Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) (43 page)

He wanted her to come to him. Covered in blood and fresh from murder, showing her just how alien he was
,
he wanted her to choose him.
and
he was in control enough to wait for her to do it. She knew his emotions, had his blood, but they were weak, like the last beating flutters of one’s heart before death. Any urgency for this moment was hers.

 
She opened her eyes and his gaze scorched her. His resolve wavered, desire for her so thick and heavy it was like she could touch it,
hold
it in her hands like hot sand.

Now he’s going to drink me.

He shook his head.

Fuck, I’m transparent.
She looked down his body again, unable to help herself, knowing he’d see it, maybe even gloat over the fact that she had to look again. She loved the way his arms had bulged as he tossed the shirt away from him, how he’d discarded the piece of material like it was an impediment from reaching her.

His skin could be naked against hers right now.

Step forward.

Close that distance.

She wanted to—why wasn’t she?

There was a knock on the door and he turned, going to it, the broad expanse of his back and shoulders more pale perfection. The two little divots on his lower back, perfect for her fingers to press into.

He was at the door, but he didn’t open it, just leaned his head against it before inhaling. “At least try to shield. I suppose I asked for this misery—”

He opened the door and reached through, keeping his back to her as he took something from outside the door. She saw his head go back a little, very faintly heard him swallow. She stepped to the side to see what he was doing. He handed an empty glass back outside the door. It had been a pint glass and he’d drained it, handing it back empty, bright red blood clinging to the sides of it, looking like stained glass.

He turned back towards her, door closed, not a speck of blood at the corners of his mouth or anything. But at least she didn’t want to kiss him anymore. Yuck.

“You don’t drink straight from the source?”
Pathetic attempt at distraction.

The wound at his side was healing before her eyes, closing up,
new
skin spreading over him. “Make yourself at ease. I shall shower and return. Then take you to your room.”

Take you to Jack
was what he hadn’t said. It clearly galled him.

He walked towards her purposefully, almost stalking her, both hands undoing the buttons of his breeches slowly, letting her see each shift of his fingers, as he came closer and closer. And he was
arrogant,
the set of his shoulders, the challenge in his eyes almost telling her that he knew she wouldn’t look away.
That she couldn’t look away.

God, she wanted him. And then he walked past her and she heard the water turn on.

She sat down hard and tried to remember what her game plan was. Go home? Some dude, what was his name? Oh, yeah. Jack.

Jack
.

She fell backwards and stared at the ceiling, belatedly realizing that she was lying on Lucas’ bed. She turned her head, looking at the pillows. Which side did he sleep on? A book was on the side closest to the door and she guessed that was his side. What did a guy like Lucas read?

She climbed across his bed, wanting to see the book.
If it’s ‘Men Are
From
Mars and Women Are From
Venu’s
, maybe I’ll stay. If it’s the ‘Kama Sutra’ made out of wood cuts, I’ll stay too.

‘The Tipping Point’, by Malcolm
Gladwell
.
There was a match on the front and it said, ‘how little things can make a big difference’. Huh. It was like social psychology. What the hell did she make of that?

 
She touched his pillow, about to bend down and
—
 
oh
shit
.

She was actually going to sniff his pillow when she heard the water shut off.
Thank god I avoided that little sign of desperation
.

 
She dashed over to the fireplace instead, sitting in a chair, looking blankly at his shelves of hard bound books.

Probably not a Kindle kind of guy.

Just a guess.

She heard water again and turned, seeing Lucas wearing only a towel and brushing his teeth. That had to help. And then…mouthwash.

He was going to kiss her.

Big sigh.

And she was going to let him.
I mean, really.
Like I could stop him now.
If she had one wish, right now, it would be for a chastity belt. Please, please don’t sleep with him.

He came out of the bathroom
—
 
hair
damp, drops of water clinging to his shoulders and chest.
Jesus.

She wanted him to come to her, pick her up and lay her down on his bed, loom over her and kiss her, cover her with his body. Electricity and desire pushed through her, making her clothes feel too tight, her body sensitive and open, waiting for his touch.

Then she remembered his hand pulling out a heart before her eyes.

