[Bayou Gavotte 00.0] Back to Bite You (6 page)

“No,” she said. “God, no. You have no idea how much I want this.” She shivered, closing her eyes, resting her forehead on his chest. “I
need
this.”

Blood and sex, always. Tenderness and . . . love.

No, no,
no
! She mustn’t let herself think about love. It was too soon and, more important, too impossible.

“Then stay with me.” He rolled her deftly off the couch and onto the carpet. His hard body covered hers, sending ripples of heat to her breast, belly, and thighs.

Automatically, she parted her legs to let his sex sink against hers. She lifted her hips, reveling in the tease of the thicker fabric of his jeans against the whisper thin of her panties.

He raised himself slightly, his sex pressing hard against her, and cocked his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. Jeez, she’d never had to prove to a guy that she was paying attention. That she wanted sex. She almost always wanted sex, and so did most guys. He was plenty hard, but he wasn’t losing control—not at all.

His hand slid across the indent of her waist and up to cup her breast.
Oh
. His thumb brushed her nipple. Pleasure crashed over her. A flush of heat shot to the tips of her fingers, surged through her thighs, curled her toes. She moaned, ran her hands into his hair, and pulled him into a deeper, hotter kiss.

* * *

He had her attention now, but what was bothering her? She was a feast of desserts, endlessly sweet and delicious, but he wanted to be
her
dessert, too.

He wasn’t about to draw back. The very thought of stopping hurt like hell. He would just have to work at it. Mirabel Lane was worth the effort, and he would do whatever it damn well took. He chuckled deep in his throat, thrusting his tongue against hers.

* * *

He didn’t kiss like an uptight guy. He pulled away and rolled off her, and she followed, lips and tongue seeking more, and then they were tangled together on the carpet, licking and biting at each other in pure animal pleasure.

Her fangs quivered, and she willed them back. Not yet. She would tell him when the time was right. She broke the kiss to get her fangs under control, but he pulled away, too, and slowly raised her tank top to expose her breasts. He paused, smiling a little, enjoying the sight, making her smile as well. The whisper of air from the ceiling fan bathed her hard nipples, intensifying their craving for his touch.

He flicked his tongue across and around a nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. She threw her head back with a hiss. His hand stole down her skirt, lifted it, slid underneath, skimming the sensitive skin of her thighs. She couldn’t think, couldn’t decide, not while he inched closer and closer—

Not the least bit uptight.

He moved to the other breast—hot breath, dabbling tongue, laving, sucking, while his hand cupped her mound, exerted the slightest pressure, then more . . .
Oh
.

She wanted him, and she wanted him
now
. She squirmed away and tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans, yanking it up, following it with her tongue, licking her way from navel to throat, inhaling his heat and his musk.

He stood and shucked his shirt: tanned, well-muscled, a dusting of hair on his chest, a darker line below his navel. She stood, too, going for his jeans, but he stopped her. “If you touch me there, I’ll lose it,” he growled, diving in and kissing her. He unfastened her skirt with quick, capable hands and let it fall to the carpet.

She stepped out of it, shivering with anticipation. He rolled down her panties and cupped her buttocks, tickling her ass, testing her juices with a sure, confident touch.

Nothing tentative about Gerry Kingsley.

He let her go, shed his jeans and underwear, and pulled her down to the floor again. He crawled over her, kissing her hard, and thrust her legs apart with his knee.

And stilled. “Damn.”

“Don’t
stop
.” She took hold of his butt and arched against him. “I’m
ridiculously
horny, and you’re hot and hard and perfect, and . . .
What?
”

He pulled away again. His self-control was driving her nuts. “Forgot.” At least he was breathing heavily. “Condom.” He heaved himself off her and went for his jeans. “I never forget. Can’t think what got into me.”

She didn’t usually forget either, which only went to show how badly she wanted him.
Hurry up, hurry up, I need you now
. She shook with impatience, and when he finally thrust inside her . . . Oh,
yes!
She moaned with relief. She threw her head back, eyes closed, bathing in his aroma and his lust.

Her fangs slotted sharply down.

He reared up, leaving her empty and bereft. “Whoa!”

