Carnal Thirst cd-3 Page 3

  "That would be the fangs, chere. They can be inconvenient. And it does take some time to grow accustomed to them."

  She stared at him, but he didn't appear to be making a joke. “I don't have fangs,” she said.

  "Didn't,” he corrected.

  "Don't,” she said, feeling a little childish. “I'm not a dog."

  "Certainly not. You're a vampire."

  Chapter Three

  While they dined, he talked about the history of New Orleans. Despite everything, it soothed her. The sound of his voice stroked along her nerve endings like the caress of a hand. She was surprised to discover that she ate most of the servings that he'd placed on her plate. She'd drank the wine as well, more wine than she'd intended, and certainly more than was wise. Her weight and height usually allowed her to drink more than the average person, however, so she wasn't worried about it. She couldn't remember ever even having a buzz from alcohol.

  She didn't comment on his suggestion that she was a vampire. If he thought she'd believe that, he was crazy. Besides being ridiculous, she didn't feel remotely different than any other day of the week, and they'd both eaten the food he'd served—which canceled out all credibility of either of them being a vampire. Vampires could only drink blood. Everyone knew that.

  He didn't seem insane, but on the other hand, sane people didn't usually brutally attack women on the street. She remembered hearing once that insane people were incredibly strong. That might explain how he had managed to attack her when she felt that she should have been fully capable of going toe to toe with pretty much any man.

  The wine calmed even her fear of his mental stability. She found herself smiling at some of the anecdotes that he told.

  "How old were you then,” she asked impulsively at something he'd said.

  "Six hundred and fifty nine years."

  She burst out laughing. “No, really."

  "Ah, chere, would you have me whisper sweet little lies in your ear instead?” he said on a husky note that made her insides quiver.

  "I'm not sure I'd want you getting that close."

  "Wouldn't you?"

  Smiling devilishly, he reached across the table, and with his index finger, began swirling a little pattern on the back of her hand. “Perhaps I'm not close enough,” he whispered.

  Warmth flowed up her arm, lifting the fine hairs on her arm and the back of her neck. A delicious little shiver skated down her spine as she looked into his dark eyes. There was a smoldering look in his gaze that she immediately identified, despite the fact that she'd never had a look like that directed at her in her memory. It sent heat surging through her. Her belly clenched as a sweet, sharp spasm reverberated from the core of her sex straight up to her heart.

  A warning voice niggled in the back of her mind. He was a kidnapper and insane besides. She was convenient and his captive, otherwise, she was sure a man that looked like him would never be interested in even looking at her, much less touching her. She was used to people swearing to go on a diet after one look at her size eighteen frame—not with any kind of desire.

  That more than anything else was the clincher. She forced a slight smile. “You're not trying to seduce me, are you?"

  He smiled wryly. “Not very successfully,” he murmured, “if you can ask."

  It occurred to her that she was probably a little bit tipsy, but she knew that she was still clear-minded enough to take advantage of the fact that he obviously believed her judgment was impaired by the alcohol she'd consumed.

  She gave him her most sultry look, propping her arm on the table and dropping her chin onto her hand.

  “Now you're teasing me."

  Something flickered in his eyes. “I can, if you like."

  The breath rushed from her lungs as her heart lurched in her chest. Despite her wayward libido and her natural reluctance to encourage this sort of conversation under ordinary circumstances, she reminded herself that she was trying to catch him off guard.

  "What did you have in mind?” she said in a throaty voice, smiling at him faintly.

  He studied her for several moments and finally rose from his chair, took her hand, and led her from the dining room. “I'm much better at showing than telling."

  A wave of dizziness washed over her. She struggled to throw it off, refusing to admit even to herself, that it was as much or more pure carnal lust than the wine she had drank. Blushing, she smiled at him in what she hoped was a combination of interest and shyness as he placed her hand on his arm and escorted her from the dining room. In the doorway, she turned slightly toward him, lifting her hand and placing it on his chest.

