Читать книгу Vampire Hunter: Shadow Hunter - Anna Hackett - Страница 9

Rage surged inside Tiffany Solow as she handed the ancient vampire his Bordeaux. She wished she could smash the delicate glass on the table and plunge the leftover shards into his neck. Waiting hand and foot on Caius Argyros Dermokaites sent waves of anger and hate through every inch of her body. As if rubbing shoulders with the creatures she hated most wasn’t enough, Caius was the worthless bloodsucking piece of crap who’d murdered her brother and the definition of arrogance. She would kill him. It was only a matter of time, and when she did, she would enjoy every single second of it.

“Thank you, my precious,” he purred.

My precious? Gross. I hope you choke on it, you undead piece of crap.

Tiffany forced a smile on her face and slid into the booth beside him. Caius snaked his arm around her. The rank smell of his skin mixed with the aged Bordeaux and a faint hint of blood. The stench hit her nose full force, and she fought to keep from gagging. Thank God she was an amazing actress. If she didn’t have such a rock-solid poker face, infiltrating Caius’s inner circle would have been damn near impossible.

But every time he made her skin crawl was well worth it if it gave her the chance of murdering the son of a bitch. There was no such thing as a decent bloodsucker. They’d proved that the day she’d first become a hunter—the day her family had been stolen from her.

Caius would be tough to kill. Everything in her craved to stab him right then, get it over with. But if she even made a quick move at him, he would crush her before she blinked. She had to catch him with his back turned. His trust was key to his death. And she’d baited him perfectly into wanting her as a Host.

Serving their purpose for a short time, Hosts fed the vampires and sated their blood thirst, but once the anemia set in, the vamps had no more use for their weakened prey. Humans with knowledge of vampires were too high a risk to keep around. Hosts always ended up dead or undead. And despite the Hosts’ presence, vampires weren’t only leeches, they were greedy; feeding regularly on Hosts didn’t stop them from massacring innocent civilians for sport; it only delayed the actions on occasion.

Tiffany had found ways to warn multiple women and men during the time she’d spent with Caius, but it was no use. They were too entranced, nearly hypnotized, by the charm of the bloodsuckers to listen to reason. Tiffany had to admit, that charm was hard to ignore. But every time she thought of the deaths of her parents and brother, not to mention the loss of a deep friendship, her disgust snapped into place and she remembered exactly why she lived to drive stakes through vampires’ hearts. She thanked her lucky stars that Caius was still trying his persuasive skills on her, practically begging her to be his.

He could tell she was healthy and strong. To keep her iron high and appealing, she ate enough red meat and spinach to last her a whole lifetime—the thought of one more piece of spanakopita or rare steak made her stomach churn. Hell, every spare cent she possessed went toward that. Steak wasn’t exactly in the usual budget for a flat-broke college senior with four years of med school and then several more years of residency ahead of her. But it worked in her favor. Caius knew from her scent that she would provide a long Host relationship with all the expected sexual benefits, ensuring that she was too tempting for him to kill her in one quick meal. Caius wanted her for the long term.

Little did he know his efforts would have been more effective on a piece of broccoli. She almost snorted. Was she hungry or what?

He interrupted her thought. “Darling, do you see that private room over there?” Caius gestured toward the far side of the bar.

Tiffany nodded. “Yes.”

Caius sipped his Bordeaux, his eyes fixated on the closed curtain of the private room. “I believe we have a new visitor. Vampire, it appears. He has the movements of a predator.” He set down his wineglass a little more forcefully than necessary. “I won’t have an unannounced alpha traipsing around my club. Please go fetch Calvin and see that he’s taken care of.”

“My pleasure.” She smiled and stood to find the bodyguard. As soon as she turned her back on Caius, her smile faded into a frown.

Eat my stake, you nasty leech.

