Lover Arisen, page 29
“The Brotherhood?”
“My buddies.”
She had an image of that goateed male with the tattoos at his temple, and the other stockier one. Then she remembered the shadow from the bookshop.
“Okay. We’ll stay down here.”
He nodded. And then paced over to the washer.
As he turned around, for some reason she realized he still had that towel wrapped around his waist. With the gun in his hand, he looked like a fitness model who had decided to embrace his inner Sons of Anarchy.
And what do you know, now that they were relatively safe, her eyes cased his body and she thought about how it had felt to be under him—which she supposed was proof that procreation was part of the survival instinct: Given the danger they were in, sex should be the last thing on her mind. But humans hadn’t made it five million years as a species because their libidos were shy about attraction, regardless of the circumstance.
Plus… he was a vampire.
Somehow, that little revelation had gotten lost with the threat that had yet to materialize. And shouldn’t that whole different species stuff bother her? Shouldn’t the existence of them make her rethink everything? Shouldn’t the fact that the pair of them had almost had sex shock her?
Nope, she thought as she measured the smooth, hairless expanse of his chest. That would be a big fat nope, at least for the sex part.
Hell, with abs like that, he could have been a Chevy Tahoe and she’d want to jump him.
“Ordinarily,” he said as he turned to the stairs, “I’m not much for rule following. But when it’s a direct order from someone I respect, I’m in.”
“Do you think it’s shadows? Like what was in that bookshop?”
“Can’t say.” He seemed to bite down on his molars, the hollows in his cheeks becoming more pronounced. “Don’t know. And it’s making me mental. I can feel something, I just can’t see it.”
Then he looked at her. Tilted his head. Smiled a little. “You know, you’re handling this really well.”
“Am I?” she murmured, not sure of that at all.
“Absolutely.” He smiled more widely. “Come on, when was the last time you had a vampire in your basement?”
God… he was incredible. He was a strange, mystical presence that was overwhelming and yet not scary. And it was bizarre… she hadn’t known him—consciously known him—for more than a week… but she could not imagine not having him in her life. In contrast to all the people she worked with on her job, the folks she knew in Caldwell, the friends she’d made in college, this man, male, whatever he was, was irreplaceable.
She couldn’t fathom not seeing him. Not having him here in her home—
Erika gasped.
“What is it?” he asked.
When she couldn’t respond, he strode over and took her free hand. “Are you all right.”
She glanced around her pathetically “finished” cellar. Thought of the floor above them with her mismatched furniture. Pictured her bedroom up on the second floor.
Shifting her eyes to him, she had to blink away tears. How could she explain to him that ever since she was sixteen, she had lived in places that she refused to claim? And yet he’d been under this roof for how long?
And he’d turned it into a home.
“Come here,” he said as he drew her in against his bare chest.
Erika closed her eyes and leaned into his strength. She had been falsely composed for so long, she’d forgotten she was fronting, what had once been a survival skill now an ingrained habit that went so deep, it had become a defining characteristic of hers.
His broad palm stroked up and down her back and he murmured against the top of her head. In return, she held him tightly, and in doing so, tried to communicate through touch that which she couldn’t possibly say out loud.
Because it was lame. And crazy—
A quiet vibrating sound stiffened them both, and he gave her a quick squeeze and then went over to the duffle to take out his cell phone. Whatever the text was, he seemed to read it twice. Either that or it was a long one.
“It’s an all-clear.” He shook his head as he typed out something, his blunt fingers flying over the little screen. Almost immediately, there was another vibration as a response came in. “V says everyone’s okay and there’s no engagement, but Wrath’s calling all the fighters on rotation in from the field tonight.”
“Wrath…?”
“Our King.”
Erika could only stare across in wonder as he continued to communicate with whoever was on the other end of the texting. A king? As in… a whole society, living under the radar in Caldwell, with their own political hierarchy, their own problems, their own world? And this had been going on for how long? And “engagement,” “fighter,” and “field”—those were military words.
Like they were at war.
But come on, as if she hadn’t seen that up close and personal?
