The Red Collection (43 page)

‘But I thought you were looking forward to it?’

‘I was … I
love
weddings …’ Her mind filled with flowers, smiling faces and the sheer sentimental joy of romance. ‘But I was looking forward to going with someone … and not being part of the usual cattle market.’ Zack’s serious sculpted face bore a strangely wistful expression and she had a feeling he understood her perfectly. ‘I was … um … expecting a hot, sexy, romantic weekend.’

‘So what’s happened?’

‘Steve and I have split up … well, technically he dumped
me
. I think I might have come over a tad soppy over the whole wedding thing and scared him off. So he bailed.’ She shuddered, not because of the loss but at what she might have let happen. Encouraged. ‘Unfortunately, though, because he’s a friend of the groom, he’s still going to the wedding … with someone else.’

Zack’s eyes were steady, thoughtful and heart-breakingly blue. ‘Mmm. That’s awkward.’ He was as still as ever, but she could see him weighing up her options.

Suddenly, tears welled up, but they were nothing to do with Steve or the wedding. They were for something wistful and glorious that she’d never, ever have. A proper romance with pale and beautiful Zack.

‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’

In another burst of freakish speed, he was in the chair
beside
her now, his powerful arms wrapped around her. And it felt so good that their unspoken boundaries were suddenly meaningless.

In Zack’s cradling hold she was safe and cherished. He held her lightly but like a rock, like Superman to her Lois, he was so strong. In her mind, she flew back to a precious moment a few weeks ago. Another instance when he’d breached his personal space for her. She’d caught a virus that was going around and had nearly passed out. And sweet Zack had swept her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her all the way to bed.

Unfortunately, when he got her there, he’d left her with a hot water bottle, a selection of painkillers and decongestants and a steaming lemon drink – rather than climbing beneath the covers and giving her the sexual healing that she longed for.

But those moments of being swooped up off her feet and
carried
as if she weighed nothing at all had been exquisite, despite her congested sinuses and her headache. And being held now was equally sublime.

‘You could still go, Teresa.’ His hand was cool against her skin where he smoothed her hair away from her face. ‘You’re stronger than you think. Why not go anyway and show everyone how fabulous you are? Have fun and just be there for Lisa.’

You’re so right, she thought. I will go. Why not?

Peering at him, blinking, she smiled a grateful smile, and then opened her mouth to speak – and brought forth insane words she’d never intended to utter.

‘I don’t suppose
you’d
come with me, would you? I mean … not a “date” or anything? More a friend-type thing, really. You wouldn’t have to be outside in daylight. The wedding itself and the parties and whatnot are all either indoors or held in the evening.’

Nothing about the way Zack held her altered, but he was staring at the table, his pale profile intense, almost graven. A single jet-black curl dangled against his brow like an inverted question mark.

What have I done? Teresa thought. Now I’ve spoilt everything by opening my big mouth. But before she opened that big mouth again, knowing it was futile to even attempt to repair the damage, Zack spoke first.

With his customary measured grace, he unwound his arms from around her, pushed back his chair and stood up. Then he clasped his hands together, rubbing the fingers of one hand against the back of the other, studying them fixedly as if he’d never seen them before. Teresa couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d run around the room, shouting and breaking things.

‘OK … why not? I’ll go with you. I’ll even be your “date”, if you want me to.’ His rather sultry red mouth curved into a smile.

What?

Teresa’s jaw dropped, and the cosy familiar room suddenly seemed almost alien. This was studious Zack who worked from home writing scholarly historical treatises and never, ever went out during the day. This was Zack, who only ever ventured out at dusk, or at night, for long walks around the city streets. That was how she’d met him, in the coffee shop that night, and he’d been there for her then, just as he was now.

But this was different.
This
was amazing. Without thinking, Teresa leapt up, lunged forward – and kissed him.

And promptly forgot about weddings, and weekends, and perfidious weasel boyfriends.

Zack’s lips were soft and cool and velvety. Twice as luscious as she’d imagined and a hundred times more provocative. They were quiescent beneath hers at first, almost innocent, and deep in her groin pure lust kicked, and kicked again. There was something uniquely seductive about a man who was untouched, who was shy and pure. One of her deepest and most secret masturbation fantasies was to seduce a young sweet virgin man. It was an impossible dream when most men were sexually active well before they were even supposed to be. But even so, the magical idea of it still burned in her imagination.