She was really feeling the pure bitchiness tonight. But then again, spending more than five minutes with Caius would turn any sane person into a complete basket case. He would pay for everything he’d done. She would gladly drive a stake into his heart and watch him explode to pieces like the blood bag he was. Vampires were so damn messy to kill, but she didn’t care. She wanted nothing more than to make him bleed.

As quickly as possible, she navigated through the crowd toward the back of the club. She exited the first door and stepped into the small area leading back to the offices. She glanced up and down the hall. No Calvin.

An immediate chill ran down her spine. The hairs of her neck and arms stood on end, and goose bumps prickled over her skin. Something was not right. She needed to get out of there, and fast. Pushing through the final exit, a rush of cold winter air hit her hard in the face. She stepped out into the alleyway and fell straight on her ass.

What the hell?

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of what she’d tripped over: Calvin’s dead body. His neck was twisted at a strange angle as he lay lifeless on the pavement. Not a single drop of blood or any evidence of a fight.

Damn. It took a lot of cojones to snap the neck of a vampire. Whoever had done this was vicious.

She hopped to her feet and brushed herself off. No skin off her back if Calvin was dead. One less bloodsucker made for a better world. Though Caius would go ballistic at the news, and she didn’t want to deal with one hell of a pissed-off vampire, unless…

Her eyes widened again. She knew how to lessen Caius’s anger: deliver the new alpha vampire.

She rushed through the back door and reentered the club. If she could move fast enough and deliver the head of the anonymous vamp to Caius, she would be that much closer to gaining his trust. One step closer to destroying the scumbag who’d murdered her family.

Pushing her way through the club patrons, she headed toward the private room. She weaved in and out of the crowd to avoid Caius’s gaze. Once she reached the curtained entrance, she pulled her Smith & Wesson from her jacket. Always loaded with silver bullets, her rounds sure wouldn’t kill a vampire, but they would inflict a serious wound, enough to make the leech pause.

She quickly slipped inside. With her eyes already adjusted to the darkness from being outside, she searched through the dimness, gun aimed.

No one.

She stepped farther into the empty room.

The end of a gun barrel pushed against her skull. The small click of the hammer sent adrenaline pumping through her body. Her heart thumped hard against her chest.

Positioned at the end of a vampire’s gun.

Royally screwed didn’t even begin to cover it.

Damon held the Desert Eagle without a single ounce of fear in his body. If there was one thing he was excellent at, it was staying detached in intense situations. He wasn’t used to dealing with vampiresses, but there was a first time for everything.

He held the gun steady, resting right against her skull. “Drop your weapon.”

With slow tentative movements, she spread her arm to her sides, so he could see the firearm. She released the magazine clip, and it fell onto the floor before she dropped the gun.

He increased the pressure on the base of her skull. “Names. All the high-ups in the Rochester nests.”

In a risky decision, she spun away from his gun, grabbing hold of his hand and digging her long fingernails into his metacarpals. A very smooth martial arts move. He let her go and released the gun, not from the pain, but from the reassurance of his silver dagger. Giving her a false sense of accomplishment could work in his favor. With quick agility, she threw a roundhouse kick. He blocked the blow from his face, but the force of her attack gave him pause.

She was strong and an impressive fighter, but she was no match for him. He grabbed hold of her leg and twisted. She lost her balance, toppling toward the ground, but he caught her midfall, holding her.

With precision, he pulled his dagger from his sleeve and forced it against her throat. Not enough to make her bleed, just so she could feel its presence. He had to know for certain if she was a vampire. He couldn’t bring himself to harm a woman without being sure.

She stopped struggling. Smart.

He backed her into the corner nearest the light switch. If he got lucky and she was angry or afraid enough, her irises would reveal the answer to him. “Turn around.”

She did as she was told. He pushed her body against the wall with his own, the dagger still at her throat. With his free hand, he flipped the switch.

Then wished he hadn’t.

