A Vampire's Claim (42 page)

“Do you feed on other men, the way you’ve fed on me?” He asked it before he thought it through, realized he had a burning need to know, and not know.

“I’ve fed on no one in the same way, ever,” she said in that erotic hum, collecting juice at the corners of his mouth, teasing his lips and tongue with it. “But what you’re asking me is whether I always take them to my bed. Sometimes I do. Often I don’t. Most of the time, they’re merely a meal. Taking blood alone almost matches the ecstasy of sex, so it’s only when a face or body particularly stirs my baser hungers that I indulge.”

“And does a full servant eliminate the need for that?”

She gave him a feline smile. “I expect that depends on the servant, doesn’t it?”

He closed his hand over her wrist this time when he took the food, licking the crevices between her fingers before he withdrew, chewed. But he kept his hold on her wrist, his thumb tracing her pulse, eyes locked with hers.

“While you were recuperating at the station, I gave every stockman two marks.” She straightened her fingers to tease them along his jaw. “Each one took a knee by my chair. Then I placed my hand along the side of his head, his throat, and sank my fangs here.”

She extended one finger, made a bare line along that main artery, the blood escalating at her touch. He dipped his head, licked the center of her palm where juice had trickled, kept exploring her palm with his mouth. Her blue eyes fired, particularly when he gave her an un-gentle nip.

“Do you want me to say I’m jealous, my lady?”

“No,” she murmured. “Your thoughts already told me. You don’t want me to touch another, and I’ve told you, as long as I wish you to be at my station, I won’t take another to my bed.” Extricating herself, she leaned back, perused him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“But the very nature of a vampire is to touch, to experience. I might enjoy watching you take another . . . lie in the bed with you, hold her body to mine while you plunder her from behind. Kiss away those sweet tears you’d make on her face, as you made on mine. Clasp my legs around your hips and hold her tight between us as she comes to climax, cries out in my ear, digs her nails into my back as she’d like to dig into yours.”

Dev stopped in midmotion. She’d not only spoken it, but injected it into his mind, complete with the girl’s sharp gasps, the feel of her nails, of Danny’s legs holding them both. In a moment, they were both going to be arrested.

Her voice had lowered further as she leaned forward. For dinner, she’d changed into a tightly laced corset and a snug riding skirt.

The thin cotton shirt she wore under the corset did little more than create a gauze whisk over the expanse of her elevated breasts.

She wore her opal again, teasing his gaze down the deep valley of cleavage, making him imagine vividly what he’d do if one of those pieces of steak had dropped into it. He’d eat it out as thoroughly as he would her cunt, the sweet taste of the two fleshes on his tongue.

“Nice,” she murmured, her voice husky. “But I have another image, Dev. I’m imagining that same situation as before, only it’s not a girl between us. You’re in my arms, my cunt impaled by that large cock of yours. But behind you is another man, and he is rutting upon you, his cock in your arse, and he will send you into unwilling screaming ecstasy as you bring me to mine. His touch on you will be ruthless, relentless. But you will be there because it serves my pleasure, because it’s my fantasy to see you ridden so rough, that hard male way men fuck one another, to be a part of it.”

Now he was dearly glad there were no tables close enough to be privy to their conversation. Otherwise, he was sure some comfortable matron behind him would have thudded to the floor. He was feeling a little dodgy himself at the vision. “And you think I’d submit to that, ever? Being buggered by a man?”

“It’s not about being buggered by a man,” she said, studying him with those large eyes that looked like they should be in a Walt Disney movie, the long lashes and pouty red mouth. He could imagine birds twittering around her. A moment before her forked tongue shot out and captured one, like a dragon zapping flies.

Humor twinkled through her eyes. “That’s a power I don’t have. But it’s not about being buggered by a man,” she repeated. “It’s about wanting to serve someone enough you get beyond questions. You simply serve.”

“I’m not the right man, if you’re seeking someone for that. I won’t give up my brain, my right to make my own decisions.”

“This is the opposite of that. This is the most conscious, relevant decision you can make.” She pushed the plate to him then, laid the fork alongside it, but he stifled a groan as her touch returned to his cock beneath the table. “Eat the rest now. I want to watch you.”

