Читать книгу Keep Me Forever - Rosemary Laurey - Страница 9

She had to be, in Sam’s words, barking. Here she was, Antonia Stonewright, vampire; daughter of King Vortax, one of Arthur’s chieftains; wife of King Aramaugh’s younger son, running around in a cow pasture, following a big cat. Barking didn’t even begin to describe it, but something compelled her, and in fifteen centuries, she’d learned to follow her instincts.

It was an easy pursuit.

The cat moved silently and swiftly, keeping to the shelter of the hedges unless crossing fields. Quite amazing, really, how much open countryside was so close to London. She followed him a good fifteen minutes, moving at pretty much mortal speed. The creature never looked back, just continued at the same steady pace as if stalking an invisible prey, until it disappeared.

One instant it was there, moving silently along a field of yellow mustard plants, then it was gone.

Sweet Abel! It had been a long, long time since she’d been shocked like that. Given that cats, no matter how large, were unlikely to levitate, where was it? How had it crossed the ten or so meters to the trees so swiftly? There was nowhere else it could be concealed; Antonia ran for the fringe of woodland. She could move faster than any cat and would soon catch up.

Minutes later, she was through the trees and in a narrow lane. A lane looking surprisingly like the one leading up to Michael Langton’s and no doubt similar to forty or fifty miles of twisting thoroughfares between here and Guildford. Looking around, she sensed life to her right and ran down the middle of the lane. In seconds, she saw Michael’s van parked by the stream, and with a leap, she was back in the woods. Watching. She moved forward cautiously, still in the shelter of the trees.

Then she saw him.

Michael Langton. Standing in the wash of light from his wide-open front door. Tall as ever. Naked apart from a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d been pulled on in haste. The zip was fastened, but not the metal button at the waist, and his waistband hung open.

Sometimes, vampire sight was a questionable advantage.

Seeing Michael like this—tall, beautiful, his bare chest gleaming in the night—underscored her earlier disappointment and her desire. Madam had not satisfied her needs one iota.

He lifted his head as if sniffing the air, looked slowly from side to side, then looking straight in her direction, asked, “What are you?”

She shivered. A reaction she hadn’t known in centuries. She half-suspected she was blushing, or would be if such an action was physiologically possible. He knew. Something.

She stepped out of the trees. Making herself move at mortal speed. For now. “I’m vampire.”

Before she had time to debate the wisdom of that bit of foolishness, he took a step in her direction. “What?”

She moved toward him. “What are you?” His question seemed purely academic.

He smiled, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m the local legend.”

Another Samism, “clear as mud,” came to mind. Why, oh why, had she revealed her nature? Why was she standing an arm’s length from him? Why was she wanting those arms around her?

“You were here earlier,” he said.

“You weren’t.” At this rate, it would be dawn, and they’d still be trading facile utterances.

He nodded while she tried to think of a good reason not to turn and run. Preferably back to Yorkshire. But the prospect of walking away from such a perfect specimen of maleness, warm skin, sweet muscles, and firm chest, to say nothing of the warm blood coursing through his veins, was an impossibility.

For better or worse, probably worse, Michael Langton had her mesmerized.

“Since you’re here, want to come in for a cup of tea?”

She couldn’t hold back the smile. “It’s not my beverage of choice.”

His laugh was full, rich, loaded with amusement and sheer and utter confidence. Obviously facing a vampire didn’t disconcert him in the slightest. She’d no doubt be very wise to run. Fast.

She stepped forward.

“Come in then.”

One look at his eyes told her he wasn’t inviting her in for a quick cuppa. His whole body appeared taut with need, wanting, and arousal.

That made two of them.

“Why?”

It was the grin that convinced her. That and the feral gleam in his dark eyes. “You tell me. Why were you here earlier?”

“I was hungry.” If she was being incautious, might as well do it thoroughly.

He motioned her to enter with a graceful movement. His bare, muscular arm was covered with a sprinkling of soft, golden hair that gleamed in the light.

Antonia paused midstep, met his almost feral eyes, and smiled, her chest tightening and every nerve ending in her body thrumming with anticipation. In three good strides, she was over his threshold, turning to face him as he pulled the door closed behind him. He grinned, resting one broad shoulder against the jamb, as he folded his arms across his magnificent chest.

He was damn lucky she wasn’t grabbing him by the neck and throwing him to the floor. What sort of man toyed with a vampire? Unless, of course, he thought her insane, or he was some sort of fanatic.

His weren’t the eyes of a fanatic.

No fanatic had wide lips that curled at the corners, setting a dimple in his left cheek. “Fancied me for dinner, did you?”

“Just fancied you, really.”

Again that glorious laugh. A rich peak of amusement, excitement, burgeoning life, and a tinge of the unknown.

