Creed couldn’t keep his eyes from her. It had made her nervous so she used her snotty comebacks to disguise it. Living at the compound, she’d learned a few sharp words sometimes proved more effective than a slap that could be construed as rough foreplay.
She smoothed her palms up to cup her breasts. A glance over her shoulder studied her body in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the back of the door.
Let the vampire look. She was the one who would decide if a look could turn into a touch, and a touch into
something more. It was high time she took control of her life. It was not something she’d had at the compound.
Peeling the wig from her head, she shook out her hair and flicked on the shower.
Flirting with her husband?
She did need something to keep her from getting cabin fever. And if it put her in control? All the better.
T
HE DONOR FELL AT
Creed’s feet and collapsed, arms and chest folding over her legs. Creed swayed against the rough cement wall, catching his palm against it, as the swoon shimmered through his body.
After nine centuries, taking blood still never failed to satisfy. Nothing near a raging orgasm, but a sweet tease similar to it. And with age, the high all vampires called the swoon lasted longer, fixing to his veins in a lingering shimmy of sensation that he could draw out for hours. Of course, that was due to the blood magic he’d gained from a witch. And since that little exercise of magic didn’t harm anyone, he wasn’t about to give that up, vow or no vow.
He licked his lips. The blood wasn’t as tainted with beer as he’d expected. Perhaps haunting local bars should not be marked completely off the list.
Normally he invited a select clientele to his home
when he needed to drink. But he couldn’t do that now. It didn’t feel right with the wife at home. He didn’t want to answer any questions she would have.
Besides, if she were going to withhold information about her change during the full moon, then he would keep his stuff private, too. Most especially the magic. If the wolves discovered his usage of it, they’d go straight to the witches, and then the war between witches and vamps would be renewed.
Creed had enough on his shoulders with the werewolf princess prancing about his home.
After unlocking the BMW, he climbed inside and headed home. All he wanted to do after taking blood was lie back and enjoy the mellow ride.
T
HE HOUSE WAS DARK
, save for the light at the end of the hallway, which told Creed that Blu had found the theater room. The loud music was an even better indication.
Tonight should have been his movie night. He liked viewing movies on the plasma TV, sitting in the dark with a sexy woman draped in his arms. After a long drink of hot blood, he usually had a driver escort her home because his persuasion stole her memories for the evening.
Who said drinking blood had to be all horror and chills? He’d done enough of that in the Middle Ages. Flash the fangs, freak ‘em out and suck them dry.
That was so gauche now. A man must possess style, decorum.
“Hell, you really are an old man,” he muttered. “You don’t bother with the scare anymore, just popcorn and sex.
Dieu.
”
Erratic sound blasted from the room. The wolf must have turned the volume to eleven. He wanted quiet tonight, to enjoy the lingering blood swoon.
“Silly wolf. This vampire can still do the scare.”
Marching down the hall, he fisted his hands and had achieved a tight anger by the time he pushed the double doors open. Prepared to march in and flash some fang, Creed paused.
The lights were on. Poufed pink feathery stuff bobbed in the air two rows down. The room touted six rows of four seats on each side.
On the screen, Mick Jagger pranced and rasped through “Sympathy For The Devil” as Keith Richards ground out a solo.
Tucked on one of the wide theater seats—rather, draped—Blu grooved to the beat, her long legs hooked over the seat before her. Those pink feathery things were some kind of high-heeled shoes Creed had only seen in black-and-white romance movies.
The pink hair bobbed in time to the music.
“Pink?” Anger dissipating, he strode down the aisle.
A see-through sweep of black fabric dashed across her legs and part of her stomach. The rest of her was clad in black lace providing only a little more coverage than the bikini had earlier.
“Loud enough?” he shouted.
She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?
Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.
She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”
He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”
“Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could
live
in here.”
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”
She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.
Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.
Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic
perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon.
Just relax, and sink into the sensation.…
“Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”
“Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.
“Well, you know.”
“I’m not sure. What
do
I know?”
She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”
“Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?
“The sucking thing.”
“Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”
“Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”
“Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”
Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.
Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.
“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”
“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”
“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”
“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”
“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”
She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.
“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”
Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some
do
like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”
“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”
“For the donor, as well.”
“Donor? You mean victim.”
“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”
“You don’t consider a bite harm?”
“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”
“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”
“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”
“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”
He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”
“Do you speak of me?”
“Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”
“Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.
Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—
“You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”
She stepped across the aisle. Legs spread and hips high, she bent over him. Her breasts were level with his line of vision, but he instead looked into her eyes. There in the depths glittered a sadness Creed was beginning to realize may have been there a very long time.
