Stealing Time (14 page)

Growling, so deep his chest vibrated with it, he pulled my lower body even tighter. He ran his busy hands along my thighs to capture my legs and wrap them around his hips, flashing a wicked smile at my sharp inhalation. Heat and need burned through me, and I had to take my mouth from his just to breathe. He took advantage of this and bent to my throat, kissing and murmuring sweet words as he seared his way to the deep V-neck of my sweater.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered raggedly.

“I think we both are,” I marveled and laid my hand on his cheek. He turned his head to nuzzle and kiss my palm, and his breath was a delicious tickle. I used my other hand to frame his beautiful face, then leaned a little, yearning, and he returned his attention to my lips. His kisses were deep and demanding, and I melted into him, ran my fingers through his hair and met his need with my own.

James’s lips brushed my collarbone, slipped lower to nuzzle me through my sweater, and I jerked reflexively at the sudden, electric sensation. It didn’t seem possible to want someone as desperately as I wanted him, and the feeling was both exhilarating and terrifying. It seemed no matter how often we made love, my need for him never lessened, my desire to touch and be touched, never faded. And each touch, each kiss, each tender caress, was like the first time.

His mouth trailed fire along my jaw to my neck, then back to my mouth. Back and forth he went, his lips hungry and his breath doing wild things to my already erratic pulse.

“Hypothetically,” he paused to grin at the frustrated sound I made when he stopped kissing me. “Hypothetically, far in the future and long after fate ceased to pay us any mind, if I were to speak of marriage again, might the idea be of some small interest?”

I drew back, just a little, and met his emerald gaze. “James…” I whispered and it felt like a vise compressed my heart. “Things are so perfect. I don’t want to mess us up.”

He fingered a strand of my hair and didn’t immediately respond. In my mind, I went back over our conversation, panicking that my emotional clumsiness had hurt him and trying to figure out how to make it right. Or at least, less wrong.

James stirred. “I’m not sure how my curiosity about the mere idea of marriage could mess us up.” He lowered his gaze, but not before I saw the fear there. Continuing in a softer voice, he said, “Unless, of course, you wish to be free once you’re strong enough to defend yourself from our kind.”

I sucked in air, suddenly seeing how he might have interpreted things that way.

“No! James, I’ve never thought of us like that. Never.” My voice came out rough. Still not sure how to make any of this right, I wound up stammering all over the place. “And here I thought vampires had perfect recall. ’Cause I remember very clearly saying that this wasn’t casual for me. You and me. Us, I mean. Then there was that whole ‘caring for you’ part. You know. Just a minute ago.”

James slanted his eyes sideways at me and I was relieved to see humor stirring in their depths. Humor and relief. “I do recall something of the sort, yes. But things can change over time, especially given our lifespan.”

I gave him a mock scowl. “In this, I would forgive your seeing me as unchanging, intractable, and downright obdurate.”

“And the
idea
of marriage?” His easy tone did nothing to mask his underlying intensity. For the simple reason that it was important to him, I made myself think for the first time about the prospect of marriage.

I was floored that the idea wasn’t terrifying. In fact, it felt…
right
.

As this astonishing thought hit me, I did my own version of averting the Evil Eye by hastening for time qualifications—not today, maybe not for a while. But at some future point, I could definitely imagine a time when James and I were married.

He rubbed his cheek against mine. “Dare I interpret your smile to mean the idea has some appeal?”

I tried to school my features into a serious expression and failed miserably. “I’ll concede that the concept isn’t totally appalling.”

He mouthed “appalling” and gave me a lopsided grin. Kissing the corner of my mouth, he said, “So—again, at some future, nonspecific date—I could possibly torture you into considering a proposal?”

Despite myself, I laughed. “I hardly think kissing you qualifies as torture.”

The next second, I was flat on the counter. His voice was a sexy growl. “I have more than one weapon in my arsenal,
ma mie.
”

Interestingly, I had no trouble making the switch from talking to passion.