What in Abel’s name was she waiting for? Her gums, tingling earlier, now burned. Hunger and need stirred deep. How in Abel’s name had she thought a horse would satisfy? Her mouth curled at the memory of docile Madam. This man she ached for was feral.

She stepped close, felt his living breath ruffle her hair, heard his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of lifeblood flowing. Caught the sweet scent of fresh male sweat and the restrained need that thrummed off him in waves. Need that primed her own arousal.

This was insane, but perhaps she’d been sane for far, far too long. Strong, poised, self-possessed, always in control. Laughter rose deep in her belly, bursting in a great peal of joy as she reached out across the centimeters that separated them and touched his arm.

His hand closed over hers, meshing their fingers. If she were mortal, her heart would race and her blood pressure mount. Her heart might not pound, but her chest tightened just as if she were being laced into one of those damned corsets she’d had to wear a century or so ago.

As he lifted her hand to his mouth, she pulled away, uncertain, irritated at his assumptions. Even if they were spot on. His grip tightened, and he drew her hand upward, never taking his eyes from hers, he whispered, “Oh, yes.” And brushed his lips on her knuckle.

Make that knuckles! All one hundred ninety-nine of them! Very, very slowly! His touch sent wild messages to her brain and other, far more sensitive parts. His lips seemed to burn against her skin. As he pulled her to him, she splayed her free hand on his chest to maintain space between them, but he pulled her tight, chuckling as he wrapped his arm around her, trapping her hand against the hard muscle of his chest. He smiled and brushed his lips on hers.

Sweet nights and bat wings! What was he? Who was he? And did it matter a mortal cuss?

As his mouth pressed gently, almost tentatively, her lips parted. Heat inflamed her mind as she met his kiss touch for touch, pressure for pressure, tongue to tongue, as she leaned into him.

He responded by angling his hips against hers. There was no mistaking his interest. Arousal was not the word for the iron hard cock pressing against her belly. Insane, crazed, or just plain moonstruck, his need matched hers. Oh! How they matched! She smiled under the onslaught of his mouth. As he eased the kiss, probably to catch his breath the way mortals were wont to, she reached up, pulling his head back down, mashing her lips on his, invading his mouth with her tongue, and willing his need to meet hers.

He wasn’t complaining.

Not in the least!

Sliding his hands down her back, he eased under her shirt and ran his warm hands over her skin. Involuntarily, she shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, his eyes almost glazed as he pulled his lips a breathspace from hers.

“Not in the least.”

He replied by unsnapping her bra and smoothing his hands up to her nape and back down to ease his fingertips inside her waistband. She had it easier—nothing but hot male skin fore and aft—and as he explored, she mirrored his actions.

“You’ve got cold hands,” he murmured.

With good reason. “I did warn you.”

“You didn’t tell the half.”

She might feel cold to his touch, but his warmth leeched into her bones. Heat flared between them. One hand held her still as his other eased around to cup her breast, causing her to shudder with pleasure. She felt his erection even stronger as his eager fingers found her nipple, tugging gently as it hardened with need.

Forget reason or sanity! Damn caution! Grasping his shoulders, she wrapped her legs around his waist. They were now eye to eye. His hands abandoned their caress and grasped her bottom, pulling her even closer, rubbing his erection where she wanted it most, or almost the most. She wanted his hard heat deep inside.

“Sure?” he asked. For a second, she fancied he’d read her mind. “Mean it, do you?” He rocked her against his erection. “Because I’m pretty much at the point of no return.”

She was impressed. How many mortals resisted her this long? “I’m certain.” She smiled. “I hope you are?”

“Hell, yes,” he muttered, his voice as ragged as the jerky movements of his chest. Plastering his mouth on her, he carried her across the room. She was going backward through an open doorway, until he tipped her and they both bounced as they hit the mattress. “Got you where I need you!” he whispered. “All I need now is to have you naked.”

He stood up, spreading her legs with his strong hands.

“I need more than just me being naked,” she said, sitting up and reaching for his zip. He moved faster. Impossible, but it happened. Grasping her knees, he lifted her legs and, stepping back a little, pulled off her shoes and socks before wrapping a strong hand round each ankle and placing her feet on his chest.

She bent her knees, intending to push him away and reestablish who was stronger, but he took the advantage. Leaning over as her knees bent, he opened her shirt, pushing aside her bra and cupping her breasts with his hands.

Darn it! That horse had to have been doped! It was impossible that Michael was strong as she. It violated the laws of nature and reason, but nature and reason scarcely mattered as his lips closed over her breast. She let her legs sag open and cried out as his erection pressed against her.

They both had too many damn clothes on.

