Fangs But No Fangs (29 page)

"It's damned overwhelming, ain't it?" Jed said, drawing Christian's attention back to him.

"What?"

"That kind of love. The real kind."

Again surprise shook Christian. It was as though Jed was somehow picking up his feelings, using some sort of preternatural sense. But the old man wasn't. He just knew. He'd lived through what Christian was only experiencing for the first time.

"Yes, it is very overwhelming," Christian admitted. Then he added, "I don't deserve her."

Jed nodded, again as if he knew that exact feeling.

Then Jolee's softly accented voice rang out over the microphone. "Thank you for coming to Leo's tonight. I'm going to get the karaoke started with a song I dedicate to my sweetheart."

Jolee smiled across the room at him, her dark eyes glittering with happiness and desire. Once more, Christian was practically brought to his knees by a rush of humility. Humbled that this amazing, beautiful, compassionate woman cared about him. She started to sing, her sweet, slightly husky voice filling the room, telling him that he alone gave her the sweetest taboo. That she didn't quite feel worthy of him, either.

He took a deep breath, and told himself that he did have to leave. He did. Leaving would be the only noble thing he'd ever done.

The remainder of the night was very busy. Jolee was kept tied up at the karaoke booth for most of the evening, and Christian was occupied with drink orders. The majority of the patrons tonight were female, she couldn't help noticing. Many of the women repeatedly approached the bar to talk with Christian, but tonight their attempts to flirt didn't bother her— much. Christian showed no interest in them. He appeared to be polite but distant.

And just as many times as women talked to him, Jolee saw him looking in her direction, yearning in his pale eyes. Even now, as she moved around the room to wipe down the empty tables, the memory of that look sent shivers throughout her body.

She glanced over to where Christian washed up the glasses. He wasn't looking at her now, and in fact he'd said very little since the bar closed, but she still sensed his hunger. Or maybe it was her own.

She picked up her tray, loaded with ashtrays, and headed behind the bar.

She set the tray down near him, grimacing at clear ashtrays now heaped with ash and cigarette butts. "These alone show what a busy night we had."

Christian glanced at the tray, then at her. "You had a great night."

She frowned slightly. She couldn't be certain but she thought he'd emphasized you. But she decided she was probably being overly sensitive.

Christian finished rinsing the mug he'd just washed and set it upside down on a towel on the bar. He wiped his hands on his apron. "I'm going to go mop the bathrooms."

Again she wondered at his dismissal, but again decided she must be reading more into his behavior than was really there.

"It was very nice of you to offer to do the mopping. Jed looked like his arthritis was bothering him tonight."

Christian nodded without comment and left the bar.

Okay, maybe she wasn't being overly sensitive. Maybe something was wrong. She turned to the register, hitting the cash-out key and the register drawer jangled as it popped open.

She started to take out the stacks of money when she paused. She set down the ones and fives on the counter next to her and slid a hand under the register. The scrap of paper was still there with Christian's brother's number on it. Had he seen it? Was he upset at her meddling?

She didn't think they'd called. The bar had been too loud for her to hear the telephone from her vantage point near the stage, but she hadn't seen Christian answer the phone. And she didn't think he'd remain silent if he'd actually talked to his brothers. But that number, hidden under the register, that might cause him to act so distant.

She looked over at the bathrooms, debating whether to approach him, but she hesitated. Chicken.

Instead, she finished collecting the money and went to her office to do the accounting. Once she was nearly done, she heard Christian back at the bar, washing the ashtrays. Jolee decided she couldn't put off talking to him any longer. And even if he hadn't discovered the number, she had to tell him.

She wandered out to the bar, leaning against it, watching him wash. He glanced at her, but then returned his attention to his task.

She watched him a little longer before she worked up the nerve to ask, "Christian, what's wrong?"

His hands hesitated in the sudsy water, then started scrubbing again with renewed vigor.

"Did I do something wrong?" Lord, she was such a chicken. She should just ask him outright about the number.

He stopped washing to look at her, his eyes unreadable. Damn, she hated that look.

"No," he finally said. "You didn't do a thing wrong."

"Then why are you acting so aloof?"

She saw the indecision in his eyes. The discernable emotion was better than the blankness, although not much. Despite his hungry stares all night, she had the feeling his uncertainty was a bad sign.

"Did you not like me dedicating that song to you tonight?" She had wondered after she'd done it, if she had the right to place a public claim on him like she had. Maybe that was overstepping her bounds.

But he shook his head. "Your song was beautiful. It meant more to me than you can ever know."

Relief caused her to release a pent-up breath. "Good. I meant it. Every moment with you" — she grinned— "even the sort of strange moments, has made me feel more alive than I have in years. And I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so happy you are with me."

Christian stared at her. How could she say this to him? He was the one who didn't know what he'd done to deserve her. He hadn't done anything. He'd done nothing but horrible deeds for the last two hundred years. How could he deserve this perfect woman?

He started to reach for her, but stopped. He was supposed to be telling her he had to go, not comforting her. He had to leave. All night he'd watched her, telling himself he would go, even as he wanted to do nothing more than to hold her.

"Jolee." He took a deep breath, then began again. "Jolee, I have never been as happy as I've been with you."

She smiled and reached out to touch his jawline. "I'm glad."

"But—»

Her smile disappeared and her hand dropped from his face. She shook her head just slightly as if to say she refused to hear the rest of his words. Then she turned to the few still dirty ashtrays. She began emptying them into the trash can.

"It really was a good night," she said, too cheerfully as she cleaned.

He moved closer, his intent to make her look at him. His hand caught hers to stop her almost frantic tidying. But she still didn't look at him; she stared down at the tray.

His hand slid up her bare arm, memorizing the silky texture of her skin. Then he stepped closer behind her, his other hand going to her other arm, rubbing up and down its length.

