Accidentally Married To...A Vampire? (4 page)

“
This way. Waited so long for you..
.” This time, the voice was hypnotic: raw male strength intertwined with gut-wrenching need. Beauty dipped in layers of savage intent.

Clenching, unfathomable, bottomless desire penetrated her ears. Her mind suddenly felt like ropes of warm saltwater taffy.

“
Come to me,”
he called once again.

Every ounce of tension dissolved from her body. Control went with it.

Entranced, Helena glided effortlessly through the blackness toward the voice. She no longer felt the fear of being lost in the jungle or the pain in her knee; she felt only need. The need to be with…
him.

“
Sì, Sì. I can feel you. This way. Just a bit farther,”
the voice whispered, carried by the humidity-drenched breeze.
“I can feel your essence. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

When her hands hit a wall of cold, rough stone, she had no clue what sort of structure she’d touched or where she was, but she instinctively knew what to do. Her fingertips traced along the wall until they found a deep groove between the stones. She wedged her trembling hand into the crack and pushed with her index finger. The stones separated with a loud grinding, revealing a narrow torchlit passage.

She wanted to run, to brave the darkness of the jungle instead. But she couldn't answer the call of her own warning bells or command her very own body.

She crouched into the doorway and stepped inside the dimly lit rectangular passage. Oddly, there were no cobwebs. The torches looked bright and fresh. Someone had been there recently.
Merry Maids?

Step by step, she made her way. The narrow passage abruptly hooked to the right and then opened up into a spacious chamber with a high ceiling. Towering golden statues of ancient warriors, piles of polished gold coins, and jewel-encrusted treasure chests were heaped in every corner as if hastily deposited by a greedy pirate on the run with a wheel barrel.

There was a hot pink, flashing, neon sign stuck to the wall that spelled
Piggy Bank
. Right below it was a
Wheel of Fortune
slot machine and a lonely car bumper with two stickers. One read:
Live Free or Die
and the other
I Brake for Garage Sales
. And, was that an exercise cycle next to a Thigh Master?

What the hell is this place?

Then Helena’s eyes focused on something else she couldn’t quite grasp. In the middle of the room, lying across a stone altar, was a naked man with dark symbols tattooed down the length of one arm. But he was not just any man. He was a male so perfect that words would catfight each other just for the honor of describing him. He was a
god
. A bona fide deity. He had to be. Because a normal man wouldn’t give her the urge to fall to her knees and worship at his feet. Or drool.

The torchlight licked his sculpted cheekbones, angular jaw, and full, sensual lips. Every capacious curve and ripple of hard muscle looked to be packed with raw power, and his size left no doubt that he’d been built in another time. A time when giant warriors roamed the earth, looking to rescue lame tourists wandering the Mexican jungle at night.

In my dreams. Wait…this is a dream! It has to be.

“
Move closer my sweet, delicious woman.”
The deep voice radiated from every direction, filling the room.

Helena’s blood pressure crashed to the floor. She gasped as the weight of her body slammed back against the cold chamber wall to keep from falling.

“Hel-hello? Can you hear me?” Fists clenched, Helena waited for a response, her eyes continuing to soak him in. Every inch of him.

Was he real?
No, he must be a statue. Too perfect.
His full lips were built to nuzzle a woman’s neck. Specifically, her neck. And that hair—thick, long waves of black satin—was the kind a woman could grab fistfuls of while being driven insane by those lips.

Then there were the diamond-cut grooves of his abs, his perfectly shaped navel, the fine dark hair adorning his lower belly that trailed down to his awe-inspiring man-gear. The size and thickness, even in its slumbering state, was something women dreamed of and scores of artists throughout history attempted to immortalize in marble. He was every woman’s fantasy, she thought. And by every woman, she meant hers…
’Cause I’m not gonna share.

“
Kiss me, Helena,”
the seductive voice rumbled.

Had the man said her name? No. Clearly, his lips hadn’t moved. The margarita amoebas were attacking her brain and she was losing her mind.

“
Kiss me, woman. I command you
,” the voice echoed, this time compelling her to obey.

Helena’s survival instincts gave her a hard kick, jarring her back into the horrific reality of the situation. But as she tried to regain control of her body, her tongue slipped from her mouth and wet her lips.

Traitorous tongue. Backstabbing lips. What the hell are you doing
? Her body inched closer.

“
Sì, that is it, my love. I can smell your blood.”

Blood? What the...?
Every nerve in her body fired on all cylinders, but she couldn’t run even if her hair had been on fire. It seemed the harder she fought, the stronger the force controlling her became.

“
Brush it against my lips, my love. I want to taste you when you kiss me.”

Without realizing it, her hand stretched down to coat her fingertips with the thick, nearly dried blood from her knee. Trembling, she smeared it over his lips.

“
Now, kiss me, my love. Awaken me, my bride.”

“No! No! Let me go!” Helena struggled, but her body’s betrayal persisted. Her head dipped, and her lips rested on his sensuous mouth. In that instant, the compelling force dissipated and her entire body lit up into one glorious pyre of life.

Had she been asleep the last twenty-four years? Because she could swear she’d just taken her first breath. Ever.

Holy hell, what was that?

The torches flickered, and the wind kicked up around her.

The altar was empty.

She crumbled to the cold, dusty floor. A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind.

