Dead Sexy (40 page)

He understood her need even better than she did. She had been through a number of terrible ordeals in the last few months. She had been turned into a werewolf and been near death, and now she was a newly made vampire, unsure of her future, wondering if she had made the right decision. Few things were as life-affirming as the act of love.

He brushed a kiss across her cheek. "A blanket in a cave was not what I had in mind for our wedding night."

"Don't you know it isn't the place that matters," she said, "it's who you're with?"

"Nevertheless," he said, swinging her up into his arms, "I do not intend to spend our first night together in a cave."

"No?" She glanced around. "I don't see a hotel."

"There is one in the village," he said, striding swiftly through the night.

The inn was old and small and quaint, with a pointed roof and a bright red door. The grizzled clerk gave Regan and Santiago an odd look when they walked into the lobby hand in hand. Regan couldn't blame him. Even though Santiago had scrounged up a dress from somewhere, she still looked as though she had been ridden hard and put away wet.

The clerk, who, as it turned out, was also the owner, insisted on being paid in advance. Regan couldn't blame him for that, either.

She glanced around the lobby while Santiago signed the register. An ancient tapestry depicting a king riding to hounds hung from one wall. A small, round, mahogany table and four elegant chairs occupied one corner. The chairs looked so old and fragile, Regan doubted if all of them put together would hold her weight.

There was no elevator. Santiago took her hand and they walked up the curved stairway to the second floor.

Their room was located at the end of a narrow hallway that was lined with old portraits. Regan wondered if the inn was a family business and the portraits were of the former owners.

A murmured, "Oh, my," escaped Regan's lips when Santiago swung her into his arms, opened the carved oak door, and carried her across the threshold. The tiny parlor was done in blue and white with peach accents and was perhaps the loveliest room she had ever seen. The sofa was curved, with a high back. A matching chair sat at a right angle to the sofa. Dainty white doilies, as delicate and lacy as spider webs, covered the arms of the furniture. The framed pictures on the walls were scenes of days gone by—a horse-drawn carriage driven by a man in blue and gold livery, a man and a woman in Victorian clothing strolling alongside a placid lake. Old-fashioned lamps with fringed shades provided the room's light. Patterned rugs covered the floor. A fire was laid in the marble hearth, needing only the touch of a match.

"Not bad," Santiago said, glancing around.

"Not bad?" Regan punched him on the shoulder. "It's beautiful."

He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, "You are."

Turning her in his arms, he slowly lowered her feet to the floor. Her body made a slow, sensuous descent down the length of his and by the time her feet touched the floor, she was as aroused as he was.

But this was her wedding night, and she wasn't going to bed smelling of fear and perspiration and dirt. "I need a shower."

"An excellent idea," Santiago said agreeably.

When Regan started to undress, he gently batted her hands away. "Let me," he said, his voice rough with desire.

Regan stood there, blushing, as Santiago slowly bared her body to his gaze. She felt a rush of feminine power as his eyes grew hotter.

Santiago toed off his boots and was about to slip off his shirt when she said, "My turn," and with hands that trembled with eager excitement, she removed his shirt, trousers, and briefs.

He was, in a word, gorgeous, from his inky black hair to the soles of his feet. And he was hers, for this night and every night for as long as she lived. It was a heady thought.

Swinging Regan into his arms, Santiago headed for the bathroom.

"I can walk, you know," Regan said dryly.

"Of course you can," he replied easily. "But why should you?"

She laughed softly. "Are you going to carry me everywhere?"

"Perhaps." He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, the curve of her jaw. "You do not wish to deny me the pleasure, do you?"

Regan smiled a sultry smile. "I wouldn't think of denying you anything that would bring you pleasure."

Chuckling softly, Santiago opened the shower door. Muttering, "how quaint," he turned on the old-fashioned shower and adjusted the temperature. When the water was just right, he stepped under the spray. Then, as he had before, he slowly lowered Regan to her feet.

She shivered with pleasure as her body slid over his. Never in all her life had she experienced anything quite as erotic as the feel of Santiago's water-slick skin against her own.

Moments later, when he picked up a bar of lavender soap, lathered his hands, and began to wash her breasts, she knew she had been mistaken. Nothing could be more sensual, more arousing, than the touch of his soapy hands sweeping over her flesh.

"Joaquin…"

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to melt at your feet if you don't stop that."

"Then melt, my love," he said, his voice growing husky as his hands, his wickedly clever hands, slid over her belly, slowly moving lower, lower, until, groaning with pleasure, she arched against him.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Santiago took her there, in the shower, with the water sluicing over their bodies and their mouths fused together.

He swallowed her cry when he breached her maidenhead, his hands gentle as they stroked her face, her back, her hair.

Regan writhed against him, certain she was going to explode into a million pieces as Santiago moved deep inside her, his voice urging her to go with him, to let go and let it happen.

With her arms wrapped tight around his waist, she buried her face in his neck and felt a sudden sharp pain in her gums. Needing to relieve the pressure, she bit his neck. Caught up in a world of sensation, it took her a moment to realize that she was feeling what he felt, that his groan was not one of pain, but ecstasy. His blood was like sweet nectar on her tongue.

