This Time Next Year (3 page)

This closeness allowed her to touch and caress in a way that she never would have otherwise. Beneath her hand, the strong planes of his chest failed to hide the still heart that should’ve been hammering as hard as hers. How could a heart that didn’t beat care at all? In the end, did it matter?

No. No, it did not.

What did was the familiarity, as though she’d spent a thousand lifetimes kissing his lips, feeling his hands tangled in her hair, and the mutual longing that bound them together. For once, she understood what all that useless romantic poetry meant, and she kind of hated the fact that her brain currently operated like a Hallmark Valentine’s Day card. Logic left the building the second she sat down on the sofa.

Caught up in him and the heady scent of his cologne, she barely noticed him scoop her up and settle her on his lap. She pulled away to straddle him. His honeyed eyes widened and his mouth opened enough to reveal the tips of his white fangs. She swallowed.

Her mind begged her to run; her body and her heart needed to be right there, with him, to ease her fears and understand the warmth surging through her—not arousal, but the same feeling that haunted her in the dreams.

When she brought her lips to his again, he moaned and rested his hands on her hips. Desire threatened to consume her, and she’d let it without thinking twice.

He moved her hips against the erection pressed between her thighs. She smiled and deepened their kiss, snaking her tongue into his mouth, teasing him with the same tempo as her grinding. He groaned again, a rumble in his throat that vibrated against her lips, sending pleasurable chills through her, until her nipples hardened and her clit pulsed.

He broke away, desire darkening his eyes from honey to pure amber, and stood, cupping her ass in his strong hands and carrying her to the bedroom. After laying her down on the plush white bed, he hesitated

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you certain you want this?”

“It’s what we signed up for, right?” she asked with a weak chuckle.

“No. It isn’t. We don’t have to.”

Moira sat up and reached for his hand. “I’m sick of being afraid.” She pulled him to the bed with her. “Aren’t you?”

Kiernan stretched out next to her, allowing her to appreciate the full length of him. She tangled her hand in his curly brown hair, forcing a guttural purr from him. “I am. I’ve spent all this time fearing you and your hatred of me.”

“Me?”

Rolling onto his side, he faced her, his hand on her hip again, flirting with the waistband of her slacks. She groaned when his fingertips brushed the sensitive part of her stomach, and she ached for him to move lower.

“Yes, you.” He shifted closer until no space remained between them and every hard part of him pressed into every soft part of her. “The idea of meeting you again terrified me. It still terrifies me.”

“I’m scared, too. I should be running right now.”

“Then why aren’t you?” The red rim around his eyes returned.

Blood tears?
“Kiernan?”

“You shouldn’t be here, so why are you?”

“Because we need the same thing.”

“Which is?”

Moira stroked his jawline with her fingertips and enjoyed his shivers beneath her touch, how she made the beautiful, strong creature putty in her hands. Did he seek more than forgiveness?

“Closure,” she said. “We need closure.”

Closure? He’d gotten that when he’d ripped Willem’s head from his neck. “I didn’t come here for that, Moira. I require more.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. She was beautiful. More beautiful than in her photo, more beautiful than in his dreams, more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. He refused to hold back anymore. He needed
her
. He’d needed her all along.

In one swift motion, he pulled her on top of him and covered her mouth with his. Frenzy fired his blood, a desire he’d had no hope of quenching driving him to madness. It wasn’t just her blood that sang to him; her heart, her essence, her soul compelled him to make her his.

Her soft curves, the delicious plumpness of her hips and ass, all of her pleaded for his hands, lips, mouth, tongue, teeth. She grinded against him again, almost bringing him to ecstasy. He stilled her and unbuttoned her pants. Her wetness soaked the thin fabric of her panties.

He slid one finger across her warm skin, down between her thighs to the source. Yes, she was hot, ready for him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he committed to memory every part of her body, just in case one night was truly all he got.

She moaned when his finger touched the hard nub of her sex. He stroked her, eyes locked on the bliss smoothing out the lines of her face. She looked like an angel. Like salvation.