Why he realized that, he did not know. Because she came off as hyperfun, sexy and all about the flirt. Truly, was it a facade?
“I let a lot of people close, Creed,” she said precisely. “The ones I trust.”
“How does one go about cracking your exterior? If you won’t accept the trust I offer, then I’ve no means of winning this game.”
“That’s your problem. You think this is a game.”
“And you don’t? You’ve played the Tease Card yet again. I’ve known you but a few days, but already I’ve learned that’s your favorite one.”
“Is not.”
“Prove it.”
The pink wig bopped at a jaunty angle as she cocked her head, considering. She had to know she played him. The sexy clothing was a dead giveaway. Who wore an outfit like that to listen to music? No, she had been expecting him.
Blu leaned closer, the tips of her pink hair dusting his wrist. Red lips hovered near his and her breath played over his mouth, his chin. Coconut air surrounded them. Beyond that scent though, something darker and sweeter lingered.
Werewolf blood.
Creed’s heartbeat slid across the plate and hung suspended, waiting for the next play.
“I like to tease,” she whispered, her eyes dazzling across his.
“That is apparent.”
He would not reach for her, though it killed him to remain aloof and uninterested with her warm, enticing flesh so close.
No. Werewolf blood interested him little. Let her have this hand. Let her see she could trust he would not always need to be in control. That was how the masters gained enemy ground.
But it was difficult to restrain himself. Her breasts were right there, barely enclosed with mere wisps of
black lace. A flick of his fingers would splay them across that luscious, tan flesh.
“You’ve been drinking blood?”
He nodded.
“Thought so. No kisses tonight, husband.”
With that, she strode out in a sweep of flowing sheer fabric and bouncing pink marabou.
No sympathy for this devil tonight. Creed eased a hand over his erection. Each time, her teasing play made him harder. The werewolf princess was getting under his skin.
And he liked that just fine.
But no man was a rock. Nor could any sane vampire avoid the lure of the exotic. Damn, but her blood smelled delicious. A dark sweetness he would know, and soon.
B
LU CLOSED THE BEDROOM
door and tugged off her wig. Sliding a hand down her neck, she traced her fingers over the warmth between her breasts and down her stomach where she absolutely flamed.
“Insufferable vampire.”
That man—that
vampire
—had gotten her hot. And he hadn’t even touched her.
It was the way he had looked at her. Those dark irises, surrounded by impeccable white. Focused. Delving. Promising. And maybe bemused. Like, if she had
touched him, he would have touched back. And that touch would have so been worth the effort of waiting in the theater room for two hours before he’d finally found her.
And when had she ever been turned on by a man’s voice? Creed’s was calm and measured, but had a burnished edge of darkness that vibrated at the base of her throat. Mercy, he could fuck a woman with that voice.
“This is so wrong.”
And yet, she’d set out this evening on a quest to gain control. And strangely, she’d earned some. He now knew it was she who would set the pace between them.
Maybe.
She turned her cheek against the wall. It was papered in old-fashioned flocked arabesques, and whispered against her skin. Sighing, she eased a finger down inside her black lace panties. She was wet. For
him.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong!”
But while flirting with a vampire should be disgraceful, it didn’t stop her from satisfying the ache that yearned for appeasement. She stroked herself, slowly, steadily.
The image of Creed’s sexy stare haunted her. Let him look. Let him hunger for her. Let him…make her hot and horny.
She didn’t need a man to feel good. She could take care of business by herself.
And she did, bringing herself to a climax, clinging to the wall, yet wanting it to be a man’s broad shoulders she clung to instead.
C
REED PAUSED AS HE PASSED
the guest bedroom door. Whimpers, moans, a huffing sigh. The sounds inside were unmistakable. She was…
“Pleasuring herself?”
Had she been turned on just now in the theater room? Had the saucy pink princess gotten as hot as he had?
“Oh, my sweet, wicked werewolf.”
He turned to grip the doorknob but stopped himself.
A smile crept onto his lips. The werewolf had gotten hot for the vampire.
Nodding, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “Nice.”
O
VER A MIXING BOWL
of Cap’n Crunch, Blu drowned her morning blues. She had never been a morning person. And though she’d yet to tip the night into dawn since the marriage—and had been getting to bed far too early—she still didn’t have to like the new day.
A few taps checked her cell phone. No messages.
Come on, Bree, I need contact with the real world.
And Ryan was being strangely silent. Had he already found himself a new girl? No, he was probably busy with the Western pack.