And it was at this moment that she realized why she was so calm. As shocking as all of the revelations of tonight had been, they actually explained everything that hadn’t sat right with her and so many others for so many years: From her headaches to the completely clear brain scans of her homicide colleagues, from those ritualistic murder scenes that had happened with some regularity to the bodies found in inexplicable conditions, from the confusing fact patterns reported by witnesses to everything that had been simmering under the surface that she—and all the other detectives charged with investigating violent crime in Caldwell—had struggled to reconcile within the context of the world that appeared to be true… all of it was suddenly making sense.
And she would take a shocking reality over an irreconcilable fiction-quilt of crime scenes that made no sense and gaps in the memories of so many otherwise reasonable people.
Erika went over and sat on the couch.
A moment later, Balthazar came across and settled in beside her, laying the phone facedown on his thigh. When his heel bounced, and he rubbed his jaw, she got the impression that if she’d had a cigarette, he’d have taken one. Or twelve.
As a previous smoker, having quit in her early twenties, she could remember being twitchy like that when the cravings hit.
“So did we humans get the no-sunshine part right?” she asked. “That you can’t go out in the daylight, I mean?”
He seemed to have to refocus. “Ah, yes, that’s correct. And we do live longer than you. We also do tricks.”
“Mind control.” She touched her temple. “I’m aware of that one.”
She wanted to ask more questions, about the enemies of his kind, and his history, and how long he had been in—
“Are you married?” she asked sharply.
“No, I’m not mated.”
“That’s what you call it?” And she was so relieved, she got a little dizzy. “Mated.”
“Wives are known as shellans. But as I said, I don’t have one.”
“Well, I clearly don’t have a husband or a boyfriend. You’ve been through my closets, after all.”
The side of his mouth lifted. “They were really nice closets. So neat.”
“I like to know where things are.”
As their no-BFD conversation petered out and they fell silent, her awareness of him expanded to fill the basement, her attention so rapt, she forgot to track the sounds inside the townhouse or look out for threats. He was just that… captivating. He was like an animal, she realized—and she didn’t mean that in a pejorative sense. Sitting here on her yeah-whatevers blue-and-white couch, with his eyes trained across her little cellar and his limbs relaxed… he was anything but casual. He was like a tiger, poised to attack, even at rest.
She pictured him fighting that shadow in the bookshop, all vicious moves and power.
Then she remembered the pair of them going through her house just now, him out in front, leading the way with that big body of his, everything from the cut of his jawline to the set of his broad shoulders promising one hell of a beatdown if anything got in his way.
Or threatened her in any fashion.
Funny, she’d never found protective, he-man types attractive before. Then again, he wasn’t some posturing roid-junkie with gym-honed muscles and a chest-thumping attitude toward people who cut in line at Starbucks or tollbooths.
He was the real deal.
He was… unlike anything she had ever met before in her life.
Well, duh, he was her one and only vampire.
Feeling like she was getting way too deep, she glanced over at her washer and got back to her feet. “You need some clothes.”
“You mean this towel makes my ass look big? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Over at her dryer, she popped the Maytag’s door. “Your ass is perfect.”
“Oh, my God, you’re making me blush—but keep going.” His voice deepened. “What else do you like about my body.”
As she flushed, she fished out the load she’d put in there three days ago. No Peanuts-happiness-is-warm-laundry going on. The stuff was cold as a corpse.
“I like that you know how to use it in a fight, how’s that,” she answered.
“I can do other things with it.” When she lifted an eyebrow in his direction, he put up his palm. “Not the time. I totally agree.”
Sifting through all kinds of sweatpants and hoodies and leggings, her classic dark load, she tried to find the biggest sizes. Good job she liked things loose.
“Here, try these.”
As she walked back over to him, she considered the long list of never-before’s that had rolled out tonight. Never-would-believe’s. Never-would-forget’s.
He was the latter, she thought. She was going to indelibly remember him whenever he left to go back into his world.
Assuming he let her.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the clothes.
“I’ll avert my eyes to give you privacy.”
“What if I’d rather put on a show for you?” He closed his lids and shook his head. “Sorry. I’m trying to stay on my side of the bed—line. Boundary. Fuck.”
Erika felt herself smile, and didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re funny.”
“Any chance you find funny males attractive? Will it work in my favor—” He pursed his lips. “I’ma just shut up and get my naughty bits covered.”