Her breathing grew labored. Her breasts struggled against the flimsy shirt she wore. He wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her until she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Make her come over and over, crying out his name again and again. Already, he had her perched beautifully on the edge of ecstasy with just a finger.

He flipped her onto her back without removing his hand, the desire to watch her writhe underneath him overpowering any other thought, and wound his other hand into her auburn curls. She tipped her head back, exposing the pearlescent skin of her neck. Running his tongue from the hollow of her throat to her chin, he sought her lips as her body prepared to come. She kissed him with a voracity that he craved, like she’d waited her entire life for that one moment.

She shuddered violently, her cry muffled by his mouth. Without breaking their kiss, he began to remove her button down, indulging in the softness of her belly. But that wasn’t enough. Dragging the fabric up over her breasts, he revealed a lacy but modest nude bra and ran his hands over her exposed flesh with greedy hunger, following the path with feather-light kisses. She tugged at his hair and pulled him back to her mouth while she used her other hand to massage the bulge being choked to death by his pants.

With a small growl, he broke away and peeled off his shirt, then unbuttoned his pants. Moira watched every move. He stood on the floor to take off the constricting jeans and boxers, pausing to revel in her appreciative gaze.

She licked her lips, making him throb harder.

“Your turn,” she said.

Magnificent didn’t describe him. Hell, beautiful didn’t even do him justice. He stood like living marble, beautifully sculpted to her every whim.

Crawling back across the bed, he reclaimed her mouth, lifting her into his lap. He removed her shirt and bra, tearing the cheap fabric in the process.

“I’ll get you a new one, I promise,” he growled.

She giggled and found his lips again. His icy skin cooled the fever racing through her, but his mouth stoked the fire. Her tongue grazed one of his fangs. The sensation barely registered through the haze of desire and pure lust. He lay her back down on the bed and stripped off her trousers, ripping her panties, too. He swore and grinned, gaze trailing over her bare skin. With anyone else, she would have covered up or at least squirmed under the attention, but with him, she didn’t have to.

Like he’d uncovered a priceless artifact, Kiernan ran a hand over her, starting with her cheek, then stroking down her neck to her breasts, trailing lower to her inner thigh, where he danced all around the area demanding attention the most.
Is this worship?
After all the bullshit life had thrown at her, someone should worship
her
, dammit. She pushed his shoulder, forcing him onto his back. She planted light kisses on his smooth, cool skin, down his neck to his chest. He tried to slide his hand between her thighs again, but she resisted and shook her head, a smile on her lips; scientific curiosity dictated she taste every last bit of him.

She kissed her forgiveness across the planes of his chest and his stomach, down to the sensitive skin at the base of his cock. She stroked, enjoying the fullness and thickness of him in her hand, while she licked and nipped at the skin on the inside of his thigh.

“You’re killing me, Moira,” he groaned.

The way he said her name sent shivers through her, until her greedy body ached more for him. He wasn’t a monster. He was everything she never knew she needed.

Though they only had one night, she planned to make the most of it.

She took his erection into her mouth and his hips jolted. She loved the sensation of him inside her, growing more rigid as she worked her tongue along his shaft, drew him deeper, until the head brushed the back of her throat. Loved his salty taste, the way he smelled like a winter’s night. She wanted to thank him for finding her, for protecting her, for loving her. Taking a quick glance at the clock—one-thirty a.m. Dread coursed through her. Would he have to leave before sunrise?

His hand in her hair coaxed her off him. She crawled up to his mouth and kissed him, letting her desperation bleed into him. It couldn’t end. Not now.

Straddling him, she slid his cock into her. He filled her so perfectly all rational thought fled. His fingers dug into her hips, almost painfully but the pain heightened her senses, brought her closer to climax.

Kiernan shifted her onto her back again. His weight on top of her added to the hunger devouring her body. Planting his hands on either side of her head, he thrust deep, hard and fast. She dug her nails into his ribs, but his eyes held her. They glowed amber in the candlelight, filled with the love she never thought she’d find.