Damon’s breath rushed from his lungs, and his heart skipped several beats. Adrenaline kicked into his system like a tidal wave. Every inch of his skin electrified. He was a live wire, all senses enhanced and awake from their deadened state. His arousal was instantaneous as the sweet smell of her perfume hit his nose. She smelled like baked cinnamon apples, autumn spices, vanilla and sweet, sweet sex.

He’d never been one to stop and take in the beauty of the world, but he was certain that her face was more gorgeous than anything he’d ever laid eyes on. Her thick dark brown hair fell just past her shoulders, and from that he recognized her as the woman from the bar. His eyes trailed over that gorgeous hair, which stopped just above a pair of ample breasts that pushed against him. Her slender frame felt amazing against his body.

But what completely entranced him was her stare. A pair of large honey-colored eyes rimmed with dark layers of full lashes gazed up at him. A slight hint of fear showed behind her irises, mixed with the drive to fight, and he immediately hated himself for being the one to put that fear there. He cursed silently. What was wrong with him? He never regretted terrifying bloodsuckers, and she wasn’t even afraid enough to give him the answer he sought. He cursed himself again. God, she was gorgeous. Vampiresses were impressive beauties, but no woman he’d ever seen, human or vampire, compared to her.

No. He snapped his attention into focus.

He wouldn’t be distracted. He clenched his jaw and crushed his own desire. How could he be thinking of sex? Mark was a vampire, and it was his fault. His own neglect had killed his closest friend—more than once. It was his fault Caius had stolen Mark’s life. If he’d only staked Mark as an extra precaution before the building exploded, Mark wouldn’t…

He pushed all his feelings deep inside himself, where there was no escape. His focus wouldn’t be broken, not again. He had three tasks he needed to accomplish: kill Caius to avenge Mark’s death, end the gruesome killings plaguing Rochester’s streets…and murder his best friend.

He would not let her faze him. His brain fought to concentrate, but his body was saying otherwise. Not once had he ever had this problem. Well, not since she refused to answer his letters.

He wished he could end it right then, draw the blade across her throat and free himself from the agony of wanting her. He scowled, disgusted with himself. Wanting a vampire? The thought made his stomach churn. But bloodsucker or not, he’d never laid a hand on a woman, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to change that now. Unless an innocent life was in danger, he doubted he could bring himself to do it, and his life was far from innocent.

Still, something in his gut protested that he needed to know for sure what she was, and there was one sure way.

He shook his head. The sight of her Mark of Caine would shock him back to normal. To the version of himself that had little interest in women when there was a job at stake—and there always was, especially now.

“Turn,” he said. When she didn’t move, he increased the pressure on her neck. “Turn around.”

With a glare of pure hate in her eyes, she turned away from him.

Before she could escape, he locked his arms around her, pressing her back against his body. He held the knife to the front of her throat and forced her to bend over. If the mark was there, he wouldn’t hesitate to use the necessary force to get answers from her. Then, female or not, he would do what he had to do.

As his gaze trailed the length of her spine, he caught himself admiring the curve of her ass. Her round behind rubbed against him. Holy smokes…Had he ever wanted a woman so badly? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been interested in sex.

No distractions. He was weak, selfish. Stupid.

Need raced through his veins while he lifted the hem of her black tank top. He hooked two fingers beneath the edge of her leather pants, then slid them down an inch. The two cute dimples just above her ass were enough to leave him wanting for days, but her skin was smooth and unmarred.

No mark. A female vampire’s Mark of Caine always appeared on her lower back. He blinked several times. He found himself at a loss for words. “Where’s your…?”

“My what? My vamp stamp? News flash, buddy, I don’t have one.”

That she even knew what a “vamp stamp” was gave him pause. He released her shirt and allowed her to stand up straight, but he maintained the knife at her neck. An odd sense of relief washed over him, and he immediately chastised himself. Whether she was human or not, he had a job to do. “Who are you, and why are you wielding a gun in a dark room in a known vampire club?”