Turning away, she put her head in her hands and laughed. Then told herself to lose the modesty routine. They were grown adults, who, P.S., had been very horizontal right up until he’d had that weird feeling—
“How did they know to put your cell in my bag?” she asked into her palms.
“V’s a smart guy. He knew I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“So I guess he found my driver’s license and that’s how he knew my address.”
“No offense, but he doesn’t need your government ID to find you. What do you think?”
“I think he’s good with a computer then—”
“I mean about my change in wardrobe.”
Erika turned back around—“Oh. My.”
Balthazar looked like he’d been shrink-wrapped in sweatshirt material—and not only was everything tight, it was way too short. There was a four-inch band of bareness around his waist and big gaps at his wrists and his ankles. On her body, everything was all kinds of room-to-grow. On him, the Nike-wear turned him into a birthday present.
And what a present he would be to rip open—
Clearing her throat, Erika tried to get back on track. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything larger—God, you’re huge.”
He clasped his hands to the center of his chest. “You say the sweetest things—oh, wait, were you just talking about how tall I am?”
As her face flushed, she smiled again—and God, she loved this back-and-forth. It was a reminder of how long it had been since anything had made her… happy.
“You know,” she murmured, “this is not supposed to be fun. Hiding in my basement from whatever the hell we’re hiding from is just not supposed to be fun.”
Balthazar came forward, that body of his moving lithely. And when he stopped right in front of her, his eyes traveled from the crown of her head to the shoes on her feet.
“You don’t want fun?” he said as he brushed her face with his hand. “Well, then, we can change up the mood anytime you want.”
“To what?” she breathed.
His response was spoken in a low, erotic tone. “You decide.”
* * *
As Balz stood in front of Erika, here was what he knew to be true: There was no one and nothing in her house.
His hair-trigger senses were quiet and he trusted them more than he did his eyes and ears.
Added to that, the shelter in place alert had been lifted, even if everyone had been called out of the field—and V, who clearly knew where the hell Balz was, who also had a direct line to Lassiter, hadn’t issued a direct warning about the demon.
Bottom line, they were as safe as they were going to be.
Which was still only safe-ish if he was awake. He really wished Devina hadn’t pulled a Billy Ocean and jumped out of his dreams and into his proverbial car.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said.
“And I’m suddenly worried about you spending the day down here. What happens if there’s a fire and we have to get out—or something? What does no sun mean, exactly.”
“You ever seen a brisket?”
“As in the cut of beef?”
“Yeah, barbecued.” As her face paled, he cursed. “Sorry, bad joke.”
“The sun is that dangerous for you?”
“Commercially available sunscreen isn’t going to help, how ’bout we leave it at that.” He glanced around. “Not unless they develop an SPF one million. And as for being down in your cellar? If this is where you’re going to be, this is where I’m going to be.”
She shook her head. “Why are you being so loyal to a stranger?”
“Because you’re not a stranger and it’s my fucking fault you’re in this mess. It’s my duty to do right by you. I told you, I’m a thief with principles.”
There was a long pause as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then she said, “Kiss me again, will you?”
Dearest Virgin Scribe—or Lassiter, as the case was—she didn’t have to ask him twice. Wrapping his left arm around her waist, he pulled her against him, and given how much of her he wanted to touch, the fact that he had to keep his other hand, the one with the gun in it, down by his side really teed him off. Fortunately, there were at least six feet six inches of other ways to connect.
As their hips met, his erection returned in full force, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it.
Especially as she arched into him and splayed her hands out on his chest.
Dropping his head, he whispered against her lips, “Like I said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Right back at you.”
And then they weren’t talking anymore. They were kissing deeply, swaying together, melding as close as her clothes would let them. His body was in a roar to take her, his need to mark what was his so great, he wanted to yank down her jeans and get into her in any way he could: Bent over the sofa. Up against the wall. On the floor.
Right where they were standing, her legs around his hips, her sex open to his—
The next thing he knew he was backing her up to the couch, and she let herself fall off her feet, landing on the cushions in a bounce.
“Take your hair out of that tie for me,” he said in a husky voice.
As she pulled whatever was holding it out, he sank down onto his knees. Setting the gun on the floor within reach, he curled his hands around the backs of her calves and stroked them.