  "I hardly know you. I don't even know your name,” she whispered, grasping two handfuls of his jacket.

  "Danior,” he said, leaning close, his eyelids heavy over his dark eyes.

  Even as he leaned his head toward her, she brought her knee up between his legs as hard as she could and gave him a shove backwards.

  Whirling, she made a mad dash for the front door. She was on it so fast she slammed into the door and nearly knocked the breath out of herself. She twisted the knob but the door wouldn't open. Through the glass medallion in the center she could see it was also boarded over. How the hell had they even gotten into the house? There must be another door, but she didn't think she had time to look for it.

  Turning, she scooped the poker up from the stairs, smashing through the glass. The poker bit into the wood with a thud. She hammered at it with gusto but failed to do more than break off splinters of wood.

  What the hell had he closed this with? Four by sixes?

  "You can't leave that way,” he said directly behind her, scaring the life out of her.

  Maggie whirled around, gasping, swinging the poker. He caught the poker mid-air, halting her strike.

  Frowning, he jerked it free and sent it sailing across the foyer with a metallic clatter as it hit the floor.

  Maggie gaped at him as his fingers locked around her wrists. She brought her knee up. He smiled grimly as he blocked her ball busting move with his thigh, grunting at the impact.

  "That was a nasty thing to do, chere,” he said, tightening his hold on her wrists, pulling her back toward the stairs.

  "I don't know why you expected anything different. You kidnapped me!” she gritted out, digging her heels in. She felt slivers of glass cut her bare feet and winced at the pain that shot through them.

  He pulled her inexorably toward the stairs. Visions of torture swamped her mind. She couldn't let him take her up there.

  She went limp, forcing him to release her as she dropped to the floor. Ignoring the bruise to her hip as she landed, she rolled onto her stomach to get to her feet.

  "Merde,” he cursed and landed on top of her, pinning her to the floor.

  Maggie gasped as his weight locked over her, his knees around her waist, his hands on her shoulders. It was just like the attack. Panic gripped her, sending her heart racing, her lungs burning for air, her mind in a mad whirl of chaotic thought. She reached out for anything, any kind of weapon.

  Glass sliced a finger open, drawing her attention. She grasped it, ignoring the pain as it laid open her right palm. She reached across and stabbed at his hand on her left shoulder.

  He hissed in pain and broke her slick grip on the glass, flinging it away. Lifting off her struggling form the briefest moment, he flipped her over and straddled her hips, pinning her hands to the floor.

  "You little fool. I should let you open that door and kill yourself, if only to make you believe."

  "You're crazy!” she gritted out, struggling against his grip. Jesus! He was stronger than she would have ever imagined. Her fingers were going tingly, numb from the pressure.

  He sighed wearily and pulled her arms down, shifting his weight until he could pin her hands down with his knees.

  Once his hands were free, he straightened and looked down at her, his hands resting on his splayed thighs. Her chest rose and fell drastically with each breath as she continued to str
uggle to free herself. She couldn't move her arms more than to flap her elbows. Her legs were useless, not because she couldn't move them, but because no matter how hard she strained to buck him, he couldn't be budged.

  "Hold still if you don't want me doing something you'll regret,” he warned in a voice rough with arousal.

  She looked up at him and caught him staring at the movement of her breasts. More than the sight of his eyes devouring her, the erection straining the fly of his leather pants snared her attention.

  He caught her startled gaze as it flew back up to his eyes. She immediately went limp, a lethargy spreading over her at the feel of his power spreading through her body. She thought the wine had gotten to her but knew that was wrong, that this was different. She could feel him inside her, holding her mind in thrall, trying to bend her to his will.

  It was working. He kept her thoughts churning, unable to focus on anything so simple as commanding her body to move, to fight him.

  He slid his hands down his thighs, bending as he spread his palms over her ribcage just beneath her breasts. Her bra was gone, and in her supine position, her breasts had spread, leaving her cleavage wide enough he could press his lips there if he so chose.

