Linda Nightingale: Black Swan

“Do you know Morgan?” She asked, another betrayal, too breathless.

“Yes. We’ve played together. He’s an extraordinary pianist.”

She gazed up at him through her lashes. “You’re pretty extraordinary yourself. How did you know where to find me?”

“I took a chance, hoping you'd be here. Morgan rang and told me about the party long before I decided to leave America.” He shook the long hair from his neck. “Carol you look marvelous. That green suits you.” His gaze traveled over the sleek dress, over her hair, causing her to shiver. “You don't know how I’ve missed you.”

Be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she’d missed him. She said nothing, crossed her arms and stared up at him, her face a mask. Silence ticked by while they gazed into each other's eyes.

“Let me have my say before you say anything. It’s been eating at me the entire journey home. You see, I had to go away to learn a hard lesson. I met someone. I thought I was in love. The lesson was that…I’d run away from love. I left London thinking I could change. But I am what I am. I was foolish to think a vampire could change. A vampire is the thirst for blood. We can only control it.” He gazed into the distance. “I thought that by being with someone who didn’t know what I was, I wouldn’t be what I was. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When instinct overcame me, I knew what a fool I’d been.”

Her voice sounded hollow but she had to fold her hands to keep from touching him. “Did you kill her?”

He shook his head. “I killed someone else. She saw me taking my victim. And no, I didn't take her sexually. I blocked the memory and fled. I didn’t love her. I was in love with the idea of being mortal with her. I thought of you every day. I picked up the phone to call but felt too bloody guilty. You accepted me as I am and loved me, warts and all.”

“Fangs and all.” She winked.

He laughed, took her hand and pressed his soft lips to her palm. Desire rocketed through her. Her knees went weak, and her heart pounded.

Be careful Carol. He hurt you once so much you thought you'd die.

“That’s it, then, you love me because I know you’re a vampire.” She waved a hand at the house. “Everyone at this party knows you’re a vampire, Tristan.”

He flinched. “It’s more than that. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, Carol. Don’t know how to express what I feel or why I do things. We were together for a year. I was happier than I’ve ever been. I guess that scared me, so I ran away. What’s that line—you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it? I’m sorry I was such a fool.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Say it again.”

“I’m a fool.” He gazed at her with a two kinds of hunger.

A cool, silken fingertip drifted down her cheek, and the contours of her world changed. She didn’t care if it only lasted one more feverish, mystical night.

Carol was dead certain of three things. She was hopelessly in love with a vampire. She was overjoyed that Tristan Mclachlan had learned his lesson. And she was glad he'd come home before she made the terrible mistake of trying to forget him in yet another man’s arms.

Unable to resist any longer, she ran her hands through his hair, fingering the texture, imagining black silk trailing over her white thighs. “Are we still in lust?

“Not that.” His tongue slowly traced his lower lip, and a distant look came into his eyes.

For a moment, Carol thought she'd lost him yet again. Her heart heaved, choked.

“The other L-word.” He swallowed hard and blurted, “I love you.”

Tears stung her eyes. She unbuttoned his shirt one at the time, trailing her tongue down his chest, tasting him, exciting herself and her lover. He sank his hands into her hair and pulled her up as her tongue traced the lump in his trousers.

“I said I love you.” It sounded like a reprimand, but he slipped his hand into the plunging neckline of her gown and caressed her breast. “I want you, Carol.” He pinched the hard nub of her nipple. “I want you to be my partner.”

She stroked the bulge in his formal trousers. “Let's go for a walk.”

He frowned at her as if she'd said the stupidest thing. “You want to go for a walk now?”

She brushed her mouth to his. “Isn't that what you want? To do it outside?”

“No.” The arms around her waist fell to his sides. He stared at her in amazement. “I'm trying to ask you to marry me.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” It was her turn to stare at him in amazement. “Oh my God.”

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Tristan McLachlan asking her to marry him. She felt as if she'd been dropped from the moon, the wind knocked out of her.

“Is that your answer?” His smile brimmed with mischief.

Handsome bastard knew she was hopelessly in love with him. Carol was tempted to play him along but she had to give in to that smile, that hair, those eyes—and godlike body.

“Yes.” She curtseyed, looking at him through her lashes. “I accept, Sir.”

He took her hand, lifting her into an embrace and a breathless kiss. “Let's go for a walk now.”

They strolled through the mist. The cool June night was silent except for the distant cry of an owl. He led her to a parking lot filled with expensive cars, stopped to kiss her then resumed their journey. When she asked where they were going, he winked, and the heat of anticipation flashed through her. She would definitely get some tonight.

He grinned, either reading her thoughts or sensing the rise in body temperature. “We're going home.”

“My place or yours?”

“Mine.”

“Can we buy more furniture please? A bed may be all we need but…”

He arched his left brow. “Anything you like. Within the budget of an unemployed musician, that is.”

“Perhaps you'll consider the offer from the London Philharmonic?”

“Perhaps.” Eyes twinkling, he took both her hands, walking backwards, tugging her along until they reached his car, a gunmetal gray BMW roadster. His voice lit the fire inside.

“You're overdressed.” Light as air, he glided behind her to unzip the beaded gown.

“So are you.”

His shirt hung unbuttoned, making him look ready for bed. She stepped behind him to unfasten his cummerbund and divest him of the bowtie. In the blink of an eye, he'd turned to face her. She ran a fingernail down his chest, laughing when he shivered. She unclipped his waistband, letting the back of her hand caress his erection as she unzipped his trousers, withdrew her hand and grinned.

“What if someone comes along?” Carol stroked his arms. “Have we no shame?”

“None whatsoever.” He tucked his hair behind his ears and smiled. “Besides no one is going to come for his car. Everyone is otherwise engaged. As we should be.”

Tristan laid Carol on the long bonnet of the Z3. The touch of his hands sent an electric thrill through her. She shivered at the touch of the cold metal on her back. He didn't mount her but stood looking down at her. His perfect body seemed luminescent, a long hard rod pointing at her. A pulsing awoke at the apex of her legs and the apex of her ribs—the core chakra for passion and the solar plexus for love. Glowing eyes studied her until she bit her lip to keep from begging him to take her. Finally, he lowered his warm naked body over hers. He slipped into her, deep, hard, silky, stroking, rotating his hips in a slow rhythm. She picked up his lead, meeting his thrusts. Her body recalled every exciting inch of him. They fit like they were made for each other.

Tristan caressed her hair, kissed her neck, her breasts, her arms, her fingertips, but his mouth came back to hover over hers, drawing breath from her, breathing life into her. Carol tensed, gasped, and shuddered in his tight embrace. Fangs resting on her neck, suckling softly on her skin, he pushed hard into the contractions of her orgasm, and on a hot moan, filled her.