“I don’t understand,” she said, holding on to her patience with a thin thread. “You’ve been pissed at me all night, barely spoken a word to me, and now suddenly, you’re insisting we sleep in the same bed? You don’t even like—”
Without warning Vincent moved, and he was right in front of her, their bodies touching, his big, warm hand cupping her cheek. “I like you just fine, querida,” he whispered.
Heat rolled through every inch of Lana’s body, that one touch igniting a vivid flashback of feeling Vincent’s breath hot against her neck, the sting of his bite all too quickly swamped by a firestorm of sensation that built to an orgasm unlike any she’d ever experienced. She took a blind step backward, hitting the sharp corner of the dresser with enough pain that her head cleared. She blinked and moved sideways, putting even more space between herself and the temptation of Vincent’s touch.
“It’s nearly sunrise,” she said brusquely, giving up her argument about the sleeping arrangements. After all, what did it matter? Once it was daylight, it would be like Vincent wasn’t there anyway. “Do you want to shower?” she asked.
“Is that an invitation?”
He said it lightly, but the look in his eyes belied the teasing tone of his words.
“Vincent,” she said almost desperately, but anger was beginning to seep in too. He was toying with her and she detested that.
“Fine,” he said, dragging the word out and making his suffering clear. “I’ll shower. Don’t leave the room.”
“Yes, Master.”
She meant it sarcastically, but he crooked a half smile at her, then, in typical Vincent fashion, he proceeded to strip off his clothes before strolling into the small bathroom with every inch of his naked body on display. Every inch.
Lana sucked in a breath, holding it until the door closed and the shower came on. Thank God for Jerry. Because she was weak. If the other vampire hadn’t been only a few feet away, she’d probably be in that shower with Vincent right now.
She stared at the closed bathroom door and frowned, not knowing if she was disappointed or relieved at her current predicament. One thing she knew for sure, though; she was tired. Wiped out. Not so tired that she was going to sit on that bedspread, however. Tossing the faded and threadbare covering in a corner, she sat on the bed and untied her boots, then tugged them off one at a time, followed by her socks. She eyed the carpet doubtfully, then thought about putting the dirty socks back on her sweaty feet, and said the hell with it. It felt too good to be barefoot. So she ignored the likelihood that the carpet hadn’t been cleaned in the last decade or three and curled her unfettered toes in pleasure.
There was no closet, only hooks on the wall near the door. She hung her jacket on one and wished she could take off the rest of her clothes, too. They’d been traveling steadily southward and temperatures were going up, along with the humidity, and it was hot and stuffy in the room. She looked around for some sort of thermostat or fan unit, but didn’t find one. Normally, she’d have opened the door to let some air in, but Vincent would probably freak if he emerged from his shower to find the door open. Not because he was naked. No, that wouldn’t bother him at all, she was sure. But because they still didn’t know if Camarillo’s people were on their trail.
She lifted her gaze to the lone window, which Jerry had said was meant for circulation. There was a crank handle to open and close it, but looking around, she couldn’t find any means of reaching that handle way the hell up near the ceiling. She started eyeing the furniture, figuring out what might serve as a ladder, then sighed. It didn’t matter. The window would have to be covered anyway, since that stubborn-ass vampire insisted on sleeping out here instead of inside with Jerry.
Muttering imprecations against vampires in general and one in particular, she walked over to study the window more closely and saw the remains of a miniblind stuck at the top of the frame. It was so crusted with dirt and grease that it blended into the shadow of the ceiling in the poorly-lit room, which was why she hadn’t seen it right off. It was also missing any sort of rod or rope pull, but she could release it if . . . She went back to her earlier examination of the furniture. There was a tiny table and two unmatched chairs, neither of which appeared sturdy enough to hold her weight. The table, on the other hand . . . she dragged it over to the wall under the window and clambered up. The table was actually a little too high, and she had to bend her head to avoid hitting the ceiling.