“What do you like,” he growled.
Her heavy-lidded eyes flowed from his chest to his hips. “I like…”
While her voice trailed off, she stared at the ridge of his cock, the contour of it under her too-tight sweatpants throwing a shadow thanks to the ceiling light.
“You like this?” He stroked himself until he had to grit his teeth. “Tell me.”
“I like… that.” Her tongue made a slow circle of her lips. “Yeah.”
“You can have it.”
With an abrupt surge, Balz leaned over and took her mouth again, and he was rough about it, kissing her hard, penetrating her with his tongue. She took what he had to give her and clearly wanted more, her short nails biting into his back through the sweatshirt in a delicious series of pinpricks, her breasts tantalizing him as they came up against his pecs once more, her legs splaying wide to accommodate his lower body.
But their angle was all wrong for where he needed to be, so he took hold behind her knees and pulled her down on the cushions. Even though he had to break it off with the kissing, as her core came up against his arousal, they both groaned. Locking a grip on her hips, he rolled his cock against her, stroking her, stroking himself.
And he got to watch as she closed her eyes and strained, the pleasure making her moan.
“Balthazar…”
Well, if that wasn’t the best sound in the world.
He continued to work himself against her, the sweatpants offering no resistance, her jeans more the problem. When he finally had to pause, because he was about to come, damn it, he loved the way her hair had tangled around her flushed face.
Fucking hell, the scent of her arousal was in his brain, in his blood.
“How far do you want this to go,” he asked roughly.
Because he was very close to the point of no return. And he needed to be sure.
She murmured something like this is crazy. Or it could have been I want you like crazy.
Shit, he thought. Maybe she was going to be the voice of reason and put a stop to this.
Which would be proof positive that she was as smart as she was beautiful—
Instead Erika’s hands went to the fly on her jeans. “I don’t want to stop. And I don’t care that this is crazy.”
Guess he could almost read lips correctly, he thought. Something else to put on his résumé.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as he caressed her face.
“Yes, you are.” When he frowned, she talked over the protest he was going to make. “Your world’s stayed hidden for how long? You’re going to have to go back there.”
“My buddies.”
She had an image of that goateed male with the tattoos at his temple, and the other stockier one. Then she remembered the shadow from the bookshop.
“Okay. We’ll stay down here.”
He nodded. And then paced over to the washer.
As he turned around, for some reason she realized he still had that towel wrapped around his waist. With the gun in his hand, he looked like a fitness model who had decided to embrace his inner Sons of Anarchy.
And what do you know, now that they were relatively safe, her eyes cased his body and she thought about how it had felt to be under him—which she supposed was proof that procreation was part of the survival instinct: Given the danger they were in, sex should be the last thing on her mind. But humans hadn’t made it five million years as a species because their libidos were shy about attraction, regardless of the circumstance.
Plus… he was a vampire.
Somehow, that little revelation had gotten lost with the threat that had yet to materialize. And shouldn’t that whole different species stuff bother her? Shouldn’t the existence of them make her rethink everything? Shouldn’t the fact that the pair of them had almost had sex shock her?
Nope, she thought as she measured the smooth, hairless expanse of his chest. That would be a big fat nope, at least for the sex part.
Hell, with abs like that, he could have been a Chevy Tahoe and she’d want to jump him.
“Ordinarily,” he said as he turned to the stairs, “I’m not much for rule following. But when it’s a direct order from someone I respect, I’m in.”
“Do you think it’s shadows? Like what was in that bookshop?”
“Can’t say.” He seemed to bite down on his molars, the hollows in his cheeks becoming more pronounced. “Don’t know. And it’s making me mental. I can feel something, I just can’t see it.”
Then he looked at her. Tilted his head. Smiled a little. “You know, you’re handling this really well.”
“Am I?” she murmured, not sure of that at all.
“Absolutely.” He smiled more widely. “Come on, when was the last time you had a vampire in your basement?”
God… he was incredible. He was a strange, mystical presence that was overwhelming and yet not scary. And it was bizarre… she hadn’t known him—consciously known him—for more than a week… but she could not imagine not having him in her life. In contrast to all the people she worked with on her job, the folks she knew in Caldwell, the friends she’d made in college, this man, male, whatever he was, was irreplaceable.
