Numbly, Christian returned the card to her. Nicky jotted down her information, handed it back, and smiled brilliantly. “I do hope you’ll change your mind, Mr. Durand. Thralled or not, I really enjoy my job.”
Her hand trailed down his shirtfront as she sashayed by him, the tips of her fingers glancing off his tumescent cock. Male that he was, Christian turned to watch her pause at the door. A long red trench coat hung from the tree beside it. Nicky slung the garment over her shoulder but didn’t put it on. As coy and pretty as any starlet, she turned just her face to him.
“My driver’s waiting at the gate. Feel free to stop me before I get there.”
Christian didn’t stop her, though he did admire the jiggle of her ass in the black panties. As he shut the door, he and Roy let out matching sighs. He suspected they both were wondering if Nicky was going to stroll across the hotel grounds in her underwear.
“Wow,” Roy said. “You sure you want to send her away? I’m thinking she wasn’t lying about relishing her work.”
“I’m thinking I don’t need the bitch queen finding more ways to get her hooks into me.”
“Maybe you could consider it as using one hook to distract you from the other.”
The other hook was Grace, of course. Though Roy’s words were too on the mark for comfort, Christian had to laugh at his wistfulness. “Maybe I should see if they deliver snacks for humans.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t,” Roy said. “I might seem old to you, but I ain’t too old for that.”
Snickering at his own wit, Roy wandered into the kitchen to check the Frigidaire. He opened it and leaned in.
“Well,
I
won’t starve,” he said dryly.
Christian was sure Roy meant well, but his patience abruptly snapped. He was a vampire, for God’s sake. A predator to his bones. He didn’t need to be spoon-fed—or jollied out of bad moods.
“I’m going out,” he said. “I’ll be back by daylight.”
He waited just long enough to see Roy’s startled expression. Then he was off and whooshing through the Chateau Marmont’s sloping, tree-shaded grounds. Grace’s allure didn’t matter. The world was filled to bursting with warm and easily willing women. All Christian had to do was pick one.
C
hristian snarled in his sleep as a rough hand shook his shoulder. It
couldn’t
be time to get up. Every one of his limbs was lead.
“It’s three fifteen,” Roy informed him, “and that starchy gal is bound to be early. Don’t make me douse you with ice water.”
“
Scheisse
,” Christian hissed as he forced himself to sit up. His upper lip curled automatically, a reaction Roy wasn’t feeling kind enough to ignore.
“Pull in your fangs, boy. The queen bitch sent you a care package.”
Christian rubbed his face and groaned. He barely remembered stumbling in here at dawn. He’d had quite a run last night, down Sunset Boulevard and south along the coast, where he’d watched the waves crash beneath the cliffs at Point Vicente Lighthouse.
After an hour, the sound had almost calmed him.
“Put this on,” Roy ordered, tossing him a small container. “This’ll keep you from weaving around today like a drunk.”
Christian stared at the object his reflexes had caught for him. “
Coppertone?
”
“Sunscreen is what they call it. It increases the amount of time you can be out without smoking. There’s six more like it in the basket. The note says don’t be stingy when you smear it on.” Roy snapped his fingers to shock Christian’s drooping eyes back open. “Ticktock, son. Fourteen minutes and counting.”
Christian pushed on shaky legs from the bed. Luckily for him, vampires didn’t need to shower or shave. Their energy threw off things like sweat. His jeans were where he’d dropped them, kept clean and soft as velvet by the same magic. He would have sat down again after he’d zipped them, but Roy was still standing there. With all he’d seen over the years, Christian in his glowing, glamour-free skin altogether didn’t mean much to Roy.
“Why don’t you get that water?” Christian suggested. “I’m thirsty.”
“Didn’t you feed?” Roy burst out in amazement. “You were gone all night!”
“I was getting the lay of the land. I’m not going to start hunting before I know where I stand.”
Roy opened his mouth, then gave up and shook his head. “You get a move on, and I’ll pretend I believe that.”
G
race had been having strange dreams all morning. She often did when she worked Miss Wei’s eccentric schedule; the shift in hours did something to her brain. Of the two dreams that she remembered, one was about ripe red raspberries, which she’d been crushing against her body but not eating. In the other, someone she knew repeated, “The river’s flowing. Why aren’t you jumping in?”
The voice had been so clear, so distinctive, that it seemed to echo through her guesthouse bedroom after her eyes opened. The clock on her bedside table said it was two thirty that afternoon, barely time to shower and dress and do all she had to before she drove back to the Chateau.
Whenever possible, she liked to be five minutes early for appointments.
Her body didn’t want to cooperate with her preference. She felt slow and dreamy as she washed up and got ready. Were those her green eyes in the bathroom mirror, so slumberous and sensual? She was used to looking bright and eager, to feeling businesslike and prepared. She couldn’t bear to put on the sensible trousers she’d laid out for herself last night. A pale pink dress she rarely wore called to her. A band of cashmere trimmed its low neckline and cinch belt, practically inviting caresses where she was most female. Though acceptable for a cocktail party, the dress was unsuitable day wear.
She put in on anyway, frowning at her reflection as she settled the belling skirt over petticoats.
If she’d wanted to wear a dress, she should have chosen her fake Chanel. Its long knee-restricting skirt sent exactly the message this afternoon required.
“Too late,” she told herself as she grabbed her keys.
In the car, the new singer Elvis Presley was all over the radio, crooning for some bobby-soxer to love him tenderly. After futilely switching stations, Grace snapped the music off. She didn’t mind the song; she just didn’t need to be thinking about loving someone herself.
