Deliver Me from Darkness: A Novel of the Paladin Warriors (22 page)

“Yes,” she said firmly, plunking her cell phone down on the podium desk in front of her. “I have a picture of him too.”

“A picture of who, exactly?”

She shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’d rather speak with a detective.”

He leaned forward, putting just a touch of mesmerization behind the intensity of his gaze. “I am a detective.” He gestured at the desk he sat behind. “Just filling in for the time being.”

“Oh…”

Her mouth sure as hell was sexy when it went all slack jawed like that. Maybe working the front desk wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Here.” He pulled out a form, gesturing for her to come back around behind the desk with him. “Why don’t you show me the picture of this man, and tell me exactly what he did.”

“Oh, okay.” She moved around, punching buttons on the cell. “Here he is.”

Damon looked at the picture. Middle-aged white male. Graying temples but otherwise had a healthy brown head of hair. The man was still relatively handsome but not exactly the type he pictured the curvy, young blond to hang out with. He was smiling though, like he’d voluntarily posed for the picture, which suggested there was some sort of relationship between them.

“So,” he nudged the phone, “what did he do?”

“He tried to drug me.”

Damon looked up at her sharply, hearing the quiver in her voice. She was pale as a chameleon and trembling.

“Tried?”

“He put something in my drink.” She hesitated, rubbing her arms. “A date rape drug.”

He narrowed his gaze. If she was telling the truth then her attacker was either really stupid or had been planning on deleting the picture she’d taken after the fact. “So, since you obviously are okay, how do you know that he actually tried to drug you?”

“Because of the witness.”

“Witness?”

She nodded. “I went to the bathroom. He was in my seat when I came back. He must have seen Tom slip the drug into the drink because he told me what Tom had done.”

“All right…” He grabbed up a report paper and a pen. Damn paperwork. “And this witness’s name?”

She didn’t reply. He looked up at her. She squirmed.

“I, uh, didn’t think to ask. I’d, um, had a bit much to drink.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Thinking to ask for details like that was a bit beyond me at that point.”

“Including what he looked like?”

“Now
that
I remember. About six feet. Almost black hair down to his chin. And these eyes that looked like dark embers from a fire…” She trailed off, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. “Well,
that
I’m pretty sure I’m not remembering correctly. But they were dark brown, almost black as yours.”

Damon’s heart started to hammer. Yes. Yes! A do-gooder vampire. There weren’t exactly many of those, and if Damon could confirm this woman’s savior to be the one and only Fallen Paladin Roland…Well, he wouldn’t be sitting at this front desk anymore, that was for sure.

With visions of sitting at his father’s right side in his head, he turned toward prying the information he needed out of the idiot blond. And she was an idiot. She’d not only hooked up with a rapist, but didn’t even know the man who’d saved her was actually ten times worse. He almost wished he could tell her she had a narrow escape with a vampire, just to see her reaction. Instead he said, “And you didn’t worry this second man was part of the scam?”

She shook her head adamantly. “No. He was definitely trying to help me. He told me to take a cab home while he took care of Tom.” She gestured back at the picture on the phone.

“Don’t suppose you have a picture of the Good Samaritan?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“So we can try and track him down, get him to collaborate your story. Two witnesses could really nail a case like this shut, otherwise it’s he said she said.”

“Oh.” Her face crumpled, the thought of her would-be attacker getting off scot-free obviously distressing.

“You don’t have a picture,” he guessed.

She shook her head, worrying her lips with her teeth.

“Can you describe him?”

Her eyes lighted. “Better, I was going to go to college for art before I decided to go pre-law. So…I can sketch him.”

***

Make
love
to
me…

Roland trembled. His body sung even as his heart howled. She said them, the words he’d been longing to hear since the moment she opened those big brown eyes. Yet it was a hollow victory given he could never be enough for her.

She was his mate. But he dared not take her. He knew if he did, it would be at the cost of his control. Eighty-nine years he’d managed to hold onto the pulsing needs of his dark nature. By just being near her he felt that thin thread of control fraying. He dared not risk it snapping.

She was his mate. But he could never allow her to bind herself to him. She owned his heart and his body, but she deserved his soul as well. And of that he had none to give.

She was his mate. He had nothing to offer, except to love her, protect her, and…

“Come,” he said, tugging her gently toward the door. His body was raging with the need to pull her closer, to tear her jeans from her, to toss her up on the granite counter by the sink and plunge into her moist heat. But even if he were able to give into his body’s needs, that would not be the way or the place to take her. Not for her first time. His Karissa deserved more: wining and dining, flowers and silken sheets. He had none of those but the sheets. Hopefully they would do.

For a moment she hesitated. As if now after the offer was made she was unsure. That uncertainty was both a kick in the gut and a load off his shoulders. If she drew away, he’d let her go. No harm, no foul. Only his mangled heart plopped down in her wake. Then she smiled—a brilliant smile that did nothing but emphasize the light of her soul in comparison to his lack thereof—and squeezing his hands, she twisted around and began to lead him toward his bedroom.

He should tell her this was a bad idea. He should at least remind her of
what
she was giving herself to. But he was a selfish bastard and wanted this one time, this one taste. Regrets could come later.

He was fully in tune with her body and her reactions: the racing of her heart that far outpaced them down the hall, the slightly hysterical quality to her giggle when she tripped on her overtired legs, and the sharp intake of her breath when he caught her, drawing her against his length.

