Waiting in the Wings

Chapter Two

Richard’s startled glare sizzled her nerves. Despite her playful question, she really didn’t care if she got all three. His two companions did little for her. Their reactions to her proposition, however, were almost as interesting. They retreated, pressing back against the walls of the elevator and as close to the doors as possible—far away from her.

“No.” The level response pulsed with electric heat, a lid on a kettle about to boil. “You do not get all three.” The elevator ride ended with the doors opening and his men slipping out like obedient shadows. Richard loomed over her, but Kiki merely grinned and curled her finger down his black tie before sauntering out.

The icy-hot sensation of his presence draped across her like a cloak as she walked out into a Greco-Roman decorator’s wet dream. The columns with their filigreed leaf work and alabaster and marble statuary took her aback. Low white sofas and sedan chairs filled the primary space around a circular fireplace. Golden pillows with tassels and fringe added a spark of color.

She rolled her tongue against her lower lip as her gaze swept the room and rose to the vaulted—painted—ceilings. The vivid colors took her breath away. She turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. The men attending Richard murmured to him and disappeared beyond a pair of double-wide doors.

Richard strode past her, caressing her cheek in passing. The intimate gesture filled her with a deep sense of familiarity and security. The intensity of the feelings begged questions, but she couldn’t stop staring at the room.

“Why do I feel like someone got Dionysus drunk and he went a little crazy in here?”

“The Reynolds family was kind enough to provide me with their apartments here.” He answered, pouring two flute glasses with bubbling champagne. The scent of it tickled her nostrils. “Malcolm’s aunt has a deep affection for all things Greek.”

“Where is the light coming from?” She knew it was nighttime, which meant the sun could not be in the sky, but the room’s brightness reminded her of an open-air temple in daytime—on the shores of Montre Corsica, in the Greek isles. The sea air combing through her hair—the taste of salt on her lips—but no sooner did the memory blossom than it too drifted away on the breeze before she could capture it.

Her companion walked over and held out the champagne flute. “Does it matter where the light comes from?”

Accepting the glass, she leaned against a column and pulled off her boots. She wanted to feel the cool marble against her bare feet. She clinked glasses with him and grinned. “No, but I’m still curious.”

“Of course you are.” His indulgent smile unfurled another wave of warmth in her belly. “Tell me about you.”

“You don’t want to know about me.” She deflected the question and skipped away to bound up onto the white sofa. Feet sinking into the plush fabric and pillows, she wiggled her toes in delight. “I’m just a girl in a bar.”

“No. You’re an exquisite woman in my suite.” He followed her path bouncing from the furniture to the tiled floors to dance around the great fire pit. She paused at the thick, white furred rug. The soft hairs tickled her skin, and she knelt down to run her hand over it. “Wolf?”

He slanted a look down at it, nostrils flaring and shook his head. “Bear.”

“Aren’t they endangered?” She wrinkled her nose in disapproval.

“I doubt it was a polar bear, darling. More likely one of the bear clan who tried to double cross the Reynolds.”

Not as blasé as he about such violence, Kiki stepped away from the were-skin rug, and shuddered. She sipped the champagne and frowned—it tasted odd.

“You don’t like?” A frown gathered between his brows. “It’s your favorite.”

“How would you know what my favorites are?” I don’t even know.

“I know everything about you, Kristina.” The confidence in his tone, the compulsion in his words—she wanted to believe him.

“And I told you, my name is Kiki.” She drained the rest of the champagne and grimaced. “It tastes funny…”

He lifted the champagne flute and sniffed at it. The deep black of his eyes tinged red briefly. “The blood is old. That is all. I will order fresh for you.”

The blood…

Surprise ripped through her, and she dropped the glass. It never hit the marble. Richard caught it and stood right in front of her. Her mouth opened and she stared at him. “Are you a vampire?”

He hesitated, his expression sobering. “Kristina…”

“Are. You. A. Vampire?” Her heart thudded in time with each word, all trace of playfulness gone.

“Yes, darling. I am.” There it was again, the notes of familiarity and expectation—the seeming knowledge. He watched her with a trace of wariness.

Holy crap, he’s a vampire. “How cool is that?” She squealed and threw her arms around him. “Will you bite me?”

