The Rogue Hunter (13 page)

Her eyes opened with disappointment when his mouth left her, but that soon turned to alarm when she realized he'd raised his head to peer at her in the moonlight. Embarrassed, she tried to catch him by the hair and draw him down to kiss her again so that he would stop his looking, but he ignored her.

When he breathed the word
beautiful
under his breath, she squirmed under his gaze, more than aware that he was lying. Tom had always said she was too scrawny and suggested she get breast implants.

"Too skinny," Sam gasped apologetically and tried to draw him down again, but he shook his head and met her gaze, eyes glowing silver-green in the dark.

"I thought so," he admitted solemnly, and then spread balm on her soul by adding, "Until now. Seeing you like this…" He let the words die away, and she saw the hunger alive in his eyes. He finally lowered his head to kiss her again and let her taste the excitement she was raising in him… and there was no doubt the man was excited. Sam could feel that excitement pressing against her hip as his chest angled over her, the cloth of his own T-shirt feeling almost abrasive against her fevered flesh.

Reminded that he was still dressed while she lay splayed beneath him, Sam found some of her usual gumption and began to rectify that. Dropping her hands to his lower back, she curled her fingers in the cotton shirt and tugged it free of the jeans it had been tucked into. The moment she had it halfway up his back, she released it to touch his bare flesh, sighing as her fingertips glided over smooth, hot skin.

Feeling bold, especially since this was a dream, she then slid her hands around between them so that she could run them over his chest. Finding his nipples, she paused to pay them special attention, smiling around his tongue when he groaned into her mouth and thrust his hips against her in response. That drew her attention lower, and she immediately slid one hand down to the front of his jeans and wormed it between them until she could run it firmly over the bulge there.

Mortimer's response this time was to growl into her mouth, the sound vibrating along his lips and tongue and then transmitting to hers, and she squeezed him again. The second caress garnered a more passionate response, and he suddenly shifted between her legs so that he could grind himself against her in an imitation of what she sincerely hoped was coming. He already had her more excited than she'd ever dreamed possible.

Alex was right, Sam realized. She was a veritable virgin… and she'd been missing out on a hell of a lot. Tom's breaking it off with her seemed like the best damned thing he'd ever done for her.

Who knew? The thought brought a small giggle from her lips that died abruptly, replaced by a deep, throaty groan as Mortimer ground against her again, this time thrusting his tongue into her mouth at the same time.

Alex was wrong, Sam realized suddenly. She could definitely have a fling with Mortimer. In fact, if this was just the opening act, there was no damned way she was missing the main event.

Reaching between them, she undid his jeans with hands that were trembling and clumsy, but also determined. Mortimer raised his hips slightly to aid her, and then a pillow hit her in the face.

"That must have been one hell of a dream you were having. We could hear you moaning and groaning from the kitchen."

Sam blinked her eyes open and stared, first at Alex's wry expression and then at Jo's grinning face. The pair were kneeling on the bed, one on either side of her. Jo was the one holding the pillow that had accosted her, she realized, her mind howling with disappointment at the interruption.

"Come on, sleepyhead. It's past noon." Alex slid off the bed and headed for the door. "The power's on and coffee's brewing. It's the second pot," she added dryly.

Pausing in the door, she turned sideways to let Jo slip past her and then announced, "We're starving, but can't start breakfast until you go next door and get the sausage."

"Me? Why me?" Sam asked. "What if they aren't up yet?"

Alex shrugged. "It's noon. They're probably up, at least one of them probably is. Now hurry up and get ready; we're starved."

"Well, why don't you go get it then?" she asked irritably.

"Because before we came in to wake you we voted about who should go, and you were the winner," she said with a grin and then added, "By the way, I've changed my mind again. I think you
should
have a fling with Mortimer after all."

"You have?" Sam asked with confusion. "Why?"

"Because if he makes you moan his name while awake half as much as you were doing while dreaming, it would be worth any heartache it might cause," she said dryly, and waited just long enough to see the flush of embarrassment rise up to cover Sam's face before stepping out of the room and closing the door.