Their gazes met and held. Her eyes, pools of melted chocolate, searched his face expectantly, her lips flushed and plump with her excitement. She wanted to be kissed. He didn’t dare. Instead he smiled, freeing his hands from hers and sliding them up to her shoulders. Her head tipped back, her lips parting. He slid a hand up the back of her neck and into her hair, then, with his other hand anchored around her lower back, he pulled her up against him. Using his enhanced strength to ease their fall, he laid her out on the bed.

His body burned where he touched her. Having her here, pinned beneath him, her glistening curls spread out against the sheets? Temptation. And that smile, lips turned up tentatively at the corners, the quick dart of her tongue to wet them? Torture.

“Don’t do that.”

She blinked and gave another nervous little lick to her lips. “Do what?”

“Gawd, that.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing deeply. “Don’t lick your lips like that.”

“Lick my lips, I didn’t—”

“You did,” he said, giving her a hard glare.

“Okay,” she agreed, then grinned, her white teeth flashing as she wiggled her hips beneath him. “How about that? Can I do that?”

“You’re a minx.”

“But I’m your minx,” she said with another hip grinding wiggle.

“No, you are
ma
petite
peste
.”

Her eyes narrowed, but it also had the desired effect of making her go still. He took advantage of the reprieve and peeled himself off her, shifting to kneel on the bed beside her.

“Where are you—”

He laid a finger over her lips. “Hush. Let me do this my way.”

He knew he was asking a lot. His little minx liked to be in control. But he was counting on her innocence making her compliant in this. She was nervous. He could feel it in the slight vibrations that racked her body. Someone with senses less keen than his probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he did and trusted that she would let him take the lead.

She sunk back into the bed, forcing herself to relax and let him take control. He rewarded her with a smile and a caress to the side of her face. Holding her gaze, he went to work on her clothing, drawing the seduction out by making sure to caress every inch of skin that he exposed. He started at the hem of her T-shirt, working it up her rib cage a centimeter at a time. Fanning his hand out under the thin cotton fabric, he would catch the hem with his thumb, pulling it a touch farther, then follow an agonizing roll where his knuckles brushed a series of steps up one rib then the next.

In the silence of the apartment, the ragged edge to her breathing became more and more noticeable the farther up her torso he went. Or was that his breathing? Wait. He cocked his head, his hands stilling. Hell. It was both of them. Damn. This was harder than he’d thought.

Fast. Like a Band-Aid. He grabbed the bottom corners of her shirt and slid it up over her breasts, exposing the lacy pink bra beneath that did little to hide the perfect roundness of her breasts. He was fantasizing about feasting on them when her hands slid alongside his. With an eye-popping shimmy, she pulled the shirt from his grip and over her head. His vision went red.

Get
it
together, Roland. Think of it as a job that has to be done.

Yet he couldn’t drag his eyes away. She was beyond perfect. She was too perfect. And innocent. The blackness where his soul used to be would soil her if he touched her.

“I used to think it was silly to pay so much for a frilly bra that no one was going to see. Now I’m glad I did.”

He gulped. Taking a series of long deep breaths, he fought back the red haze. He could do this. He would do this.

“Roland?”

Her tone highlighted her uncertainty. And of course she would be. He was staring at her and panting like a convicted rapist. Not the impression he wanted to make. She was safe with him. He would always protect her. Always. No matter the personal cost.

He forced himself to make eye contact. With a twist of his lip he said, “And the panties? Do they match?”

A mischievous twinkle flashed across her brown eyes. With a smile, she reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra, quickly shrugging it off her shoulders where she grabbed it in both of her hands. Before he knew what she was going to do, she’d looped it behind his neck, pulling herself up so her mouth was a hairbreadth from his.

“Why don’t you find out?” she whispered, her breath fanning across his jaw.

Too much. Too close. He needed to stay in control. Which meant keeping her under control.

Rather than kissing her as he knew she expected, he turned his face alongside hers, letting his breath tickle her ear as he whispered his reply. “Why don’t I?”

Then with deliberate care, he sat back, grabbing onto her hands. It showed her lack of experience when she hesitantly allowed him to do so. He took the bra from her hands, loosely looping it around her wrists. She gasped and he worried she might panic. But when he urged her back down, positioning her arms over her head in an inherently submissive position, she allowed it.

Good. The bindings wouldn’t hold her, but it threw her off her stride and back in the place of seducee rather than seducer.

Still, there was a question in her eyes, that faint bit of uncertainty. Instinct, as much as any decency he might have left, had him needing to drive away even that slight bit of fear.

He reached down, cupping her face, holding her gaze with his own. “One word from you and I stop. Promise.”

She nodded, then closed her eyes, her rib cage rising and falling in deep, even measures as she worked to relax.

He frowned, watching her settle into a distinctly meditative state. Hmm. Relaxed was good. Comatose was not. He wanted her screaming in pleasure.

Heart thudding, he skimmed his hands along the outside of her breasts, sliding his palms around to cup them and lift them together. Her nipples peaked beautifully and he raked his thumb over the dusky buds.

Her eyes flew open, as she drew in a sharp breath. Her chest rising and falling created even more friction where his skin met hers.

She arched her back, her bound hands gripping his silk sheets as she lifted her breasts closer to him, as if begging him to feast upon her. Ah, Gawd. He wanted to, damn but he wanted to, but the moment his mouth touched the delicate perfection of her creamy skin it would mark the true beginning of his internal war. Paladin warrior and mate vs. mindless monster. He would not let the monster win.