure seemed like he was. He’d gotten her all stirred up with that kiss, and now he was going to wish her sweet dreams?

He started for the door, and she thought that was it, but then he grabbed her hand and pulled her close, twisting her arm behind her back and holding her body flush against his.

“There are shades behind the curtains, so you can sleep during the day tomorrow,” he murmured, still in that seductive voice.

“What about you?” she asked. “Where do you sleep?”

“We have quite comfortable accommodations in the basement. Part of those renovations I mentioned.”

She studied his handsome face, trying to read the expression in those deep blue eyes, and finding she couldn’t. She had no idea what he was thinking. Damn.

“Aren’t you—?” she started to say, then hesitated before drawing a deep breath and taking the plunge. “Are you going to invite me downstairs?”

Christian’s eyes heated briefly, then shuttered with regret. Or maybe that was just her wishful thinking. He twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers, and used it to pull her even closer. “You’re not ready yet.”

Natalie felt a stab of disappointment, and something that felt an awful lot like hurt feelings. And a little bit of anger. “You don’t trust me,” she said flatly.

He smiled. “
Non, ma belle
Natalie
,”
he whispered. “You don’t trust
me
.” He pressed his hand against her lower back, pulling her against his groin where she could feel a very obvious and very hard erection. She gasped, and his mouth came down on hers with a hard, hungry growl, crushing her lips against his, his tongue stabbing between her teeth as she strained upward, wanting more.

Christian broke away, leaving her breathless, her mouth raw, her body thrumming with desire. He kissed her again, lightly this time. “Sleep well. There’s food in the kitchen, and the house is yours for the day. Sunset tomorrow is after eight; we’ll join you by nine, and take you wherever you want to go.”

His arm tightened around her back again, and she could still feel his body’s reaction to her. He was still hard, his cock a thick length against her belly. She wanted to rub herself against it, to drown herself in the sensation. It shocked her how much she wanted that. How much she wanted
him.

Christian was wrong. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She was simply afraid that she’d never be able to walk away from him once she’d surrendered.

“Will you be here when I wake?” he asked, as if sensing her doubts.

Natalie was torn. It had been too long since she’d dated anyone seriously. Hell, it had been even longer since she’d had sex with anyone. And she’d never encountered anyone with Christian’s raw sexuality. It called to her. But it also terrified her. Her brain was urging her to tell him whatever he needed to hear, and then call a cab the minute the sun was up. Go home, maybe have a morning coffee with Janette, get her friend’s take on all of this.

But looking into his eyes, seeing the question there, she knew she couldn’t do that. If she left now, they’d be over before they started. And while he scared her, it was a very different kind of fear. He would never hurt her, but he could very easily break her heart. And still she wanted him like she wanted her next breath. Wanted the heat, the intensity, the sheer presence that was Christian Duvall.

“I’ll be here,” she promised.

“
Bon. À demain.”

Natalie would have lingered in the doorway to watch him walk down the hall. Christian in motion was a beautiful sight. But he spared her that humiliation. He gave her a final squeeze, then released her, setting her two feet away, and closing the door behind him when he left.

“Well, harrumph,” she muttered, truly understanding what the word meant for the first time. She walked over to the elegantly appointed bathroom, and noticed that the shower included a handheld nozzle.

Perfect. Christian might have abandoned her to her sexual frustrations, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still star in her fantasies.

IT TOOK EVERY ounce of Christian’s self-control to leave Natalie standing there, all flushed and aroused. He’d been tempted to taste her, to slide his hand up the silky length of her leg and dip his fingers into the wetness he could scent between her thighs.

But he’d meant what he said to her. She wanted him, but she didn’t trust him. Not yet. So, he’d forced himself to focus on what needed to be done, rather than what he’d rather be doing.

He stepped into the unadorned stairwell leading to the basement, pausing long enough to secure the door behind him before continuing downward. The door was triple locked with a thick steel bolt that was doubly anchored into steel girders on both sides, backed up by a biometric lock that was keyed to his and Marc’s thumbprints. And that was just the first line of defense.

Continuing down the stairs, he entered the vault and closed the heavy door for the night. Summer was nearly upon them. The days were growing longer, the sun rising earlier every morning. He and Marc still had some work to do tonight, but the day would be on them soon enough.