His rhythm slowed. Retreating almost completely, he eased back in, searing every part of her along the way.

The fissures in her spirit started to heal. A lifetime of betrayal and abandonment no longer mattered. She had her protector. Her strong, beautiful, sexy-as-fuck protector. She caressed his cheek. He pressed a kiss to her heated palm then his thrusts quickened—gasoline to the wildfire he’d stoked in her.

Her back arched hard enough to snap. From the popping, she thought it had.

After two last, intense thrusts, he collapsed. She struggled to catch her breath, her head dizzy, her vision blurred.
How did lust turn to… this?

His arms cocooned her with strength and gentleness. For once, she had no fear. Maybe for once she wouldn’t dream.

They slipped into an easy slumber.

Moira’s muffled sobs woke Kiernan from the best slumber in ages. She’d buried her head in his chest, her arms clutched so tight around him he struggled for breath.

“Moira,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her cheek. If he scared her, he’d hate himself. “Wake up.”

She jerked. Her eyes snapped open, wild and frightened, then she slowed her breathing, seeming to realize he was there.

“It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair, pulling her as close as possible. “It’s okay now.”

She shifted and sat up, burying her face in her hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have had the same fucking dream since….” Her voice caught and she forced a swallow. “I hate this. So much. I don’t sleep, I mean, I don’t want to sleep because I don’t want to remember, and I depend on coffee and energy drinks to get through the day, but….” Then she broke down again.

Fuck Willem
. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” he soothed. “He’ll never hurt anyone again, I promise you.”

“What?”

“Let me get you a glass of water, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Moira tugged the blanket up to her neck and shivered. Kiernan produced no heat, but she missed his body next to hers. When he returned, she took the water, draining the glass in seconds.

“I was twenty-nine,” he said, settling back into bed. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes. “Worked on a merchant ship during the first world war. Both my parents had died from the flu outbreak, and I had no plans to marry, so that ship was my life. The crew was my family.

“We got hit by a German U-boat and lost most of the crew. I stayed alive long enough to be rescued, but my injuries were severe. A lot of internal bleeding, hypothermia, gashes everywhere. They did what they could, but every doctor waited for me to die.”

Been there
. The day after the attack, one of the neighborhood druggies had shown up for a quick fix. Instead, he found her, blue-skinned and barely breathing. He ran to a neighboring house and called 911 but didn’t stay. All alone, she waited for the end, and the sirens, which her criminal parents had taught her to avoid, gave her no hope. The paramedics and doctors had expected her to die, too. “What happened next?”

He shifted then went stone-still. “My maker, Marguerite, worked as a night nurse. Spent every shift by my bedside, told me I reminded her of her son. She looked no more than seventeen, but delirious people don’t pay attention to detail. I loved listening to her French accent as she told me about her journey to America to escape the war and how it’d seemed to follow her regardless. To keep me stable, she slipped me little bits of her blood. Eventually, my wounds healed, and the doctors stopped thinking I would die.

“When they released me, I didn’t have anywhere to go since the ship was gone, so Marguerite took me in. That’s when she offered to change me. I owed her everything, and she still wanted to give me one last gift. I couldn’t refuse her.”

Why would he? After all that, after this woman kept him from dying, why wouldn’t he want to take anything she offered? “Did you love her?”

“I did. She became a mother to me in the hospital. I…didn’t want to be alone.” Kiernan stopped and took a deep breath.

Moira understood the fear all too well. Lowering the blanket, she snuggled against him, placed a shaky hand on his chest where his heart should beat, and closed her eyes against the silence.

“Want to know something ironic?”

“Sure.”

“I
hated
the dark. As a child, I lived in sunlight, and on the merchant ship I stayed on deck from sunrise to sunset. I hated not feeling the sun on my face, not being out and doing work. There’s something about a hard day’s work that makes a man feel…alive, I suppose.”