She examined the blinds and discovered that, while the rod was total history, the rope was still there, tangled and knotted, but in working order. Fortunately, in an act of poor planning or dumb luck, she hadn’t taken her pants off yet and so still had the small knife in her pocket. Not caring about being able to raise the blind again, she simply pulled out her knife and cut the rope, which freed the slats to slither downward in an untidy shower of filthy aluminum. Lana coughed as God knew how many years of dirt and dust wafted outward. She waved a hand in front of her face and examined the now-lowered miniblind, making small adjustments to seal off as much light as possible. And as she worked, she noticed something unexpected. There was light in the sky already. Not the full-on sun beaming into her eyes kind of light, but not the barely-there gray sky kind either.
She had a moment of worry for Vincent in the shower, concerned that he’d cut it too close and been taken unaware, but then the water turned off and she could hear him moving around. She climbed down, then hurried over to her duffel and threw it on the bed. The door opened and she forced herself to continue rearranging her clothes, separating the clean from the dirty, counting her socks. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that Vincent was standing a few feet away from her, and probably naked. She wondered if it was his habit to walk around that way, or if he only did it to torment her. Not that she was tormented. Not at all.
“The shower’s all yours, Lana,” he crooned. How did he do that? Make everything sound like a seduction. He was telling her the most ordinary of things, but with his deep, smooth voice, the simple words sent goosebumps shivering over her skin.
She fought to control her body’s reaction, knowing his vampire senses could detect things she’d rather he didn’t know. “Thanks,” she said, without looking up. “How long ’til sunrise?” she asked curiously, thinking about the sunlight beyond the window.
“Official sunrise has passed,” he said, surprising her into looking up. “Humans calculate sunrise with the first edge of the sun over the horizon. Powerful vampires—” At this he touched his chest. And, yes, he was completely naked. “—can hold out until the full orb rises,” he explained.
“Can you go outside in this light?” she asked, more curious than embarrassed.
He walked over to the bed and bent to pull back the covers. Lana jerked away from it, like it was on fire, then covered her reaction by grabbing her duffel and moving it to the top of the well-used dresser. Vincent didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked, “Is it only that I’m close to you, querida, or is it rather hot in here?”
“It’s hot,” she confirmed. She heard the glide of skin on the sheets and dared to turn around again. Vincent was sitting up in bed, his back against the flimsy headboard, the white sheet pulled barely up to his hips in a stark contrast to the beautiful mocha skin he’d inherited from his Guatemalan mother. He gave a low, masculine chuckle that snapped her eyes up to meet his, and his smile was whiter than the sheets and a thousand times sexier. Unless one considered what those sheets were barely managing to cover.
She bit back a groan. “Are you going to answer my question?” she asked, managing—just—to keep her voice cool and businesslike. “If you can stay awake in this light, can you go outside?”
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said, giving her calculating look, but then he shrugged. “No, sunlight is sunlight, whether from an edge or the whole thing. It’s only the sleep I can defer. Regrettably, even that time is short, so I can’t seduce you as you deserve. But we do have time to make out if you’d like.” His expression was perfectly innocent . . . and it didn’t fool her for a moment.
Lana gave him a dark look, which turned speculative as she considered not only what he’d said, but how he’d said it. “Your English is very good, you know,” she commented. “Colloquialisms like that one, make out, are the most difficult thing to learn.”
Vincent stretched his arms over his head, then laced his fingers and leaned back, his muscles flexing enticingly. He had to know what he looked like, had to be doing that on purpose.
“My lieutenant, Michael, is American,” he said, settling in. “Born and raised in California, and not that long ago. He’s been mine less than twenty years. His Spanish is quite good by now, but he still prefers American entertainment—television and movies, sports, too. And between us, we always speak English. It helps keep our language skills current.”
“Well, it’s working.”
“Michael will be gratified to know that.” His eyes drooped and he gave her a sleepy smile. “My apologies, querida. We’ll have to save the making out for later tonight.”