Heather Long: Waiting in the Wings

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.