She couldn’t fathom not seeing him. Not having him here in her home—
Erika gasped.
“What is it?” he asked.
When she couldn’t respond, he strode over and took her free hand. “Are you all right.”
She glanced around her pathetically “finished” cellar. Thought of the floor above them with her mismatched furniture. Pictured her bedroom up on the second floor.
Shifting her eyes to him, she had to blink away tears. How could she explain to him that ever since she was sixteen, she had lived in places that she refused to claim? And yet he’d been under this roof for how long?
And he’d turned it into a home.
“Come here,” he said as he drew her in against his bare chest.
Erika closed her eyes and leaned into his strength. She had been falsely composed for so long, she’d forgotten she was fronting, what had once been a survival skill now an ingrained habit that went so deep, it had become a defining characteristic of hers.
His broad palm stroked up and down her back and he murmured against the top of her head. In return, she held him tightly, and in doing so, tried to communicate through touch that which she couldn’t possibly say out loud.
Because it was lame. And crazy—
A quiet vibrating sound stiffened them both, and he gave her a quick squeeze and then went over to the duffle to take out his cell phone. Whatever the text was, he seemed to read it twice. Either that or it was a long one.
“It’s an all-clear.” He shook his head as he typed out something, his blunt fingers flying over the little screen. Almost immediately, there was another vibration as a response came in. “V says everyone’s okay and there’s no engagement, but Wrath’s calling all the fighters on rotation in from the field tonight.”
“Wrath…?”
“Our King.”
Erika could only stare across in wonder as he continued to communicate with whoever was on the other end of the texting. A king? As in… a whole society, living under the radar in Caldwell, with their own political hierarchy, their own problems, their own world? And this had been going on for how long? And “engagement,” “fighter,” and “field”—those were military words.
Like they were at war.
But come on, as if she hadn’t seen that up close and personal?
And it was at this moment that she realized why she was so calm. As shocking as all of the revelations of tonight had been, they actually explained everything that hadn’t sat right with her and so many others for so many years: From her headaches to the completely clear brain scans of her homicide colleagues, from those ritualistic murder scenes that had happened with some regularity to the bodies found in inexplicable conditions, from the confusing fact patterns reported by witnesses to everything that had been simmering under the surface that she—and all the other detectives charged with investigating violent crime in Caldwell—had struggled to reconcile within the context of the world that appeared to be true… all of it was suddenly making sense.
And she would take a shocking reality over an irreconcilable fiction-quilt of crime scenes that made no sense and gaps in the memories of so many otherwise reasonable people.
Erika went over and sat on the couch.
A moment later, Balthazar came across and settled in beside her, laying the phone facedown on his thigh. When his heel bounced, and he rubbed his jaw, she got the impression that if she’d had a cigarette, he’d have taken one. Or twelve.
As a previous smoker, having quit in her early twenties, she could remember being twitchy like that when the cravings hit.
“So did we humans get the no-sunshine part right?” she asked. “That you can’t go out in the daylight, I mean?”
He seemed to have to refocus. “Ah, yes, that’s correct. And we do live longer than you. We also do tricks.”
“Mind control.” She touched her temple. “I’m aware of that one.”
She wanted to ask more questions, about the enemies of his kind, and his history, and how long he had been in—
“Are you married?” she asked sharply.
“No, I’m not mated.”
“That’s what you call it?” And she was so relieved, she got a little dizzy. “Mated.”
“Wives are known as shellans. But as I said, I don’t have one.”
“Well, I clearly don’t have a husband or a boyfriend. You’ve been through my closets, after all.”
The side of his mouth lifted. “They were really nice closets. So neat.”
“I like to know where things are.”
As their no-BFD conversation petered out and they fell silent, her awareness of him expanded to fill the basement, her attention so rapt, she forgot to track the sounds inside the townhouse or look out for threats. He was just that… captivating. He was like an animal, she realized—and she didn’t mean that in a pejorative sense. Sitting here on her yeah-whatevers blue-and-white couch, with his eyes trained across her little cellar and his limbs relaxed… he was anything but casual. He was like a tiger, poised to attack, even at rest.