And Zack’s beautiful motionlessness played right into those dreams. He simply accepted the kiss, but there was thrilling latency to the lush supple contact. The urge to hurl her weight forwards, wrestle him to the kitchen floor and accept the consequences raged through her.

But then, inside, something intangible tipped over.

Arms like steel bands closed tight around her, and his tongue gently pressed between her lips, demanding entrance. She let him in, loving the strange coolness of the moist and mobile pressure.

Her arms came up, hands roving over his hard back beneath his thin cotton shirt. And the touch of that was cool too, like woven cobwebs sliding over marble.

Although she’d lived with this man for months, she very, very rarely touched him. She’d almost forgotten the shock of his cold skin when they’d shaken hands to seal their house-sharing agreement, but now his hurried talk of poor circulation came back to mind.

But there was nothing wrong with his circulation today. Everything about him was active and hungry and full of life. Where before he’d been diffident, he was vibrant and eager now. Where before he seemed to be holding back, now he’d opened wide the gates.

Tugging at each other, they were suddenly on the kitchen floor just as she’d imagined, kissing like maniacs. Zack threw one long lean leg across her, and acquainted Teresa with that star turn of all her erotic daydreams.

This is demented. I’m kissing my landlord and he’s got a hard-on, she thought.

Unable to contain herself, Teresa surged against him, rocking shamelessly against Zack’s sturdy erection. So much for keeping their distance and observing ‘friends only’ no-go areas. Her outburst had re-engineered the parameters. There wasn’t anywhere that she couldn’t venture now.

He had the most glorious backside. Tight and hard and round like a brace of ripe apples. And when she grasped it,
he
growled in his throat in a most astonishing way. Deep and fierce, like the call of a jungle animal, it bounced off the kitchen walls and filled her ears. If she hadn’t had his tongue in her mouth, Teresa would have said, ‘What the fuck is going on?’

But their tongues were dancing and she felt like growling too.

Deep in her belly, a famished hunger was gnawing at her. It was a long while since she’d had good sex. A real, hard, long wonderful fuck. She’d held back with Steve, and had been hoping this weekend would be their romantic first time. But now, she thanked every lucky star in heaven that she hadn’t succumbed.

She’d never articulated it to herself, but she’d been waiting and saving herself for Zack, sure in the knowledge that her abstinence would be worth it.

Oh, I want you, she cried silently to him, massaging his sensational bottom, and squirreling herself against his cock.

Zack’s answer was to growl again, a low feral sound. His lips crushed hers, his tongue thrusting, thrusting, just like the sex act. Where the kiss had been gentle and controlled at first, it was clear off the rails now. His mouth started to rove, moving roughly, messily, thrillingly over her face, along her jaw, as his hips rocked and jerked in that explicit rhythm that met and matched hers.

It was like being a horny teenager all over again, but magnified to the n’th degree. Every part of her was hot. They were rubbing against each other like crazy animals, and Teresa was the one making moaning noises now, unable to contain herself as Zack’s hands went all over the place. Her breasts. Her thighs. The cleft of her bottom. He was surveying her physical geography, and he was impatient. His
fingers
wriggled between their bodies, tugging at her skirt and searching for access to her sex.

And all the while he was kissing, licking, tasting – and nibbling.

Nibbling? More than that – as his mouth reached her throat, she suddenly yelped and jerked beneath him.

Dear God, that is so hot! He’s biting my neck!

It was pure sex. Shocking and primal. Painful but in a way that made her hips lurch against him of their own accord, seeking the touch of his fingertips where they pressed against her panties.

Am I flying? Teresa thought. This is weird.

She wriggled and parted her legs, not sure where the pleasure was, only knowing that it was like melting, dissolving, expiring – coming?

And then …

The rail-backed kitchen chair was hard beneath her thighs, and the glass cool in her hand. Her heart was thudding and there was a silvery hum ringing in her ears. But despite this strange physical phenomenon and an accompanying sense of dislocation, she felt calm, almost serene. Apart from a vague prickle of curiosity. She’d been panicking and fretting about something, but it was OK now. Zack had come up with a solution, hadn’t he?