He caught my wrists in one hand and held them above my head. His other hand opened my bra’s front clasp and his mouth found me. He chuckled wickedly as my spine arched and a breathy sigh escaped my lips. He went to work on my breasts, alternating light, teasing strokes and deep suckling, and a needful sound came from deep inside me as my head tilted back and my eyes shut.

I felt his free hand undo my jeans and in a fast, fluid move, he slipped them off, along with my undies. It blew my mind that his lips and tongue and teeth never slowed.

Then the blunt head of him was caressing me, an agonizingly slow, stroking tease that had my hips moving helplessly, rising to meet him only to be denied as he pulled back to do it again. I made a strangled noise of pure frustration, but was in no position to retaliate in kind.

“Is this torture?” he purred, releasing my hands to kiss and nibble his way down my stomach. He suckled my flank, chuckling evilly as I quivered under his hungry mouth. His lips moved lower still and his breath was an erotic tickle. I had a good idea where he was headed and was pretty sure Victorian gentlemen didn’t do that sort of thing. When he gave me a light, experimental lick, my mind stuttered, and I was exceedingly grateful that he’d spent much of his human life in France and not stuffy America.

“Or perhaps this is torture?” he whispered and his mouth closed over me.

Everything in me tightened at the first hot, wet suction and a cry wrenched itself from my throat as I writhed under his expert touch. I’d never experienced anything like this and dimly wondered if my body was capable of containing the intense sensations. It went on and on, until I thought I would shatter under the sensory overload. At long last, he crawled up my body, his ragged breath hot on my over-sensitized skin as he kissed and suckled his way north. I forced my eyes open to watch him, and the sight of his lips, swollen and glistening, was incredibly erotic.

I felt boneless, utterly incapable of movement. His hands grasped my hips to pull me to him and I sighed at the exquisite feeling of him driving himself into me. A groan ripped from his lips as he rocked me and my internal muscles tightened on him, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.

Thinking of all James had said, my heart felt full to overflowing. I lifted a hand to caress his cheek, smiling as he went still on top of me.

“I want you, James.” I kissed him tenderly. “
You.
”

“My Evie,” he whispered, tightening his arms almost painfully around me. I hugged him back just as hard.

He began rocking me again, long and slow and delicious at first, then faster and faster as the heat between us flared. Our passion took us on the same breath and the world exploded behind my closed eyelids. Muscles quivering, shock-waves racing through my body, incredible pleasure of such intensity, mere flesh should be incapable of experiencing it. Let alone, surviving it.

James buried his face in my throat, his breath heaving and his arms tight around me. I could feel his frantic heartbeat where we were still joined and allowed myself a smile that was pure
femme fatale.

I turned my head to nip his shoulder, letting my fangs drag a little without breaking the skin. A shudder ran through him and my smile deepened. “You do realize that I am more motivated to keep you torturing me than to give in, don’t you?” I asked, my voice husky from our lovemaking.

He laughed—a short, breathless sound. “Perhaps I should rethink my methods.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned him, nipping his shoulder again.

Quite some time later, we were on the other side of the city, working to figure out what was going on with Lilith and, more importantly, how big a risk she posed to us. The treacherous bitch lived on the top floor of a two-story brownstone in a tidy corner of New York, complete with a small park around the corner. It looked so peaceful, a real slice of Americana…which made the dark-clothed sentries posted on the roof and at either end of the block so noticeable.

James and I were on top of a nine-story building two streets over—close enough that our acute sight and hearing could easily detect the guards’ every move, while they remained oblivious to our presence.

“Would a slayer normally have protection like that?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s unlikely since such activity would draw our suspicion and make us more wary. I imagine my anger with Lilith earlier frightened her and she called for reinforcements.”

“What are we hoping to gain by this?” I huffed, frustrated. It was difficult to know that the deceitful Lilith was nearby and untouchable.

James shot me an understanding look. “I wish to see who her visitors are.”

My devious reporter’s mind, always looking for connections, clicked. “You want to see if anyone else you know is in cahoots with Lilith.”