She pictured him fighting that shadow in the bookshop, all vicious moves and power.
Then she remembered the pair of them going through her house just now, him out in front, leading the way with that big body of his, everything from the cut of his jawline to the set of his broad shoulders promising one hell of a beatdown if anything got in his way.
Or threatened her in any fashion.
Funny, she’d never found protective, he-man types attractive before. Then again, he wasn’t some posturing roid-junkie with gym-honed muscles and a chest-thumping attitude toward people who cut in line at Starbucks or tollbooths.
He was the real deal.
He was… unlike anything she had ever met before in her life.
Well, duh, he was her one and only vampire.
Feeling like she was getting way too deep, she glanced over at her washer and got back to her feet. “You need some clothes.”
“You mean this towel makes my ass look big? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Over at her dryer, she popped the Maytag’s door. “Your ass is perfect.”
“Oh, my God, you’re making me blush—but keep going.” His voice deepened. “What else do you like about my body.”
As she flushed, she fished out the load she’d put in there three days ago. No Peanuts-happiness-is-warm-laundry going on. The stuff was cold as a corpse.
“I like that you know how to use it in a fight, how’s that,” she answered.
“I can do other things with it.” When she lifted an eyebrow in his direction, he put up his palm. “Not the time. I totally agree.”
Sifting through all kinds of sweatpants and hoodies and leggings, her classic dark load, she tried to find the biggest sizes. Good job she liked things loose.
“Here, try these.”
As she walked back over to him, she considered the long list of never-before’s that had rolled out tonight. Never-would-believe’s. Never-would-forget’s.
He was the latter, she thought. She was going to indelibly remember him whenever he left to go back into his world.
Assuming he let her.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the clothes.
“I’ll avert my eyes to give you privacy.”
“What if I’d rather put on a show for you?” He closed his lids and shook his head. “Sorry. I’m trying to stay on my side of the bed—line. Boundary. Fuck.”
Erika felt herself smile, and didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re funny.”
“Any chance you find funny males attractive? Will it work in my favor—” He pursed his lips. “I’ma just shut up and get my naughty bits covered.”
Turning away, she put her head in her hands and laughed. Then told herself to lose the modesty routine. They were grown adults, who, P.S., had been very horizontal right up until he’d had that weird feeling—
“How did they know to put your cell in my bag?” she asked into her palms.
“V’s a smart guy. He knew I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“So I guess he found my driver’s license and that’s how he knew my address.”
“No offense, but he doesn’t need your government ID to find you. What do you think?”
“I think he’s good with a computer then—”
“I mean about my change in wardrobe.”
Erika turned back around—“Oh. My.”
Balthazar looked like he’d been shrink-wrapped in sweatshirt material—and not only was everything tight, it was way too short. There was a four-inch band of bareness around his waist and big gaps at his wrists and his ankles. On her body, everything was all kinds of room-to-grow. On him, the Nike-wear turned him into a birthday present.
And what a present he would be to rip open—
Clearing her throat, Erika tried to get back on track. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything larger—God, you’re huge.”
He clasped his hands to the center of his chest. “You say the sweetest things—oh, wait, were you just talking about how tall I am?”
As her face flushed, she smiled again—and God, she loved this back-and-forth. It was a reminder of how long it had been since anything had made her… happy.
“You know,” she murmured, “this is not supposed to be fun. Hiding in my basement from whatever the hell we’re hiding from is just not supposed to be fun.”
Balthazar came forward, that body of his moving lithely. And when he stopped right in front of her, his eyes traveled from the crown of her head to the shoes on her feet.
“You don’t want fun?” he said as he brushed her face with his hand. “Well, then, we can change up the mood anytime you want.”
“To what?” she breathed.
His response was spoken in a low, erotic tone. “You decide.”
* * *
As Balz stood in front of Erika, here was what he knew to be true: There was no one and nothing in her house.
His hair-trigger senses were quiet and he trusted them more than he did his eyes and ears.
Added to that, the shelter in place alert had been lifted, even if everyone had been called out of the field—and V, who clearly knew where the hell Balz was, who also had a direct line to Lassiter, hadn’t issued a direct warning about the demon.
Bottom line, they were as safe as they were going to be.
