Читать книгу Blood Red - Sharon Page - Страница 6

So this was the siren who had entranced him in his dreams? Intrigued, Yannick drank in Miss Yates’ green eyes, hidden behind utilitarian spectacles, as they widened in charming astonishment. Thankfully she’d never worn those in his dreams. Her dreary flannel wrapper hinted at the curvaceous body which, in his sleep, responded so eagerly. Her skin’s perfume—lavender and dewy feminine perspiration—mingled with the alluring aroma of her rich blood. His nose detected a trace of something pungent. Rather like garlic. Garlic?

Yannick choked back a laugh. A vampire slayer’s trick. But garlic or garlic flowers had no effect on him.

“You are the Earl of Brookshire?” Miss Yates whispered as her fingers stroked the silver chain around her neck.

The soft, throaty timbre of her voice played its magic. Arousal shot through him and his cock stood up. A flare of heat rushed through his jaw, threatening the explosion of his fangs. Struggling, he controlled it, but they lengthened a little and jabbed his tongue.

“So you have heard of the Demon Twins.” He gave her a teasing smile.

He saw her cast a quick, sidelong glance toward Crenshaw. The man had retreated, but Yannick sensed the innkeeper kept an ear cocked to their conversation.

Originally bestowed upon us when we were mortal. All the more accurate now.

He wasn’t quite ready to brazenly admit to being a vampire in front of the curious innkeeper, so he chose a more intimate form of communication. He spoke in her mind.

Unfortunately, as a result, Miss Yates’ eyes were circles of horror and her pretty mouth dropped open in shock. She yanked the cross out from beneath her clothes and let it dangle before his eyes.

Yannick tormented himself with the irreverent image of her cross nestled in the lush valley between her full breasts, warmed by her pale, satin-smooth skin.

Miss Yates’ hair was as lovely as in his dreams. A magnificent color. A deep, dark red. Not auburn. Not quite burgundy, but darker than flame. Though the length of it was tamed in a thick braid, tendrils dangled over her forehead and danced around her cheeks. Nor was she as calm as she appeared—she had tucked her curls behind her right ear more than a dozen times.

So now you understand why I must speak to your father, Miss Yates.

She shook her head and whispered, “How do you do this? Speak in my head.”

We have a connection, Miss Yates. A connection through our dreams.

A bright pink flush washed over her lightly freckled cheeks. “Is that why you wish to talk to my father?” Sheer, raw panic flashed in her emerald eyes.

No, sweet. I’m not mad enough to admit to a man who could destroy me that I’ve made love to his daughter. Even if only in dreams.

Her response was entirely practical. “Promise?” she hissed.

I am a gentleman. My word can be trusted.

“But you are also a vampire,” she accused sotto voce.

Miss Yates was proving to be as stubborn as she could be in his dreams. Fetch your father, love.

Her amber brows drew together, implying she had no intention of complying. “Are you here to free your brother?”

“I have not yet decided,” he admitted.

“If we have a connection, can I speak in your thoughts?”

I believe it to be possible. With practice. Yannick lifted his brow and winked. What would you wish to tell me that you want no one else to hear?

She didn’t rise to his bait. “Can you read my thoughts?”

Not yet.

She dipped her shoulders slightly in relief. Once again, her fingers stole to the errant curl by her ear and she brushed it back.

Yannick wanted to see her hair loose. Not tamed and bound in that prim, tight plait.

Yes, that was so much more intriguing—the thought of her hair free, and that ribbon put to more playful use. Wrapped around her wrists, securing her arms to his bed while he explored every inch of her with his tongue.

“You mean,” she murmured, “eventually I could read yours?”

Hell and the devil, he hoped not.

“The dreams—”

Not a word about the dreams. You have my solemn vow. But your father is seeking to destroy a vampire with as much power as God, and, for his sake, he must talk with me.

“But are they just dreams?” she persisted softly. “When a vampire visits a victim, sometimes it is remembered as a dream.”

Before tonight, I did not know who you were or where you could be found. Our dreams have only been that, love. Just dreams. Now, go fetch your father.