Sam let her head drop back with a groan. Whether it was for the interruption to the dream, or humiliation at learning she'd been moaning and groaning and calling Mortimer's name in her sleep, even she couldn't say at that point.

"Don't fall back to sleep," Alex warned through the closed door. "If you aren't out here in five minutes we're coming back."

Sighing, Sam tossed her sheet aside and stood up, her gaze sliding to the window. Her eyes moved over the trees that acted as a curtain between the two properties. It was still early summer up here, the foliage not fully formed, so there were little gaps here and there causing a peekaboo effect that wouldn't be there in another couple of weeks. She could see enough to tell that there wasn't a sign of movement from the other cottage.

Biting her lip, she turned her attention to finding clothes to wear, spending more time than usual over the chore. She was torn over the task her sisters had "voted" she should complete. Part of her was embarrassed by her dream and wanted to avoid seeing Mortimer. The other part was eager to see him again and wanted to look her best when she did.

Sam flushed as she acknowledged that. Even looking her best, she would never be considered pretty, but in her dream Mortimer had looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and some small part of her heart was hoping he might look at her like that in real life someday too.

"Fool," Sam muttered under her breath as she grabbed up the clothes she'd chosen and headed out of the room. It seemed pretty obvious that Alex had been right last night. She was too inexperienced to handle a fling. She'd get her heart broken or humiliate herself for sure if she even tried. The best thing she could do for herself was give the man a wide berth. And she would… right after she went over and collected the sausage.

Chapter Seven

Mortimer sat up in bed with a growl of frustration. He'd been having an incredibly erotic dream and Sam had been the star. He could still feel her slender body writhing in his arms, and it just increased the ache in his groin.

He peered down at himself, not at all surprised to see the erection he sported. He scrubbed his palms over his face, half in frustration, and half in an effort to force away the memories tormenting him. He could still taste Sam on his tongue, and feel her delicious body on his skin. There was no use denying it—it was most definitely starting to look like Sam was his life mate.

The funny thing was, Mortimer was starting to think that wasn't such a bad thing now that he was getting to know her. Sam still wasn't stacked like his fantasy Jessica Rabbit, but that hadn't hindered his attraction to her in their shared dream. He'd found her sleek, muscled body rather sexy then. It had reminded him of a cat. He felt little Mortimer twitch at the memory and shook his head.

Truly he was proving himself to be fickle and contrary. One moment he was moaning about her being a gangly Olive Oyl and not at all what he wanted, and now he was eager to see her again and perhaps find an opportunity to repeat the performance they'd experienced in the dream. But for real this time.

The woman had proven to be as passionate as she was intelligent in their shared dream. Her little moans of pleasure and the feel and taste of her had driven him wild and made him desperate to plunge his hardness into her moist heat… which he'd be doing now if she hadn't suddenly disappeared from the dream like a whiff of smoke.

It had been a connection dream, of course. His mind had reached out while they both slept, drawing her into the erotic conflagration. That, of course, was just another sign that she was his life mate. Unfortunately she'd obviously been woken, breaking their connection. She was probably just as frustrated as he was at that moment, he realized, and wondered if there was any possibility she'd go back to sleep. If she did, they could continue the dream.

The thought made Mortimer stiffen. It wasn't very likely. She was probably up and about, but the possibility that she might was enough to make him lie back on the bed and close his eyes. He was determined to return to sleep to find out, but now that he was awake, his hunger for her wasn't the only one Mortimer was suffering.

He should have had a bag of blood before retiring that morning, Mortimer acknowledged with irritation. He'd fed well before heading next door the night before, but he'd also consumed a couple of beers over the course of the evening, and the blood he'd binged on would have been used up countering the effects of the alcohol and removing it from his system. He was obviously in need of replenishing. The hunger was enough that he was actually suffering pangs, which meant he wasn't likely to sleep.

Muttering under his breath, he got up, tugged on his jeans, and quickly headed out of the room.

