I WATCH FREY SLEEP. HE’S LYING ON HIS SIDE, NAKED under the sheets. I spoon my body against his and loop an arm around his waist. We’ve only been in bed an hour. I expect any minute to hear my parents and the kids as they make their way downstairs to start the day. I know I should be tired, should try to grab at least a few minutes’ sleep. But sleep is slow to come. My body still tingles from feeding, my nerves still on fire from the kill.
Frey knew I needed to feed. The vampire had been denied the blood of the bear and bloodlust still raged— leaving me ragged and unsatisfied. He understood as he understands so much about me.
I’m tempted to slip down between his legs. Take him into my mouth. Watch as he awakens, surprise and pleasure lighting up his face. Give him something back for all he’s given me.
But he needs to sleep.
I kiss his cheek.
I’ll return the favor, though. In delicious ways.
The promise sends heat rushing through my body.
MUCH LATER, I AWAKEN TO THE SUN BEAMING IN through a gap in drawn curtains. Frey is still asleep. When he, too, awakens, he rolls over and catches me looking at him. His arms go around me and he pulls me close. “How are you feeling?”
I snuggle close, one hand trailing down between his legs. “Ready to return the favor,” I whisper.
He glances over my head to the clock on the nightstand. He stops my hand. “We’d better wait. We’re already late for breakfast.”
I groan and he attempts to sit up. He doesn’t get very far. His head barely off the pillow, he slaps a hand to his forehead and falls back. He groans again, for real this time.
I lean over him, “Are you all right?”
“Killer headache.” He looks at me and smiles ruefully. “Did I get hit in the head last night? I don’t remember much.”
I place a gentle hand on his forehead. “That bear did a pretty good job on you. Knocked you into a wall.”
He sits up abruptly, pushing himself all the way this time. “Vlad. I remember now.”
“He saved you. Twice.”
“No offense, but I hope we’ve seen the last of him.”
“We have,” I assure him with a teasing grin. “I told him we were going to be busy for the next few days, getting married and all. And then we’ll be spending time with the family. I expect we’ve seen the last of Dracul.”
I trace a finger along the curve of his jaw. “Now kiss me. But keep it sweet, not sexy. You’re not in any shape to get excited. And we do have to get up. The wedding planners are coming at noon. And this afternoon we have to drive to Cannes to pick up David and Tracey.”
“Not in shape, huh?” Frey pushes me down on the bed. He leans close and teases me with his lips, bringing them close, then pulling back. I finally tangle my fingers in his hair and settle his mouth on mine. At the same time, he’s teasing another part of my anatomy, fingers tormenting until I arch my back and thrust against his hand and he slips his fingers inside.
“I thought we had to get up,” he says, but he continues to probe, slower, deeper.
“I thought you had a headache,” I gasp back.
But I don’t try to stop him.
I’m shuddering with excitement, lost in the sensations flooding over and through me. If he tried to stop now, I would scream in protest. I move with the rhythm of his thrusts. When the climax comes, it lifts my hips off the bed. He holds me close, driving every wave of passion until the swell breaks and I collapse against him.
“What was that you were saying?” he says, stroking my hair.
I lift myself on my elbows to look at him. “It was supposed to be your turn.”
He grins. “Oh, you’ll make it up to me. Just wait.”
FREY AND I CREEP DOWNSTAIRS WONDERING WHAT type of reception we’ll get from my dad for being late once again. For the same reason, too.
We needn’t have worried. I’d forgotten it was Sunday. On the kitchen counter we find a note:
Frey grins. “Want to go back upstairs? We have two hours. We can make all the noise we want.”
I raise an eyebrow. “First one up the stairs gets to be on top.”
It turns out to be a tie.
CHAPTER 29
TWO HOURS LATER, FREY AND I ARE FRESHLY SHOWERED AND RESPECTABLE AND SITTING AT THE DINING ROOM TABLE ACROSS FROM A MAN AND WOMAN who represent the company that’s officiating at our wedding ceremony—tomorrow. My head swims at the thought.
The man is well dressed, suit and tie, carefully slicked-back hair framing what I’ve come to think of as a “French” face—closely shaven, well-groomed, thin nose, dark eyes. He’s wearing a citrusy cologne or aftershave, I can’t tell which it is. But it’s strong. His name is Pierre.
His partner, Lorraine, is beautiful. Tall, model thin, expertly and subtly made up. Her dark eyes have a slight upward tilt and she has a mouth that begs to be kissed, wide, full-lipped and eager. I have to give Frey a surreptitious elbow more than once to stop him from staring at those lips.
Pierre is reading us examples of vows that we might choose from. We decide on a simple recitation that combines the traditional with a modern spin. The entire ceremony will take no more than fifteen minutes.
We are finished with the technicalities in less than an hour.
Frey gives them a credit card. They process the payment. Then we usher them to the door. As they leave, a truck pulls into the driveway. The crew who is to transform the back of the house into a tented, flower- and ribbon-strewn wonderland has arrived. Mom made all the arrangements, only consulting me on things requiring my opinion, so that Frey and I would be surprised. We have strict orders to point the workmen to the site, but not to peek as the work progresses.
When we are back inside, I look at Frey. “Can you believe we’re getting married day after tomorrow?”
He puts his arms around me. “Getting cold feet?”
“Vampire, remember?” I tease. “Cold feet, cold hands.”
“Not always.”
And then we’re kissing and he proves how right he is. But before things take their natural progression with us, we hear my folks’ car in the driveway.
John-John is the first through the door, holding a white paper bag up high. “Guess what they call doughnuts in French?” he asks, running to greet us. “Beignets!”
I catch Mom’s eyes over his head. The circle of life. Memories of my brother and I heading home after church, in the backseat of my parents car, a bag of hot, fresh doughnuts between us. My eyes fill with tears. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
FREY IS AT THE WHEEL OF DAD’S CAR AND WE’RE ON OUR way to Cannes to pick up David and Tracey. The pilot called to let us know they would be in at three. I’m slumped back on the seat, window open to the warm spring day, thoughts cascading through my head in a stream of consciousness that is making me dizzy.
“Anna?” Frey’s voice. “What are you thinking?”
I swivel on the seat to face him. “You really want to know?”
