Bittersweet Blood (8 page)

“Are you in love with him?”

He appeared startled at the question. “Who wouldn’t be? He is seriously gorgeous, but I told you he doesn’t go for guys, not like that.”

“What about female vampires?”

“There are none. Not that I know of. Something to do with the process. They don’t survive.”

“So no little vampire babies?”

“God, no!”

They were silent for a few minutes.

“What’s the Order?”

“You’ll have to ask Christian about that, but I doubt he’ll tell you anything. All I know is Christian was involved up until about twenty years ago. Piers Lamont, the other vamp you met, is the big boss now, but I’m not sure what they do or why. The only other person I’ve met from there is Ella. She used to drop by the office occasionally. She’d had a thing with Christian a long time ago and would like to have a thing again.”

“Ella?”

He grinned. “She’s a witch, and I mean that in the literal sense. Don’t worry—she’s no competition. Christian can’t stand her, won’t even see her.”

Tara sniffed. “I wasn’t worried.”

“No, of course you weren’t.”

Tara decided to change the subject. “Do you know what was in that file? About my aunt?”

“I did the research. It’s tough.”

“I can’t believe all this—vampires, dead aunts. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it will all be a bad dream.”

“Christian will get to the bottom of it for you.”

“Yes, but what will he find? All my childhood, I watched from the sidelines, never belonging, never joining in, and I thought that was going to change. All I ever wanted was to be normal.”

“You might be surprised how your view of what’s normal changes. Besides, being normal isn’t all that great. Boring even.”

“Sounds lovely. I can’t help wondering, if I could go back, would I just leave it well alone?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have had a choice. In the end, your past would have caught up with you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Now it’s too late.” She gave a small smile. “I’m scared.”

He patted her hand. “Christian will take care of you.”

Why didn’t that make her feel better? Could it be the fact that Christian was a vampire?
“And who’ll protect me from Christian?”

“Do you want protection from Christian? If you were really scared, you wouldn’t be talking to me, you’d be running away as fast as you could.”

The comment brought her up short. She could go away, start over somewhere new. She rejected the idea. “I’m not running away.”

“Good. I have to go. When you’re ready to come in again, give me a call.”

She nodded. “I will, soon.”

He got up to go and Tara asked him one more question.

“Are vampires evil?”

“I saw some bad things when I lived on the street. I learned to recognize true evil and Christian is not that. On the other hand, I wouldn’t say he was entirely good either, but that would be boring.”

…

Two days later, Tara headed down in the elevator, deep underground beneath the CR building.

She’d come to the conclusion that she had to return—Christian was her best bet at discovering her past. But it would be on a strict business basis. No kissing and absolutely no biting.

She would have preferred to take the elevator up to a business meeting on the thirteenth floor. Instead, she was sinking fast. Christian was down there in his private quarters, somewhere south of the sub-basement. Graham had hustled her into the elevator before she could argue.

Her knees wobbled and a queer little twist of something tightened her belly.

Get a grip. Business only.

Christian was there when the elevator doors slid open. He was fully dressed. No half-naked vampire for her tonight.

At least, not yet.

Then again, it was early.

She didn’t know where that thought had come from, and she tried to put it from her mind.

He was all in black again, the business suit gone, but he looked good. It suited his pale skin and dark silky hair, which he’d left loose on his shoulders.

“Tara,” he murmured her name and reached out a hand. She took it in hers, feeling that same tingle as their skin touched. He lowered his face and inhaled deeply, turned her hand over, and kissed her wrist where her pulse thundered close to the surface. His tongue stroked her skin and she trembled, half expecting to feel the sharp bite of his fangs. Before she could pull free, he raised his eyes. They were beautiful, mesmerizing, and she realized she didn’t want to be free after all.

She was in big trouble. One minute in his presence and all her good intentions vanished. He smiled a slow curl of his beautiful lips and dropped her hand.

She breathed again.

