caught in a high wind, as his knuckles caressed her cheek.
"Don't." She forced the word from a mouth gone dry.
"You want me, too."
"It isn't right." She swallowed hard. "It isn't natural." She'd hurt him now. She could see it in the depths of his eyes... those devil black eyes that could look as soft as velvet or as hard as granite.
"There's nothing unnatural about what I want from you," he replied, his voice sandpaper rough. "Do you deny you've thought of it, wondered about it?"
She yearned to deny it with every fiber of her being, but she knew she couldn't lie to him. She could lie to herself as much as she wished, she could even voice the words aloud to Grigori, but it would be a waste of breath, because he could read the truth in her mind, the feelings in her heart.
Grigori held out his hand. "Come to me, Marisa."
"Please, don't ask me." He was close, so close. Too close. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pants to keep from reaching for him, and yet, in spite of all she could do, she felt herself being inexplicably drawn toward him. Was it Grigori's own inherent power exerting its influence over her, she wondered, or was it her foolish heart overruling her mind?
Feeling as though she were moving in slow motion, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and placed it in his, felt his long, cool fingers curl around hers.
His arm slid around her waist, his touch light, yet she felt the latent strength in that arm, knew he could break her in half if he had a mind to. But there was no violence in him now.
Gently, ever so gently, he wrapped her in his embrace and covered her mouth with his. Magic flowed between them, cocooning them in a world that was big enough for only the two of them, a world where there was no night and no day, no wrong or right, only one man and one woman who should never have met.
She pressed herself against him, felt his arm tighten around her waist as he deepened the kiss. His free hand skimmed over her back, slid forward to brush the curve of her breast. Fire shot through her at his touch. Heat uncurled deep within her as every nerve, every fiber of her being, responded to his nearness, to the silent invitation of his lips. Never before, she thought, never before had she felt like this. She had been kissed, she had been caressed, but nothing had aroused her like the tender touch of Grigori's hands, the gentle persuasion of his kisses.
She felt the heat of passion warm her skin and flush her cheeks. She ached deep inside, ached for his touch, for his possession. He was the reason she had never slept with another man. She had been waiting, waiting for the enchantment that came with this man's touch.
"Marisa," His breath fanned her cheek. His lips feathered across her brow, the tip of her nose, the curve of her cheek. "Cara mia, mi vita, mi amore."
A low moan rose in her throat at the wanting in his voice, a wanting that thrummed through her with every beat of her heart.
She felt his lips at her throat, felt his tongue explore the pulse beating in the hollow there.
He groaned as, abruptly, he put her away from him. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.
"What's wrong?" She stared at him, still caught up in the passion that had burned so brightly between them.
"I think we shall have to postpone this for another time."
"Why?" Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He was staring at her throat, his nostrils flared, his hands tightly clenched.
"I should have known better than to come to you when I'm not fully in control." He dragged a hand through his hair, hating the Hunger raging through him, the images that chased themselves across his mind - images of Marisa enfolded in his arms, images of himself bending over her, his fangs bared. "Good night, Marisa."
"Good night," she replied, but he was already gone, leaving her feeling bereft and unfulfilled.
Chapter Twenty-four
She stayed up late that night. She told herself it was because she wasn't tired, that she wanted to watch Jay Leno because Mel Gibson was going to be on.
When the Leno show was over, she changed into her nightgown, then plucked a book off the shelf. She'd read it before, but it was one