Flesh and Blood

His body was warm beneath her palm, another effect of her blood. She ached to feel his skin against hers, but the act of touching his black-inked body still shocked her. Wicked, wicked comarré. ‘It must really be something to feel when you’re not used to it.’

‘It is.’ Still holding her palm to his chest, he moved closer until their thighs touched. Heat penetrated the layers of silk. Such closeness was dangerous. Like him. The heat seeped into other parts of her body, and his scent surrounded her in a haze of spice and earth and possibility. ‘Now your turn.’

She twisted toward him and winced. She pulled her hand out of his and pressed it to her stomach. ‘Moved too fast.’

‘That won’t do.’ He slid his arms beneath her legs and around her back and just like that she was on his lap. His hands dropped to the small of her back and her knee, but his touch reverberated through her entire body.

The contact made her foolish and eager. And vulnerable. By now she should be used to feeling that way around Mal, but this was something more than just the defenselessness born of his being a vampire. It came from his being a man.

They were at eye level. And for some reason, he was still smiling.

‘Better?’

Oh, better was one word to describe it, but there were a few others she could come up with in her vampire-addled brain. Breathless. Electrifying. Frightening. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’ Fine. Because why not use a word that in no way scratched the surface of her emotion? She was as stunted as Mal when it came to relationships. Although the patron–comarré relationship was something she’d had plenty of experience with, this was nothing like that. Nothing. At. All.

‘Good.’ He lifted his hands to cup her face as his own shifted back to human, his fangs neatly out of the way. His thumbs smoothed her cheekbones. ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered. His eyes glittered as if something inside longed to be free, but he said nothing, just brought his mouth to hers.

She closed her eyes, shut out the weight of her past telling her not to enjoy it, and did exactly that. She reveled in the pressure and softness of his mouth. The tenderness with which he caressed her face. One of his hands went to the nape of her neck, gently massaging, then his fingers threaded into her hair. She shivered with the overload of sensation.

No wonder Maris had given up everything for Dominic. At that moment, Chrysabelle understood her mother. She sighed with contented pleasure, allowing herself to feel the bliss in the joining, and wondered what his bite would feel like. The question aroused an ache in her that nearly made her cry out.

She forced the thought away and concentrated on the kiss, because that was all they would ever share. A kiss. Just like the last one she’d had. Except that kiss hadn’t been with Mal. It had been with Creek.

Suddenly, guilt stung her, the memory of another man’s mouth on hers as sharp and hot as the signumist’s needle. She pulled away, her heart pounding. She hoped Mal thought it was because of the kiss and not because there was something unconfessed between them. He would be furious if he knew. Enough to harm Creek.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘Why do you … like me?’ The question came out before she could stop it, but she was glad it had. She wanted to know. With Creek now in her life, she needed to know what kept Mal coming back to her. ‘Is it just the blood?’

His face darkened. ‘No.’

‘Then what?’

He stared into her eyes, his lips parting, then closing again like he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. ‘The voices tell me not to. That’s reason enough for me.’

She dropped her head, nodding.

‘And,’ he continued, ‘I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re … good. And yet you still like me.’

She lifted her head to look at him again, but he turned away so she couldn’t see his eyes.

He wasn’t a bad man, no matter what his curse had made him do. She caressed his hand. ‘Thank you for the kiss. I’m sure that was enough.’

He turned back to her, eyes blazing silver. ‘I’m not.’ He retook her mouth like he had a right to it.

Another full minute passed before the guilt ate its way back into her brain. She broke the kiss for good. Tried to breathe. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

He laughed softly, his face very close to hers. ‘Yes, clearly that was all about helping you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It’s okay to take pleasure from life. There’s far too little of it for most. You and I especially. Don’t deny what comes your way.’

Denying pleasure was not her problem, but he didn’t know that. She sighed.

He raised his brows. ‘Or perhaps you found no pleasure in that kiss? If so, you should have been an actress, because it certainly seemed you did.’

‘No, it’s not that. Kissing you’ – the very words heated her skin – ‘is definitely pleasurable. At least when you intend it that way, it is.’

He sat back. ‘Ah, so I’m to be punished for past transgressions?’

‘Just making a comparison is all.’ Because she was not comparing Mal to Creek. Not in any way.

‘Then what is it?’

She’d wanted the kiss. Now she must deal with the emotions it had created. She eased off his lap and onto her feet. Already her senses sharpened and the tightness of her wounds lessened. ‘It’s my past, the last century of my life, lived in a very different way. It weighs on me. Colors my actions. I am still very much comarré at heart, despite the new circumstances of my life. Those rules are hard to discard.’ If that was what she even chose to do. Sometimes those rules made more sense than anything else she knew. Having no man was infinitely simpler than having two. She shook her head and walked around the couch to the door. ‘Am I comarré? Am I human? What rules do I live by? I’m not making excuses. Or maybe I am.’ She rested her hand on the door frame and turned. He stood on the other side of the couch, staring at her. ‘I just need time.’