Moments later, the wave of pleasure she had been riding crested, sending ripples of pleasure through every part of her being. It was unlike anything she had ever known, and more wonderful than anything she had ever imagined.

Spent and sated, she rested her head against Santiago's shoulder. "That was incredible," she murmured. "Can we do it again?"

It was near dawn when Regan crawled under the covers. They had indeed done it again. And again. And again. On the sofa. On the floor in front of the fire. In the bed. After the last time, they had taken another shower.

Now, lying in bed while Santiago secured their room, she felt her body grow heavy. It was a frightening feeling, as if she were being weighed down. Was this a natural part of being a vampire?

She tried to sit up as Santiago entered the room, but she lacked the strength.

"Joaquin!"

Hearing the note of panic in her voice, he hurried to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. "I am here."

"I feel so strange. I can't even sit up. It's like I've been drugged or something."

He smoothed his hand across her brow. "Relax, my love, do not fight it. It is the Dark Sleep."

"I don't like it."

"The sensation of being weighed down will pass, in time."

"So, it's normal?"

He nodded.

"You won't leave me, will you?"

"No."

She frowned. "Why aren't I hungry all the time, the way new vampires are supposed to be?"

"Because I am a very old vampire. My blood is stronger than most because I have only made one other vampire during my existence. My strength is now yours." He grinned at her. "And you drank from me earlier, remember?"

How could she forget? In the throes of passion, she had bitten his neck and tasted his blood—and liked it so much she had done it again, and again.

"Vampires do not usually feed on each other," Santiago remarked.

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I really do not know. I think the reason you are able to drink mine is because the doctor gave you my blood via transfusion."

"You gave me your blood?" Even though the darkness was dragging her down, she laughed. "A vampire
giving
blood," she said, yawning. "That has to be one for the books…"

Her voice trailed off as the Dark Sleep caught her in its grasp.

Santiago's heart swelled with love as he gazed down at his bride. She was so lovely, so sweet. And now she was his, and would always be his.

He sat at her side, stroking her hair and caressing her cheek with his fingers, or simply watching her, until his own body demanded rest.

With a sense of contentment, he slid into bed beside her. For the first time in centuries, he wasn't alone as he took his rest.

It was, he thought, a welcome change that had been a long time coming.

Regan looked out the window of the plane. She had been wondering how they were going to get home. One thing she hadn't expected was to have a private jet waiting for them at the airport.

"You must have an awful lot of credits saved up," she remarked, glancing over at Santiago.

"I have a few."

"A few?" She glanced at the plane, with its plush seats and opulent interior. Pilots that flew private planes were expensive; pilots that would fly you across the world and wait until you were ready to return were even more so.

"It is easy to accumulate wealth when you have centuries at your command to do so and your material needs are few."

She made a soft sound of assent. She hadn't thought of it like that. Then a new thought crossed her mind.

"Joaquin! What am I going to tell my family?" She shook her head, trying to imagine how she would explain to her parents and her brothers that she now belonged to an endangered species and wouldn't be able to have brunch with them on Easter Sunday or open presents on Christmas morning. Sure, they were liberal in their thinking, but they'd never had a vampire in the family before.

"Do they love you?"

"What a silly question. Of course they do."

"Then they will accept you as you are."

"I don't know. My father's a senator. He's been working on a law to repeal the Endangered Vampire Act. Somehow I don't think he'll be too thrilled to learn about my new, ah, role in life."

Santiago grunted softly. "In that case, I doubt they will approve of your choice of a husband, either, but I would think that, given a choice between having a daughter who is a vampire and a daughter who is dead, your father would prefer the former."

"I guess so. It should certainly make for some interesting conversation when the family gets together."

"You are all the family I need."

"I love you, too." She glanced out the window, thinking of all the things she hadn't even considered when she agreed to let Santiago bring her across. Her parents' reaction hadn't occurred to her. Of course, she hadn't been thinking all that clearly at the time. And Mike… how would she ever tell Mike?

"What is wrong now?" Santiago asked, seeing her woebegone expression.

"It's Michael. How will I ever tell him?" She shook her head. "I'll never be able to tell him about any of this," she remarked, "or about us. He'd never understand. He's so… Joaquin?" She frowned as his face went blank. "What is it? Is something wrong with Mike?" She shook his arm. "What is it? Tell me."

"He is dead."

"Dead?" She stared at him. "When? How?"

"He was dying when I found him."

Regan felt a rush of guilt. "It was Vasile, wasn't it? That night, at my house…"

Santiago nodded. "It was Flynn who told me where to find you."

Tears welled in her eyes. All this time, she had never wondered what had happened to Mike. She had just blithely assumed that he was all right and that he would be in the city when she returned. Resting her head on Santiago's chest, she let her tears fall. "It's all my fault. If it wasn't for me, Mike would be alive now."

"It is not your fault," Santiago said. "You must not think like that."

How could she help it? She hadn't been in love with Michael Flynn, but she had loved him as a friend—a good friend. She felt a sudden delight in the knowledge that she had killed Vasile. She only wished she could do it again, for Mike.