“Oh. Then what do you want to do with my father, my lord?” She spoke in a normal tone suddenly, one as brittle as ice. Her large emerald eyes narrowed, shooting sparks. Warily, he knew he’d offended. Because he’d issued a command? Or because he’d implied she meant nothing more to him than a delightful partner in his dreams?

If only she knew.

If he had a soul, she would have captured it.

“How did you escape?” she whispered. “We know you were imprisoned too.”

Behind her spectacles, her eyes glinted with intelligent curiosity, and Yannick couldn’t help but smile. Faced with a dangerous vampire, she showed nothing but courage. “I’m not about to divulge all my secrets, love. And there are some things it is better that you do not know.”

She fumed in the most adorable way. “I will fetch my father, then, my lord, as you requested.

Miss Yates.

She paused on the steps and turned back. Damnation, he’d forgotten about Crenshaw, who must be wondering why they appeared to be having such an intimate conversation, why she would come back without a word spoken. He was never impulsive. Still, he couldn’t let her go without asking.

Yannick had never asked with any other woman. He claimed. Took. Possessed. Made love to them and drank from them and left them. For the poor women, the jades, he left a few coins. For the ladies, he left only the afterglow of intense pleasure.

For himself, he took enough blood to quench his needs. Nothing more.

Let me come to you tonight, Althea.

Do you mean in a dream? She tried to push her thoughts at him. Her forehead wrinkled with the effort, her eyes shut, her amber lashes feathered on her cheeks. And yes, faintly, he heard her.

She was adorable and he found, to his surprise, another warm, genuine smile on his lips.

I want to pleasure you for real, love.

No. But she faltered. Her plump pink lips parted. He waited, waited for her invitation.

No. Please…no. Don’t. I won’t…I can’t…can’t do the scandalous things you want of me, my lord.

He flashed her a lusty grin. Yes, you can, sweet. You are a sensual delight in my dreams. Trust me, Althea.

I am not that foolish, sir. I have no intention of being seduced, trapped, tricked, or forced into being a vampire.

She turned on her heel, her spine straight, her head high, and she stalked up the stairs. With a flick of her slender wrist, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and it swished over the small of her back, just above the generous curve of her voluptuous derrière.

Yannick turned abruptly to Crenshaw. “I have changed my mind about a room.”

Althea’s legs shook as she reached the top of the stairs. She did not dare turn and look back. But in the gloom of the hallway, she sank back against the rough plaster wall. She covered her mouth with her hands, smothering a sudden sob.

What did the dreams mean?

She’d been intimate with that…that beautiful blond man in those dreams. With a vampire. A vampire with the perfect features of an angel! From her dreams, she could remember the salty, rich taste of his bare skin against her tongue. Her fingertips knew his textures. She had played in the coarse silkiness of the golden curls on his chest. She had stroked his erect nipples. Even cupped his bottom as he drove…goodness, in her dreams he had been inside her. Deep, deep within her.

And he knew—he knew—what she dreamed, what they had done!

How could she bring her father downstairs? Althea did not believe for one minute the vampire Earl of Brookshire would not torment Father and would keep her secret.

But if he truly was the brother of the vampire in the crypt, Father must speak with him. Whether it meant her exposure or not.

Her wrap and the skirts of her nightrail swished about her legs as she hurried to her father’s room, but she stopped in her tracks before reaching the door. The earl had come to her in her dreams. He had deliberately seduced her. Until the last dream, she hadn’t even suspected he was a vampire.

Of course he must have known who she was. His denial was a complete lie. How could he expect she would believe he did not? The dreams were a trick—to capture her mind and soul, to use her in some way to release his brother—

“By all that is holy—” Her father’s panicked cry froze her blood.

A crash echoed from his room. A heavy thud. Furniture overturned? Her father falling? For several thundering heartbeats, Althea couldn’t move—then she wrenched forward and raced up the hallway.

“Father?” She reached his door. Thank heavens, the knob turned under her shaky hand. She pushed the door, but before it opened more than a few inches, it slammed back in her face.

“Father!”

Another crash. Althea shoved the door again, but this time it refused to give at all. She kicked it, twisting the knob so hard she thought it might break off in her hand.

Beyond the door, there was silence. “Father!” she cried once more.

