Blood on Silk (21 page)

Saloman was aware of the blood pounding in his heart, like a boy waiting for his first sweetheart instead of a three-thousand-year-old vampire preparing to kill his Awakener. He could laugh at himself for it, in a detached sort of way. But he’d existed as long as he had without descending into insanity only by living for the enjoyment of each moment. And he meant to enjoy each of tonight’s very thoroughly.

The double doors swung open. Elizabeth walked through as if this were her second home. She was magnificent, stunning, sex on long, elegant legs that any man would yearn to have wrapped around him in passion.

Saloman wanted to laugh.

Though not because she didn’t look gorgeous. In fact, the only reason she didn’t take his breath away in that first glance was his lack of any to lose. It was just that she’d gone to so much trouble to look sexy in that red dress with the teasing neckline and the tiny, provocative straps—tying up her lovely strawberry blond hair in an artful disarray that displayed her nape and throat to perfection—when all she’d really needed to do was turn up in the old workman’s trousers and whore’s bodice he’d first met her in, with dust on her nose and cuts on her rough, dirty hands. Whatever she wore, however she styled her hair, she was beautiful and unique, and he wanted her with an intensity that consumed him.

And like this . . . Hell, yes, he’d play that game. She even walked differently, dressed like this, as if she finally knew how good she looked. If that was because one of those hunters had laid a hand on her, he’d take great pleasure in ripping his throat out—later; much later. He watched her sway across the floor without so much as glancing in his direction, and then shimmer onto the stool next to him. She looked like a sunset—or a sunrise. Whatever, she was just beginning to shine.

She took her time, still not even glancing at him; she couldn’t feel the raging lust that strained at his trousers and clamored for gratification at last. Masking worked on humans too, made them less aware of a particular presence. And so it was all the sweeter when she’d completed her scan of the room, making sure no danger lurked in the shadows, before she allowed herself to glance at her nearest neighbor.

Her dark hazel eyes and her mouth both widened in shock, telling him all he needed to know. Neither she nor the hunters had been aware he was here. They were merely hoping he would arrive later, presumably on learning of her presence.

Careless—criminally careless—but their neglect was useful and really quite amusing.

“Good evening,” he said as gravely as he could.

T
he buzzer, an attachment to her phone that would alert the hunters at once to her danger, was in her bag, along with the stake that just might save her life. The bag lay in her lap, so near and yet so far.

Well, there were plenty of innocent reasons to open one’s bag in a bar.

So, from instinct, she pretended to be annoyed rather than completely thrown by his presence. “There’s just no time off around here. Are you following me?”

“I was here first,” he pointed out. “But broadly speaking, yes, of course I am.”

“Well, don’t let me interrupt your . . . drink.” She waved her hand behind her at her fellow patrons, and was rewarded by a quirk of his sensual lips before she dragged her gaze from him to the young bartender who was hovering opposite her. He looked human. But then, so did Saloman, if you didn’t pay too much attention to his eyes. “A glass of red wine, please. Something local.”

The barman grabbed a bottle and poured a small amount into a large glass, which he passed to her to taste. Aware of Saloman’s attention, she took her time, fighting the desire to throw it down her throat and hold the glass out for more. Alcohol did not steady the nerves. It numbed them, which might make the present more bearable but wouldn’t help her stay alive.

“It’s good,” she pronounced, and the barman smiled as he filled her glass. Trying not to hold her breath, Elizabeth reached for the zip of her bag. She could press the buzzer while rummaging for her purse.

“I’ll get that,” Saloman said beside her. “We’ll take the bottle.”

“No, thank you,” Elizabeth snapped, but it was too late. The barman had moved on, and Saloman was watching her with those knowing, mocking eyes while he poured wine into his own glass. Raising it in his long, elegant fingers, he saluted her.

There seemed to be nothing else to do but release the zip, raise her own glass, and sip. In a few moments, she could just take out her phone and pretend to check for messages or something.

Fascinated, she watched him draw the wine over his lips and into his mouth. He swallowed. She opened her mouth to ask what vampires could eat and drink—a subject on which her recent reading had been silent—before she remembered she was too angry with him to make conversation.

He said, “Would you like to dance?”

She set her glass on the bar. “No.”

Saloman stood, and she glanced up at him in alarm. “What a pity,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to dance with you. Another time—perhaps here, tomorrow.”

Oh shit, now he was going to leave! What was she thinking? She was getting her roles all muddled. She’d come here to seduce him—or at least to appear to do so for long enough to let the hunters arrive in force, and here she was letting him walk out on her within five minutes! He’d walked past her. All she could see was his back.

“Saloman.” Her desperate, helpless plea came out throatily enough to sound sexy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be sure he heard it over the music. She slid off her stool, reaching for his hand, when he turned and caught hers instead.

His eyes gleamed with laughter. She’d been had—again. But she’d learned her lesson. Stay in character. So she let her eyes and her lips smile back in rueful acknowledgment of his hit.

“Actually, I love to dance.” After too many drinks in comfortable surroundings, but stone-cold sober in a dangerous vampire bar would have to do for tonight.

“I knew you would.” His thumb stroked the edge of her palm, making her shiver, while his free hand closed over her bag. “You can’t dance with this. Leave it here.”

She tightened her grip in panic, before forcing herself to release it. She didn’t think he would kill her here. There would be other opportunities. Even so, when he dropped it onto her vacated stool, she laid her hand on it, drumming her fingers as if still hesitating over whether or not to abandon it in such a public place. In reality, she hoped it would activate the buzzer.

