come to giving in to him. Her body ached in that oh-so-familiar way of unrequited lust. She could feel the dampness in her sex, the throb of her clit begging for surcease from the strain of unfulfillment. He hadn't done a damn thing to her and she was practically panting for him to fuck her brains out.
It had been so long since she'd been touched by a man that she couldn't even remember the last time.
Well, she didn't want to remember the last time. Abstinence seemed to have made her weaker, not more resistant to the lure of sexual impulse.
He sighed and reached for a shard of glass on the floor. Maggie winced, thinking he was going to hurt her, instead, he touched one edge to his palm. “If touching your mind cannot convince you, then perhaps this will. Here's your proof of what we both are,” he said, slicing his hand open without hesitation.
'No,” she whispered, unable to stop him. Maggie felt sick watching the blood flow. She wanted to look away but couldn't stop watching the well of bright red flow down his arm. It dripped onto her chest and stomach, soaking her with a warmth like hot water.
'Watch,” he said softly. The blood slowed to the barest trickle and then stopped. He wiped the blood away with his thumb, clearing the wound.
Maggie watched in disbelief as the wound closed to a scratch and then faded to a thin, red line.
'Your own wounds are gone, if you care to look.'
He freed her hands, standing above her as she checked her fingers and hands for cuts. Only dried blood remained. No wound of any kind.
'How is this possible?” she asked, coming to her feet with his help. She winced as her weight landed on heels and the glass embedded there.
'You have the healing ability of the vampire now. It's part of what allows us to live so long. Come, we have to get that glass out of your feet before it heals inside you and has to be cut out.'
Without another word, he bent and scooped her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs.
Maggie expected to hear the snap of arm bones breaking or the pop of his shoulder joints as they dislocated. Miraculously, nothing like that happened. She never dreamed she'd meet anything short of a crane capable of lifting her off her feet, let alone a man who could carry her up an entire flight of stairs and down a hall.
Secretly, despite the discomfort of the position, she found it thrilling and terrifying that he was strong enough to bear her. There was something so incredibly masculine about it, that it gave her the illusion of being small and feminine. She could feel the power in his shoulders beneath her arm she'd draped around his neck, and as she watched his face, she felt like he had more yet to reveal, as if he was restraining himself from unintentionally hurting her.
He wasn't even winded when he kicked open the bedroom door and took her into the bathroom she'd found earlier. He sat her on the closed lid of the toilet, moving away to the medicine cabinet before coming back with a pair of tweezers. Sitting on the edge of the claw-footed tub, he looked at her expectantly.
'Give me your foot,” he said. His tone sounded like he expected her to fight him, but that he would win anyway.
Feeling weird and unsure of herself, she gave him her foot, wincing as he carefully removed the tiny shards of glass imbedded in her skin. He frowned in concentration, his brows drawing close together. His hair fell across his forehead, and he kept having to push it behind his ears.
As he finished, he brushed his thumb over the pads of her toes and ball of her foot to check for anything he'd missed, tickling her.
Maggie yelped and tried to jerk her foot free, but he held her still, tightening his knees around her calf.
The position was extremely intimate, with her leg trapped between his thighs and his hands probing her.
Again, she felt small next to him. His hands looked large on her feet, making them seem almost dainty.
The image of him nibbling down her toes and up her leg flashed in her mind, leaving her warm beneath her clothes.
The heat of his erection pressed near her heel, adding to her discomfort and awareness of him as a desirable man. It embarrassed her to see it and be so close to grazing it, but it embarrassed her more to realize she
He tickled her foot one last time, deliberately provoking her and snapping her back to the present.
Giving her a wicked smile, he finished his inspection and demanded her other foot—the one with most of the glass.
She couldn't quite comprehend her attraction to him, not when he had to be the person who had hurt her before.
It was strange watching him do something so tender. Despite how large his hands were, his fingers weren't thick and chunky. They were tapered and elegant, like the fingers of an aristocrat. He didn't fumble with the painstaking work, and she knew, implicitly, that he would not be inept with more delicate tasks.
She could hardly reconcile him with the attacker in the alley. He'd tended her wounds, fed her with elaborate dishes equal to fine cuisine in expensive restaurants ... tried to seduce her. And now she knew that he was a vampire—that she was, if he was to be believed.
It had to be true. Nothing else could explain the rapid healing. And yet....
'I don't feel any different,” she finally said, almost to herself.
He looked up briefly from his task. “You won't until your first thirst. Your fangs will swell with your first venom, and only fresh blood can override the imbalance in your body's hormonal system. It will drive your thoughts until you appease it. It will kill you if you deny it. Too much venom kills even us.'
Blood. It made her sick even thinking about it. “Why did you attack me in the alley? Is it because you were thirsty?” she asked impulsively.
He frowned, his eyes shuttered. “I didn't attack you.'
Somehow, she knew it was the truth. Perhaps deep inside, she'd known it all along. Had her subconscious allowed her to become attracted? Or was it something that couldn't be controlled, even if a man was a bastard and a killer? So many women seemed trapped unto death by men she deemed real life monsters. She liked to believe her own judgment was not so impaired. “If you didn't, who did?'
'Another vampire. Before you ask, yes, he was hungry. Would you like to know his name so that you can hunt him down and stake him? I confess, I would not have his actions any different. Had he not bitten you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “I would not have you now.'
For some absurd reason, that statement sent a flurry of pleasure inside her. Gawd, she was such an idiot.
She ignored it. “Did I die then? Am I ... undead?'
He chuckled, brushing his fingers over her foot, searching for glass. She shivered. “You are breathing, are you not? Vampirism is a disease, nothing more.'
'What about your special powers? What else can you do?'
He tucked the tweezers away in his pocket and massaged her foot, sending pleasure up her calf. The pain was already gone. She couldn't doubt her body's reaction—her rapid healing.
And she couldn't ignore how she responded to him.
'If you live as long as I have, you will learn as much and more. I have nothing but time on my side. When I was turned, I was vulnerable, as you are now. It is the main reason that a fledgling vampire must have a master —you need the protection.'
'How long will that take?” she asked, feeling warm and drowsy.
'Your mind is strong. Perhaps in ten years you will be ready to go out on your own.” He massaged her calf, bending over her leg.
'Hmm.” She wiggled her toes and stretched them, brushing against his erection. It was as hard as she imagined, thick and huge. She grew damp just thinking about wrapping herself around it.
He stopped and looked at her. She smiled lazily and leisurely stroked up his length. It throbbed beneath her, hot, aching for feminine wetness.
He stood abruptly, releasing her. She dropped her foot to the floor.
