against the side of the carriage and shoulder against the back of the seat. He lifted away just enough for her to see a faint red glow in his eyes, and the flash of too-long teeth—
And then he was back, and she pulled him close, down on top of her, one of his legs sliding between hers, hooking into her skirts. When his thigh came up between hers, pressing into her, Maia found herself agonizingly aware of the heat and swelling there at that juncture. She felt as if she were going to explode, that she couldn’t catch her breath, and she shifted, moving closer, trying to find a way to ease the pressure there.
“My…oh…” she breathed, and then nearly arched up off the seat when he closed his hand over her breast, strong and sure. Through the layers of silk and her corset and shift, he located the sharp rise of nipple, giving a little sigh of discovery as he stroked over it with his thumb. The fabric shifted and sensitized her flesh, and Maia’s whole focus went to that place where all of the pleasure gathered and spread, radiating down and through her, hot and sharp.
He pulled at the neckline of her bodice, drawing it down to expose the top of her breast. The fabric cut into her flesh at the back as the swell was revealed, and Maia saw her skin shuddering and heaving from her uncontrolled breaths, her breast a lovely ivory dome highlighted in the moonlight just before he lowered his dark head.
She nearly shrieked when his lips molded over her up-thrust nipple. It was so hard and tight that the barest touch set her to gasping and trembling, but he gave no mercy. His mouth was hot and wet, and his tongue strong as it swirled around the peak of her breast. He drew her deeply into his mouth, sucking and licking in a hard, fast rhythm, then slowing and teasing as if he wanted to explore every little wrinkle. Maia’s world became dark and red and liquid, and she clutched at him, her hands curling into his hair and wide shoulders, pressing herself against his thigh.
The sharp rise of pleasure pulsed through her body, centering there between her legs, filling and throbbing as she tried to find the top, the end. Something.
His skin was so hot, his hair brushing her chin, his hands grasping her shoulders as if holding on for dear life. She felt a sharp edge, something on her skin, and then the flush of release roared through her. Maia lost control of her thoughts as she trembled and exploded inside, and then slid into the warm pleasure of
He lifted his face, and when their eyes met, Maia felt her whole world still. It was too dark to read his expression, but the heat there, and the dark need, made her mouth go dry. The tips of his fangs showed just beneath his upper lip, changing the shape of his mouth, making it full and soft and she wanted to kiss it. Again.
She became aware, as the pleasure sifted away and reality sneaked back in, that he hadn’t moved. That his hands gripped her with a death grip, and then he turned away, his eyes closing. His breathing was harsh and deep, as if he’d been running or struggling.
Maia reached up to touch his face, something she’d never thought to do before now. Touch the Earl of Corvindale?
Still harsh and dark and taut as stone, nevertheless his skin was warm and rough with stubble. He flinched when she brushed against him, her fingers light on his cheekbone.
His eyes opened and now they blazed fiery red, suddenly and openly, and the fangs seemed to show even longer. Maia swallowed, a zing of fear shooting through her, but she didn’t remove her hand right away. She let it slide into his hair and brushed it over an ear. Soft, warm, thick.
He looked down, his nostrils widening, his breathing changing and she felt his muscles stiffen suddenly. She realized he saw her bare breast, and suddenly aware of her dishabille, looked down to see what he did.
There was a dark streak, a slender line across the mound of white flesh. As if she’d been scraped. Blood.
Maia’s gaze jerked back up to him, and she saw the struggle in his face. His eyes, blank and focused somewhere distant, his mouth flat and compressed, his jaw so tight that his cheeks were hollow.
Blood.
She scarcely dared breathe, waiting. Would he bite her?
Would it be just as it was in her dreams…or would it be terrifying, as Angelica described?
Why wasn’t she frightened?
His face was a mask of darkness, of concentration and control. All at once, he shoved her away—or perhaps himself—and the next thing Maia knew, the heavy weight and heat of him was gone, and there she lay, sprawled in the carriage, one breast bare and her body still vibrating from…whatever had happened.
And she realized, too, that the rumbling of the carriage wheels below them had ceased.
The space was quiet and still, but for the distant sounds of voices calling and the low rasp of his breathing.
Maia jerked herself upright, shoving her breast back into place, tugging up her bodice, wondering precisely what this all meant, and why he’d pulled away and was looking at her as if…as if he
“What is it, my lord?” she asked, hiding her trembling fingers in the vast wrinkles of her skirt. “Is something wrong?”
“My lord?” he gave a short, bitter laugh. “Always the proper miss. Or at least, nearly always.” The inflection in his tones made it sound like an insult.
She looked at him sharply. “Certainly you can’t blame me for
Instead of responding, he merely looked at her. Watched her. His eyes glowed faintly still, but there was no sign of the tips of his fangs. His mouth seemed more full than usual, lush and soft.
“Blast it,” he muttered, still looking at her. “Miss Woodmore.”
She glanced back up at his gaze and felt a little tug of connection between them, his eyes luring and compelling her. And then suddenly, she gasped, realized what was happening.
“Am I enthralled?” she demanded. “Have you enthralled me with your vampire gaze?”
A rush of anger followed by confusion came over her, and then ebbed, leaving her to realize that if that was the case then she’d had no control over anything that had occurred. It wasn’t her fault for kissing another man, and allowing him to…well, whatever. She closed her eyes and felt the memory tingle through her. Her lips curved softly as a little flutter of pleasure tickled the inside of her belly. It wasn’t so bad after all.
It was even better than her dreams.
When she opened her eyes, he was still staring at her. But now his mouth was flatter and his eyes darker and the tension emanated from him in heavy waves.
Maia looked away, surprised that the earl had nothing to say, and noticed again that the carriage had stopped. They were returned to Blackmont Hall, and the dawn had come.
She rose, tired of waiting, awash with confusion and attempting to appear as if nothing was amiss when everything was, in fact, a frightening vortex of problems. “Good morning, Lord Corvindale,” she said when he made no move to assist.
Instead he sat there, his flat gaze fixed on her, no longer burning, but now black with loathing. The white of his shirt blazed bright against the dark velvet seat and below the swarthy skin of his neck and jaw. His eyes like black jet beads.
She flung open the carriage door with no little finesse, her knees shaking, her own mouth compressed in a worried line and her face hot and flaming, and she helped herself down from the vehicle and stalked into the house.
9
