Dark Lover

Chapter Forty-three

Butch combed his hair, slapped on a little cologne, and slipped into a suit that wasn't his. Just as the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was lined with different aftershaves and shaving creams, the closets were full of brand-new men's clothes of various large sizes. All top-drawer, designer stuff.

He'd never worn Gucci before.

And though he didn't like being a mooch, he just couldn't see Marissa in the same clothes he'd been wearing last night. Even if they'd been particularly sharp—and they weren't—he was sure they now smelled like a bar: V's Turkish tobacco and booze combined.

He wanted to be fresh as a daisy for her. He really did.

Butch took a turn in front of a full-length mirror, feeling like a pansy, but unable to help himself. The black pinstripe fit him well. The bright white, open-collared shirt made his tan come out. And the sweet pair of Ferragamo loafers he'd found in a box were just the right amount of flash.

He was almost handsome, he thought. As long as she didn't look too closely at his bloodshot eyes.

The four hours of sleep and all that Scotch showed.

A soft rapping noise sounded.

Feeling like a poser and hoping it wasn't one of the brothers, he opened the door.

The butler looked up with a smile. "Sire, you look quite dashing. Fine choices, fine choices."

Butch shrugged, fussing with the shirt collar. "Yeah, well."

"But you need a handkerchief in your breast pocket. May I?"

"Ah, sure."

The little old man buzzed right over to a bureau, pulled out a drawer, and rifled around. "This should be perfect."

His knobby hands worked the white square into some kind of origami masterpiece and stuffed the thing into place on Butch's chest.

"Now, you are ready for your guest. She is here. Are you receiving?"

Receiving? "Hell, yeah."

As they went out into the hall, the butler laughed softly.

"I look stupid, don't I?" Butch said.

Fritz's face grew serious. "No, not at all, sire. I was just thinking how much Darius would have enjoyed all this. He liked a full house."

"Who's Dar—"

"Butch?"

Marissa's voice brought them both to a halt. She was at the head of the stairs, and she took Butch's breath away. Her hair was up high on her head, and her gown was a pale pink sheath. Her shy pleasure at seeing him made his chest swell.

"Hey, baby." He walked forward, aware that the butler was beaming with delight.

She fidgeted with her dress, as if she were a little nervous. "I probably should have waited downstairs. But everyone's so busy. I felt like I was in the way."

"You want to hang up here for a while?"

She nodded. "If you don't mind. It's quieter."

The butler chimed in. "There's a second-floor sitting porch. Just go down the hall. It's at the end."

Butch offered her his arm. "That okay with you?"

She slipped her hand through his elbow. As her eyes skittered away from his, her blush was enchanting. "Yes. Yes, it is."

So she wanted to be alone with him.

This was a good sign, Butch thought.

As Beth carried a heaping platter of crudites into the dining room, she decided that Fritz and Wellsie could have run a small country together. They had the brothers racing around, setting the dining room table, putting fresh candles out, helping with the food. And God only knew what was happening in Wrath's chamber. The ceremony was going to take place there, and Rhage had been down in the room for an hour.

Beth put the platter on the sideboard and headed back into the kitchen. She found Fritz struggling to reach a large crystal bowl high up in the cupboard.

"Here, let me get that."

"Oh, thank you, mistress."

She put it down on the counter and then watched as he filled it with salt.

That's some serious hypertension right there, she thought.

"Beth?" Wellsie called out. "Can you go into the pantry and grab three jars of peach preserves for the ham basting?"

Beth went inside the boxy little room and flipped on the light switch. Cans and jars ran from floor to ceiling in an overwhelming array of options. She was looking for the peach section when she heard the door open.

"Fritz, do you know—"

She pivoted around. And slammed right into Zsadist's hard body.

He hissed, and they both leaped back as the door shut them in together.

He closed his eyes as if in pain, his lips drawing back from his fangs and teeth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to move farther away. There wasn't much room, and there was no escape. He was standing in front of the door. "I didn't see you. I'm really sorry."

He was wearing another tight long-sleeved shirt, so as his hands curled into fists, the flexing of his arms and then his shoulders was obvious. He was big to begin with, but the power in his body made him seem huge.

His lids opened. When those black eyes touched her face, she cringed.

Cold. So very cold.

