Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (137 page)

When he touched her, all swollen and wet, a low, deep groan was wrung from his chest. The needy sound sent another stab of lust into her belly, and as he touched her, stroking and sliding and finding a delicious rhythm, she felt herself rising, gathering up into wave after wave of pleasure. She tightened, lost track of where she was, and suddenly there was the explosion…hot, sudden, long. It came over her in a rush, with heat and release undulating through her.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized she’d been clutching his arms, panting, her mouth open and eyes rolling back into her head. Her toes curled, her body felt…
amazing
. Soft and sleek and sated.

“Oh,” she managed to sigh when she opened her eyes at last. “I think…” She licked her lips and gave a satisfied smile, arching a little, noticing how his attention followed her movement. “I don’t think I’d be complaining if he did it just like that.” Then, she slid her hand down, pulling the shirt from his waistband, baring his torso…moving lower. “And then, I’d begin to do…this.”

Something flickered in his dark eyes, tightened in his expression as Max hovered over her. He stilled. “To a vampire.”

“To you, Max,” she murmured, finding the opening of his trousers and yanking the buttons free.

His hips were warm and smooth, and as she slid the clothing down over muscular buttocks, he unfastened the rest of her corset hooks and spread the restrictive garment away from her torso.

Knock-knock-knock
. They both looked toward the door as Max vaulted off the bed in a smooth, silent leap.

“Yes?” Savina called, and noticed the clock.
Half-past eight?
Already? Damn. Oh,
damn
. Her knees were still weak, and she quivered everywhere.

“Miss Ellison, I’m sorry to bother you, but Mr. Purcell sent me to inquire as to whether you still intended to join him for dinner.” The voice that came through the closed door was most likely that of one of the maids, though Savina didn’t recognize it.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Now it was her turn to fly off the bed, snatching up her corset and straightening the chemise to cover her breasts again. She turned to ask Max for help, but he wasn’t there. “I…um…I must have fallen asleep,” she called back.

“We thought that might have happened when you didn’t ring for assistance getting dressed. May I come in now to help you, miss? Mr. Purcell is waiting.”

Savina turned in a slow, confused circle, looking around the room…and then she saw the slight fluttering of the curtain. Bolting to the window—which was open wider than it had been earlier—she flung the draperies aside and looked down just in time to see a white-shirted figure slink off into the lowering shadows.

The sun had set, and neither of them had noticed.

“Miss?” There was another soft knock. “Shall I assist you?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Savina called, then saw Max’s shoes—when had he even taken them off?—near the bed, and she flung them out the window through which he’d just exited. “Please come in.”

Well, at least the story about her falling asleep would explain the mess of her hair.

~ Adjustment ~

Under cover of shadow, Max paused. He was tucked behind an arborvitae in the corner where a small part of the house jutted out. His pulse was racing, and his body still pounded. His mind was addled, and he was a little out of breath. And more than a little confused.

But there was one thing he knew: no way in bloody hell was he going to let Savina seduce a damned vampire.

What the hell was she thinking?

Not that he didn’t believe she could do it—for Christ’s sake, she’d done just fine up there just now. He glanced up at the bedroom window, where a triangular sliver of light indicated his escape route.

I’ve never done it before
.

Well, she certainly had done well enough at the dress rehearsal. His body still hummed. He frowned, his mouth painfully tight. Now she was preparing for the real thing. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes from the window.

Just then, two objects came hurtling out, landing on the ground not too far from him. Hell. He hadn’t even realized he’d left his shoes. He scooped them up, sending a mental thanks for her quick thinking. He would have been in a fix without them.

What the hell had come over him up there anyway? Max shoved on his shoes, then buttoned his shirt with clumsy fingers. He’d also lost those damned blue glasses somewhere along the line, because they were no longer in his trouser pocket.

Did it even matter anymore?

No. It didn’t.

He stepped out from behind the abrasive bush and brushed some of the dead prickles from his hair. It was time to take control of these mad, half-formed plans of hers and make some changes. He was the damned Venator.
He
knew what had to be done.