Faintly she heard a twang, followed by an instant thunk. The bolt of a crossbow? There was no cry of agony, only an eerie, disembodied chuckle that seemed to come from her father’s room and from behind her at the same time. She whipped around, her hand still clasped to the knob.

There was no one there.

Where was Mr. O’Leary? Hadn’t Crenshaw heard the crashes? Hadn’t the servants?

Desperate, she shoved at the door, her shoulder and hip braced against it. Althea threw all her weight—not much—at it. She screamed, hoping to summon someone. Anyone.

The metal knob turned to scorching fire in her palm. In vain she tried to jerk it again, even as her skin screamed in agony. A revolting stench rose—her burning flesh. With a howl, she yanked her hand back. Sickening pain shot up her arm as she pounded on the door. Dizziness washed over her as her wounded hand struck the wood.

The door thrummed beneath her blows. From the gaps in the frame, a blue light spilled out—a light filled with small twinkling stars. Once in the hallway, they flew at her eyes. Her spectacles protected her, but some struck her cheeks, her lips. Each delivered a sharp, horrible pain, like a bite from small, sharp teeth. Slapping at the door helplessly, she had to flinch and shake her head to avoid the stings.

A black shape enveloped her, pulling another scream from her throat. A huge hand wrapped around her wrist and drew her back from the door. Althea fell against a large, black wall—the earl’s massive chest. “You?”

“You are hurt.” Raw fury snapped in his deep voice.

“I don’t matter. My father is in there!”

Still holding her wrist, he raised his booted foot and slammed it into the door. Before her eyes, the door arched inward and snapped back. With a bang, a large crack shot through the middle of it and it sagged on its hinges but still stood as a barrier.

“Bloody Zayan,” the earl muttered.

Althea jerked her gaze to Brookshire’s face, swathed in the pale blue glow. A deep red fire burned in the depth of his eyes and she caught her breath at the sight. He was a demon and she was praying for his help?

But what else could she do? She’d never been so helpless. None of her weapons could help against so much power.

“Get back.”

She flinched at his brutal command.

“Back, goddammit.”

Stumbling back, Althea snagged a slipper in her hem and tumbled against the wall behind. Her stake bit into her stomach and frantic breathing surrounded her—her own, choked and raw and desperate. The earl lifted his gloved hands, palms facing the door.

A blast of light arced from his hands and the door exploded into splinters. He was definitely no ordinary vampire.

“Stay there,” the earl barked as he stepped into a maelstrom of white and blue light. The dazzling stars swirled as though trapped in a whirlpool. They gathered in a large white ball, which raced into the room behind him.

Wresting the stake from inside her wrapper, she got to her feet and staggered to the doorway.

“Miss Yates, you’re not to go in there, lass.”

A hand caught hold of her shoulder, the instant she recognized the voice. Mick O’Leary! Finally!

Althea twisted beneath his grip and rapped the stake across his knuckles.

“Ow. Christ Jesus!” O’Leary’s hand jerked open, giving her an instant to storm forward. As if she would cower in the hallway while her father was in danger! But as she raced into Father’s room, she could not see a thing other than spinning stars and flashes of light.

Cries and shouts and thudding boots came from behind her—O’Leary and other servants charging into the room.

“Father?”

“Althea!”

Dizzy with relief, Althea stumbled through the dark room toward her father’s voice. But cold wrapped around her, squeezing tight. A slithery cold as though an enormous snake had dropped on her. She slashed blindly with her stake. The tip glanced off an object, and she drove harder, with two hands. She felt it penetrate and pushed it home.

Something exploded behind her and the force shoved her forward.

Warm, comforting arms embraced her. “Althea, my love.” Her father’s voice, but weak, a mere whisper near her ear. She pulled her head back from his chest, searching through the screaming lights.

“Father, we must get out. Can you move?”

But he didn’t answer, and she felt his hands brush over her back in the sign of the cross. He muttered over and over. Latin, but her head filled with a rush of sound and she couldn’t understand his words.

“Father, what is it? What are you fighting?”

A clap of thunder burst inside the room and the lights shot away, toward the window. As they moved, they seemed to tug at her, like a ferocious wind that could pull her off the ground. Father’s grip tightened and she clung to him, her hands fisted in his nightshirt.

