Probably heaven—or, more likely, hell. Getting involved with a Frankenstein would be like standing up to an avalanche: downhill all the way.
'In a pig's eye, they do.' The way she said it caused the baron to break into laughter again.
Without thought Clair took two steps forward and kicked him in the shin, her eyes flashing fire. 'I don't like being laughed at.'
Realizing what she had done, Clair bit back a groan. She had bearded the lion in his den and then attacked him. Her aunt Mary was right. Her temper was going to get her into serious trouble. And it looked as though tonight was the night, for an enraged vampire could only spell trouble with a big, fat capital T.
Ian noted the variety of expressions crossing Clair's face. First there was anger, then chagrin, then fear, then remorse, and finally terror. Although Ian generally preferred people to maintain a healthy fear of him, he didn't like it from this small powder keg. So, before she could run screaming into the night, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She tasted like the first snow of winter—soft, wet, and invigorating. She tasted special, creating in him an addiction that would not soon be satisfied. He felt the blood rushing to his groin, making him as stiff as a poker. This Clair Frankenstein felt just right in his arms, neither too tall nor too short. She made him hunger. She tasted so good that he had to taste her again.
Clair felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as the soft heat of Baron Huntsley's lips pressed against her and his arms enclosed her tightly. How dare he be so forward? How dare he try and seduce her with his vampire tricks? Her mind screamed these things, but a small voice was whispering how delicious and decadent it all was.
Wanting to push him away, her arms instead ended up wrapping around his neck. She could feel the luxuriant thickness of his hair where it lay over his collar. It was as soft as silk.
And his body felt wonderful. In the back of her mind, Clair decided to put the inertia principal into practice, to take the path of least resistance and just stay in his arms for a bit longer.
A lick of fire shot like a comet from her stomach to her lips, tingles spurting from her toes to other regions. The sensation was astounding. She had never felt the like before. No wonder vampires were the lovers of choice in those gothic stories if they could kiss like this, she mused. Why, it made her blood rush to her head! Her heart beat giddily faster, pumping more of her hot red blood…
Blood! That was the key word, her mind inserted loudly. Her blood was hot and she was hot and he was a vampire hungering for her life's fluid, wanting to steal it from her! While she on the other hand was rather fond of it and definitely wanted to keep every last drop.
Regaining her somewhat bemused wits, Clair shoved against his chest. Reluctantly Ian released her.
Clair hastily and rather belatedly grabbed her cross, shoving it into his face. Inching away, she warned, 'Stay back! I am not afraid to use this.'
Ian merely yawned.
'So much for the cross,' she muttered. Undaunted, she quickly groped beneath her large black cape. 'Aha,' she added triumphantly as she pulled out a stick.
Ian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. She held a small stick not much bigger than his index finger, about four inches long with no sharpened end.
'I take it that is a stake?' he said.
Clair looked at what she held in her hand. 'Well, actually no. It's what I used to pry your window open upstairs.' She dropped the stick and fished around inside her cape again, coming up with a garlic clove.
He sniffed, then shook his head. 'Try again.'
Frustrated, she dropped the garlic.
Ian shook his head. If she wasn't so deliciously scary, she would be dangerous. She gave him a haughty look.
Arms crossed on his chest, he watched her fumble around inside her cloak again and wished it was his hands roaming her body. 'I could help.' He smiled, a rakish smile that had lifted a thousand skirts. The effect it had on Clair, however, was somewhat different from what Ian anticipated.
'You have awfully big teeth,' she said suspiciously.
He couldn't help himself. 'The better to eat you with, my dear.' His grin was pure wolf.
'My lord, this is no joking matter! I am human and you are…' She paused. 'Well, you
If you only knew, Ian mused. His control was perfect, all he wanted to do right now was lay Clair Frankenstein across that coffin and ravish her thoroughly until she screamed with pleasure again and again and again.
'I would say I am exhibiting remarkable control,' he told her. 'After all, I haven't had you arrested for breaking and entering. What would society say? What would your uncles say?'
'Nothing, for neither rain nor snow nor sleet,' Clair began, then ad-libbed ingeniously, 'nor vampires can stop a Frankenstein's quest for truth. Besides, my lord, no one will ever know I was here.'
'And why is that?'
'If you told them we were here alone, then I would be compromised by you and—'
Ian interrupted. '
Ignoring his remark Clair continued, 'You would either have to marry me, leave me to be ruined, or tell them I was here searching for your daytime hiding place. And I am positive that you don't want anyone to know where your resting place really is. After all, I assume that is a vampire's cardinal rule. And if you ruined me, I could reveal your daytime sleeping quarters. So you would be forced to marry me… if you were to tell anyone I was here.'
Ian shook his head. 'Ah, a fate worse than death to be sure.'
Clair frowned, wondering what he meant: others finding out about his coffin, or marrying her?
He took two steps toward her, a roguish gleam in his eye. 'I could just have my wicked way with you and make you my vampire queen,' he suggested.
Clair didn't find that amusing. 'I would make a terrible queen, and besides I detest the color red. It looks ghastly on me.'
He couldn't help himself. He had to ask. 'Red?'
'Hmmm?' Clair murmured, once again hunting through her big black cape. 'Yes, well, all vampire queens wear red.'
Ian turned his back to her, hiding another grin. 'Did you happen to notice what color I am wearing?'
'Black. But I mean at nighttime. You know—bedtime, I mean. Sleeping garments. Vampires wear red to go to bed. I mean, to go to their coffins. Or when eating.'
Ian turned back around, staring in fascination. 'And how did you arrive at this conclusion?'
'It was my uncle Victor's theory. Less wear and tear on the clothes with all the bloodstains. My uncle is so brilliant, he simply astounds me at times. I am very fortunate to have him for my relative. When other children were being told about sugarplum fairies, my uncle was discussing with me how electrical impulses can regenerate dead flesh.'
Ian shook his head. This tiny, possibly batty female astounded him. 'And your uncle Victor came up with the red-clothing theory?'
Clair nodded.
'I rather thought vampires retired without their clothes, au naturel,' Ian said slyly, watching her rummage through her cloak. He had always enjoyed cloak-and-dagger stuff before, but tonight he was positively thrilled at the prospect of discovering just what lay beneath the cloak.
Clair chose not to hear him. 'Aha!' she said. This time she pulled out a fairly decent-looking stake, approximately ten inches in length, oak and very sharp.
One of Van Helsing's models, Ian noted, if he was not mistaken.
'I knew I had it somewhere,' Clair added brightly.
'Now, what do you intend to do with it?' Ian asked.
'Why, win my way free of you, of course.'
'You are going to stake me?'
Clair shook her head. 'No, only frighten yon.' She didn't really think she could stake the handsome baron, no