"Christ, I know I'm ugly," he snapped. "But don't fear me. I'm not a total savage."

Then he grabbed something and left.

Beth sagged against the jars and cans, looking up at the empty space he'd left on the shelf. Chutney. He'd taken chutney.

"Beth, did you find—" Wellsie stopped short in the doorway. "What happened?"

"Nothing. It was… nothing."

Wellsie gave her a level stare while adjusting the apron over her blue dress. "You're lying to me, but it's your mating day, so I'll let you get away with it." She located the jam and took down some jars. "Hey, why don't you go to your father's room and have a lie-down? Rhage has finished, so you can take a deep breath down there. You need to pamper yourself a little before you're mated."

"You know, I think that's a good idea."

Butch leaned back in the wicker rocker, crossing his legs and pushing at the floor with one foot. The chair made a creaking sound.

In the distance, heat lightning flashed. The night smelled of the garden down below.

And of the sea.

Across the shallow porch, Marissa tilted her head back to scan the sky. A slight summer breeze touched the tendrils of hair around her face.

He decided he could look at her for a lifetime and not get enough.

"Butch?"

"Sorry. What was that?"

"I said, you look quite beautiful in that suit."

"This old thing? I just threw it on."

She laughed, exactly as he'd meant her to, but as the sound tingled his ears, he grew serious.

"You're the beautiful one."

Her hand went up to her neck. She didn't seem to know how to handle compliments, as though she hadn't gotten many of them.

He found that so hard to believe.

"I did my hair for you," she said. "I thought maybe you would like it this way."

"I like it any way. All ways."

She smiled. "I chose this dress for you, too."

"I like it. But you know something, Marissa? You don't have to try with me."

Her eyes dipped down. "I'm used to trying."

"So get unused to it. You're perfect."

She beamed. Absolutely beamed. And all he could do was stare.

The breeze picked up a little, sweeping her chiffon skirting around the graceful curve of her hips. And suddenly he wasn't just thinking about how lovely she was.

Butch nearly laughed. He'd never considered lust the kind of thing that could ruin a moment, but his body's needs were something he wouldn't mind shelving for the night. Or even longer. He really wanted to treat her right. She was a woman worthy of being worshiped and held and made happy.

Butch frowned. Yeah, and just how would he be able to do that? The happy part, that was. He was confident he had the worshiping and the holding down pat.

It was just… a virgin vampire was a category of female he knew absolutely nothing about.

"Marissa, you know I'm not one of your kind, don't you?"

She nodded. "From the moment I first saw you."

"And that doesn't"—turn you off?—"bother you?"

"No. I like the way I feel around you."

"And how's that?" he asked, getting quiet.

"I feel safe. I feel pretty." She paused and eyed his lips. "And sometimes other things."

"Like what?" In spite of his good intentions, he really wanted to hear about the other things.

"I get hot. Especially here"—she touched her breasts—"and here." Her hands brushed over the juncture between her thighs.

Butch saw double, his heart kicked so hard. As he blew out a lungful of hot air, he was sure his head was going to explode.

"Do you feel anything?" she asked.

"You better believe it."

His voice sounded Scotch-raw. Which is what desperation will do to a guy.

Marissa crossed the porch, coming toward him. "I would kiss you now. If you wouldn't mind."

Wouldn't mind? He was willing to beg just to keep looking at her.

He uncrossed his legs and sat up, thinking that the fact someone could walk in on them at any time would help keep him in check. He was about to get to his feet when she knelt in front of him.

And moved her body right between his legs.

"Whoa. Easy there." He stopped her before she came in contact with his erection. He wasn't sure she was ready for that. Hell, he wasn't sure he was ready for that. "If we're going to… We need to take this slow. I want it to be good for you."

She smiled, and he caught sight of the tips of her fangs. His erection throbbed.

Now who'd have thought that'd be a turn-on?

"I dreamt of doing this last night," she murmured.

Butch cleared his throat. "Did you?"

"I imagined that you came to my bed. You bent over me."

Oh, God, he could just picture that. Except in his fantasy they were both naked.

"You were naked," she whispered, leaning into him. "And so was I. Your mouth was hard on mine. You tasted tangy, like Scotch. I liked it." Her lips hovered mere inches from his. "I liked you."

Holy heaven. He was actually about to come. And they hadn't even kissed yet.