Her ears rang with the screeching sounds of the fleeing lights, and then, so loud she feared her ears would burst, a cry of rage exploded.

Then silence.

In the center of the strange, frightening stillness, the vampire earl stood, fists raised to the sky. A faint green glow pulsed around him and as she watched, terrified, the soft light sucked back into his body and disappeared.

Her father sagged against her. Althea caught him, tried to hold him up. Where was his bed? Moonlight spilled into the room now, and she saw, to her amazement, that nothing appeared out of place—not the furniture or the bed. The earl lowered his arms. He stood in a pool of moonlight, his hair and face as silver as the light, and he looked like a glowing warrior angel.

“What in the name of God was it?” O’Leary’s charge toward the window yanked her attention from the gorgeous, shimmering vampire. For the first time Althea noticed O’Leary was shirtless but wore his breeches and boots. Four strapping male servants stood transfixed near the door, gaping in astonishment. Father’s coachman and groom—who knew Father hunted vampires—and two Inn footmen, who did not.

Suddenly her father’s weight lifted from her. The earl lifted him and carried him to his bed, bending to lay him gently onto the quilt. O’Leary herded the servants out of the room as Crenshaw’s voice rose from the corridor. “Mr. O’Leary, what has happened?”

“O’Leary can take care of them. Now, who the bloody hell are you?” came her father’s faint querulous voice.

Despite Father’s obvious weakness, a warm relief flooded Althea. He couldn’t be too badly hurt if he was as crotchety as ever. The earl spoke in a low, murmuring voice, too low for her to hear.

“Brookshire, eh? One of the Demon Twins. So you’ve come after your brother, my lord?”

“As a consequence of hunting Zayan, yes.”

“You’ve decided to confront Zayan.”

“I want what you want, Sir Edmund. To see Zayan destroyed.”

Her father gave a short, curt laugh, then a curse she’d never heard him say. “Won’t slay him without your brother.”

Althea moved forward as her father struggled to sit up. Her hands shook—she knew father had intended to use Sebastien de Wynter as bait to capture his brother. Imprisoned, de Wynter was the weaker vampire. His brother was strong, cunning, a dangerous foe.

To her astonishment, the earl flipped out his cape and planted himself on the edge of the bed. He took hold of her father’s shoulders, eased him back. “Lie down, please, Sir Edmund. Let me find where you’ve been injured.”

“I can tell you that. Ribs below the heart. Right arm. Left leg. Some Hellhound came at me first and mistook me leg for his dinner. Then Zayan crushed me ribs and drove his finger into me chest. Burst into me flesh like a blade. His bloody finger! I got a shot off with the crossbow and caught him through the shoulder—”

Althea tumbled onto her knees on the bed, beside her father. She wrapped her hands around his. “Please, Father, don’t exhaust yourself.” The sight of his face—drawn, pale, his lips blue and trembling—made her heart plummet.

“Drink, Sir Edmund.”

Startled, Althea turned as the earl lifted his wrist to his mouth. His fangs now curved over his lower lip and as she gasped, he sliced into his wrist. Dark blood bubbled along the cut.

Althea got up off the bed, stake in hand. “You can’t ask him to drink a vampire’s blood!”

“My blood heals.”

“It will transform him.”

“No, love, it won’t.”

“He’s right, lass. It won’t.” With a shudder her father held up a shaky hand. “Give it to me then, my lord. I’ve no other choice, do I?”

“I am afraid not, sir. Your heart is slowing now, laboring. It will not survive the strain.”

“I never expected to owe me bloody life to a vampire,” her father grumbled.

Althea sank onto her bed and buried her face in her hands. She should have stayed with her father.

Why had she allowed the earl to command her?

Because he appeared to be a hero. Because Father owed his life to him. Because she owed Father’s life to him.

The heated debate still rang in her head. With the help of the earl and Mick O’Leary, she had gotten her father into his bed, with his blankets pulled up tight. His pulse, which had been thready and weak, began to beat strong and fierce. Color soon infused her father’s lined cheeks and he was quickly filled with vigor. Father had fired question after question at the earl, who told Father to wait until he was recovered to have a discussion. Father had demanded his spectacles, then his journal and pen, but Althea had refused that. Raking his hands through his wiry white hair, he’d argued, but had finally capitulated.