Oh shit, oh shit!
She should have told him, but she’d been so caught up. Dreading what she would see on his face, she retracted her fangs and opened her eyes.

He gave her that cute, lopsided smile. “That explains a lot.” He lowered himself again, resting his forehead on hers, catching his breath, then slipped his tongue into her mouth and dabbed at the sharp tips of her fangs. “Let them back down, sweetheart. I’m not scared. I was just surprised.”

She let out her breath with a whoosh, and her fangs slid slowly down. “You’ve been with a vampire before.”

“A long time ago.” Gently, he explored Mirabel’s mouth, tasting her fangs. “Mmm.”

She nipped at his lip, drawing blood, and he groaned and shuddered as she licked it up. Sweet, just as she’d known it would be. She arched up, opening to him again.

He slid into her, thrusting slow and slick, all the while kissing her and playing with her fangs. Cupping and caressing her breasts, toying with her derriere, making her
crazy
.

Oh, God, he was fun. She arched into him with gasps of pure pleasure. “Wherever did Arthur get the idea you were inhibited?”

He laughed. “No talking about Arthur.” He thrust hard, the laughter dissolving into a rasp of heat. His throat pulsed, his blood calling to her.

She whispered, “No talking at all,” and sank her fangs into his throat.

* * *

Afterward, they moved upstairs and spent a leisurely night in Mirabel’s bed, making love and getting to know each other better. It turned out Gerry’s first woman had been a virgin vampire. “I think she chose me because we were friends, and she felt safe with me. That was in our junior year of high school.” He paused. “Oh. That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why my aunts were determined to believe the worst of you. They have a thing against vampires. They sent me to military school for my senior year to separate me from my vampire girlfriend.”

“Did you
tell
them she was a vampire?” That was a big no-no.

“No, of course not, but my grandmother came from an old New Orleans family, and April and June have lived there all their lives. They know lots of people and listen to a great deal of gossip.” He shrugged. “They thought I would get in with the wrong crowd, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’m just an ordinary guy.”

Which was exactly why Mirabel was afraid. Vampires tended to end up with toughs for a good reason. Not that Gerry wasn’t well built and in good shape, but he didn’t smell of violence at all. He might have learned about fighting in military school, but not the dirty street-smart kind.

“I guess that’s how they found out about you, too,” he added.

Mirabel nodded. She had to keep him safe, but she couldn’t just drive him away. Even if she tried, he might not go. Something told her he was a stubborn sort of guy.

“You’re not like any other vamp I’ve seen,” Gerry said, “which must be why I didn’t figure it out. You’re gorgeous and hotter than hell, but . . . not sultry at all.”

“Sultry is boring,” Mirabel said. It also tended to attract even more of the wrong kind of guy.

“Absolutely,” Gerry said. “You’re wholesome.” He kissed her. “My kind of girl.” His hands traveled all over her, seducing her slowly this time. Satisfying her like the vamp in her needed him to, loving her like the ordinary girl she was.

Her kind of man.

But when he finally dropped off to sleep, she lay awake, worrying. She had to get rid of the threat of Sergio, because until he found another woman, he would be obsessed with tracking her down. She curled next to Gerry, fretting until she too finally fell asleep.

***

Bang!
Bang!

Mirabel leaped out of bed, fangs down, ready to defend her lover with her life.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Gerry sat up, yawning, and pulled her back onto the bed. “That’s just my roofing crew.”

She slumped against him, retracting her fangs, her heart still thumping way too hard. Her voice shook. “They scared the
bejeezus
out of me.”

He put his arms around her and kissed her neck. His morning erection nuzzled her behind. Considering the number of times they’d made love last night, she was surprised . . . although not at
all
unwilling. Her fangs slotted down again, hungrily now. She would never get enough of him.

He parted her legs and penetrated her slowly from behind. “Sorry, but what with one thing and another, I forgot to tell you I called them last night. It’s going to be a cloudy day, so it won’t be too hot to work.” A hand strayed to her breast, playing games with her nipple, while the other took advantage of her already throbbing clit. “The roof of the second story is way too steep and high up for you and me to deal with.” He bit her shoulder. “There may even be rafter damage over that one room.”

