“We could just make you.”
“What? You’d torture a nun?” He just stared at her, and she shrugged. “Yeah, you could, but it’s been done before, and I’m stubborn, and it would be long and drawn out and messy.” She tried her sweetest smile, the one that showed her dimples. “Wouldn’t a little drink be easier?”
His gaze narrowed on her lips, then he shrugged and turned to Jonas. “Go get something, would you? Any preferences?” he asked Roz.
She realized this would leave her alone with Piers but hopefully not long enough to lose her precarious hold on her control and physically attack him. And she needed a drink. “Scotch, if you have it.”
“I’m sure I can find some somewhere. Be good while I’m gone.” Jonas hesitated at the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll knock.”
She cast him a filthy look. “Hah-hah.”
For some strange, inexplicable reason, the room seemed smaller without him. And warmer. Not enough space to house the pacing vampire. He was just so big. She tried to ignore him, occupied herself with doing up what remained of her buttons, but a prickle running over her skin made her glance up. He’d stopped his pacing and come to a halt in front of her. His hands rested on his lean hips and he was scrutinizing her in a way that made her squirm.
She decided to go on the offensive. If she pissed him off enough, maybe he wouldn’t come near her. “I bet you do this all the time, don’t you?”
“Do what?”
“You know, mesmerizing women and having your evil way with them. Making them take their clothes off and God knows what else.”
He took a step closer, and she realized she might have made a tactical error challenging this man. She got the distinct impression that he was the sort who liked a challenge. Perhaps she would have been much better going with the meek and mild approach. But she wouldn’t have been able to keep that up for long—meek had never been her strong point.
He leaned closer, resting his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His face was only inches away and she breathed in the cool, musky scent. “Honey, if I was the sort of man to do that, you’d know it.”
“I would?” Lord, she sounded breathless.
“Yeah, if I was the sort of man to take advantage, then darling, we’d have already fucked twice.”
“We would have?”
He whispered the words against her skin. “As it is, we still have that pleasure to look forward to.”
“We do?”
“Oh yeah, never doubt it.”
He closed the last space between them, and then his mouth was on hers. She had a brief flash of awareness to her brain that said she should stop this. Now. Somehow. Before she lost the will. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d lost the will long ago. But boy, could he kiss. Besides, the warlock would be back soon; surely it wouldn’t hurt to relax her guard for just a minute.
It occurred to her—not for the first time—that she was the queen of self-delusion. All the same, she couldn’t resist. Instead of fighting him off, she tilted her head back and opened her lips beneath his, groaned as the moist velvet of his tongue thrust languidly into her mouth. One hand came up to cup the back of her skull and hold her steady while he ravaged her mouth.
It felt so good. And when his other hand slid inside the open bodice of her robe to cup her breast, it felt even better, and she still didn’t fight him off. His thumb rubbed over the stiffening peak, and she groaned into his mouth. She craved the feel of him against her bare skin. How long had it been since someone had held her, made love to her? Too long, and she arched her spine and pushed up against his hand.
Her body was no longer under her control. In a brief moment of clarity, she realized it. Too long denied that most basic of needs, contact with another person, now it was clamoring for relief.
“Slowly, sweetheart.”
She didn’t want to go slowly. He made to pull away and her hands gripped into his hair and tried to hold him close.
“Jonas is back.”
It took a second for his words to register. For her to realize that the loud hammering wasn’t the pounding of her heart but someone knocking at the door.
Oh, shit, this was so embarrassing. Piers would love this. She’d been practically begging for it. Given a little more time, she’d have tossed him across the table and taken him by force.
But he didn’t look amused. He looked pensive, and she decided that was even worse. She didn’t want him thinking about her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.” Apart from the frustration clawing at her nerves, she was fine.
He studied her a moment longer, then straightened. “Come in.”
The door opened and Jonas entered carrying a bottle of scotch. Nothing had ever been so welcome. Then she peered past him—he wasn’t alone. Just what she needed—more people to witness her total humiliation. Could the night get any worse?
…
Her pale, creamy skin was flushed, her breathing heavy, and her arousal scented the air. She wanted him. Badly.
Which was good, because she could have him. And hopefully soon.
As he watched, she pulled herself under control, though not before shooting him a glance filled with resentment. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. Why was that? It was obvious they’d be good together. Once they’d sorted out just who and what she was.
Could she really be more than five hundred years old? She appeared no more than twenty. And such a contradiction of sweetness and toughness. And she’d said she’d been tortured before. Where and who by? And why did he have the sudden urge to find whoever it was and rip him limb from limb?
That was unexpected.
And unwelcome.
He wasn’t in the business of protecting people, however much he wanted to fuck them. At least the thought had a welcome effect on his libido—his cock had been rock hard since he’d kissed her, but now the sting of desire subsided.
Tara entered the room behind Jonas and Christian, filling the space with her own exotic blend of sweet and bitter. “Tara, how lovely to see you. What the hell are you doing here?”
She grinned. “Lovely to see you too.” She sounded just about as sincere as he had. He studied her for a minute, searching for outward signs of her demon-fae heritage, but she still looked exactly the same—maybe even prettier. Living with Christian obviously agreed with her. Who would have thought it?
He had an inkling as to why Christian had brought her here today. To take care of the sisters perhaps, take them under her wing, protect them from his evil ways. Well, she could have Sister Maria, but Sister Rosa was his.
“Hey,” he said to Sister Rosa. “What is your name?”
“Rosamund Fairfax. Roz will do.”
Tara crossed the room and put the glasses she was carrying down on the table before holding out her hand to Roz. “Hi, I’m Tara. Christian’s wife.”
Roz grasped the hand almost gingerly and shook it.
Piers took the bottle of scotch from Jonas and poured out four glasses. He hovered the bottle over the fifth glass, and glanced at Tara.
Christian shuddered. “Don’t you dare.”
A teasing look passed from Tara to Christian. “I thought you liked me to drink.”
“Maybe when we’re alone and can lock all the doors, shutter the windows, lock away anything breakable…”
Roz was glancing between them, her expression confused. Piers decided to take pity on her.
“Tara is part demon,” he said.