The earl did command that they not open the crypt, then left them to deal with Crenshaw. Father had motioned her close. “I know what he says, missy, but we’re to open that crypt on the morrow.”

For the first time in her life, she had doubted her father. She had taken a deep breath, knowing she must argue, but she hadn’t dared upset Father while he was so weak. “He said we mustn’t and he appears to want Zayan’s destruction, too. I think—” She had broken off as she sensed the earl’s return. Heat flooded her body; her skin prickled in awareness. She couldn’t meet her father’s eyes, terrified he might guess at her reaction. She placed her hand on her father’s, relieved at the warmth there.

“You’d best go to bed, Althea.”

“I will stay with you, tonight, Father.”

“O’Leary can stay.” The earl’s deep baritone murmured down her spine.

Althea had twisted to face him, catching her breath once again at the power he exuded. “Mr. O’Leary? He is a fine man, but I would not trust him to change a bandage, much less care for my father. And where was he while that…that monster attacked my father? Father needs me. I intend to stay with him, I will not leave his side.”

“Miss Yates, please…Zayan will not launch another attack tonight, not with dawn so close.”

“True,” Father had croaked. “You need your rest, my dear. His…lordship—” He broke off to cough. “His lordship is right, lovey. Go to your bed.”

The earl had spoken in her head. Tonight, I need you, love. I need to be with you. I need to watch over you.

And so here she was, gathering the garlic flowers from the side of her bed to toss them away. Images from her dreams raced through her mind as she unclasped the cross from her neck and poured the chain onto her bedside table, beside her spectacles. Her hands skimming down his bare back. His mouth on her lips, her throat, her nipples. His erection sliding slowly between her legs.

The images left her trembling, hot, wet.

In three hurried steps, Althea reached the window and plucked the flowers from there. She lifted the sash and dropped the flowers into the dark.

A soft fluttering sound—the beat of wings—told her he had come. She stepped back and he flew out of the dark as a black bat. In a blink, the earl stood in the shadows of her room, and stepped into the pool of moonlight. The silvery light rippled over his broad shoulders, across the planes of his chest, down the lean length of his legs. His erection, long and straight, gleamed like a sword.

“You’re nude!”

A surprising self-effacing smile touched his mouth. “My body can shift shape, but my clothes do not.” He bowed.

She drank in the flex of his magnificent muscles as the earl bent and straightened. His erection wobbled. She tried to draw her gaze away but couldn’t help but stare. Curved like a drawn bow, it bumped his navel. Even to her inexperienced eye, his staff was magnificent. She tightened inside just looking at it.

Her cheeks flamed when she finally met his eyes, glittering in the light.

This was her dream come to life. Did she dare let herself experience it?

The Earl of Brookshire held out his hand. “Come to me, love.”

With a soft, shy giggle, Althea did, and he cupped her fingers to raise them to his lips, drawing her up against his naked body, against his surprisingly warm flesh. His cock pressed against her belly and she caught her breath.

She would do just a little bit from her dreams. Not everything.

But as the earl’s hot mouth stroked over her knuckles, her knees almost buckled. His lips, wet and soft, pressed against her fingers. With a whispered moan, she gazed up into his glowing, mirrored eyes.

It was impossible to guess the earl’s thoughts behind his shining, silvery eyes.

At least crinkles at the corners hinted at his delight and Althea smiled in return. A smile that vanished into a startled gasp as he sucked her index finger into his mouth. His tongue twirled around the tip. In her dreams, he lavished such attentions on her nipples. And tonight he would for real.

And heaven help her, she wanted it so desperately she felt she might burst.

Then she flushed, knowing she must do something she hadn’t yet done.

“Thank you,” Althea whispered, “for saving my father.” She had to whisper. Their meeting was illicit, forbidden, but also, the moment was magical, and she was afraid to shatter it.

“Anything for you, love.” His lordship caressed her cheek and led her hand to his.

