He laughed softly and framed her face with his hands, tipping her mouth toward his. “I will have to work much harder to convince you I am worth far more to you alive than dead. I am certain, given time, you will see just what I can do for you.”
He brought his head down slowly. Very slowly. She should have turned her face away. He was holding her there, but his hands were gentle and she could have escaped. But no. His mouth was too tempting. The look in his eyes was warm, moving right on to hot, and she knew the taste of him.
He took her mouth gently. Well. It started out that way, and then he was kissing her hard and deep, sending her entire body into some kind of weird meltdown. She melted from the inside out due to the firestorm rushing through her. When he lifted his head she heard, to her everlasting shame, a moan of protest escape her throat. She blinked up at him, feeling dazed. Weak. Her hands were fisted in his shirt and she clung to him.
“Trixie. Hän sívamak. You have to let go. I cannot wait any longer. I am needed, but I will return as quickly as possible.”
She nodded, looking at him. Tasting him. The fire not even tamping down a little bit. Not. One. Little. Bit.
“Hän sívamak,” he repeated, his tone tender, turning her heart over. His hands came up to hers and he gently removed her fingers from where they clenched his shirt.
She blinked some more, trying to come out of her fog. Out from under his spell. Where was Trixie? The woman she knew. The woman who handled any situation without so much as batting an eyelash. She was so far out of her depth she had no clue how to react.
“Say you will wait for me,” he prompted.
At that precise moment she would have given him anything. She would have stripped naked and wound her body around his. She would have . . .
“Trixie.” It was his turn to groan. “I am reading your mind, woman, and you are not making this easy for me.”
She felt exactly how she wasn’t making it easy. He was pressed up against her, tightly, his body hard. Hot. Deliciously hard. Without thinking, her hand slid down to the bulge there, wrapped around as much as she could get so that he pressed into her palm. She felt the answering jerk and found herself smiling. And happy. He wanted her. Again. She didn’t have one lick of experience. She was old. Cobwebby. A dried-up prune, and he still wanted her. This gorgeous man.
She stepped back to give him room to leave, but her hand didn’t leave his cock. She felt him, scorching hot, burning through the material of his trousers. If he wanted to leave, he was going to have to step away from her.
“I am going to make you beg me,” he warned softly. “When I come back, I will have you again, and this time you will beg for release and I will not give it to you for a long, long time.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave him the haughty look she’d perfected on schoolteachers and principals at the schools where her granddaughters went. The teachers assumed—rightly—her lack of education, but one haughty look and they stopped being so judgmental.
“There will be no more sex until we’re in a proper bed with nice sheets. A bed I can go to sleep in afterward. Because camping is not my thing and I’m too old to be having sex on the ground. I’ve got enough aches and pains without adding to them.” Of course, she was fairly certain she deserved a good time after so many years of absolute nothing. This gorgeous man wanted her again, dirt floor or not, she was there. But she preferred a bed.
Fane hooked his hand around her neck, laughing softly. “I will take care of the aches and pains and see to any of your requests on my return.”
He leaned close, brushed his lips over hers and just like that he was gone. As in gone. The magician kind of gone. As in vanishing in thin air, which was a little disconcerting to say the least. What was he? If he was a vampire, wouldn’t he feel evil even if he didn’t look evil? Frankly, she didn’t care. She was in a foreign country. No one, not even Teagan, knew where she was. Well. Not precisely. She was going to take as much as she could get from Mr. Gorgeous and then carry it home with her. A wonderful secret.
He’d woken her body after so many years of emptiness. Of being alone. When she was with him, she didn’t feel alone. She felt alive and incredibly happy. She loved her girls and her great-grandchildren, but for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful and special to someone.
“Although,” she murmured aloud, “I’d feel a lot more special if he had a bed.”
She went to the door and opened it, looking out into the night. Fog swirled above the monastery. It was dense and dark, like a veil pulled over the entire fortress. She heard voices, muted, but male. They didn’t sound happy, and she shivered and stepped out of the building. She was exhausted and nothing that had happened to her since she’d entered the monastery seemed real, but she knew it was. She wasn’t caught in a dream or a hallucination. She couldn’t conjure up a Mr. Gorgeous, not like him—she didn’t have that kind of imagination.
Her granddaughters thought she was going insane when she made the mistake of telling them about vampires. Esmeralda had shown her video recordings and at first she thought they were faked, but eventually she became certain they were real. The idea of those monsters living anywhere near her grandchildren made her crazy. She’d protected them all her life, and Esmeralda admitted that Teagan would be a prime candidate for a vampire’s victim. He would be drawn by her gifts. Everyone knew Teagan had gifts.
She’d been just as susceptible to Esmeralda’s bullshit as she had been to Fane’s touch. She was fairly certain her loneliness had made her susceptible. She didn’t have that many friends, and she found herself on the Internet in the chat rooms with Esmeralda as often as she could, just because they laughed so much together. She loved having a friend.
Another sound reached her ears. Not male this time. Distinctly female, and whoever the woman was, she was crying. Muted. But definitely weeping. Like her heart was broken and there was no fixing it. Trixie tried to appear tough and mean, but she’d raised five girls and she was just as susceptible to a girl’s genuine tears as she was to Esmeralda’s bullshit and Fane’s touch.
The sound was coming from inside a building. Fane had told her not to go into any of them, but she couldn’t bear the sound of those heartbroken sobs. She made her way across the yard barefoot, because when Fane had clothed her, he had remembered underwear but forgotten shoes. She frowned. She didn’t think Fane was the type of man to forget too much, and she couldn’t get very far on the mountain, hiking around barefoot. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake after all.
The dirt was soft under her feet, not at all rocky like she expected, almost like a thick carpet. She could see it was rich in minerals and somehow, although she wasn’t a barefoot sort of woman outside, she liked the connection to the earth. The soles of her feet seemed to absorb the minerals, and the spots where she was aching from the hours of hiking in her boots just seemed to heal. No blisters. No pain at all. She curled her toes into the dirt while she stood at the door, staring at it, listening to the sound of sobs. She raised her hand and knocked.
The sobbing didn’t stop. She was fairly certain whoever was inside hadn’t heard. She dropped her hand to the carved handle and pushed the door open easily. Just as Fane’s house was only four walls and a roof, with a dirt floor, so was this one. In the middle of the floor was a young woman lying curled up on a thick carpet. A blanket lay over her, but it was clear she was naked underneath it.
Moving closer to the crying woman, Trixie could see marks on her skin. Bruises. Love bites. Smudges that looked like fingerprints. Her heart turned over. What if this had been Teagan or one of her other girls? She couldn’t leave her like this. In fact, she needed to come up with another weapon or two and help this child escape.
Trixie crouched down beside the girl and laid a gentle hand on her forehead. “Honey-child, you’re going to make yourself sick.”
The woman lifted her tear-soaked lashes, now long and spiky, her gaze startled, her dove gray eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Did I disturb you? You could hear me?” She sounded frightened, and she sat up, pulling the blanket around her.
At least the woman had a carpet to sit on, much better than Trixie’s sleeping bag. Trixie sat on the edge, close to the woman without waiting for an invitation. “I’m Trixie. Trixie Joanes.”