She moved to close the distance, but he held her off at the last moment. She was too much for him. Too lovely. Too sexy. Way, way too innocent.

God, he'd let down so many people over the course of his life. He didn't want to add her to the list.

And she deserved a prince for her first. Not some washed-up ex-cop, wearing someone else's gigolo armor. He had no idea how vampires ran their private lives. But he was damn sure she could do a hell of a lot better than him.

"Marissa?"

"Hmmm?" Her eyes didn't stray from his lips. In spite of her inexperience, she looked like she was ready to devour him.

And he wanted to be eaten.

"Do you not desire to?" she whispered, pulling back. Looking worried. "Butch?"

"Oh, no, baby. Not that. Never that."

He shifted his hands from her shoulders up to her neck, holding her head steady. Then he tilted his to one side and put his lips right on her mouth.

She gasped, drawing his breath into her lungs, taking something of him inside of her. He rumbled in satisfaction, but kept control, stroking her mouth gently, caressing her softly. When she swayed toward him, he traced the outside of her lips with his tongue.

She was going to taste so sweet, he thought, preparing to go deeper while still keeping a chain on himself.

But Marissa jumped the gun. She captured his tongue with her mouth and sucked on it.

Butch groaned, his hips jerking up from the chair.

She broke off the kiss. "You didn't like that? I liked it when you did that to my finger last night."

He yanked at his collar. Where the hell was all the air in this part of North America?

"Butch?"

"I liked it," he said in a guttural croak. "Trust me. I really liked it."

"Then I would do it again."

She lunged forward and took his mouth in a blazing kiss, pressing him back into the wicker, hitting him like a ton of bricks. He was in such shock, all he could do was grip the chair's arms. Her onslaught was powerful. Erotic. Hotter than Hades. She practically crawled onto his chest as she explored his mouth, and he braced his body, throwing his weight into his palms.

Suddenly, there was a loud snapping sound.

And then he rolled onto the floor with her.

"What the f—" Butch lifted his left hand. And up came the wicker arm he'd taken hold of.

He'd ripped the side off the chair.

"You okay?" he said breathlessly, tossing the thing away.

"Oh, yes." She smiled up at him. Her dress was caught in his legs. And her body was tight against him. Almost where he needed it to be.

As he looked at her, he was ready for it all, ready to get under that dress, part her thighs with his hips, and bury himself in her heat until they were both totally lost.

Except in his current state, he was liable to take her hard, not make love to her properly. And he was crazed enough to do it here, on the porch, in the open.

So it was way time for a break.

"Let's get you off the floor," he said roughly.

Marissa moved faster than he did, practically springing to her feet. When she held her hand out to help him up, he took it to humor her. Only to find himself plucked from the floor as if he weighed no more than a newspaper.

He smiled as he brushed off his jacket. "You're stronger than you look."

She seemed embarrassed and took care to check her dress. "Not really."

"That's not a bad thing, Marissa."

Her eyes came back to his and then slowly drifted down his body.

With a shot of embarrassment, he realized his raging erection made a tent out of his pants. He turned away so he could rearrange himself.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He faced her, wondering if his pulse was ever going to slow down.

Man, he wasn't going to need a stress test anytime soon. If his heart could get through a kiss from her, he could probably run a marathon.

While dragging a car behind him.

Sideways to the road.

"I liked that," she said.

He had to laugh. "So did I. But it's hard to believe you're a vir—"

Butch slammed his mouth closed. Rubbed his thumb over his eyebrows.

No wonder he didn't date. He had the social skills of a chimp.

"Just so you know," he muttered, "I put my foot in it sometimes. But I'll work on this for you."

"Foot in it?"

"Blurt shit out. Stuff. I mean… Hell." He looked to the door. "Listen, how about we head down and see what's doing with the party?"

Because if he stayed up here one minute longer, he was going to be all over her.

"Butch?"

He glanced back at her. "Yeah, baby?"

Her eyes flashed, and she licked her lips. "I want more of you."

Butch stopped breathing. And wondered if she was thinking about his blood.

Looking into her beautiful face, he relived what it felt like to get pushed back into that chair. And he imagined that instead of kissing him, she was sinking those pearly white fangs of hers deep into his neck.

He could think of no better way to go than in her arms.

"Whatever you want of me," he murmured, "you can have."