She shook her head. “Tell me who you are, and then maybe I’ll consider sharing.”

He pressed the sharp blade against her skin, reminding her of its presence. He didn’t have the patience for this. “I’m the one with the knife,” he said.

She stood completely still, nothing but the rise and fall of her chest giving away her agitation. “Touché.”

He forced her toward the wall again. She turned around before he even told her to do so. She was trying to show her lack of fear by taking the lead, not waiting for directions. Not surprising, with her overly trigger-happy attitude, but her confidence was her weakness. Her gaze met his in a show of defiance, but he wouldn’t let himself be fooled into picking a fight. He was easily twice, if not three, times her size. Though she well trained in fighting, she would never be a match for him.

He held her stare until finally she looked away.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded.

She closed her eyes, glanced at the floor and let out a deep breath. Her eyes flickered up to meet his gaze again. “Sandra—”

He pushed her harder against the wall. “Real name.”

She gaped at him as if he’d slapped her. “How do you know that’s not my real name?”

“Everyone has a poker tell.” One of the things he’d learned in his time at the E.U. headquarters was to interpret body language. It came in particularly handy when trying to distinguish vamps from humans, though detecting lies was always advantageous. She glanced down and to the left when she lied—a classic sign for many people and overly predictable. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“What’s your real name?” he asked again.

Her jaw clenched. Her anger at her current position was apparent in her eyes, but her voice was a sexy feminine alto when she finally said, “Tiffany Solow.”

The air rushed from Damon’s lungs as if a high-speed bullet had hit him straight in the abdomen. His head spun, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to shake with anger. He couldn’t believe the night had actually gotten worse, although he knew he deserved the massive beating the universe had just dished out to him.

Tiffany Solow…Mark’s baby sister. His own Achilles’ heel.

Rochester was a huge city. Though it was her hometown, when he transferred there in order to hunt Caius, he’d hoped like hell he would never run into her. What the hell were the chances? And what was she doing hunting vampires?

The memories flashed through his head in a nonstop pulse. His training officer’s voice rang in his ears. Brock, see a therapist or find someone to tie yourself to. Pronto!

With no family to support him, Damon had been deemed at risk of “low morale” by the Execution Underground. They’d thought the pressure of hunting might turn him into some crazed psycho if he didn’t have someone to talk to. They covered their asses by insisting on “therapeutic ties.”

Rather than see the resident shrink, he’d opted for Choice B: to forge a bond, anonymously, with someone outside the E.U. He’d preferred to write a few BS letters to a stranger than have the E.U. psychiatrist record his every thought. The Execution Underground already rode his ass about everything. He didn’t need them inside his head, too. And being his usual giving self, Mark had volunteered to help his best comrade and had contacted his baby sister.

Headquarters was all about “family contacts.” In other words, they ensured that their hunters had something to live for besides the hunt alone. It was a numbers game to them. An overwhelmed hunter who committed suicide forced the E.U. to shell out money to train a replacement, not to mention compensation for the family. They were saving their pocket change.

Tiffany was in the same age group as many of the female victims the hunters set out to avenge, so the E.U. found her an appropriate contact. Because she’d known already that vampires existed, because she’d lost her parents to a vampire attack and had a hunter for a brother, there had been no security breaches involved in writing to her. According to the E.U., it also benefited her to know there were other men out there, aside from her brother, keeping her safe at night. Damage control, really.

Headquarters called it personalization and bond forging. He called it a load of crap. Like he’d needed any more incentive to do what he’d been trained to do. He would never forget the first letter he wrote to her.

Tiffany,

They say I need to write someone, so here it is.

Yours truly,

B

She’d replied with an eight-page letter telling him all about her. Little did he know when he’d signed that first damn letter “yours truly,” he really would be hers. In a matter of weeks she’d clutched his heart in her hands.