His eyes darkened, red surging around the irises as his pupils dilated. Need quivered through her. She loved vampires—devoured every ounce of vampire fiction she could get her hands on and even stalked a few in the casino, but they always avoided her—and then Pandora landed herself one. And never even introduced me…

Is he cold? She didn’t bother to wait for his answer and pressed her lips to his. They’d kissed in the bar, and his hot mouth left hers tingling—but she’d broken the kiss before she could truly appreciate it. Rubbing herself against him, she appreciated the hardness of the muscles beneath his clothes, the velvet smoothness of his lips, and bit down until his mouth opened and she could thrust her tongue inside.

Lust speared through her. Her sex clenched. A need so wild and raw stampeded through her, and she stroked his fang. He is—oh my God he is. He wasn’t cold—far from it in fact. The champagne glasses fell to the floor and shattered. The tinkling sound like so many drops of rain spattered against her awareness. His arms came around her, his hands stroking her spine, and everywhere he touched she went up in flames.

His silky hair flowed through her fingers—midnight black silk—an oil canvas brought to life. Electricity tingled in her lips, radiating out through her body until even her toes ached with the want of him. He tasted of wine-dipped chocolate but ten times more intoxicating. Her heart boxed with her ribcage and threatened to burst from her chest. He ran a palm over the curve of her ass, and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his hips.

She rehearsed these seductions in her head—planned for them—whenever she stole away from the theatre. But never had she allowed herself the opportunity to seduce and be seduced. Before, her plan simply let her tease the man, drive him wild, bring him to the brink and walk away—denied. But not Richard. Richard she wanted.

God how she wanted him. Their hips bumped, and she ground her sex against the hard length of an erection that his finely tailored suit couldn’t disguise.

Her pulse raced at the impulsiveness of this acquaintance, threatening to spin out of control completely. He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, but only long enough to change the angle of his mouth. The kiss scorched and threatened to devour her. One moment they were upright and then they were on a bed—in another room completely.

Her breath hitched, and heat shimmered across her eyelids. They sprawled on the bed, his weight blanketing her. Her nipples tightened beneath the dress and an ache formed between her thighs. He abandoned her mouth and trailed kisses to her throat. Her back arched, and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

“Kristina.” The single, husky word sent pleasure over her skin.

“Yes.” She urged him as though it were a question in need of answering. “Yes.”

Excitement wound through her belly as his teeth grazed her throat. Her vision dimmed and her heart—or was it his?—thundered in her ears. Every fantasy she ever imagined over the years rushed in, and she flung herself off the edge, eager to embrace it. “Please, Richard…”

Desire blazed through him. He could barely stifle the urge to strip her naked and plunge into her all too willing body. His fangs extended with every move of her mouth against his. Never a passive lover, Kristina flipped him over on his back, breaking the kiss to sit up and straddle his hips. His cock throbbed fiercely against the zipper of his trousers. She grinned down at him and caught the edge of her dress and stripped the whole thing upwards to send it flying.

Lace cupped her creamy, pale breasts. He trailed his gaze over the alabaster skin, following the contours with his palms. She leaned down, teasing him with a nipping kiss. Loosening his tie, she dragged it slowly from his neck and wrapped it around hers. The black fabric provided an erotic contrast to her paleness. She worked the buttons on his shirt, nails stroking his skin with each downward stop.

A devious smile lit up her delicate features, and her dark eyes filled with mischief. She arched her back, pushing her breasts forward in open invitation. She was beautiful, so absolutely carefree and reckless in her passion.

Gliding his palms over the lace, he massaged her breasts slowly, reacquainting himself with their shape and their weight. She’d become so lean in the five decades since he’d last held her in his arms. Where she had once been always curvy and delicious, she seemed somehow more defined. There was nothing spare—not even in the subtle roundness of her breasts or the sweep of her tight ass. Her hips rolled, and she rubbed her barely clad sex against his erection.

He grumbled when she pushed his shirt wide and he let go of her breasts to jerk the material out of his way. Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around her and captured her mouth for another hungry kiss. She laid her hands on his chest, and his muscles jumped at the contact. He’d dreamed of this moment for fifty years, waking aroused and eager for her touch, her kiss—her embrace. He’d controlled himself every day, containing all that dangerous passion behind the fury and loss at her abandonment.

The sweet muskiness of her arousal tortured the thin, frayed edges of his control. She sucked on his lower lip, dragging it out until a small drop of blood welled up and she lapped at it like a kitten. His breath caught. His hips flexed and he rubbed himself up against the promised heat. She gasped and moved against him, her eyes widened. Every rub of her panty-clad sex against the bulge of his dick teased her. The bra snapped under his fingers, and he stripped it away, baring her breasts.