"But Jolee," he murmured, "you have it all wrong. I don't deserve you. I don't."

She leaned back against his chest, her hands crisscrossing over her front to capture his hands as they stroked her skin.

He pulled her tighter to him, burying his nose in the disheveled knot at the back of her head, breathing in the floral scent of shampoo. The pink shampoo. It didn't smell nearly as good as Jolee herself. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her unique spiciness. The scent brought his simmering desire to an instant boil. He pressed his lips to her neck.

"I told myself all night this wouldn't happen."

"What?" she breathed, tilting her head to give his roaming mouth better access.

"That I wouldn't touch you."

She laughed with disbelief. "Why ever not?"

"I don't know." And at this moment, it was true. Why did he think he could walk away from her? He couldn't. God help him, he just couldn't. He'd pay for his sins later, he promised, but not yet. Not now.

He slipped his hands under her arms to her stomach. Her rounded bottom fit perfectly against his groin. She wiggled slightly, working even closer to him.

He groaned against the fragile skin of her neck. She wiggled again, and he nipped her.

"Are you teasing me?" he muttered roughly against her ear.

She released a hitched breath, then asked, "Is it still teasing if I fully intend to give you whatever you want?"

He moaned deep in his throat. "I didn't do anything to deserve you. I wasn't a good person before I met you." His hands nudged up her shirt, finding the warm satiny skin of her stomach. His fingers skimmed upward to her breasts, cupping them.

"I'm no better than any of the men you've dated before," he told her, nipping her earlobe. His fingers found the front clasp of her bra, unfastening it. Her breasts spilled free, her hard little nipples prodding his palms. He squeezed them, plucking them until she cried out and wriggled more.

"I'm actually far worse," he admitted in a low, feral tone, one of his hands leaving her breasts to inch beneath her skirt until he found her panties. He stroked her through the cotton, her lips down there already damp and slick.

"I'm selfish and greedy, and I can't bring myself to leave you. Or this." He slid his hand under the waistband of her panties, parting her, plunging his finger inside her tight passage. Wet fire stroked him in return.

She braced her hands on the bar's nicked top to steady herself as he entered her over and over, experiencing the textures of her flesh, the tightness of her muscles.

Her head fell back against his chest, locks of her hair tickling his chin. She panted as he stroked, his thumb swirling around her clitoris as his finger filled her over and over.

"Can you be happy with me, knowing that I've done awful things?"

She nodded, an almost mindless bob of her head as she strained toward release. Did she even know what she was agreeing to? Was that why he was asking her now? To assure the answer he wanted?

His hand stilled, his thumb pressed firmly to the tiny bud at the top of her sex, his finger deep inside her pulsing fire.

"How can you want me?" he asked, aching to be worthy of her passionate response, of her love.

"You only did what Lilah wanted you to do," she whispered, her eyes closed, her head still heavy against his chest. But she didn't move under his pinning touch. "You did it because you thought she loved you— and you loved her. And you aren't that person anymore. You have real love now. My love."

His chest tightened, and he couldn't force a breath into his seized lungs. He sensed she loved him— he'd felt the emotion in the air around her as they'd made love. He saw it in her eyes when she looked at him, but he hadn't let himself believe it. But now she'd told him. She loved him. She wanted nothing more than to make him feel whole again.

He had to be inside her, to be one with her. To feel her heartbeat as his, to feel her breath and her life. To be whole like she promised.

She whimpered as he removed the pressure of his fingers, but he didn't pause. He hooked his finger over the waistband of her panties and pushed them down. She didn't stop him; in fact, she wiggled to make it easier to get them down. They fell to the floor and she readily kicked the small white scrap aside.

He returned his hand to her, this time shaping the rounded swell of her bottom, teasing a finger down the enticing crevice until she parted her legs and allowed him to enter her tight vagina from behind. She fell forward again, supporting herself on the bar. Her breathing was loud and ragged in the silent bar.

"I want to take you now," he told her, entering her again with his long finger, the other fingers cupping her plump mound.

She nodded, whimpering. "Yes."

He leaned over her, caging her body against the bar, his chest to her back.

"A good man, a decent man wouldn't take you like this. Especially after you've admitted that you love him."

She gasped, his finger stroking deep. "I— oh— I think you are good. God, so good."

He smiled at that, even though that wasn't exactly the good he was talking about. He kissed the back of her neck, nipping her skin.

"Damn, I want to just bury myself deep inside you right now." He nipped her again.

"Yes. Oh God, yes." She lifted her hips, nudging her bottom against him, urging him to do just that.

He groaned. With an invitation like that he didn't know how he was going to stop. But he would. This couldn't continue— not here.

"Jolee, love?" He stilled his hand to gain her attention. She whimpered.

"I don't have a condom."

"In my bag," she murmured breathlessly. She lifted a hand from the bar to gesture vaguely at the floor.

He glanced down at the tote from which she'd gotten his snack earlier.

"Snacks and condoms. Is there nothing you don't have in there?"

"What can I say? I'm a regular Mary Poppins."

Christian didn't get the reference, but it didn't really matter to him. All that mattered was Jolee and the desire snapping in the air around them. Desire made more powerful with love.

He released her to kneel down and dig through the bag. Sure enough, she'd packed a strip of four condoms.

"How did you know we'd need these?"

"I didn't. I just hoped. Now get back here." She glanced down at him, need clear in her dark eyes.

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?"

She nodded. "Just trying to show you that I can be selfish and greedy, too. Now, drop trou…»

He frowned, not understanding what she wanted.

"Pants. Off. Now."

"Ah." He nodded with understanding. He stood and came back behind her, but he didn't undress right away. First he lifted her skirt, admiring her raised bottom. He slowly stroked her again.