The last picture Mark had shown him of Tiffany, she’d been only seventeen, long before Mark’s death…before everything fell to shit…before she grew to hate Damon. Now she was twenty-two. He met her gaze and took in the breathtaking woman standing before him.

Mark had loved her more than anything in the world. She had been the only family he had left, and he would have wanted her cared for, protected. Not in the line of fire of the same vampire who had killed him. Damon lowered his eyes. How could he look her in the face when he held the blame for her brother’s death? And if she knew Mark had turned…

No. She would never know. Damon had sworn to Mark that if he were ever turned, he would drive the stake through Mark’s heart himself. A small part of him would die as he did it, but his promise stood firm. But she couldn’t know any of that, which meant he needed to get her out of Club Fantasy, away from Caius. An overwhelming need to protect her surged through him, accompanied by the desire to claim her as his own.

No.

Without a doubt, he could not seduce her. Not only for the sake of his job, but because he owed that much to the memory of his fellow hunter and best friend. Taking Mark’s sister into his bed? He might as well spit on his grave. Her eyes showed she didn’t know who he was. She’d never met him in person, never seen his face. There was no way she would recognize him, and it needed to stay that way. Not even his name would give him away. He was thankful revealing his full identity had been against the rules during their correspondence. He would protect her anonymously and nothing more.

He inhaled a deep breath to cool his head. He tried not to think of how sweet her voice would sound saying his name as he drove himself into her. No. He wouldn’t get attached to anyone again, then he couldn’t fail anyone, then protocol couldn’t get in the way of relationships. Hunting, protection. Nothing more. “What are you doing here?”

She scoffed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m here every night. You’re the new vamp on the block.”

He growled, low in his throat like an animal. Anger boiled inside him at the accusation. “I am not one of those worthless leeches.”

She froze. Her eyes widened. “You’re too strong to be human.” She scanned his body, her eyes stopping on the muscles of his arms, chest and abs. “Prove it, then.”

Tiffany stared at the stranger before her, her eyes locked on to his icy gaze. A shiver ran down her spine, but heat pooled between her legs. That alone made him dangerous.

“Go on. Prove you’re human.” Her pulse began to race from excitement instead of fear as she challenged him. Her gut screamed not to fight him, that he was no threat to her, but the knife at her throat and the ferocity in his eyes said otherwise.

“Just trust me on this,” he said.

Not a chance. “Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t trust people easily.” With as much force as she could muster, she stomped on his instep.

He didn’t cry out, but the move surprised him enough that the knife shifted slightly away from her throat. She seized the advantage and grabbed hold of his arm, pushed his sleeve up and dug her fingernails into his skin. She wasn’t against fighting dirty. Not if it saved her sorry ass.

Her assailant didn’t even curse at the pain, only grunted in response as her sharp acrylics dug into the flesh of his arm. Blood pooled around the edges of her nails before she released him. She lunged forward, knocking into his midsection like a linebacker. Damn, that had been a stupid idea. The man was built, and running into his abdomen was like hitting her head on a solid concrete wall. That would really hurt in the morning.

He tucked his knife up his sleeve instead of using the weapon against her. What was that about? He grabbed at her as she stumbled back, but she was short enough that she managed to duck out of his reach. He towered over her and was probably twice her weight with all the sexy muscle he was packing.

Regaining her footing, she threw a spinning roundhouse kick. He blocked it with ease as if he often fought third-degree black belts without blinking an eye. He was fierce, no denying it. She continued going at him, throwing nonstop kicks and punches, but he blocked every one, and she was running out of options. Wait! Her gun. Her gun was lying on the floor.

She rushed to reach the weapon. Seconds later, he loomed over her, trying to grab her. Why wasn’t he fighting back? She was sure that if he really wanted to, he could kick the living shit out of her.

She snatched the gun from the floor, but she had no time to aim. She threw a sidekick, but he caught it, then swept her other foot out from under her. She toppled to the floor, landing with an audible oof as the wind rushed from her lungs.