Looking up, she was surprised to see him standing by the sink. His mouth was uncharacteristically tense, his lips tightly pursed and his eyes looked huge and very dark. She felt a jolt of worry. Had her silly invitation distressed him?

‘Are you OK, Zack? You’re not sickening for something, are you? You don’t
have
to come to the wedding, you know. It’s wonderful of you to offer and God knows I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl. I think I’ll be OK.’

There was a long pause. Zack’s eyes seemed to skitter a bit, and he pressed his knuckle against his lips, as if pondering.

Teresa wondered what was the matter with Zach. He was not usually like this.

As she watched, Zack gave one long fluttering, almost slow-motion blink, squared his shoulders and lowered his hand to rest it on the forearm he had wrapped around him, reacquiring his stillness.

‘I’d like to go. I need to get out more.’ He gave her a cautious smile, his white teeth glinting. ‘It’ll be a change for me … all this studying and researching. I need to kick over the traces and have some fun.’

‘Um, yes, I suppose so.’

But later, when he’d returned to his books, his research and his computer, Teresa was left wondering about Zack’s sudden decision. Wondering about that, and a few other things.

Like, why were her lips so tender, as if she’d been kissed to within an inch of her life?

And what the hell was that bright-red mark on her neck?

2

‘Bloody fool! Bloody, bloody fool!’

Zachary Trevelyan fought the hysterical urge to laugh like a lunatic.

Of course, he was a bloody fool – he was a fool for
blood
. With an effort, he managed to control his mania but the irony still made him smile.

For decades he’d coped and adapted and made a semblance of a life for himself, without ever really fitting in. But ever since he’d seen a pretty brown-haired girl in a local street on
a
warm spring night, then followed her into a coffee house, it was no longer the placid existence he’d carefully nurtured.

And tonight he’d made it a hundred times more complicated. He might have gently tampered with Teresa’s perceptions, but it was only a matter of time before she cottoned on to the anomalies. And he couldn’t blank out his own memories of that kiss – or the natural and unnatural responses of his body.

In the sanctum of his workroom, he reached into the small beer fridge he kept there. It had never actually contained beer, although he did drink ale now and again. Instead the shelves were stacked with a row of small vacuum-sealed bottles. After flipping the top off one, he flung himself into his big leather wing-chair and took a long quenching drink.

His eyes fluttered closed as the rich familiar taste filled his mouth. The dangerous coppery flavour that defined him.

His roaring hunger calmed immediately. Heart, veins, cells, they all glowed and returned to equilibrium again. The acute stiffness in his penis transformed from pain into a potential source of pleasure. Taking another long drink from his bottle, he laid the fingers of his free hand across his groin.

That had been a close, close call in the kitchen. Flicking his tongue over his lips, he captured a drop of the red fluid there, and then, still lightly cupping his genitals, he passed it slowly over the biting edges of his upper teeth.

They were altered again, just as they’d been ten minutes ago. Kissing Teresa, he’d felt his fangs descend as the crimson madness of desire, so long and so carefully avoided, had gripped him like a stranglehold.

What the hell had possessed him? He’d been at risk of revealing himself since the very day she’d moved in, and he still couldn’t work out what had possessed him to ask her. But
still
he’d done it, wildly embracing the threat to his hard won peace of mind.

Oh, but the taste of her. The touch of her. She was everything he’d dreamt of, everything that had driven him time and again to red fits of frenzied masturbation. And all it had taken was the welling up of sympathy – his for her and hers for him – to tip him past the point of no return.

Zack remembered the first time he’d set eyes on Teresa.

Like any man, he’d first noticed her shiny teak-coloured hair, and her slender yet shapely figure as she’d strolled along, looking in shop windows. But then he’d watched, fascinated by an inner beauty, as she’d knelt down to talk to one of the homeless who sometimes bedded down for the night in the larger doorways. She’d stayed a while, actually talking to the man rather than just flinging the odd coin into his tin and scuttling away. Her face had been warm and animated and she’d stroked the mangy dog tied up to the man’s pack. Then, eventually, she’d straightened up, and left, turning back to wave – but not before slipping what looked like a couple of banknotes into his hand, with an encouraging squeeze.