Gliding a hand along her back, he lifted her up and bent his head to capture the nipple, sucking it between his teeth, careful to not graze her skin. It pebbled and hardened under the thrum of his tongue. In response, she dug her nails into his scalp, little daggers of pain. He bit her, lightly enough to avoid damaging her skin, but hard enough to remind her to loosen her grip.

Her fingers relaxed, and he flipped her over. The lace panties were scraps with one hard tug. In his dreams, he tumbled her over, ripping her clothes off and driving his cock into the tight clasp of her sex, thrusting until all she could feel was him. He’d imagined her shallow breaths driving him deeper until she shuddered with release.

So many years of aching to have her back in his arms—to feel her move with him, to drown in her passion. He skimmed his fingers up the inside of her thigh, prolonging his torture until he slid a finger along the seam of her sex.

She was soaking wet.

For him.

Need punctured rational thought. He wanted to awaken her memories, to bring back his bride, to see the recognition flame in her eyes as she held him—but the naked desire sparkling in them and the sweet heat of her body responding to him was his undoing.

He surged up and slanted his mouth over hers, crushing their lips together. She tasted so sweet and utterly feminine. Intoxicated by her scent, her reactions and her touch, he let go of anything beyond that moment. Her stiff nipples poked at his chest. He touched her everywhere. His hands glided over her sides, her breasts, her hips, her back and down to her ass. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he ground his erection against her cleft.

His control warned him this was a mistake. But was he really taking advantage? She felt so good—so right—in his arms.

“I want you,” she growled against his mouth, demanding and impatient. Her nails scored down his back, and she tugged at his pants. “I want you inside me…”

The word fueled the fire burning through his blood, igniting every nerve. Arousal punched him, and he skimmed a hand down to glide a finger against her slick sex, pressing in against the tight walls that clasped his fingers. She rode his finger, gasping when he added a second. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, and he growled, jerking back to rip the pants open and slip them off.

She tried to follow him, but he caught her and tossed her back down, holding her with one arm, while he dipped his head down to follow the trail of his fingers. Her moans were music to his ears as he nuzzled his way to her clit, sucking it against his teeth. She cried out, and her thighs clasped at his head. He soothed her legs wider and, lapping at the damp desire pouring from her, eased another finger into her.

Wanton desire clouded his vision. He drove her ruthlessly to the edge, withdrawing his fingers and tongue only when he sensed her on the precipice. Her scream of frustration echoed in his ears, and he began the slow assault all over again.

She writhed, twisted and rolled onto her side. He shifted to follow her sex, spearing his tongue against the hot, velvety walls that tried to clamp down on his invasion. He didn’t realize why she adjusted her position until her mouth closed over him, her lips crowning the head of his cock. He shuddered and gasped, losing the thread of his rhythm as she worked her magic. She sucked hard and fast, her teeth grazing him adding the lightest amount of pain to spark the pleasure. Her tongue swirled around him, and he could barely kiss the inside of her thighs, mouth opening to bite down on the tender flesh.

Enough.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and urged her back. She looked up at him, eyes slit with passion. He climbed up the length of her, until they were face-to-face and nestled himself into the cradle of her body, her nipples peaked and tight, flushed with need. Her hand wrapped around his cock and guided him to her entrance. He pressed in slowly, savoring every stretch of her wet folds.

The tight clasp of her inner muscles threatened pure madness. He wanted to be inside—all the way, one hard push—but the pleasure on her face told him to take his time. A low whimper escaped her throat as he finally settled deep inside of her. So hot. So tight.

They fell into a rhythm, rocking together. He wanted to stay like this forever. Their lips collided in a series of nipping, licking kisses. Her hands were everywhere, digging into his shoulders, stroking his back, and when she clasped his ass, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

He wanted to see her pleasure—needed to see it—ripple over her face. He wanted to savor her bliss before taking his own. He worked a hand between them, flicking his fingers against her clit. She shivered and jerked, her hips almost losing their rhythm. He rocked into her. Hooking one of her legs over his arm, he scented and felt her release as her inner muscles clamped down on him.

She came with a scream, and he growled in savage satisfaction. Dropping his head to her throat, he sank his teeth into her skin and ecstasy tore through him. He thrust once, twice more, and his body clenched. His release flooded out of him as her blood filled his mouth. His soul sang with joy and he collapsed against her, even as his mind winked out.