legs. When her stare returned to his, the air between them changed, that electric current igniting, the sexual attraction not returning so much as resurfacing because it had never really left her: With all distractions pushed aside, and the fact that they were alone together, she became keenly aware of her own body … and his.
“Sarah,” he said in that way he did, in that low growl of his.
The first thing that went through her mind was that if she wouldn’t remember this anyway, why not pursue the attraction? She had never judged people for having casual sex, and God, who could blame her for wanting him? But more to the point, there were going to be no aftershocks, no regrets, because she was going to have no memory of being with him, however the sex went.
Yet the instant those thoughts went through her mind, she threw them out. She had more self-respect, for one thing—she was going to own her decisions, whether or not she had any memory of what the sex was like. And for another, that kind of thinking dehumanized him, reducing him to a kinky sex toy she used in a proverbial hotel room while away on a business trip—nothing more than a romp outside her normal bandwidth that she didn’t need to feel guilty about because it was out of context and didn’t count.
Wait, “dehumanized” wasn’t the right word, was it. More like … “devampired him.” Or something.
Shit.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said.
In the back of her mind, she realized it was the second time he’d said that to her. And she believed him. Down to her core, she had this strange, abiding faith that, regardless of whatever else was being kept from her, when it came to keeping her safe, he was speaking the truth.
Sarah reached her hand up toward his face. And as if he knew what she wanted, he leaned in from his great height, giving her the warmth of his skin, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow, the cut of his jaw.
The instant the connection was made, she knew that she would do this anyway. She would choose him, this man—this male, she corrected—even if she would have memories that made her miss him for the rest of her life. And the strength of that conviction was such that she wished she would remember him. In fact, she wished for things even further along than that, things she was not going to get out of this … whatever it was.
Things like a future. A relationship. A partnership.
Which was nuts. She barely knew him—and had only just learned his kind even existed.
“Anywhere,” he groaned. “Touch me anywhere you want.”
When she glanced at the door and wondered if anyone was going to interrupt at an inopportune time, there was a subtle click, as if it locked itself. Before she decided whether that was alarming or not, he pointed to his chest.
“I did that—so we won’t be disturbed. But you’re free to go. The lock’s on this side and I will never stop you from leaving.”
“You always read my mind.”
He opened his mouth to reply—except as her fingertips brushed over his lower lip, the contact seemed to make him lose all thought.
“I’m not using you,” she told him. “I just want to be clear.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were.”
Sarah put her hands on the pads of his pecs and rode the big muscles up to his shoulders. Waves of that cologne he wore got into her nose anew, as if the sexual connection was turning up all her sensory receptors and amplifying everything.
God, he was big. And hard.
Everywhere.
“Kiss me,” she said as she tilted her head up.
In spite of his obvious strength, he was gentle with her, his hands slipping around her waist and pulling her against him just enough so that their clothes brushed. Thanks to the proximity, body heat ricocheted and magnified in the space between them, and then she wasn’t thinking about even that.
Murhder lowered his head … and kissed her.
Oh … wow. His lips were velvet on her own, all summer-breeze soft and slow as an August sunrise as they caressed hers. And she would have called the contact sweet, except no. His enormous body … his mysterious, other-than-human, incredibly powerful body … trembled, and that was what made everything utterly erotic: The subtle shaking meant he was holding himself in strict control, clamping down on his drive, chaining, jailing what was inside of him.