What if I wanted to watch
you,
my lady? See you take pleasure in my blood, the way you take pleasure in watching me eat
this steak? The moistness of your lips, the way you swallow?

Her gaze flickered, her lips parting at the image he gave her.
You are very adept at this, Dev. I’m not sure if I shouldn’t block
you from my mind altogether.

In answer, he picked up a piece of the meat, just a small one, but one with plenty of red juice glistening in the folds, and extended it to her mouth. As she held his gaze, he shifted his foot, prodded her calf so she slid her foot out of her shoe, laid her stockinged toes on top of his boot, against his ankle.

I think you would miss having me there, my lady.

Her mouth opened, her delicate lips closing over his fingers, the scrape of a fang arousing him further.

I think I might at that.

When they took the plane trip from Adelaide to the airstrip nearest Surfer’s Paradise, Danny was delighted to find out her bushman had been to Surfer’s Paradise before and found it a bonza place. It was one of her favorite vacation spots as well. The small, quiet town consisted of a few cottages by the sea, a couple of hotels and restaurants. Her structure was not a large place, a bungalow on pilings that had a lovely ocean view and comfortable furnishings. While she endeavored not to be intrusive, she enjoyed staying in his mind during that first day, registering his surprise that a woman with her obvious relaxed urbanity preferred a place like this for her leisure time.

You’re surprised, even though I want to live out on a solitary station with only my staff and the great wide plains for
company?

Well, I reckoned that had to do with Ian taking what you thought was rightfully yours. At first, I didn’t expect you’d be
staying. Maybe you’ll explain your contradictions one day, my lady.

He’d been out on the beach in the sunlight when they had that conversation, him taking in the sunrise within view of the cottage while she prepared for sleep. Since he was stripped down to his shorts, obviously ready to go for a swim, she left him with the question unanswered and the advice to beware of sharks and jellyfish. To all appearances, she let him be, though she stayed in his mind almost as a form of bedtime story, following his thoughts and reaction to the water, the surf, other early bathers . . . his laughter.

When she woke in the early evening, she found fresh flowers, pink and white everlasting daisies, in a vase on the side table. She was still alone in the room, but located him just outside the door. Wrapping a sheet around herself, she cracked it and peered out, finding she had to suppress a smile. Her swagman. He had a chair leaned up against the wall beside the door, whittling on a piece of wood, watching the people go back and forth along the boardwalk down closer to the shore. The soft rush of the ocean, the familiar music of it, was a pleasant background. Stars were already starting to come out, promising a beautiful and romantic night that stirred her in ways she knew it shouldn’t.

But what woman could look at him and not feel that way? Despite it being past sundown, he was still wearing his hat. As always, she liked the way the brim shaded his face, emphasizing the strong jawline, the day’s worth of stubble as he tilted his attention toward her. The carving process drew attention to the capable, strong fingers, the length of his forearms, the column of his thigh he had braced against the chair leg to hold it back and steady himself.

“G’day, love.” He slanted her a half smile. “Slept the whole day away, didn’t you?” His gaze traveled over her loose hair, down to the looser hold of the sheet, her bare shoulders and glimpse of bosom. “You might want to go get dressed before you scandalize these nice family people.”

“I don’t seem to be scandalizing you.”

“Oh, I’m a worldly sort of bloke.” He shrugged. “Manage to keep my tongue rolled up in my head most days without the help of clothes-pins.” He flicked away another shaving. “Do you like to dance?”

She cocked her head. “I can manage. I learned some belly dancing in the Holy Lands that would scandalize these fine wowsers.”

He grinned then, making a turn on what he was whittling. “Well, Jezebel, if you can manage to do a proper waltz instead, they’re having a dance, main hotel in town tonight. We can go do some moonlight swimming or walking along the sand when you get tired of it, whatever suits your fancy.”

“You suit my fancy, quite well.” She smiled at him, trailing a hand along his shoulder. He was relaxed, making her very glad she’d brought him here. “What are you doing there?”