  She imagined him tugging her neckline down to scrape his teeth and tongue over her flesh, to nip and lave her breasts until they were ripe and achy from the grip of his large hands.

  Maggie slowly blinked as the images changed and he thrust his hand down the front of her jeans, cupping her mound to dip his fingers in the top of her slit and flick the hidden bud there. Her mouth parted on a sigh, the waking dream so intense, her body reacted as if it was real. Her slit moistened, her clit pulsed with a rush of blood and arousal.

  Maggie blinked once more, recognizing her descent into the forbidden. She felt drugged—no—mesmerized. These weren't her thoughts. She felt his suggestion, recognized the imagery as his own.

  He smiled knowingly, eliciting a quiver inside her vagina that had her clenching the muscles tight.

  He slid a hand up, stroking the valley between her breasts, spreading his fingers until they grazed the rounded edges of her breasts. Maggie mentally flinched from him.

  He stopped just shy of touching her where she shamelessly wanted to be touched, watching her. “You don't want me to touch you? Is it because you are repulsed by me, or is it something else?” His strange accent flowed over her like deep, mellow music. She wanted to cave into it. Needed to in the worst kind of way.

  You crave to relinquish control to a man, he said in her mind.

  No, I don't, she responded, clenching her jaw. Even if I did, I wouldn't want to with you . But she did want to lose control. Something was wrong with her. She'd always wanted to be dominated by a man.

  She'd never found one strong enough to command her in the bedroom. Men were intimidated by her, and even if they hadn't been, most were shorter and lighter than she was and couldn't dominate an ant if their life depended on it. She couldn't imagine some weakling taking sexual command of her. She was too much of a realist, her will too strong to tame.

  More than that, her body repulsed her in a way that she could never truly let loose and enjoy herself.

  She'd never found a man capable of making her forget what she was.

  He gave her a pleased look after a moment, his heavy brows arching with amusement. You are shielding your thoughts from me .

  Good. Now let me go. She didn't want him prying into her mind.

  "I've never found anyone so young capable of shielding,” he said thoughtfully, removing his hands from her body to prop on his thighs once more. “Do you believe I am what I say?” he said aloud.

  He released her from thrall, allowing her to speak. “No,” she gritted out defiantly, shaken by how close she'd come to giving in to him. Her body ached in that oh-so-familiar way of unrequited lust. She could feel the dampness in her sex, the throb of her clit begging for surcease from the strain of unfulfillment. He hadn't done a damn thing to her and she was practically panting for him to fuck her brains out.

  It had been so long since she'd been touched by a man that she couldn't even remember the last time.

  Well, she didn't want to remember the last time. Abstinence seemed to have made her weaker, not more resistant to the lure of sexual impulse.

  He sighed and reached for a shard of glass on the floor. Maggie winced, thinking he was going to hurt her, instead, he touched one edge to his palm. “If touching your mind cannot convince you, then perhaps this will. Here's your proof of what we both are,” he said, slicing his hand open without hesitation.

  "No,” she whispered, unable to stop him. Maggie felt sick watching the blood flow. She wanted to look away but couldn't stop watching the well of bright red flow down his arm. It dripped onto her chest and stomach, soaking her with a warmth like hot water.

  "Watch,” he said softly. The blood slowed to the barest trickle and then stopped. He wiped the blood away with his thumb, clearing the wound.

  Maggie watched in disbelief as the wound closed to a scratch and then faded to a thin, red line.

  "Your own wounds are gone, if you care to look."

  He freed her hands, standing above her as she checked her fingers and hands for cuts. Only dried blood remained. No wound of any kind.

  "How is this possible?” she asked, coming to her feet with his help. She winced as her weight landed on heels and the glass embedded there.

  "You have the healing ability of the vampire now. It's part of what allows us to live so long. Come, we have to get that glass out of your feet before it heals inside you and has to be cut out."

  Without another word, he bent and scooped her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs.

