His head cocked slightly to the side as he studied her.
“What are you? Some kind of warlock?”
He stepped onto the first porch step, bringing him level with her. Taking her hand in his, he placed it on his shoulder. His gaze caught hers. He had such beautiful eyes. Gray with flecks of green and blue that seemed to shimmer. His hand came around her waist, drawing her away from the post. “We’ve already established what I am.”
He made it so easy to lean into him that she was doing it before she even recognized the impulse. A memory nudged the edges of her consciousness. “You’re a vampire.”
He swung her up in his arms as he climbed the steps, taking her with him back into the house. “You got it in one.”
“I always get it in one.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“It can be a curse.”
It was easier for her to let him carry her, easier to rest her cheek against his shoulder and breathe his addictive scent, than to protest.
“How so?”
She yawned. “It scares men off.”
He chuckled. “You need to start attracting better quality men.”
The haze around her thoughts thickened. “I don’t think there’s a man for me.”
“There’s someone for everyone.”
He carried her through the house with a familiarity she knew she should object to, she just couldn’t remember why. “Why can’t I think?”
He opened the door that led back to the bedroom she’d just vacated. “Because I’m stopping you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s almost dawn, and I need to sleep.”
She frowned, concentrating, knowing there was a connection between dawn and his need to sleep. It came to her as he laid her down on the bed. She couldn’t see much of his expression. That hat he wore shadowed his face. She knocked it off as her head hit the pillow. She could see him then, the ruggedly masculine face, the distinct intelligence, the raw sexuality. She touched her fingertips to the sharp plane of his cheekbone. His skin was very warm. Weren’t vampires supposed to be cold? She grabbed the thought and held it tightly.
Vampire
. “You’re a vampire.”
He smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Yes, I am.” With a shrug, he sent it to the floor, revealing a broad chest and well-developed pectorals covered with an intriguing mat of hair. She did like men with hair on their chests.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Had she said that out loud?
He kicked off his boots, slid his belt from its strap, and knocked his hat off the bed. “Move over.”
In the aftermath of obeying, annoyance set in. Since when did she take orders from any man? Before she could slide back to her spot in the bed, he was there. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. She tumbled into him. His arm came around her waist, encouraging her closer. It was natural to bring her knee up. The denim of his jeans rasped against the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Her cheek nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. As she shifted, he pulled the blankets up over her. His scent came to her stronger, lulling her with the sense of security that always accompanied it. Safe. He made her feel so safe. A vague alarm bell went off. It was such a foreign sensation that she didn’t trust it. She shouldn’t trust it. She knew that. She just couldn’t remember why.
Slade’s other hand trailed over her forearm, her shoulder, to cup her head. He pressed gently. The sense of safety mellowed to a sense of rightness that seemed to sink into her soul along with his scent.
“Sleep, sweetness. We’ll talk tonight.”
Tonight would be too late. She frowned. Why? Why was tonight too late? She tried to push away. At least she thought she’d tried. “I need to think.”
“No.” His thumb stroked across her cheekbone. “You need to sleep.”
And suddenly, the fog that was hazing her consciousness billowed outward like a light-obliterating sail, flowing past her defenses, obscuring all her concerns, leaving her with just that foreign, longed for, utterly compelling sense of... right.
THE
house was pitch black when Jane awoke. She couldn’t tell whether it was night or day, thanks to the heavy drapes on the window. For the moment, she didn’t care. She was warm, secure, and the slow, steady sound of Slade’s heart beneath her ear, beating in time with her own, created the illusion that she wasn’t alone. She’d always hated being alone. And she’d always hated the weakness that made her mind solitude. But alone was better than trapped. Anything was better than trapped.
Dear God, she was in trouble. Even knowing what she knew about Slade, she was hesitant to disturb this moment. The sense of safety was just an illusion created to trap her. Vampire or not, Slade was very good. It hadn’t even taken him twenty-four hours to find her one weakness and exploit it. And worse, she’d let him. At the very least, she should have seen it coming. Jane considered that. Thinking back, she tried to pinpoint the exact moment that Slade had taken over her mind. All she could remember was being tired, that feeling of safety, and then everything going dark. The same way it had last night. Apparently, her defenses were weak when she was tired, and he’d taken advantage of that. She didn’t know if he could take advantage when she was rested, but she wasn’t going to hang around and find out.
Jane eased her head off Slade’s chest—his perfectly sculpted, made-to-be-nibbled-and-kissed chest. Slade didn’t move. Neither did she, for a second. Hormones could be a pain.
Vampire
. Damn, it felt weird even thinking the word. Couldn’t survive sunlight. Some legends said they couldn’t stay awake while the sun shone, which, if she extrapolated from Slade’s deep sleep, would make now her best time to escape.
Staying under the covers so as not to wake him with a draft, Jane inched across the mattress, creating as few percussions as she could. When she got to the edge, she just let her legs slide off, feeling for the floor with her toes. The floor was cold. She hated cold floors. Just one more reason to hold a grudge against Slade. As if his taking control of her mind wasn’t enough.
Tugging her nightgown down from where it gathered around her waist, she stood. The first order of business was to get her clothes. She held the cloth away from her body. It was voluminous, easy to slip over her head. The question of who’d done the slipping on would have to be addressed later. Her cheeks heated as she imagined Slade taking off her bra. Her breasts peaked. Her breaths shortened.
Oh, for Pete’s sake!
This was ridiculous. As if she needed more incentive to leave, the unruliness of her hormones made it imperative.