Blowing the shavings off, he offered it up for her inspection, sheathing the whittling knife in the smaller scabbard next to his hunting knife. He waved toward someone on the beach, one of their passing neighbors, she supposed. As she took it from his fingers, she was charmed into another smile when she recognized a kangaroo. “This is quite deft, Dev. I don’t think I’ve ever had something so fine.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat, looked away. “Your apologies, my lady, but I didn’t make it for you.”

She shifted her attention back to him. “Oh, really?”

“Nope. Another sheila whose affections I’ve managed to win. I’m quite the popular man about town already.” He crossed his arms over his chest while she considered giving the back leg of the chair enough of a shove to send him toppling.

“Well, maybe you should take
her
to the dance, then,” she suggested, showing a hint of fang.

“Might want to sheathe your blades, my lady,” he responded with a twinkle to his eye. “We have an impressionable visitor.”

She really needed to get in the habit of stripping his mind bare so he couldn’t tease her. A young girl of about eight approached them now, with a shy glance at Danny. Danny could see now that she’d come from a picnic area up on the beach, where she’d been sitting with her family. His wave toward them had obviously been the signal that he was done. Danny relinquished the toy to him, watching as he placed it in the child’s flat palm. He made it bound up her arm so she giggled. Taking a piece of twine, he tied it around the roo’s body and then made a necklace of it, putting it over her head. “There, love. You won’t lose it while you’re playing in the sand. Have fun with that.” He waved genially to the watching parents, as she thanked him politely and scampered back to show them.

“You have made quite an impression.”

He snorted. “They like to romanticize us bushfolk, you know that.”

“Like American cowboys.”

“Aren’t all Yanks cowboys? Saw enough of them in the war to think so.”

“Not all.” She gave him a smile. “It’s more a national spirit. The same way most Aussies identify with folk like you when they think of themselves as being Australian, but you couldn’t get them out of the cities with a crowbar. Can’t imagine why. Winds that raise up enough dust to block the sun, heat to fry your liver, rains that bring floods to drown you but rush away to drought, leaving your skeleton lying on the desert sands.”

He gave her a considering look. “Not fooling me, love. You’re drawn to it. Quite the bushie yourself, even when you don’t know enough to stay out of trouble.”

“Well, lucky I have you, isn’t it?” She swiped his hat and put it on her own head, cocking a hip against the door.

He laughed. “Don’t pout about the roo, love. I’ll make you one, too. Do you want children?”

The question caught her off guard, but she shrugged. “Most vampire females can’t have children. That’s why born ones are so rare and so treasured.”

“Well, genetically speaking, you might be predisposed, though, right?”

She shook her head. “No proof so far that it works that way. And I really haven’t thought about it. Too young yet.”

“Too young,” he murmured. “A young woman at two hundred?”

“Exactly.” But she looked back toward the family. “You’re barely forty. It’s been over ten years since you lost your family. Why—

”

“I had that. Man only deserves that once, if he lets it get away.”

She stopped, not because it was a good explanation, but because of what she saw in his mind. He couldn’t do it. He’d be paralyzed, unable to leave them alone. He wasn’t like the smiling young father examining what his little girl had secured from one of those famous bushmen. Dev wouldn’t ever be able to get past the choking fear that when he left his family, he’d come back to the smell of blood and waste. That he would have to use his rifle to drive off the dingoes and buzzards circling the house, seeking a way in because they could smell the flesh, calling to them . . .

Abruptly, he rose. “I’ll be back.”

“No.” Before he could get away, she curled her fingers in the open neck of his shirt, pulled him to her. With his body half shielding hers, she let the sheet drop, the breeze from the ocean blowing her hair back in a ripple, drawing his attention to the expanse of breast revealed.

“Christ, you have no sense of decency.” Easing her into the room, he closed the door with a snap behind him. But she was already back onto him, sliding her arms up to his neck to bring his mouth down to hers, knocking the hat off her head. He surprised her this time, though, putting his hands over her wrists to still her. Lifting his head, he touched her cheek and jawline with his fingertips, studying her so hard in the dimness she knew even without looking into his mind that he was contemplating the day she’d no longer be part of his life.