Elvis’s hair was all right, though. Maybe minus some of the grease. She’d mention him as a possible model to the stylist. A duck’s ass cut seemed like it would suit Christian. If the girls flipped half as hard over him as they did for Elvis the Pelvis, their whole production would be in clover.
Grace pulled up at her destination without remembering how she’d got there.
Christian’s bungalow appeared unkempt by daylight. The evergreens overgrew the windows like movie monsters trying to get in. She made a mental note to call the hotel management again. This time she’d be sterner. Miss Wei’s guests, for whom she frequently leased this bungalow, deserved well-kept landscaping.
As she lifted her hand to knock, Christian opened the front door. His long, thick-lashed eyes were sleepy, but that was no surprise. Grace wet her lips and tried not to picture them gazing at her from a pillow.
“I’m ready,” he said grimly, settling his cowboy hat low on his forehead.
Grace couldn’t help smiling. “It’s not a firing squad. Just a few additions to your wardrobe.”
“And a haircut.”
“Are you Samson? All your strength’s in your ponytail?”
She reached around his neck to tug it, emboldened by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying her humor.
She had no warning. One moment Christian was inside the door and she was out, and the next she was inside, too. He’d lifted her over the threshold, and now his front was pressed full length against her, backing her into the wall of the entryway. He bore into her as heavily as if he were on top of her on a bed. Her thighs couldn’t hold him off. He pushed his strong legs between them, bending his knees so that the thick length of his erection found the soft, hot ache of her sex.
Grace gasped and struggled, but his hands had trapped her elbows where her dress’s sleeves left off. His fingers were hard as steel.
“I’ll show you my strength,” he said.
He rolled his pelvis against her like a stripper. The ungiving bulge of his cock managed to part her folds even through all the petticoats.
Grace sucked in her breath for a different reason. Her fingers clutched the back of his brown jacket. God, his shoulders were broad. She wanted to stroke them, to measure every firm inch of them with her palms. Heat flooded from her core as he rocked again and groaned softly. His head dropped closer, allowing his mouth to drag a burning tingle up the side of her neck.
He was panting, light and quick, and that might have gotten her worst of all. What he was doing wasn’t only arousing her.
He drew her earlobe between his teeth, the tiny sting of pressure unimaginably sexy. “Did you wear this dress for me?” he whispered. “Did you wonder what I’d think of you all in pink?”
Lost in sensation, she shivered and arched and slid her hands to the bare skin beneath his tied-back hair. Christian shuddered, then retreated far enough to peer into her eyes.
“Grace,” he said, and it was like he
knew
her, like her name was one he’d said many times before. She realized she’d had a similar impression when he clasped her hand outside the plane last night. What was he doing to her? And why was she letting him?
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breathy. Belatedly, she dropped her hands from his neck and pressed them flat to the wall. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Fuck
shouldn’t
.” He kissed her with abrupt abandon, his tongue reaching deeply, sleekly into her mouth.
She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t stop him. She made a sound like a kitten crying. All she wanted, truly wanted down to her soul, was that he’d never stop doing this. His kiss was wet and indescribably hungry, almost overpowering her ability to answer it. When she tried to, he groaned again, the rumble resonating in his chest as his head changed angles to delve deeper. The muscles of his thighs were shifting, pushing her off the floor until her weight hung on the ridge of his cock. She hadn’t known a man could do that, had never been held by one this strong. Each protracted thrust of his hips pushed her closer to climax, the rise of her pleasure as inexorable as it was intense.
Christian must have sensed it. His breath came faster, and something moved in his mouth, something smooth and long that made him jerk with unexpected violence when her tongue brushed it. His arms tightened on her back like a vise. Grace had the feeling something irreversible was about to happen.
“Christian,” Roy said from the living room. “Let the gal do her job.”
Grace had forgotten Roy was around. To her slightly shamed disappointment, Christian wrenched his mouth off hers. For just a moment, his eyes were dazed.
He’d look like this if he were in love
, she thought. When the softness cleared, he began to glare.
“Maybe this
is
her job,” he said, low and gravelly. “To torment me for her boss.”
“It is not!” Incensed, Grace shoved at him until he took one step back. “You keep your hands to yourself.”
“You touched me first.”
“I was teasing,” she huffed, smoothing her skirt down where it belonged. “Being friendly. It wasn’t an invitation to maul me.”
“Maul you!” The faintest wash of pink swept up Christian’s attractively hollow cheeks. By contrast, his lips were pressed whitely together. Amazingly, he didn’t prize them open to argue more. His jaw ticked like he was longing to.
“Kids,” Roy broke in from behind them. “I believe you have an appointment you need to keep.”
Grace was too angry and upset to agree. She stomped out to the car alone, trusting Christian would follow when he was ready.
When he did, it should have gratified her that he couldn’t sit easily, that a flashlight-size hump was pushing out the front of his Levi’s. Sadly, all his condition did was make her squirm restlessly. There was simply no mistaking the substantiality of his manliness.
“Drive,” he said once he’d shut the door. “I’d like to get this day over with.”
Grace drove, doing her level best not to dwell on how very much she wanted to reach over and squeeze his crotch.
M
attson’s wasn’t one of Nim Wei’s vampire-run firms. It was a regular human business, with human employees. Once there, Christian was peered at, measured all over with tailor’s tape, and alternately clucked and cooed over by the store’s manager.
What seemed like hundreds of garments were thrust at him through the curtain in the dressing room. Trying them on was a tiresome process when forced to restrict himself to more or less human speed. His one consolation was that Grace’s poker-stiff spine gradually unbent. Doing her job relaxed her, a fact for which he was grateful. It wasn’t to his advantage to have her stay mad at him, no matter what he eventually decided to do with her.