'I've left a towel and a change of clothes on the rack,' Sebastian said. 'They should fit. But if not, we've brought plenty more—'
'Alone!' Conrad snapped. When they finally left, he entered the spacious shower stall.
Still facing her direction, he stepped under the water and let it cascade over his back. He appeared exhausted from the medicine, as if his limbs felt heavy and ungainly, but he seemed to enjoy the simple pleasure of the water sluicing over his body.
I envy him every drop!
He picked up the bar of soap, smelled it. Finding it acceptable, he lathered his face, then leaned back against the tile so that the water ran over his front.
And all she could do was stare because, as the blood, plaster, and burn marks washed from his skin in thick, grimy rivulets, a handsome visage surfaced.
No, not merely handsome, more like extraordinary.
She'd known he had pleasing features but hadn't been able to look past the unnatural eyes and dirt to truly appreciate his firm lips and wide, masculine jaw, or how his nose was aristocratic and strong.
Punch-drunk. That's how she felt about seeing his clean face and unclothed body as a whole. She'd heard women talk about encountering a man so devastatingly gorgeous they'd felt breathless, dizzy. Now she understood.
It dawned on her that though she'd spied on men before, never had any male as sexually attractive as this graced her shower stall.
When he began to rub the soap over his chest and under his arms, the slick muscles in his torso bulged in a breathtaking display. It'd take her weeks to learn just those muscles alone—how they flexed, how his body could move... .
The soap went lower.
She swallowed.
Lower still...
She didn't think she breathed when he lathered between his legs with his big, scarred hands, washing his long shaft and the flesh hanging behind it without interest, while she was dumbstruck.
Am I shaking? For eight decades, she'd never yearned to touch anything as much as his body. Even though she knew she couldn't feel him, it was everything she could do not to reach forward.
His hands abruptly stilled at his privates, and his handsome face flushed. His gaze landed directly on her, before skittering away. He acted the way a reserved, inexperienced man would when he'd realized he was washing himself in front of an audience of one.
Her eyes went wide. He damn well can see me. She frowned. Then that means I'm being... ignored.
'Vampire, look at me. Please talk to me.'
But he gave no reaction. The one man on earth she could communicate with wouldn't talk to her.
Which meant...
'Do you think I'm pretty, Conrad? Beautiful, even? After all, you can see me, can't you? And I know you can hear me, too. Now I'm going to prove it. You dare throw down that gauntlet to a woman who entertained for a living? You can't simply shut me out.'
Few knew there was a second reason that Néomi had chosen her dream of ballet over following in her maman's footsteps, tempting crowds of men as a femme fatale: Turning males into frothing, gawking, mindless beasts had been too... easy.
With merely a throaty laugh and a dab of her tongue at her bottom lip, Néomi could send a man diving for his hat—to cover his stirring lap.
Too easy. And Néomi had always craved a challenge.
With a wicked grin, she decided it was time to draw on her shady background, time to put away the popguns and engage the cannons. And Néomi had a hidden arsenal he couldn't even comprehend.
10
Perhaps I haven't been stimulating enough for you, vampire?' Néomi made her voice a breathy murmur. 'And didn't I promise that I'd show you more than a garter if you could only see me?'
She tugged her skirt up slowly, making the fabric appear to bunch in her hands. 'I have a bit of experience with what men like to... be shown.'
When she'd bared the tops of her thigh-high hose, she asked, 'Still not stimulating enough? Maybe Conrad wants to see my panties instead?' Just before she revealed them, she floated into the corner, the one that was farthest from his vision. He'd have to turn fully to see her there.
'The line... the line... ' he muttered urgently.
He must be talking about some line with her that shouldn't be crossed. 'Yes, Conrad, the line! Let's cross it! Or am I going to have to up the ante? Very well,' she sighed. 'You drive a hard, hard bargain. But I feel overdressed anyway, and since you're so deliciously naked... ' His body shot upright with tension, muscles bunching in his neck and shoulders. 'Here I am, in the corner, unlacing my dress.' She made her voice drip with sensuality and her dress rustle as she removed it. 'I'm doing it slowly for my vampire. Oh... so... slowly.'
Did he just growl?
She moved forward to dangle her dress in his line of vision. Like a lure for an animal, she eased it back toward the corner.
He gave a groan as if defeated and turned. His jaw slackened.
She stood with her back to him, peering over her shoulder, wearing only her garter belt, hose, and her tight black panties. 'I knew it, vampire,' she said with delight.
His riveted gaze lingered over her face, descending to her back, her ass, and her legs, then slowly back up again. His voice broke when he rasped, 'Turn around for me.' Had his accent ever sounded so heavy?
He was talking to her, the first person to address her in eight decades. She was trembling with happiness and gratitude, elated by the interaction—and helpless not to be excited by his heated looks. She faced him with her arms crossed over her breasts, not shyly, but provocatively.
He ran a palm over his mouth. 'Y-your arms now.'
Standing against the wall, she removed one arm, then the other, raising them above her, appearing to rest them against the wall. With his gaze locked on her breasts, he clenched and unclenched his hands as if he was imagining squeezing them. She felt a thrill when he subtly rubbed his tongue over a fang, those red eyes smoldering like embers.
'Did you think I was bluffing?'
Never glancing up, he gave her a sharp nod, as if he didn't trust himself to speak.
'I never bluff. If it took baring my body to prove you can see me, then look your fill, Conrad.' When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, she tilted her head and cast him a flirtatious smile. 'But why have you ignored me?'
He said, 'Because you're not... you weren't real,' then winced as if he found his comment idiotic.
He'd thought she was a hallucination! Poor vampire! He hadn't ignored her for any reason other than the need for self-preservation. 'Do you want me to be real?' Drifting away from the wall, she sauntered toward him, her eyes holding his. He didn't seem to realize that he was easing toward her, leaving the spray of the water. 'I'm Néomi,' she purred.
'Néomi,' he repeated absently. 'Does nothing abash you?'
She shook her head, and her hair bounced over her shoulders and lower. When the locks swayed across her nipples, his gaze dipped once more. 'And it's difficult for me to regret undressing when my vampire's giving me a look that makes my toes curl.'
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple working. 'I make your toes curl?'
She nodded. 'Would you like me to come in with you?'
His brows drew together. 'Why would you want to?'
She told him honestly, 'Because right now you are my favorite man in the entire world.'