“Natalie get settled?” Marc asked, sounding neutral enough, but Christian knew what he was really asking.

“She’s in the guest suite.”

Marc arched a brow in his direction, but didn’t pursue the subject any further. “We received an interesting message from Anthony,” Marc said instead.

“When?”

“Ten minutes ago. He wants a meet tomorrow night. He claims an invasion by Hubert out of Mexico is imminent, and he wants to share the intel he has with all of the challengers, so we can—and this is a direct quote—join together to fight this foreign menace.”

Christian snorted his opinion of that. “You think he was talking about me?”

Marc laughed. “Not this time, but that doesn’t mean he’s on the up and up, either.”

Christian sat on the chair next to Marc, sliding down until his tailbone was nearly off the seat. “I’ll have to be at the meeting, even if it’s just all part of his game.”

“The trick will be figuring out the rules in time to win.”

“Oh, I’ll win. Anthony isn’t half as shrewd as he thinks he is.”

“What about Natalie?”

“Natalie’s mine.”

“I got that, but Anthony won’t. He seems attached.”

“Then I’ll have to unattach him.”

Chapter Seven

NATALIE WAS EATING toast and eggs the next night when Christian walked into the kitchen, looking fresh and rested in a black cashmere sweater, and black slacks that emphasized his narrow hips and flat belly. He looked good enough to eat. Way better than the eggs she’d made, which had started out fried and ended up as some sort of sad hybrid between fried and scrambled. Her momma was a terrific cook; so was her daddy. Natalie? Not so much.

“You want coffee to go with your . . .” Christian gave her plate a doubtful look, and didn’t finish the sentence, as he headed for the espresso machine.

“I used all your eggs,” she informed him, then glanced down at the mishmash on her plate. “I don’t usually cook.”

“And the world thanks you,” he murmured with a small smile, then stopped and stared. “Did you make coffee?” He was frowning at his precious machine in a way that made Natalie think he didn’t like anyone else touching it.

“I did,” she said casually, trying not to laugh, as she sipped her delicious latte. “Do you want some?”

He gave her a horrified look, and she lost the battle, laughing so hard she was afraid the latte was going to come out her nose.

He glared at her, looking a bit insulted. “Do you have a machine at home?”

“Of course, I do. But it’s an ordinary Mr. Coffee. It was fun figuring out the Einstein version, though,” she added, lifting her chin in the direction of his machine.

Christian didn’t say a word, just turned and began inspecting his baby. She’d swear she caught him stroking it and murmuring things to it under his breath at one point, but she wisely kept that observation to herself.

“Most people couldn’t figure her out so quickly,” he said rather sourly.

So the machine was a
her.
Interesting. “I’m a fast learner.”

“You slept?”

“Several hours,” she lied. She’d slept, all right, but her dreams had been filled with erotic images that weren’t exactly restful. “I woke early, and figured I’d work until you all got up. But then I got hungry.”

“Work?”

“My laptop,” she said, nodding at the computer sitting on the island.

“You have Jabril’s original financials on there?” he asked, his gaze suddenly intent.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, dragging the word out. “Why?”

“Who else has them?”

“No one. Not the latest results anyway. Jaclyn has the original docs, and I usually update her files on the first of the month. But that’s not for a week yet.”

“Does Anthony have access?”

“No. He’s in the monthly meeting I have with Jaclyn, so he gets the verbal report, but not the actual files.”

“And he’s okay with that?”

Natalie shrugged. “He always seemed to be.” She inhaled the delicious aroma of brewing coffee that was filling the kitchen. “Can I have a refill?”

“Latte?” he asked, steaming a metal pitcher of milk.

“Please.”

He added the milk to the big cup he’d poured the espresso into, then spooned on some foam, and set it on the countertop in front of her. But he didn’t stop there. Placing one arm on the seat behind her, and bracing the other in front of her, he enclosed her in the scent and strength of his powerful body.

Natalie turned her face up to his and kissed him. She hadn’t meant to do it. It was as if her body knew what it wanted and didn’t consult her brain. Even then, she’d meant to leave it at that—a good-evening peck on the lips. But Christian had plans of his own. Moving closer, he dropped his arm from the bar stool to her back, lifting her halfway out of the seat as he kissed her thoroughly. As if he was a starving man, and she was his favorite food.