First, Max was going to retrieve a few useful objects from the depths of the motorcar. Then, he would search Purcell’s suite to see what he could find. It shouldn’t take long, and he knew the man would be otherwise occupied. Presumably both chambers would be empty at this time of night, but even that didn’t matter. Max could easily dispatch anyone who got in his way. He set his teeth in a grim smile. He couldn’t wait to encounter a vampire—or anyone—who tried to stop him.

After that, he was going to interrupt the picnic tete-a-tete and put an end to any seduction that might be taking place.

There was no need for Savina to put herself at such risk, even with an infant vampire.

The game was over.

After his errand in the garage, instead of going through the back stairs and making his way along the corridors to Purcell’s suite, Max climbed a tree. It felt good to put his muscles to use; too much traveling and not enough fighting since he and Savina had left Rome. One night in London with his crossbow hadn’t been nearly enough, and he was definitely looking forward to tomorrow’s arrival of Rastingard and her contingent.

His pulse spiked in anticipation. Most definitely, he couldn’t wait to face off with the bitch who’d helped perpetuate his wife’s slaughter.

The tree had a strong branch about twenty feet off the ground that extended toward the third-story French doors belonging to Purcell’s suite. It was simply too easy for Max to launch himself from there to land soft-footed onto Purcell’s private balcony.

He crouched there for a moment, listening, waiting, sensing. The back of his neck was cold, which meant there was an undead in the vicinity. Possibly even on the other side of the French doors. They were slightly ajar, and he took his time scanning what he could see of the bedroom from his position. Inside, a lamp cast a soft yellow-orange glow, giving detail to a bureau, a desk, and the footboard of a massive bed.

A low, feminine laugh wafted through the night.
Savina
. His pulse jolted, then settled back into rhythm. She sounded as if she were enjoying herself.

Had she recovered from their own tete-a-tete so quickly? His damn knees were still a little weak, for God’s sake. Not to mention the unsatisfied heaviness that lingered.

Max looked out from behind the balcony railing, grateful for its height as well as the large potted plant that would hide him from anyone on the ground.

There they were, just below. The couple strolled along in a direct line toward a ridge of trees. He was carrying a large basket, and she held a lantern that bobbed with each step. Her free hand was inside the crook of Purcell’s elbow, and she was looking at her host, obviously amused by something he’d said. The silvery moonlight illuminated her upturned face, glinting off her glossy hair—which had been tamed into some sort of order at the nape of her neck.

Speaking of which…the back of Max’s neck burned and prickled as if dry ice had been placed there: eerie and painful. Not only Purcell was nearby, but at least one more vampire. Maybe two. Somewhere in the vicinity.

He cast a glance through the French doors. Yes. Someone was in there. In the dark. Were they waiting for him? Had he been recognized earlier? He smiled coldly, his eyes narrowing with pleasure.

Or did someone else have the same idea Max had…to investigate Purcell’s chambers while he was otherwise occupied?

He glanced back at Savina and her companion. They and their small lamp were just about to disappear into the cluster of trees. By his estimation, they were heading in the direction of a little woodland path that wound through a pleasant forest and ended at a picnic spot by a small pond.

Perfect. Max would take care of whatever or whoever was inside here, and then he’d break up whatever was going on with Purcell and Savina.

Surely she couldn’t get into too much trouble in thirty minutes. Even with a vampire.

~ Seduction ~

“This is a lovely spot for a moonlight picnic.” Savina settled onto the blanket Purcell had just spread over a flat spot on the ground. She arranged her dress to show just enough ankle to be provocative, but not enough to be obvious.

He finished suspending the lantern on a low tree branch and sank down next to her. “It’s one of my favorite places here at Crenshaw.” His eyes were hot and already tinged with a soft red glow. She wondered if he realized it, or if he was so new and inexperienced that he didn’t know he was giving himself away. “It’s isolated and private. No one will bother us here, Miss Ellison. Or perhaps I could call you Sabrina?”