“You’re underdressed,” she said.
Up here, Val. Look at his face!
 
Well, at least she knew he wanted her too. She could see his erection under the towel, heavy and huge, pressed flat against his stomach.

“You want me to take you to him?”

“What?”
Look. UP.

She bit her lip so she didn’t say, ‘No I don’t want to go to Jack, I want to stay here with you and fuck you until neither one of us can walk out of this room.’

And if he’d just come grab her, she’d do it. Put aside all of her concerns and give in.

She had an awful idea. A way to sleep with him, stay with him and know how much he really cared for her.

Val stood and looked down at her shirt. It was bloody too.
Go figure.
She lifted her hands to the buttons, undoing the top one and advancing towards him slowly. Her breath was overly loud in her ears, the room totally quiet and now she could smell him, soap and shampoo, that faint lovely humidity of warm, clean skin.

His jaw clenched so tight that his cheekbones were in stark relief.
Another button undone.
Lucas crossed his arms over his chest, stance a little wider. Knuckles white because his fists were clenched so tight.

She unbuttoned another button, becoming flustered and uncertain. Why hadn’t he looked at her?

“Tell me, then.”

She hesitated, nonplussed.

“You thought of something you want. Yes? It accounts for your sudden change of heart.
Your purpose in disrobing.”

His words were quiet but intense, like there was anger under there. Or lust.
Some hot emotion.

“You said you’d kill anyone for me.” Her voice was raspy.

He didn’t say anything. All the buttons were undone and there was a slight gap in the material. Her heart pounded from her boldness. She grasped both sides, ready to take it off, panic making her want to pull the shirt tight. She wasn’t brave enough for this. Especially as he still wasn’t looking!

“Stop.
Who? Tell me who
first
.” He held out a hand, like he was keeping the bogeyman away.

She swallowed. Pulled the shirt free, let it drop behind her. Her bra was gray silk with white lace, not the most enticing bra around but her cup
runneth
over, so why wasn’t he looking?

Maybe he isn’t a breast guy.

Maybe he’d seen so many pairs over the centuries that he was indifferent or she was just too far down the line of nice chests that he couldn’t be bothered to take a peek. Her stomach hit the floor and she wanted to puke.

She hadn’t been able to look away, could only think of touching him when he undressed before her, and here she was undressing, the situation reversed and he was totally unmoved.

She felt herself blushing.

He closed his eyes. “Give me the name.”

“You won’t do it. This was stupid.”

“Again, you prove how little you know of me. Tell me who,” he commanded.

“Marion.” She rushed in, speaking before he could. “You said you want me, lust after me, talk about how you’d do anything for me. That’s what I want. I want her dead.”

His eyes were still closed. One hand fisted at his side, showing each muscle definitively. The other went behind his head, buried in his hair as he hauled in a breath.

“I need her. Choose something else.” He looked at the ceiling, opening his eyes but not looking at her.

“No. I want that bitch dead.” Just saying it felt right. Like sunshine after rain.

He covered his face with both hands, talking to her through his hands. “I need Rachel to get to the Fey. My hold upon her is Marion. Choose
anything
else.”

Her chest hurt. All his words and they meant nothing. Lucas talked a good game, but when she made a demand, he never gave her what she wanted. She’d almost died tonight because of Marion. She’d murdered Jack’s parents.

Killing Marion would give her peace.
Like he couldn’t come up with some other way to ensure Rachel’s loyalty.
She’d looked pretty damned loyal when her skin was fried off and she licked his foot.

Lucas wasn’t
good,
he was the monster who’d sanctioned Marion’s killings for years.

She pushed him hard. He moved backwards and she shoved again, as hard as she could. His head snapped down, staring at her chest, her shoulders,
her
stomach.
Now he looks.

His look was so dark and possessive….
Oops. Okay, he does want me.
“No. Marion. Kill her. Rachel doesn’t need to know. The threat works whether she’s dead or alive.”

His hands
raised
to her bare upper arms, settling on them lightly, thumbs moving slowly over her flesh. He raised gooseflesh on her skin, the tiny contact making her clench her thighs in need. His gaze was fixed on her chest and neck.
Then the line of her shoulder where it connected to her neck.