“Come.” He slipped a hand to her waist and guided her into his apartment.

They were in a sitting room this time. The furniture was sparse but luxurious with huge sofas upholstered in scarlet silk.

Was that to hide the bloodstains in case it got messy?

Though she was pretty sure Christian would never be so unsophisticated as to spill his food.

Candles flickered all around the room. An ice bucket stood on the small table, containing a bottle of champagne, and next to it two champagne flutes. She wouldn’t be touching that. Whatever happened tonight she was determined to be conscious throughout it.

“Did Graham tell you I wanted to talk about my aunt?” She stared around the room again. “Do you often conduct your business meetings by candlelight?”

He smiled. “Are you worried what my intentions might be?”

The worry factor took second place to a slow burning rise of excitement that twisted her insides. Her blood thundered through her veins, and her heart pounded.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

“No.” She peered at him sharply. “Are you?”

He chuckled and looked her up and down very slowly and very thoroughly, lingering, she thought, far too long on her throat. His eyes were half-closed and gleaming behind his thick lashes when they returned to her face. “You think I’m going to leap on you and bite that pretty neck?”

She didn’t answer, and he prowled around the back of her, coming to a halt so close she had to force herself not to move away. His hands caressed her hair, sliding away the silky strands to bare the line of her throat.

“You smell so delicious.”

Tara twitched, but his hands held her in place. His lips were on her skin and a wave of heat washed over her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth opened against her throat and his tongue stroked, slow and cool against her heated flesh.

“Maybe just a little taste…” His teeth scraped her, and she braced herself for his bite. Instead, he turned her in his arms, allowing her to see the hunger burning in his eyes. So hot, so fierce that she gasped.

“See, you’re quite safe with me.” He lowered his lids for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was blank. “One day soon, I hope you will trust me enough to allow me your blood, but perhaps you are not quite ready for that yet.”

He slid his finger down the line of her throat, pressed it against the vein, and lingered on her pulse. “Though I don’t think it is only fear that makes your pulse beat so fast, and perhaps you are ready for this.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. His lips were incredibly soft against hers, not demanding but requesting her compliance, and without thought her mouth opened beneath his. How easily her resolutions vanished,

His tongue slid inside. Instantly the kiss deepened, and she lost the ability to think rationally. His hand drifted up to cradle the back of her skull and held her steady while his mouth ravaged hers. Tara lost herself in the sensations coursing through her body—so new, so intense. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to one of the huge scarlet sofas.

He sank down, pulling her onto his lap without breaking the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked. At first, she allowed him to have his way, but it wasn’t enough, and she started to move with him. At the soft glide of her tongue, his grip tightened. His hands slid over her, grinding her against the hardness of his body. It was like steel, and the muscles of her belly knotted and warm wet heat pooled between her thighs. Her body seemed to take over, and she wriggled her bottom into his hips, until he groaned against her mouth.

The air filled with a musky, feral scent, and Christian stilled. His hands gripped her arms, and he lifted her from him, depositing her on the cool silk of the sofa. He shifted as far from her as he could while staying seated.

Tara stared at him, fighting the urge to crawl across the space between them. She wanted him, needed him. She made a move, and he put up a hand to ward her off. It was like being doused in cold water.

“Why?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “I think that perhaps you’re not so safe after all.”

Chapter Seven

Rule Number Three: Never remove the Talisman

She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be in his arms. Christian smiled, his lips drawing back to reveal the long, razor-sharp canines.

“Oh.”

Tara stared at them in awe. All signs of humanity were stripped from his face, revealing the cold ruthless predator beneath. The smile slid from his face, and the humanity crept back into his eyes. He laid his head against the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

“I haven’t felt the urge to feed so strongly for a long time.” He regarded her curiously. “What is it about you, Tara Collins? Why do you affect me like this? Perhaps we should get down to business after all, and see if we can’t find out. First I need a drink.”