He was starting on her other breast when she reached for his jeans, trying to fumble with his zip. She moved to make it easier but instead, he shifted off her just enough to grab her by the waist and yank her zip down, pulling her slacks and panties down to her knees. He paused a moment, gazing down at her. She smiled. Vanity aside, she was in darn good shape…for her age.

“Pleased with yourself?” he asked, grinning down at her.

“Not yet. I haven’t seen all I want to.”

“It’ll have to wait!”

As she debated the wisdom of ripping her slacks off, he bent over and breathed between her legs.

She almost left the mattress, crying out as his heated mouth covered her. It was wonderful, incredible, but not enough. Was he intending to string this out, to make her wait, to make her beg? He’d go begging!

His mouth was magnificent, but she wanted, needed more. Much more. And he knew it. Wrenching her legs apart, she ripped her slacks. That rather distracted him a bit. “What was that for? I was about to get there!”

“I’m disinclined to wait,” she replied, sitting up enough to kick off the remnants of her slacks and pull off her shirt, tossing it aside.

He seemed happy to stand and watch. Extremely happy going by the convex zipper on his jeans. Tossing aside the last shreds of clothing, she leaped up and stood beside him. “You’ve had your eyeful. Now it’s my turn. She twirled him around, tipped him back on the bed, and unzipped and yanked down his jeans faster than he had time to argue. Not that that was the least likely.

Standing back, she took her time admiring. Beautiful was not the word. His skin was a wonderful golden shade, highlighted by the tawny hair across his chest and the cluster of darker curls at his groin. Fixing her with his dark eyes, he waved his cock as if saluting and, darn his arrogance, settled his hands behind his head and grinned.

Antonia deliberately focused her entire attention on his chest. Not much of a hardship, really. She knelt between his legs as she trailed her fingertips over his chest, down to his navel and just a wee bit lower, skipping the darker curls to stroke the flat of her hand down his thighs. Sweet Abel! The man had muscles. Potting must be harder labor than she’d imagined, or the man worked out like a maniac. It had been decades, maybe centuries, since she’d encountered a mortal body this firm, this…

She met his eyes. “Nice,” she whispered, letting her mouth twitch a little as she trailed one finger up the inside of his thigh, pausing just a hairsbreadth from his balls. “Very nice, in fact.” Brushing them softly, she ran her finger up the side of his cock. “Extraordinarily nice, really.”

So darn nice, it was ridiculous to prolong this any longer.

Moving fast, she straddled him. Positioning herself just a centimeter or two above the tip of his magnificent cock, she ran her hands over his chest and across his shoulders. Hard bodied was not the word. He was as firm as one of his pots warm from the kiln.

And the best part of him would be…she waited no longer and lowered herself. Slowly.

He let out an almost agonized sigh of sheer and utter joy. That much she read in his eyes as she tightened around him and rocked gently.

“Dear saints in heaven!” he gasped. “What in creation are you?”

“I told you!” She laughed, lifting herself just enough to ease half off him before lowering back down, all the time holding him tight. Wondrous was not the word. Magnificent was utterly inadequate. He was…Michael! It was the only word to describe the wonder deep in her cunt.

She murmured his name. Repeatedly. In rhythm with her body, holding his eyes with hers, not by will but by mutual desire.

As her climax rose, a distant part of her mind dimly registered that never had she known a man so strong, so virile. He was her match. Had to be something in that horse’s blood that slowed her, but now was not the time to ponder that.

Sensing him peaking inside her, she leaned down, brushing her breasts against his chest and setting her lips on his skin. He smelled male, alive and horny, and for this moment in time, he was hers. Her desire surged as she eased her lips up to the base of his neck and the richness of his life pulsed against her tongue.

His arms encircled her, holding her, embracing her. Her body sang with need, heat, desire, anticipation of the rightness of his lifeblood, and the rising power of her climax.

She rubbed her fangs over the skin above his vein. Sensed the pulsing heat beneath them as she gently bit.

His body bucked with the power of his orgasm. Wild, guttural feral groans rose from deep in his gut. His hand raked her back, each scratch intensifying her own climax. His hips rocked; his back reared up, and with a tremendous surge within, he rose, turning so now she was underneath. He leaned into her, the weight of their bodies digging his nails deep into her back as her fangs held tight. She was lost in sensation, drowning with sheer and utter blinding pleasure as her body rocked with his and her being absorbed the power of his mighty climax, engulfing his strength in her own soul-rending peak.

Seemed they clung to each other for an eternity, joined in the after-ripples of ecstasy, drowning in wild pleasure and the total joy of their mutual possession.

He was gasping, great breaths that expanded his strong chest and flattened her breasts between them. He was hot, damp with sweat and their bodies melded together. Joined as their minds and emotions had linked a while earlier.