Before he could make his next move, she spun around and kicked his ankles. Pain shot through the edge of her big toe, despite her high-heeled boots; even his legs were pure muscle.

Without thinking, she lunged into his legs, wrapping her body around his knees. He started to fall, but he caught himself and landed prepared to kick out, except that…oh, snap…she was attached to his leg!

She scrambled backward, but he was too fast. Within seconds he was on top of her, straddling her hips and holding her hands against the ground.

He let out a long deep growl and leaned in near her face. “Next time, I won’t hold back from hurting you.”

The ice-cold look in his eyes showed he meant it, and she vowed to herself that there would be no next time. The man was pure unadulterated muscle and no matter how good a fighter she was, she knew when to call it quits.

As she stared up into his eyes, she wished she hadn’t charged him, because damn it, her head hurt and her brain was sending all sorts of crazy mixed signals into parts of her body that had never been lit up before. Though he was on top of her and she was clearly in a vulnerable position, he wasn’t threatening her, just pinning her down and, oh, man, what on earth was wrong with her, because she didn’t mind one bit.

Her gaze traveled over his rock-hard body. His chest heaved in and out from the adrenaline. Through his shirt she could see a nicely defined pair of pecs, and she knew from the pain in her head that washboard abs hid beneath.

Even his forearms, which she’d dug her fingernails into, were well defined. She could tell from the fluid way he moved that he wasn’t some steroidal bodybuilder. No, his muscles were honed from serious training. The thought of his nearly naked body covered in a sheen of sweat as he worked out flooded her mind.

Whooaaaa, Nelly. Back up for two seconds. She never fantasized about men. Ever.

A small pang hit her heart, equal parts pain and anger. Her thoughts traveled to B, the nameless hunter who’d stolen her heart, only to break it to pieces with his betrayal. She could admit a teenage girl had her needs, and she’d fantasized about meeting B in the flesh so many times that real men need not apply. She’d been solo since she was fifteen, when her brother had left home to hunt monsters, and without B in the picture, she intended to keep it that way. She didn’t need any distractions. Her one goal in life was to avenge her family, not snuggle up all lovey-dovey with some sweet guy, get married and have loads of chubby-faced cherubic babies. Not that Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary would ever fit that scenario, anyway. From the looks of things, he was a grade-A badass.

What was wrong with her? She needed to get back to Caius. If she disappeared for long enough, someone would come searching for her. Wasting time ogling a hot man wasn’t in the cards for tonight—for any night. Not while Caius lived and breathed. Besides which, she chastised herself, she didn’t know anything about this man. He’d held a knife to her throat, for God’s sake.

But when she met his cold ice-blue eyes she thought she could drown in their intensity. She wanted to run her hands over his black buzz-cut hair as he pushed inside her. The thought alone sent a wave of heat rushing between her legs and a jolt of electricity shooting down her spine.

A long silence passed between them as he watched her, those haunting blue eyes boring into her.

“I guess I’m not really in a position to bargain now, am I?” She tried to make it sound lighthearted in hopes that maybe he would release her.

He glared at her. His stare alone was enough to make her want to talk.

Clearly he wasn’t a vampire or he would have sunk his fangs into her throat by now. All her instincts said he didn’t intend to harm her, and no vampire would ever take a no-harm approach against someone who’d attacked him.

She cleared her throat. “One of us has to go first, and from your stiff upper lip, I can tell it’s not going to be you.” She sighed. “If I start talking, will you at least let me go?”

He didn’t reply. But the intensity of his gaze compelled her to confess.

She sighed again. “My name is Tiffany Solow, and I’m a vampire hunter.”

His brow furrowed, as if the words vampire hunter confused him. “A female hunter?”

She frowned. Nothing annoyed her more than men who thought women were incapable. She was certainly capable of taking care of herself and of killing supernaturally strong vampires to boot.