She’d never touched a man this way, and it was beautiful, strangely sweet, to trace the high ridge of his cheekbone, to slide her fingers into his soft hair. Gathering courage, she laid her hand lightly against his face. Touching him helped her believe he was real. His skin was raw silk and his raspy stubble tickled her palm.

His gaze burned into her. “And you, my beautiful warrior, were magnificent. Courageous.”

“How did you send such power out of your—”

“Ssh.”

“No. I need to know. How did you escape imprisonment when your twin brother could not? What do you truly want?”

“You. I truly want you.” He turned his face in her hand and touched his lips to her palm. Dabbed his tongue in the sensitive center.

“Tonight we are just a man and a woman, love.”

Althea’s legs weakened again. He caught her by her hips, supporting her. He splayed his hand over her lower back. Even through her flannel nightdress, his heat seared her.

But just a woman or not, she needed to know. “What of Crenshaw, the servants, the other guests? How did you—”

“I entered their minds and erased much of what they remembered. They believe your father had a severe stomach upset. Now, sweet, I am beginning to wish I could control your mind with the same ease.”

“You can’t?”

“If I could, love, we would have been naked, entwined, and screaming in ecstasy long ago.”

A jolt of agony shot through Althea’s belly at his blunt words. It must have showed plainly on her face because he gave a triumphant grin.

“You have the most tempting mouth, sweet. I imagine that every man you meet hungers to kiss you.”

That startled her. She’d never received more than hurried, chaste pecks from men. Nothing that prepared her for his hot mouth on hers.

He lifted her chin, just enough to allow his lips to slant sensuously over hers. He coaxed her mouth open, the way he did in her dreams. In her dreams, it was so shockingly intimate to kiss with her mouth wide. But the reality was even more scorching and sinful and perfect.

His tongue slid in, filling her mouth with heat and pressure and taste.

She loved it. She pushed forward. Stopped short.

Fangs.

She pulled back.

The hurt in his eyes speared her heart.

Impulsively, Althea arched up and slid her hands around his strong neck. She’d never done this—never claimed a kiss, not even in her dreams. In the dreams, he always took her. She was always the one lured and seduced and possessed.

She had no idea how to kiss.

Pushing aside fear, she let hunger guide her. She moved her mouth over his, pressing hard, then softly, shifting as he did, savoring his mouth. The earl possessed a heat she’d never known, an intimate taste she couldn’t define.

His tongue slid in again and tangled with hers. He kissed her until her wits whirled. Until she understood he would kiss her all night. He kissed her as he tugged the ribbon from her braid and threaded his fingers through her hair. Kissed her as he yanked open the belt of her wrapper and slid it off her shoulders. And kissed her hard as he flicked the first small buttons of her nightdress from their loops, exposing her throat, her chest, the upper curves of her breasts.

She gripped his broad, solid shoulders, her tongue now deep in his hot, delicious mouth. She felt the points of his retracted fangs but forced herself not to retreat.

She wanted to show trust…even if she wasn’t certain she could trust.

Shadows lengthened as the moonlight disappeared, plunging them into a velvety dark. Althea knew the earl could see her, but she was blind and she clung to him more tightly. He pulled her closer, until her breasts pressed against his chest and her hard nipples poked bands of solid muscle, beneath hot skin and coarse curls.

His hands slid down to her bottom. Scandalously, he squeezed generous portions of her flesh with both his big hands and chuckled with masculine pleasure into her mouth.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “What a perfect plump arse you have,” before he captured her mouth again.

Gripping her cheeks, his lordship lifted her, slid his leg between hers, and lowered her so she straddled him.

Oh God, she wore nothing under her nightgown. His naked thigh rubbed her naked nether lips and she blushed as her wetness coated his skin.

He gave another chuckle, this one filled with pride. Just as in her dreams, he was terribly pleased with himself. She was soaking wet, embarrassingly so.

As though he sensed her shyness, he lavished soft, sweet kisses on her eyebrows and lashes, her nose and cheeks, her forehead, her chin, until she giggled helplessly.

He rocked his leg and the pressure felt so good. She let her head loll back as his hot mouth pressed to her throat.

She stiffened and pulled away. “Are you going to bite me?”