Slowly, sadly, she felt him soften inside her and ease out. She bit back the whimper of disappointment. She was vampire. She was not showing mortal female weakness. Instead, she rolled on her side, and resting a hand on his shoulder, leaned up and licked the wound in his neck, stanching the already slowing flow of blood. Just the taste of him on the tip of her tongue roused a surge of lust. Better restrain herself. She wasn’t leaving him helpless.

She curled up against him, luxuriating in his closeness and maleness. Her eyelids drooped with satiation when he whispered in her ear. “You weren’t kidding about the vampire line, were you?”

Darnation! Sweet Abel, help her! How could she have been so indiscreet? But she had. Easy to take care of. Just take his memory away.

Her hand resting on his chest over his heart, Antonia ran her lips up his neck, pausing just long enough to appreciate the sinews and muscle under his skin, then rested her lips on his forehead and focused on the mind within. Nothing. Utter silence, like a shuttered room or a deserted landscape. Lifting her lips, she looked down at his eyes. Oh, they were intelligent alright. Hazy with the aftermath of sex, but alert, clear, contented.

Was massive brain damage possible? No, he’d barely function in that case, and Michael Langton functioned very nicely. “What are you?”

He smiled up at her, brushing the hair off her forehead. “I told you, the local legend.”

Damn him! So he was the village stud, and she’d fallen for him like a simpering mortal. “Of course you are,” she replied. Fast as she could move, she got out of bed and reached for the remnants of her clothing.

“Hey!” Michael said, jumping out of bed and grabbing her arm. “Where are you going?”

“Home!” Or at least the closest approximation nearby—a nice country house hotel.

“Not yet,” he said. “Stay. You can’t walk away like that. Not after what happened between us.”

Whether she could or couldn’t, she was going to. “I must go.”

“Stay, and I’ll cook you breakfast. You can be back home early, and no one will know you stayed out.”

As if that were her prime concern! “I think at my age, my reputation can stand a late night.”

“Then why go?” He was centimeters from her, not touching, but the heat of his body came at her in waves. And he was hard again. Naked women did that to mortals.

She leaned in to kiss his forehead. He moved and took her mouth with his, cupping the back of her head with his hand. Darn it! He all but marked her—opening her lips with his, taking her tongue deep into his mouth, rekindling wild sensations deep inside her, sending shivers over her with his fingers, and leaving her mind racing and her reason fogged. But not completely.

“See?” he said, lifting his mouth off hers. “Wouldn’t you rather stay?”

What she’d rather do and what she was going to do were two very different things. “I never stay.”

A flash of hurt crossed his dark eyes. “Never’s a very long time.”

As if any mortal really understood the meaning of “a long time.” But she couldn’t just walk out, not after…not after the most incredible lovemaking she’d known in centuries, if ever. “Michael, I have to go. I just do. No reflection on you, or…” she paused, “what we just shared. I just don’t ever stay the night.”

He nodded but said nothing, as if biting back words. She discarded her ripped underwear but pulled on the two ripped halves of her slacks and looked around vainly for something to run through the loops and hold them together.

“You’re not really going out like that?”

“Since I didn’t bring a change of clothes, yes.”

He made an exasperated sound. “Hang on. If you insist”—he rummaged in his drawers—“wear these.” He handed a folded teeshirt and a pair of well-worn but clean workman’s overalls. Too big by far, but unlikely to fall off. “Put them on, and I’ll take you home.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Put them on, dammit, and I am taking you home!” He tossed them on the rumpled bed and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Turn around.”

“Ever thought of saying ‘please’?”

He took a deep breath. It made his cock jerk. “Please turn around.”

“Why?”

He gave a long, exasperated-sounding sigh. “I want to look at your back. I think I scratched it.”

She remembered his nails raking her back, but any marks were long healed. “I’m alright.”

Without asking again, he spun her round and succeeded. Hand on her shoulder holding her steady, he licked up her back, his tongue warm but rough. What shocked her most was the realization that her back was scratched and the scratches unhealed. She felt them close as his tongue traced them. Three, four times he licked and then brushed a couple of smaller spots.

She was hallucinating! Had to be. She was vampire. She healed on her own! How could a mere mortal do what he did?

“Better get dressed,” he said, stepping away and taking his warmth with him. “Before I throw you back in bed.”

He left her alone while she put on the borrowed clothes. She looked around for her discarded shoes. Stepping onto them, she noticed they were caked with mud. Hardly surprising given the fields and woods she’d crossed.

So Michael Langton was taking her home. How mortal! She had other ideas. She opened the bedroom window wide, leapt out, and, in seconds, was running at vamp speed toward the village.