“Cahoots?” He appeared to savor the word. “Yes, that is what we are doing. And, so far, the few individuals who have come and gone are strangers to me.”

I grumbled. “Wish I could decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

He snorted. “It’s good because it means the slayers haven’t co-opted anyone else from my inner circle.”

“Or bad. Others may have been co-opted, but just haven’t come to Lilith’s place while we’re here. You still can’t be sure which it is or who can be trusted.”

James looked at me. “Is the glass half-full or half-empty?”

I cocked my head, considering. “That depends entirely upon whose glass it is, what’s in it, and who else wants it.”

He laughed. “I love how your mind works.”

I smiled, pleased. Leaning against his side, my smile deepened as he settled his arm around my waist.

“What is your favorite color?” he asked.

Startled, I looked up at him. “Blue.” His intent dawned and I bumped him with my shoulder. “More infinite details?”

“Mmm. With an eye to the distant future.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his gentle persistence. “So tell me yours. Fair’s fair.”

He looked deep into my eyes. “Gray.”

Touched, I said, “Only you could say something so cheesy and get away with it.”

“Thank you.” He sketched a gallant bow. “When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

My mouth twisted into a rueful grimace as I said the first thing that came to mind. “Not afraid.”

All playfulness evaporating, James tightened his arm around me. “I didn’t intend to bring up bad memories. I was just trying to…”

“It’s okay. Really. My childhood wasn’t exactly normal, so I said what popped into my head. As to your question, I always wanted to be a writer.”

He brushed a kiss against my hair. “It doesn’t surprise me a bit.”

“How so?”

“Because once you set your mind to something, I cannot imagine anything preventing you from attaining your goal.”

After a while, I murmured, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

He asked softly, “Your grandmother didn’t praise you?”

I shrugged. “My grandmother was the oldest of five girls and her parents barely scraped by. She began working when she was eight. When the first barn-stormers came through the little town she lived in, Gran set her heart on flying and woe to anyone who said girls couldn’t do it. Five years later, she became an aviatrix—one of the country’s first.”

“What was her name?”

“Hanna Stinson.”

James stirred. “I saw an air show in 1922, a benefit for the Red Cross, and her name was on the list of women pilots. She was quite the young daredevil.”

I blinked owlishly at the idea that James had seen my grandmother perform. Wondering how long I’d continue thinking like a human, I shook off the shock. “She was known for her barrel rolls especially. Anyway, I never doubted her love, but she didn’t believe in what she saw as cosseting. She had no patience for hurt feelings or stung pride. Or for needing someone else’s approval.” I laughed, remembering. “The few times I dared complain, she told me that I was too smart a girl to act so dumb.”

James shivered theatrically. “She sounds terrifying.”

I looked up at him, grinning. “She was. And she was wonderful too.”

“Do you think she would have approved of me?”

My smart-aleck response died on my lips as I saw that James was serious. I hugged him close. “Yeah. She would have loved you.”

Darkness stirred in the alley below us and my instincts set off an internal alarm.

“James?”

He nodded without looking. “Two males have circled our building three times, making their presence known. It appears they wish to talk with us.”

“Three times? I just now sensed them.”

Brushing a strand of hair back from my face, he gave me a soft smile. “You are young yet.”

Grumbling, I kept my eye on the door that gave access to the roof, hearing their light footfalls on the stairs as they climbed closer. We both stood as two males emerged from the dark stairwell and crossed the roof to us. They dipped their heads, but neither spoke the ritual greeting.

The taller of the newcomers had long sideburns and dark hair slicked back from a high forehead. His face was too severe to be handsome, his pale blue eyes too cold. The other male was of medium height and squarely built. He too had long sideburns, but his hair hung loose and messy around his face. His eyes were brown and, like his friend’s, were curiously devoid of expression. The severity of their all-black clothes added to their air of menace and the trench coat one wore hung almost to the pebbly roof’s surface. The uneasy thought crossed my mind that a lot could be hidden inside such a coat.

Looking past us toward Lilith’s brownstone, the taller male said, “Best seat in the house. Mind if we join you?”