She couldn’t think about rafters now. Suddenly, she was way too turned on, her fangs demanding blood. She squirmed, trying to turn, but one strong hand held her and the other tormented her.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he whispered, fucking her smooth and slow, bringing her close to climax, close to desperation before offering her one delicious forearm. She bit him hard, and they came together, and oh, damn, it was heaven.

He was a good, solid, sexy guy who could more than handle a vampire. But that didn’t mean he could defend himself against Sergio. She had to protect him, but how?

“You’re an exhausting woman.” He dropped a quick kiss on her hair, then slapped her on the butt before leaving the bed. “I’d better clean up and get to work.”

He didn’t act the least bit exhausted as he showered and dressed, but this solved one problem at least. Sergio wouldn’t freak out about a roofing crew. Among his construction workers—looking just like one of them—Gerry was safe.

“I need you to go out the back way when you join them,” she said. “You won’t be so noticeable. Please.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t try to grill her again, merely wolfing down a huge slice of banana cream pie before going outdoors.

She made coffee and fingered through the piles of paperwork Gerry had spread on the kitchen table. There were old bills and correspondence, mostly about the club, as well as a few Mardi Gras favors and ducal badges from years gone by. The university museum might want those.

Strangely, yesterday’s reluctance to go through Arthur’s belongings was waning. Now she felt as if she were part of his family. As if she had the right to know. Ridiculous, since she’d only known Arthur a short while, and she had just met Gerry. Just because she’d slept with him, just because he was fun in bed, it didn’t mean . . .

She shouldn’t lie to herself. She liked Gerry way too much. She felt tenderly toward him. Protective. Warm and loving. He was such a keeper. The thoughts of love she’d had when they first met made total sense. He was the kind of guy a girl would marry, settle down with, have kids with.

No
. She had to be practical. Not only was he not the kind of guy who could defend himself—and her—against all comers, but there was no reason to believe he wanted her for anything but sex. And sex didn’t give her the right to muscle in on his private life.

Warily, she went onto the back porch; better if his workers didn’t see her. If they did, they might really
notice
her, draw the inevitable conclusion, and gossip about the incredibly hot girl their boss was shacking up with in Bayou Gavotte. Word spread fast in New Orleans and might reach Sergio.

Gerry had set up a power saw in the yard. Bamboo debris still littered the lawn. Ophelia would come back later to clean it up and plant something less invasive. Mrs. Dodge, the elderly neighbor across the alley, puttered in the shady section of her garden. With her excellent vampire hearing, Mirabel couldn’t help but pick up the old lady’s mutters about the heat, the noise, and that dreadful Gerry Kingsley, as irresponsible now as when he’d stolen her strawberries as a child. Mrs. Dodge stomped back into her house, and Mirabel waited, watching Gerry, enjoying the competence with which he cut what must be a new rafter. He turned off the saw and gave her a rueful half-smile that practically melted her on the spot.

He came over, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Need something?”

You
. “Do you mind if I go through Arthur’s stuff?”

A shadow crossed his face, but he said, “Feel free. If it was left up to me, I’d chuck it all.” He leaned in and gave her a long, hot promise of a kiss—exactly what she’d been determined to avoid. She hurried back indoors, hoping no one had noticed.

She brought three more boxes downstairs. They were all filled with cheap Mardi Gras paraphernalia—cups, coins, and necklaces, all plastic and probably all garbage, although she would leave that up to the museum to decide.

She set everything aside and went upstairs for more boxes. They contained letters from the family during World War II. Arthur had served in the South Pacific. There were also divorce papers from the fifties; he had three daughters by then, and, from what Arthur had said, a horrible relationship with his ex. She examined photos of the three girls and one of Gerry’s mother with her two-year-old son—cute then, cute now. Gerry had lost his father in a car accident when he was only three years old, and his mother of cancer when he was ten. Poor little boy. Why had he been left to the mercy of his aunts? According to Arthur, Gerry had spent only vacations with him.

By midafternoon, she reached the bottom of the closet at the very back. She pulled out the last cardboard box. Downstairs, she opened it and took out an ornate wooden chest. She eased the lid open. Inside, there was nothing but some tarnished silverware and a couple of letters tied together with a frayed velvet ribbon. “Shoot.”