“Yeah, buddy. You have a problem with a little girl power?” She wasn’t weak. But this guy had the strength of a vampire and the training of an extremely professional hunter, not someone self-taught.

Could he be from…?

No. What were the chances of that?

His eyes widened before they narrowed again. “You’re alone? No one trained you?”

She nodded. “No one but my brother taught me, so, yeah, I’m solo. You know, Solow—like my last name.”

Usually that got at least a little bit of a chuckle out of people, but Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary didn’t so much as crack a grin.

He released her hands, still pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. She tried not to think of the way his hips pushed against hers and the obvious thickness she felt beneath his belt buckle.

He shook his head. “You’re no hunter.”

She frowned. “Oh, yeah? And what qualifies you to make that judgment? I could say the same thing of you, after all.”

He shot her a look that said Don’t make me laugh. “Why are you here? Are you a Host?” A look of disgust crossed his face.

“Hell, no! I would never let those leeches feed off me. Don’t insult me.”

The side of his mouth twitched slightly at that. The closest he’d come thus far to a smile. Apparently he appreciated a hate for the undead.

“Caius wants me as a Host, but he’s not going to get me. Other than that, the reason I’m here is none of your damn business.”

He didn’t respond, only scanned the length of her body. Watching his irises as he drank her in was like watching fire flicker and blaze beneath crystals of ice. Breathtaking.

He wrenched his eyes away from her figure and met her gaze. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

She sucked in a deep breath and balled up the courage in her chest. She needed to push him, to challenge him, even though he had the advantage. “Why are you hunting on my turf?”

He ignored her question. His spine straightened, and she could practically see him training his senses on something like a lethal animal.

“What is this room usually used for?” he asked.

“What?”

He lowered his voice. “What is this room used for?”

She gaped. What the hell was he getting at? “Uh…I don’t know. I think people come in here to have sex and drink from their Hosts in private. But why—”

“Shhh.”

“Why are you hushing me? What the—”

He shoved his hand over her mouth to silence her, but with her hands now free she quickly wrenched it off. “No way are you shutting me up, buddy. I’m—”

Before she could comprehend what was going on, they were nose to nose. With gentle but strong movements, he cupped his hand behind her head and his soft lips met hers. All her thoughts came to a screeching halt as the force of his kiss overwhelmed her. His tongue moved against hers in a slow sensual rhythm as his warm body pressed against hers.

The sweet scent of his skin filled her nose like expensive aftershave and amazing, mind-blowing sex. Another wave of heat rushed to her core, and she felt herself buck against him. She didn’t even know his name, but her body was screaming in need for him. She’d never wanted anything, anyone, so badly in her life. Every inch of her skin was electrified as wave after wave of arousal rushed through her.

With soft smooth movements he lifted her so her torso was cradled in his arms while her hips were still pinned beneath his. The hard length of him pressed between her hips, and she felt herself slicken. No man had ever had such a powerful effect on her.

Somewhere in the distance, she was vaguely aware of the sound of an opening curtain.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” an unknown voice said. “Didn’t know the room was taken.”

Within an instant, his lips were gone.

She gasped for air. The world spun, though he still held her in his arms. Cold air hit her lips, and her heart thumped hard as she longed for the warmth of his kiss to return. He lingered over her, his face barely inches away.

Slowly he released her and stood, walking to the other side of the room. Her head cleared. A distraction. He’d kissed her as a distraction. She’d said people had sex in the room, and someone had come in, so he’d deliberately given the impression that they were having sex. She exhaled a long breath to collect herself. Without his weight on her body, she felt strange and uneasy. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she wished the moment hadn’t ended.

Once she caught her breath she didn’t quite know what to say. Finally she managed to whisper the only words she could manage. “What’s your name?”

“Damon Brock.” His voice was cold and distant, no different from before.

Tiffany sat on the floor, completely stunned. Just like that, she’d had her first kiss ever, and from a tall handsome stranger.