Which was still only safe-ish if he was awake. He really wished Devina hadn’t pulled a Billy Ocean and jumped out of his dreams and into his proverbial car.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said.
“And I’m suddenly worried about you spending the day down here. What happens if there’s a fire and we have to get out—or something? What does no sun mean, exactly.”
“You ever seen a brisket?”
“As in the cut of beef?”
“Yeah, barbecued.” As her face paled, he cursed. “Sorry, bad joke.”
“The sun is that dangerous for you?”
“Commercially available sunscreen isn’t going to help, how ’bout we leave it at that.” He glanced around. “Not unless they develop an SPF one million. And as for being down in your cellar? If this is where you’re going to be, this is where I’m going to be.”
She shook her head. “Why are you being so loyal to a stranger?”
“Because you’re not a stranger and it’s my fucking fault you’re in this mess. It’s my duty to do right by you. I told you, I’m a thief with principles.”
There was a long pause as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then she said, “Kiss me again, will you?”
Dearest Virgin Scribe—or Lassiter, as the case was—she didn’t have to ask him twice. Wrapping his left arm around her waist, he pulled her against him, and given how much of her he wanted to touch, the fact that he had to keep his other hand, the one with the gun in it, down by his side really teed him off. Fortunately, there were at least six feet six inches of other ways to connect.
As their hips met, his erection returned in full force, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it.
Especially as she arched into him and splayed her hands out on his chest.
Dropping his head, he whispered against her lips, “Like I said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Right back at you.”
And then they weren’t talking anymore. They were kissing deeply, swaying together, melding as close as her clothes would let them. His body was in a roar to take her, his need to mark what was his so great, he wanted to yank down her jeans and get into her in any way he could: Bent over the sofa. Up against the wall. On the floor.
Right where they were standing, her legs around his hips, her sex open to his—
The next thing he knew he was backing her up to the couch, and she let herself fall off her feet, landing on the cushions in a bounce.
“Take your hair out of that tie for me,” he said in a husky voice.
As she pulled whatever was holding it out, he sank down onto his knees. Setting the gun on the floor within reach, he curled his hands around the backs of her calves and stroked them.
“What do you like,” he growled.
Her heavy-lidded eyes flowed from his chest to his hips. “I like…”
While her voice trailed off, she stared at the ridge of his cock, the contour of it under her too-tight sweatpants throwing a shadow thanks to the ceiling light.
“You like this?” He stroked himself until he had to grit his teeth. “Tell me.”
“I like… that.” Her tongue made a slow circle of her lips. “Yeah.”
“You can have it.”
With an abrupt surge, Balz leaned over and took her mouth again, and he was rough about it, kissing her hard, penetrating her with his tongue. She took what he had to give her and clearly wanted more, her short nails biting into his back through the sweatshirt in a delicious series of pinpricks, her breasts tantalizing him as they came up against his pecs once more, her legs splaying wide to accommodate his lower body.
But their angle was all wrong for where he needed to be, so he took hold behind her knees and pulled her down on the cushions. Even though he had to break it off with the kissing, as her core came up against his arousal, they both groaned. Locking a grip on her hips, he rolled his cock against her, stroking her, stroking himself.
And he got to watch as she closed her eyes and strained, the pleasure making her moan.
“Balthazar…”
Well, if that wasn’t the best sound in the world.
He continued to work himself against her, the sweatpants offering no resistance, her jeans more the problem. When he finally had to pause, because he was about to come, damn it, he loved the way her hair had tangled around her flushed face.
Fucking hell, the scent of her arousal was in his brain, in his blood.
“How far do you want this to go,” he asked roughly.
Because he was very close to the point of no return. And he needed to be sure.
She murmured something like this is crazy. Or it could have been I want you like crazy.
Shit, he thought. Maybe she was going to be the voice of reason and put a stop to this.
Which would be proof positive that she was as smart as she was beautiful—
Instead Erika’s hands went to the fly on her jeans. “I don’t want to stop. And I don’t care that this is crazy.”
Guess he could almost read lips correctly, he thought. Something else to put on his résumé.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as he caressed her face.
“Yes, you are.” When he frowned, she talked over the protest he was going to make. “Your world’s stayed hidden for how long? You’re going to have to go back there.”