  * * *

  Maggie expected to hear the snap of arm bones breaking or the pop of his shoulder joints as they dislocated. Miraculously, nothing like that happened. She never dreamed she'd meet anything short of a crane capable of lifting her off her feet, let alone a man who could carry her up an entire flight of stairs and down a hall.

  Secretly, despite the discomfort of the position, she found it thrilling and terrifying that he was strong enough to bear her. There was something so incredibly masculine about it, that it gave her the illusion of being small and feminine. She could feel the power in his shoulders beneath her arm she'd draped around his neck, and as she watched his face, she felt like he had more yet to reveal, as if he was restraining himself from unintentionally hurting her.

  He wasn't even winded when he kicked open the bedroom door and took her into the bathroom she'd found earlier. He sat her on the closed lid of the toilet, moving away to the medicine cabinet before coming back with a pair of tweezers. Sitting on the edge of the claw-footed tub, he looked at her expectantly.

  "Give me your foot,” he said. His tone sounded like he expected her to fight him, but that he would win anyway.

  Feeling weird and unsure of herself, she gave him her foot, wincing as he carefully removed the tiny shards of glass imbedded in her skin. He frowned in concentration, his brows drawing close together. His hair fell across his forehead, and he kept having to push it behind his ears.

  As he finished, he brushed his thumb over the pads of her toes and ball of her foot to check for anything he'd missed, tickling her.

  Maggie yelped and tried to jerk her foot free, but he held her still, tightening his knees around her calf.

  The position was extremely intimate, with her leg trapped between his thighs and his hands probing her.

  Again, she felt small next to him. His hands looked large on her feet, making them seem almost dainty.

  The image of him nibbling down her toes and up her leg flashed in her mind, leaving her warm beneath her clothes.

  The heat of his erection pressed near her heel, adding to her discomfort and awareness of him as a desirable man. It embarrassed her to see it and be so close to grazing it, but it embarrassed her more to realize she wanted to touch it. If she moved just a little and he let go,
she could rub her toes upon it. Press down and massage with her toes to give him pleasure.

  He tickled her foot one last time, deliberately provoking her and snapping her back to the present.

  Giving her a wicked smile, he finished his inspection and demanded her other foot—the one with most of the glass.

  She couldn't quite comprehend her attraction to him, not when he had to be the person who had hurt her before.

  It was strange watching him do something so tender. Despite how large his hands were, his fingers weren't thick and chunky. They were tapered and elegant, like the fingers of an aristocrat. He didn't fumble with the painstaking work, and she knew, implicitly, that he would not be inept with more delicate tasks.

  She could hardly reconcile him with the attacker in the alley. He'd tended her wounds, fed her with elaborate dishes equal to fine cuisine in expensive restaurants ... tried to seduce her. And now she knew that he was a vampire—that she was, if he was to be believed.

  It had to be true. Nothing else could explain the rapid healing. And yet....

  "I don't feel any different,” she finally said, almost to herself.

  He looked up briefly from his task. “You won't until your first thirst. Your fangs will swell with your first venom, and only fresh blood can override the imbalance in your body's hormonal system. It will drive your thoughts until you appease it. It will kill you if you deny it. Too much venom kills even us."

  Blood. It made her sick even thinking about it. “Why did you attack me in the alley? Is it because you were thirsty?” she asked impulsively.

  He frowned, his eyes shuttered. “I didn't attack you."

  Somehow, she knew it was the truth. Perhaps deep inside, she'd known it all along. Had her subconscious allowed her to become attracted? Or was it something that couldn't be controlled, even if a man was a bastard and a killer? So many women seemed trapped unto death by men she deemed real life monsters. She liked to believe her own judgment was not so impaired. “If you didn't, who did?"

  "Another vampire. Before you ask, yes, he was hungry. Would you like to know his name so that you can hunt him down and stake him? I confess, I would not have his actions any different. Had he not bitten you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “I would not have you now."