He'd have a quick bag and then try to sleep again, Mortimer told himself as he crossed the nearly pitch-black rec room to the refrigerator. They'd emptied out the tainted blood and refilled it with the blood from the cooler the day before. He now retrieved a bag, considered a second, decided against it for now, and then popped the bag he'd taken to his teeth as he moved to the blinds covering the wall of glass.

At the window, he used a finger to cautiously tug one vertical slat aside and then winced at the bright light that greeted him. It was still god-awful bright out there. Mortimer wasn't used to being up at midday.

After giving himself a moment to adjust to the glare, he shifted his gaze to the cottage next door. There was no one outside, but he thought he caught a glimpse of movement by the kitchen window and hoped it wasn't Sam up and about for the day. He hadn't given up hope of returning to bed to enjoy the completion of their shared dream. Neither had his erection. It was still flying at full mast.

A floorboard creaked overhead, and Mortimer let the vertical blind slat fall back into place. It was noon, but early for them. On leaving the women after the party they had spent several hours fruitlessly searching the nearby coffee shop and other places they'd hoped their rogue might frequent in his hunt for a quick bite. It had been dawn by the time they'd returned to the cottage. No one should be up yet.

Frowning, he drew the now-empty blood bag off his fangs and crumpled it in his hand as he silently crossed to mount the stairs. Mortimer stepped off the top step a moment later to see someone's butt and legs sticking out of the open refrigerator door.

It was Bricker, he realized, recognizing him despite the fact that his upper body was bent over and appeared to be crammed into the appliance. It looked to him like the younger immortal was trying to climb into the refrigerator to be with the food.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Startled, Bricker jerked upward and cursed loudly as he smashed his head into the bottom of the freezer. He backed out of the appliance and turned, a scowl claiming his lips when he spotted Mortimer.

"Eating," he answered, and then added accusingly, "We should have stopped for something to eat on the way back like I asked. Hunger pangs woke me up."

"It was too late. The sun was rising by the time we got back," Mortimer reminded him, and then frowned at the sight of the Polish sausage Bricker held in one hand and the hunk of cheese in the other. "Those aren't our groceries."

"I know, but we'll replace them as soon as the stores open." When that didn't make Mortimer's tight-lipped expression soften, he added, "I'm hungry."

Mortimer's frown did ease at that plaintive claim. Despite having fed, his own hunger pangs were still attacking him. The bag of blood hadn't touched his hunger. It seemed it wasn't what he hungered for. His stomach wanted more food to follow up on what it had enjoyed the night before. All his appetites had been reawakened. Certainly his sex drive seemed in full swing, something he hadn't been bothered by for centuries. Mortimer couldn't even recall the woman he'd last been with, but he was still flying at half mast at that moment for Sam.

"Do you hear the generator?" Bricker asked suddenly, and Mortimer frowned as he realized the loud roar of the engine that had propelled the lights and run the refrigerator since Decker had turned it on was silent. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn't recall hearing it on returning from the party last night either.

Bricker frowned down at the Polish sausage in his hand and said, "Everything in the refrigerator feels cold. The power must be back on… But…"

"But?" Mortimer asked sharply.

"I don't remember the generator being on when we returned from the Anderson party last night," he admitted reluctantly, and then added, "And the Polish sausage tastes a little off."

Mortimer peered down at the bag in his hand with sudden concern. It had felt cold to the touch when he'd taken it out of the refrigerator downstairs, but just because it was cold now didn't mean it had been all night.

And that was just bad. Blood had to be kept at a temperature between one and six degrees centigrade; otherwise it could cause cell lysis. He might have just downed tainted blood without knowing it.

That was the one downside of their method of feeding. Had he poured some in a glass to drink, he would have tasted if it was off and simply spat it out. Puncturing the bag with his fangs, however, prevented his tasting the blood.

A shuffling sound drew him from his worried thoughts to see that Decker was stepping off the stairs into the kitchen and scowling at Bricker and Mortimer as he moved to toss an empty blood bag into the garbage can. Obviously he'd stopped to grab a bag on the way up.