“Oh, Christ. You…you’re behind me, aren’t you?” she whispered.

The deep dark voice replied, “
Sì
, my love. Stand, and let me see my mate.”

Helena slowly rose to face the naked god behind her.

Chapter 2

Arms limp at her sides, knees shaking, Helena found herself staring straight up a cliff of solid muscles into the face of the most masculine creature she’d ever seen. She’d been impressed by the sight of him just lying there dormant. But awake? That was another story completely. One to tell her wine tasting slash historical romance book club buddies—The Wino Wenches.

“The expression displayed on your lovely face,” he said with a hint of amusement in his eyes, “indicates you are as confused as I. Let us make proper introductions. Then we shall sort through the particulars of our situation.” He made a slight bow of his head and then kissed the inside of her wrist. “I am Niccolo DiConti. Very pleased to meet you.”

His touch sent a sharp jolt through her arm, causing her insides to liquefy.

She snapped her hand back and scuttled against the cold, damp wall, trying to assess the situation. She’d never seen a man take up so much space. He didn’t simply eclipse her five-foot-four frame; he engulfed her with his presence.

Was he a threat? If yes, then why did she want to throw herself in his arms and treat him like her favorite boardwalk ride?
Could stay on that dang Tilta-Whirl all day long.

Her skin felt flushed, the muscles deep inside fluttered and constricted, and her nipples perked. For darn certain, that other sensation (which she was
not
going to think about) was her body telling her the time had come to give away that virginity of hers—just like those size seven jeans in the back of her closet.

How unkind to keep something someone else could put to good use. Greedy, greedy girl.

But she was
not
going to think about that. She should run. Everything about him screamed danger.

Her eyes made another sweep over his entire bare length. Darn it. She couldn’t help herself from looking. She'd never seen a man like him.

His dark eyes twinkled as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and arched one sable brow, “Pleased by what you see, then?”

Oh, yes.

“No.” She shook her head. “Who the hell are you?
”
Her eyes continued basking in every scrumptious detail.
Is that? Is he? Oh…Yes, he is.
Helena felt her face turn red hot. She quickly looked away as erotic images involving his erection flooded her imagination. What was happening to her? Her mind wasn’t normally in the gutter, or in this case, Lady-Pervert Land. On the other hand, this situation felt far from normal. Definitely disturbing. Maybe Lady-Pervert Land was her happy place. She'd always wondered where it was.

“Your eyes and body betray your words
.
Why do you deny your desire?” His dark gaze bore down as he studied her with curiosity.

Dammit.
She needed to clear her mind, but who could think with that heavenly smell wafting through the air? She could taste him on her tongue. Was that vanilla? Cinnamon? God save her, the man smelled like cookies. Gooey, warm, fresh out of heaven man-cookies.

She had to get a hold of herself. She had to run. Did she have a chance of making it out alive? Something told her “no.” Definitely no. The chamber exit, a narrow doorway, led to an even narrower passage that would dump her back into the dark jungle. She wouldn’t make it two feet before he barreled down on her with those powerful thighs.

Yes, powerful thighs. Ummm.
She ground her palm into her forehead
. Tramp! Get a hold of yourself.

She’d have to find a way out. She had to be strong, keep her wits.

She lifted her chin and glared at him defiantly. The fickle torchlight offered another tempting glimpse of his dark, probing eyes, and in that brief moment, she felt like he was staring right into her very soul.

“You are so lovely.” He reached out and brushed her cheek. “Your eyes, they are the color of exotic sapphires.” He slid a curl between his fingers. “And your hair is like the sun. I never imagined...”

She didn’t recognize the accent. Mediterranean or Spanish, perhaps? No. His name sounded Italian. Regardless of origin, his voice curled her toes just like the rest of him.

“Imagined?” she whispered.

The corner of his mouth twitched with an arrogant smirk. “You are my mate,
sì
?”

“Mate?”
Like, as in…first? Buddy? Other shoe?

Niccolo took another small step forward, lightly pressing his body, and every hard part in between, against hers. Her body instantly responded with prickly goose bumps.

“Your mate,” he said, then slowly bent his head to nuzzle her neck. “Designed by fate and the universe to be your ideal companion in every way.” His breath tickled her neck. He seemed to be completely absorbed in the act of nuzzling. “
Mio cuore
, don’t you believe in such a thing?" he continued in a low, seductive voice. “Human women were once enthralled by such a notion.”

Human?
With that word, Helena felt her body knot up with howls of self-preservation. She managed to get a hold of herself and push him away.

He grumbled in protest.

“Why did you just say ‘human’ like that? And what does ‘
mio cuore’
mean?” she asked with a breathy voice.

“My heart. It means my heart—Cimil did not explain the situation?” he asked.

Helena shook her head. “Who's Cimil?”

“Most interesting.” He paused as if about to explain, but instead reached out to clutch another lock of her hair. He bent down slowly and inhaled. “What is the date, my golden-haired one?”

This has to be a dream. There's no other explanation. But why does everything feel so real? Why do I feel so alive?

Not knowing what else to do, she simply answered, “August tenth.”

His hungry eyes raked over her neck then down to her breasts. He reached out and grabbed the hem of her neckline. He studied the knit fabric with curiosity as he’d done with her hair, feeling its texture between his thick thumb and index finger.