Somewhere in her brain, she registered that she was, in fact, his favorite food. But her gut knew it wasn’t like that. This wasn’t a taste test; this was a man who wanted to fuck the woman he was kissing.

She gripped the taut skin of his waist beneath his sweater, and moaned softly. He wanted her; she wanted him. So why had he left her alone with the shower attachment and her fantasies this morning?

Christian broke the kiss with a lick of her lips, lowering her back onto her seat and making sure she was secure before letting go. “Drink your latte,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to need it.”

Natalie blinked back into the real world. Those kisses of his were addictive. She took a sip of her latte and moaned again, earning a half-lidded look from Christian.

“It’s delicious,” she explained. She wanted to add that the barista was delicious, too, but the second half of his sentence abruptly registered. “What do you mean I’m going to need it?”

“Anthony e-mailed last night,” Christian said, sliding the filter into place and starting a fresh espresso. “He’s calling a meeting of all the challengers to discuss the threat from Hubert.”

The kitchen door swung open and Marc walked in, going directly over to Christian who was holding out a frothy latte in a big, pretty cup that was completely at odds with the powerful male now wrapping his big hands around it like it was the golden nectar of the gods.

“Thank you,” Marc whispered fervently.

Natalie couldn’t help it. She started laughing, and only laughed harder when the two vampires both turned to stare at her.

“You guys are hooked on that stuff,” she managed to say finally.

“This is not
stuff,
” Christian said, taking a sip of his espresso. “It is ritual and culture. An experience that involves all the senses.”

Natalie opened her eyes wide to avoid laughing again. “Okay,” she agreed.

“If you’d rather, I can leave you to your Mr. Coffee swill, and your . . .
eggs
,” Christian said, somewhat snottily.

“No, no,” she said quickly, putting both hands around her latte, just in case he tried to steal it back. “So what’s this about a meeting with Anthony?”

Christian gave her a knowing look, but went with the topic shift. “We assume Anthony has spies in Mexico, and that he’s had news. Maybe from the mysterious Jake Baudin. But that’s not the curious part. What’s curious is that he’s decided to include me in his briefing.”

“But you’re one of the challengers. He has to include you.”

Christian grunted his opinion of that.

“Or maybe the intel came from Raphael, and Anthony knows Jaclyn will tell you anyway.”

“I’d probably have heard from Raphael’s people directly, if that was the case. I think Anthony probably does have new intel from his own sources, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who shares easily. And I don’t think he’d feel compelled to invite me out of fairness, either. He’s inviting me for reasons of his own, but I’d bet anything it involves getting me out of way.”

“So, why go to the meeting?”

“Because I want to know what he’s doing, and I want whatever intel he has. And because hiding out isn’t my style.”

A phone rang somewhere deep in the house. “The bat phone,” Marc said, and raced out of the kitchen. And when a vampire
raced,
he really moved. Marc was gone before Natalie fully registered his first step.

“Bat phone?” she asked, turning to Christian.

“A land line. Only a very few have the number.”

Marc reappeared at that moment, phone in hand. It was a regular, cordless phone, the kind that could have multiple, wireless handsets. Marc held it out to Christian, giving him a significant look. “It’s Mexico,” he said.

Christian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he set down his cup, took the phone, and left the kitchen. Natalie heard his soft footsteps fade down the hall, and then nothing.

CHRISTIAN WAITED until he was safely in the basement, with the door closed behind him. He didn’t care about Marc overhearing this conversation; he’d tell him everything anyway. But he wasn’t completely confident about Natalie. He’d let her believe last night that the lack of trust went one way. That he trusted her, even though she didn’t trust him. But that wasn’t quite true. He trusted her enough to want her in his bed, but he didn’t trust her with his life, or Marc’s. A single wrong word to Anthony or one of his vampires, and they could both be dead. Even bringing her to this house had been a risk, but the need to get her into his own territory had been too strong to ignore.

Settling into one of the big chairs in front of the house’s security console, he tapped the button to open the phone line, and said, “Christian Duvall here.”

“One moment,” an unidentified male voice said.