He switched on a light and the room became brighter. “There,” he said, “much more businesslike.”

He rose and moved around the room blowing out the candles, then he picked up the bottle of champagne and poured himself a glass. He glanced at her, and she shook her head. After swallowing his drink in one gulp, he poured another and came back to sit at the far end of the sofa. “Don’t look so worried. I have myself under control.”

It wasn’t Christian she was concerned about. She was the one who’d been out of control. Who’d nearly begged him to make love to her, to take her any way he wanted. And it frightened her. Falling for a vampire was not part of any plans she had for her future.

“So,” Christian said, “tell me about your aunt.”

Tara forced herself to concentrate. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. What was she like, how did you live, anything you think might help us get to the bottom of this.”

“I don’t remember anyone else, ever. It was always just Aunt Kathy and me. Oh and Smokey, of course. That’s my cat,” she added.

“I remember,” Christian said wryly.

“We lived in this big old house on the Yorkshire moors. It was very isolated—Aunt Kathy liked it that way. She didn’t trust outsiders, which was everyone except me. We had our food delivered, and my aunt schooled me at home. That’s why I’m at college now. She taught me a lot, but I don’t have any qualifications.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave the grounds, but sometimes I would creep away when she was busy. I liked to watch the people in the village. It’s funny, I didn’t realize how weird our lives were until I started watching other people.”

“You never thought to leave?” His expression was thoughtful, but the pity she dreaded was absent.

“Of course I did. I told her I was moving out when I was eighteen, but she got ill, and I couldn’t leave her alone. Despite everything, I loved her. She gave me the best life she knew how.”

“Hmm.” He sounded skeptical. “Did she ever mention the past or anything about your parents?”

Tara smiled. “You’re joking—and break Rule Number One?”

“Rule Number One?”

“My aunt liked rules. Number One was never, ever talk about the past, and I didn’t. It still makes me nervous to talk like this, as though I’m doing something wrong.”

“Were there a lot of rules?”

“A few. Rule Number Two was ‘don’t drink alcohol.’ I tried that, and it turns out it was a good rule. Maybe I have some sort of genetic disorder that can’t cope.”

“What happened?”

“One sip of white wine and I passed out.” She glanced at the champagne bottle and shuddered. “I won’t be trying that again anytime soon.”

“You’ve broken rules one and two. Is there a Rule Number Three?”

Tara smiled. “Rule Number Three—never take off the talisman.”

“What talisman?”

She reached beneath the collar of her shirt and pulled out the necklace. “It belonged to my mother. Or at least that’s what Aunt Kathy told me.”

Who knew whether it was true? Now, it seemed unlikely, and a wave of sadness ran through her. It was the one thing she had from her mother, or thought she’d had. “I’ve always believed that was true, so Rule Number Three wasn’t hard to keep.”

He rose to his feet. “Can I see?”

She held the necklace up. He took a step closer and cupped the pendant in his hand, turning it with his long elegant fingers. It was a heart-shaped locket made from some sort of opaque crystal.

“Does it open?” he asked.

She ran her nail along the seam, caught the minute catch, and the locket sprang open.

Christian dropped his hand and took a step back. His eyes were wide and fixed on the open locket still held between her finger and thumb. The contents were so familiar—a strand of her mother’s hair, or so Tara had always believed, blond like her own.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s some sort of spell,” he answered slowly. “The hair has been charmed and it’s powerful. This is warlock’s work.”

It just looked like a strand of hair to Tara. “What’s it for?”

“I have no idea, but there’s one way to find out. Take it off.”

A wave of reluctance washed over her.

Christian watched her curiously. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s stupid, but I don’t want to take it off.” She dropped the locket and fought the urge to hide it inside her shirt.

“Maybe not so stupid—I’m guessing there’s some sort of compulsion built into the charm. Which makes me even more curious about what it’s doing.” He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes. I’m going to take your mind off the locket, give you something else to think about.”