Opening the top drawer of the bureau, she found a pair of sweats. They were too big, but at this point she couldn’t be choosy. Slade stirred on the bed. A frown creased his forehead. His palm slid across the mattress. If she didn’t do something to soothe that restlessness, she’d never get away.
Carefully tugging the sweatshirt down over her head, Jane debated her options. There was only one. And it was a gamble, but not so big, because if he woke before she’d gotten a good distance away, there’d be no escape. She’d seen enough of his abilities to know that.
Moving quickly, she took the two steps to the bed. The closer she got, the more right it felt. Was he controlling her mind even in sleep? As abhorrent as the thought was, it didn’t dilute the pleasure that pulsed up her fingertips as she touched the beard-roughened flesh of his cheek. He was a beautiful man. She drew her fingers back, rubbing her thumb across the tips, holding on to the sensation. Not a man, she corrected herself as the urge to touch him increased. Vampire, not human. Dangerous. Definitely not for her. He stirred again. It was no hardship to cup his cheek gently in her palm and whisper, “I’m right here.”
He settled immediately. She left her hand there until his breathing evened out and his heartbeat slowed. And hers, too, she realized. It was absolutely time to go.
Jane stumbled over her shoes at the end of the hall. The minute it took to tie them felt like an eternity. Every two seconds, she felt compelled to look over her shoulder toward the bedroom, worried that Slade would follow, worried he wouldn’t. The latter scared the shit out of her. She didn’t depend on anyone. Ever.
Straightening, she took a breath and steadied her shaky nerves. She was pretty sure that everyone expected her to sleep as long as Slade did. Since only he interacted with her, it was likely he was the equivalent of her personal bodyguard. Or maybe just guard. Who knew? Certainly not her. As she felt along the wall, her fingers bumped a jut of smooth wood. Further exploration revealed more wood on the other side, rather than glass. A door, and from the chill permeating the wood, one to the outside. Perfect. She felt along the wall on either side of the door frame, searching for evidence of an alarm system. She didn’t touch any sensors. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist, but she didn’t have time for further precautions. This was definitely an all-or-nothing moment.
“You should probably know there are two werewolves on the other side of the door, ready to pounce.”
“Jesum Crow!” Jane spun around, clutching her chest, peering through the darkness for the source of that feminine voice.
A light turned on. She blinked, momentarily blinded, fumbled for the door handle, and, remembering the werewolves, reconsidered when she found it.
“If you’re not quiet, you’ll wake Slade, and neither of us wants that.”
Blinking, she said, “I certainly don’t.”
A woman sat on the three-cushion leather couch. She had shoulder-length brown hair with bangs cut in a fringe above tired blue eyes. Jane’s first impression was of a rather plain woman, but then the woman smiled and that all changed. Her smile animated her whole face, transforming it into something else. Something compelling, inviting.
“Good, then get away from the door before the McClarens come in to see what’s up.”
Jane did, but only because she didn’t want to be anywhere near anything werewolf. “Do they know you’re here?”
“Nope.” The grin that accompanied that statement showed no sign of remorse. “They think I’m tucked up in bed with Caleb.”
“They can’t ... sense you?”
“Not if I shield.”
“Shield. That’s a mental thing?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Caleb’s wife.”
“I’d better be his wife if I’m supposed to be kept in the bed with him, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured out how everything works around here yet.”
“I’m willing to bet you don’t even know where
here
is.”
That was the truth. “But you’d be willing to tell me?”
“For a price.”
Of course
. “What price is that?”
The smile left Allie’s face. “I want you to meet my son.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe in kidnapping.”
Allie wasn’t making any sense, and she did look a little pale. There were illnesses that could leave a person disoriented. “Are you all right?”
Allie smiled. “I’m probably not making a lot of sense to you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Then let’s go in the kitchen and have some coffee.”
Coffee sounded heavenly. Allie caught the anxious glance Jane threw over her shoulder at the door. “They won’t come in. But they’d probably like some coffee when it’s made.”
“Werewolves drink coffee?”
“A cinnamon bun wouldn’t come amiss,” drifted through the door.
Allie smiled and shrugged. “Doesn’t really go with the image, does it? But truth is, werewolves have voracious appetites and a pretty severe sweet tooth.”
“And we’re open to bribes,” came another voice through the door.
“They know you’re here now.” And apparently they also had a sense of humor. “Why do they need to be bribed?”
Allie rolled her eyes. “So they don’t tell Caleb I’m over here drinking coffee. He thinks it’s bad for me.”
“Is it?”
Allie opened the freezer door and pulled out a fancy bag. “Who cares? It’s good.”
She had a point. “Do you have cream?”
“Of course.”
Jane’s patience lasted as long as it took the other woman to measure out the coffee. “Why do you want me to meet your son?”
There was the barest tremble in Allie’s hand as she poured water into the coffeemaker. “Because he’s dying.”
Jane didn’t know what to say to that beyond, “I’m sorry.”
Allie looked up, her eyes burned brightly in her pale face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to save him.”
The only other time Jane had felt so helpless was when she’d been working in Africa and a mother had laid her starving child in her arms and as the baby drew it’s last breath said, “Please.” The only English word she’d known. The woman had learned it, Jane later discovered, because she’d hoped it would persuade Jane to help her. In the end, Jane hadn’t been able to help. The little girl had died of hunger in a world where so many had an excess of food and riches. “I’m a researcher not a practicing doctor.”