It was less than a minute before he heard the soft scrape of the phone being transferred, and then a deep, heavily accented voice said, “This is Vincent.”

“Lord Vincent,” Christian acknowledged. “An honor.”

Vincent snorted a dismissive laugh. “Let’s dispense with the bullshit, Christian. I talked to Raphael; he says you know about what’s going on in my territory.”

“I gave Raphael and his people everything I know, my lord. But I’m happy to answer any questions you have, or to brief you personally.”

“Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. I only trust you because Raphael says you’re okay.”

“I am gratified by his trust.” Christian realized he was being his typical stick-up-the-ass formal self, but it seemed warranted this time. Vincent was a territorial lord, and one whom Christian didn’t know at all. Vincent said he trusted Christian, but Christian had no reason to trust in return.

“So, who’s set up camp in my territory, and what is he planning?” Vincent asked.

“As far as I know, the who is Hubert. As for the what . . . his specialty is creating large numbers of throwaway vampires. They’re barely sentient when he finishes with them. He turns them at need, and burns through them almost as fast. They’re completely disposable to him. His usual mode is to overwhelm his opponent with sheer numbers, and then move in for the kill.”

“And where is he?”

Christian was taken aback by the question, revealing, as it did, Vincent’s ignorance about his own territory. The Mexican lord must truly trust Raphael’s judgment to reveal something so damning. He understood the conundrum, though. Vincent was newly installed as Lord of Mexico, while Hubert and his hidden army had been there for months and months, working with Enrique. Vincent would have to travel every square mile of his entire territory—something that would take months more—in order to figure out who belonged there and who didn’t. It was possible that the only vampire Vincent knew he could rely on, outside his immediate circle, was Raphael.

“My last meeting with Hubert was four months ago,” he told Vincent. “I had declined Mathilde’s offer to join her in the plot against Raphael in Hawaii, and flew instead into San Antonio. Hubert and I met in a camp he had set up on the border. He was alone, except for his lieutenant Quentin. We discussed strategy briefly, but once he realized I wasn’t there to support his efforts, he became considerably less forthcoming. It was obvious to me, however, that his camp near San Antonio was not his main base of operations.

“If I had to guess,” Christian continued, “knowing what I do about how Hubert works, and the type of victim he prefers, I’d look for his main contingent to be somewhere far away from where we met. Not so far that he couldn’t travel easily, but far enough away that he’d assume we couldn’t find it without really looking. Somewhere that would supply him with a large number of uneducated, superstitious peasants to work with.”

“You just described half of Mexico.”

“It has to be somewhere remote, where no one would remark on a sudden surge in the vampire population.”

“But the families would notice, no matter how remote. I’d expect refugees, some sign of the violence.”

“Precisely. And that is why Hubert takes the whole family when he makes his vampires, sometimes even children. Though he’s just as likely to kill the children as turn them. Or use them for blood.”

“Jesus, why hasn’t someone eliminated this monster before now?”

Christian laughed without humor. “In Europe,
mon ami,
one such as Hubert would be applauded for his brutality.”

“Fuck. You still have any contact with those people?”

Christian understood that “those people” were his former European brethren, and he was gratified not to be included in their number. “I’ve heard nothing from Europe since Mathilde died, but I’m not surprised by that. Mathilde’s failure would have rattled Hubert, and once he learned that I wasn’t going to ally myself with him, he probably withdrew to wherever his stronghold is, and is now making vampires as fast as he can.”

“This is not good news.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“Fuck me. All right. Is your agreement with Raphael still in play?”

“If by that, you mean are we still allies, then the answer is yes.”

“Will you let me know if you learn anything more?”

“
Mais oui,
and I assume you will do the same?”

“I thought Anthony was regularly briefing the challengers,” Vincent commented curiously.

“More or less. But I find his intel difficult to trust. He seems to have a favorite to be the next lord, and I am
not
that person.”

“He can favor anyone he wants, but that’s not the way this works. Whoever wins it, rules it.”

“So I keep telling everyone,” Christian said dryly. He heard voices on Vincent’s end of the line, and then the Mexican lord telling someone he’d be right there.

“I’ve got to deal with this,” Vincent said. “I’ll keep looking, and let you know what I find.”