If she had been with anyone but Alexander Purcell, Savina would have been delighted by the idea of a nighttime picnic in this small clearing. The place was beautiful, secluded, and fragrant with summer roses and lilies, and the grass upon which they sat was soft and lush beneath the thick blanket. A small pond glimmered in the moonlight beyond, and the lantern cast a small, yellow glow over the area. Everything seemed to be limned with silver and gold.

“Of course,” she smiled, holding his gaze even as her heart thudded madly. Not in a good way. “As long as I can call you Alexander.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He held her eyes for a moment longer. Then, to her relief, turned to open the picnic basket he’d carried.

Savina had been a little surprised when she realized no servants were to accompany them—at least to lug the blanket and basket. Normally, the lord of the manor would never sink to such menial labor. But perhaps he didn’t want anyone to know where they were or what they were doing. Did his servants know about his vampiric change or his affiliation with the Tutela?

She subdued a shiver of distaste. Regardless of what he had in mind, she had the advantage over him—in more than one way. And that wasn’t even counting Max Denton.

Wherever he was. He’d fled her room so quickly, they hadn’t had the chance to discuss anything pertinent at all.

Now her little shiver was a quiver of remembered pleasure rather than one of disgust. Whatever had come over him, up in her bedroom? He’d seemed almost put out that she was spending the evening with Alexander Purcell. And he’d been so different. Soft, tender, wildly seductive.

Was that how he’d been with Felicia?

Was that how he was with every woman he encountered?

That thought soured her interest.

“Something to drink, my dear?” asked her host, yanking Savina back to the matter at hand. He offered her a small cup filled with dark liquid.

For a moment, she paused—for it looked like blood in the dim light of their lantern and the moon. But it smelled like wine, and she lifted it to her mouth to taste.

Just as it touched her lips, she thought better of drinking—or eating—anything a vampire was going to give her. Just in case. So she pretended to take a sip, and while Alexander rummaged in the basket, she dumped out half of the wine in the grass.

He turned back to her, holding a cluster of grapes (which was probably safe to eat) and a pot of cheese (probably not). “May I?” he asked, offering her one of the purple fruits between two fingers.

He meant to feed her. Savina hid her surprise and leaned forward to accept the grape, attempting to appear charmed and not repulsed. If it were Max Denton feeding her grapes on a blanket under the moonlight, she’d be thrilled.

Stop thinking about him, you idiot. Concentrate on this. On proving Father’s innocence
.

“Mmm,” she murmured, holding Alexander’s eyes as she took the grape, then eased back into an upright seat. “Tangy.” He offered another, and she took the opportunity to take hold of his leather-covered wrist as she moved closer. With a little nip, she took the grape gently from his fingers.

“This is such a curious glove,” she said, skating her fingers down along its length. “I notice you always wear it. I find it very…interesting.” Her voice dropped on the last word, and she was rewarded when his eyelids flared a little.

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied. “I’m pleased it doesn’t put you off, for I never remove it. Regardless of whatever I might be doing…” His voice turned husky and low with promise.

“Not at all,” she replied, now using both hands to cover the glove. The leather was as soft as she’d suspected—and as thin and supple as his own skin. She cradled his wrist with both hands, aware of how much innuendo was contained in the way she held him and how there would be even more blatant eroticism if she moved her hands up and down the length of his arm. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It was specially made for me.” His eyes were half-closed, but she could see a definite red glow burning from his shuttered irises. His lips were parted, and his nostrils flared lightly.

She smoothed her hands down in a gentle stroke, then back up again. The three small buckles that held the gauntlet in place teased her, just as she was teasing Alexander. If only one or two of them came undone…

“And you never take it off…?” she said provocatively. “Not for
any
reason? Not even…” She steeled herself and brought his hand to her lips, pressing light kisses along the back of each finger. When she slipped out her tongue, flicking its tip into the tiny hollow at the juncture of two fingers, his breath caught audibly. “Not even for this?” She turned his cold, undead hand (ugh) to nibble on his knuckles, taking her time, trying to find a way to release the buckles accidentally-on-purpose while avoiding the patches of hair that grew on the backs of his fingers.