Did I ever bite you in a dream?

“No, you didn’t but—” Althea broke off before she said “the other man.” She couldn’t—absolutely couldn’t—say out loud that she had dreamed of another man and him.

“No, angel. I’m not going to bite you. But I do want to taste you. Savor every delectable inch of you.” His lips skated down her throat, his tongue licked in the hollow. All the while, his thigh rubbed and rubbed. A wicked hunger blossomed there. He made her throb and she felt as though she floated in air, as though she could fly. Shift shape as he did, spread newfound wings, and soar.

But his hand in her nether curls brought her sharply to earth. He’d slipped his other hand into the bodice of her nightdress. He cradled her breast, the heel of his hand pressed to her pounding heart. He stroked her curls, dipping his finger lower, into her moisture.

She should stop. Must stop. Or was it far too late? Would he let her stop?

Angel, I will stop when you wish.

“You read my mind!”

Only the signals of your body. Your tension. The startled look in your eyes. I am your servant tonight, love. I do only as you desire.

His finger stayed at the very apex of her sex. Althea fought the desire to tip her hips up, to coax him to slide his finger inside her.

“I don’t believe you!” she exclaimed in a whisper, even though she ached for more.

And why not, my sweet?

“Because you are a man and every woman knows what a man wants. And because—”

What did you enjoy most in our dreams, Althea? What do you want me to do to you?

Yes, she’d done all these things in dreams. But she couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t say such things.

His tongue dipped into the valley between her breasts. Did you enjoy my mouth on your nipples?

“My lord, I—”

“Yannick.”

He was speaking aloud, not communicating in her mind, and she felt strangely relieved. She clung to the safer topic of conversation—his Christian name. “It’s French, isn’t it?”

“You want a French kiss?”

He was teasing, she knew, but she couldn’t imagine what a French kiss would be. “Your name is French.”

“My mother was French, love, with an English marriage to save her from Madame la Guillotine. And de Wynter goes back to the Conqueror.” His lord—Yannick’s leg lowered but he scooped her into his arms before her slippers touched the floor. “And I believe you would enjoy a French kiss.”

Only when he laid her on her bed, when he slid the long skirt of her nightgown up to the tops of her thighs, when he bent and touched his lips to her nether curls, did Althea realize what a French kiss was.

This they had never done in dreams. He had touched her intimately with his fingers, with his…his cock, but not with his mouth.

“You can’t kiss my…there.”

“Your sweet cunny. Oh yes, I can. And I will. I never did this for you in your dreams?”

She frowned. “Don’t you know? Didn’t you have the dreams too?”

“I don’t know if we had the same dreams, sweet angel.” To her shock, he breathed deeply. Drank in her scent. Smiled. “I was most remiss if I never kissed your delicious cunny.”

“That’s what you call it? That crude word?”

Yannick was on his knees on the floor now, gazing up at her from between her thighs. His pale blond hair spilled over his brow, dusted across his darkly lashed eyes. His fingers stroked her inner thighs and Althea could barely think.

His brow quirked. “What would you prefer, then, love? Quim? Pussy? Velvet glove? Pleasure passage? Silken sheath? Grotto of love?”

“Grotto of—?” She stared down at him in disbelief, then dissolved into giggles.

He flashed a playful frown, screened by her auburn curls. She caught her breath at the intimacy of their teasing. How could she be joking with a man—an earl and a vampire!—who had her most private places exposed to him?

He gave an audacious wink. “Women do not generally laugh when I do this.”

He traced the tip of his tongue over her curls. Her hands clenched into fists. She almost shot up right off the bed. His hot breath breezed over a terribly sensitive place and she quivered.

Do you wish me to stop?

“Y—Yes.”

“Are you certain?” He blew across her nether lips and she knew he would not stop. In dreams, he knew to make her melt until she could refuse nothing.

And he was a peer after all. Accustomed to having his own way.

Althea tried to say “yes” once more but her mouth would not cooperate. She truly did not want him to stop. Slowly, she shook her head. Willed the word no at him. Gasped in shock as he pressed his mouth tight to her mound.

Oh yes. Yes. She cried it in her head.

As you command, love. He suckled.

She screamed.