Saloman’s gaze lifted from the bag to her face, giving nothing away. Red lights from the dance floor flickered across his forehead and the strong line of his jaw. Part of his face always seemed to be in shadow, adding to his mystery and, for some reason, to his allure. She slid her hand off the bag and let him lead her with slow deliberation onto the dance floor.

Her heart drummed in her breast, seeming to vibrate her oversensitive nipples as they pushed against the fine, thin fabric of her risqué dress. Anticipation thrummed through her, sensitizing every nerve ending in her body, because this time all the teasing and mockery he could summon didn’t matter a jot. This time she had a job to do. She had to keep him here until the hunters arrived, and she had every confidence she could.

It felt good, swaying to the beat of the music, letting her body slide against his arm as she chose their spot, turned, and began to dance. The atmosphere was different here, dimmer, darker, full of flickering, shooting shadows and shafts of bright, mesmerizing light. It made her part of the heaving, jumping throng that hemmed her in, yet gave her the illusion of solitude in which to enjoy throwing off the inhibitions that were her reality. Her body was her weapon, gyrating, thrusting, and spinning to the music—provoking and enticing the beautiful, lethal being who danced so close to her.

Saloman moved with the grace of ballet, the freedom of modern dance, and all the energy of rock; yet he never strayed from the contained space that harbored both of them, never took his leaping, half-hidden gaze from her as he followed the movement of her throat and breasts and hips. Sometimes, she saw the brief gleam of his teeth and imagined the pointed canines that could rip her open for him to drain her blood in two beats of a song. But mostly, she watched his body mirroring the actions of hers, not dancing
at
her as most people did, but
with
her. For some reason, it was incredibly sexy, as if their circling, thrusting bodies were touching.

Between her thighs was a warning dampness, but the dance exhilarated her; his predatory attention urged her on. So long as he didn’t touch her, she felt safe in her bubble of dangerous, reciprocated desire.

The driving music slammed through her. Saloman swayed closer, almost touching as he moved with her gyrating hips. When she thrust backward, he followed, weaving to either side with her, and back when she arched forward. It excited her, because it seemed so natural and she was still in control. She could see the bulge in his trousers as he danced, and God help her, she liked that too, so much so that when the shifting light flashed down his abdomen, revealing the full outline of his upright shaft, she flooded her panties with sexual moisture. She couldn’t even pretend that was perspiration, and she didn’t care, not so long as his gaze was riveted to her breasts.

She arched back, and again his hips followed hers. She thrust forward, and this time he didn’t budge. With shock she came up against the hardness of his erection, and before she could slide free, his hands closed over her hips, guiding her to his lead.

Her whole body melted against the heat of him. Her abdomen burned and tingled to his touch. Her aching sex throbbed as her precious control began to ebb. The dance became his, not hers, their bodies melded together at the hips, thrusting in perfect harmony with the music and with each other.

In wonder, she gazed up at him, staring through the flickering shadows on his face to the warm, clouded lust he didn’t trouble to hide. He leaned back, forcing his hardness closer into her. She gasped, swaying under his hands, leaning back as he did to intensify the pressure and the pleasure. It was blatant, but it felt so good.

When their upper bodies met again, her nipples seemed to cry out. His hands on her hips raised her up on her toes, his chest rubbed against her breasts, his erection slid lower, almost between her parted thighs, and still he danced—and she with him.

The music blasted her ears, the darkness cocooned her in wild, exciting lust. The vampire’s eyes held hers with a promise she yearned for with every treacherous fiber of her existence.

Until the music came to a climactic close.

The dancers broke into a raucous, ragged cheer. Some began to move off the floor, or to change partners. Elizabeth and Saloman stood quite still, his hands on her hips, their bodies molded together as if actually joined.

Oh Jesus Christ, what would that be like?

The singer was talking, but she barely heard, never mind understood the words. Was it finished? Good, then she should pull away, get herself back together before . . .

A long, tragic chord sounded on the guitar. The music began again on a slower, more sensual beat. Saloman swayed, holding her with him until the music took her back, and she danced again too.

“Slower, and sweeter,” he murmured in her ear. “Dalliance in dance . . .”

Dalliance and dinner, remember that?
She swallowed. “You like alliteration.” She could make out the texture of his neck, the tiny, perfect black hairs. Because she had a part to play, and because she wanted to, she gave in to her desire, and softly blew on them.

His head moved, twisting his neck in languorous response. “I like lots of things. I like this sexy side to you. I like your hot little body clamped into mine as if we’re making love.”

“We’re not,” she managed.

“We could be.” His hand slid down her hip to her naked thigh. “I like your soft, silken skin.” Something cool and moist touched her neck, forcing another gasp from her. “I like the way you dance.” His lips brushed a vein, and in the panic induced as much by desire as fear, she grabbed at him. She found his hips, which slid and swayed in her hold, gratifying her on so many levels that she carried on dancing.

While his hardness rubbed against her pubic bone, slid between her parted thighs, his lips closed on her neck and kissed, teasing. Before she could panic again he raised his head to reveal burning eyes. For the first time she began to wonder how much control
he
had. But in this state of semibemused bliss, it didn’t seem to matter.

“And as I recall,” he whispered, “I like the way you kiss. . . .”

Her lips parted with shock and need. He lowered his head once more and, mesmerized, she watched the progress of his lips, parting, half smiling and straightening again as they approached.

Well, there’s no one here to see. What harm in one kiss?

His mouth touched hers, brushed once, and closed.

All sorts of harm, if it was Saloman’s kiss. She couldn’t have forgotten its devastating effect on her. He tasted like no one else, strong and earthy and spicy, his mouth firm and commanding and yet moving so sensually on hers that the surrender was sweet. Her mouth almost fell open under his, admitting his tongue and his sharp, terrible teeth.