Blood Mate (2 page)

“They’re
working late. They’ll be pouring over depositions. It’s your
people we’d have to worry about.”

“The flower
shop? Oh, please. You think any of them can afford to go out to
Au
Soleil
? On a weeknight, no less? They aren’t rolling in
it like you, baby.”

“Good point.”
He rushed her, tossing her back on the bed again to smother her with
more kisses.

“Dominic, it’s
mid-afternoon, I need a shower. Not again.” She fake-smacked at his
groping hands, giggling as she squirmed away.

He rolled her over
and smacked her bottom much harder than their playful antics would
suggest. She knew from the sting alone that he’d left a print.

“Fine. Get that
cute ass in the shower, then, and don’t let the butterflies get
you!”

“You’re
confusing me with Uncle Chuck. I don’t have flying insect
delusions, thank you.” She almost regretted telling him that story
now. It was just a joke to Dominic, but the idea that a blood
relative could have such vivid delusions had played as a low
background drumbeat signaling some future doom.

“Want company? I
could protect you from them.”

She laughed, and
the drumbeat receded. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly
wonderful,” he said with his cheesy toothpaste commercial smile. He
smiled like that to drive her insane.

“Stop, I’ll
die laughing. Literally.”

He allowed her to
retreat into the bathroom, but she wasn’t surprised when he joined
her a few minutes later. She needed to get the lock on that door
fixed. She suspected Dominic had broken it on purpose despite his
innocent protests to the contrary. He wouldn’t want a door locked
to him where she might be waiting naked on the other side.
Opportunities like that were for taking advantage of in his book.

She leaned against
the shower wall and sighed as his large hands roamed over her body
with the soap. She wanted to melt into those strong, warm hands. As
long as his hands were on her, nothing else could ever touch her. He
was warmth, protection, pleasure that drove away all bad thoughts and
fears. His hands slid over her breasts and down between her legs to
rub the spot she was sure couldn’t handle any more pleasure today.

“How is this
going to work for getting me clean?” she asked, trying to sound
firm, but the words spilled out in a whimper.

“How does dry
cleaning work? It’s a mystery of life. Just accept that it does.”

She rolled her
eyes but didn’t protest as his fingers dipped inside her. She’d
thought he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure from her, but Dominic
was skilled at much more than law.

He stopped before
she reached completion and bent her forward. His mouth brushed the
side of her ear. “Put your hands on the shower floor and spread
your legs wide for me.”

She wanted to
protest, claiming fatigue. They’d fucked so many times in the past
six hours she thought she might die from it.

“Nicole…
now
,”
he practically growled.

She reached behind
her to run her still soap-slick hands over his erection. How he was
still going was anybody’s guess. She wondered if he’d taken an
herbal or medical enhancement. When she didn’t move quickly enough,
Dominic put her into the position he wanted her in and impaled her
with one quick thrust.

He was large and
thick, and that first thrust always left her gasping and with a
twinge in her stomach that felt like a free fall. It did something to
her that kept her from ever resenting his demands on her body. She
braced her hands against the shower floor, half-grateful he wasn’t
going to make her come again.

“That’s it,
sweetheart. Just take it,” he rumbled.

His breathing came
harder, and he finished fast as the water pounded down cooler on
them. When he pulled out of her, she crumpled to the shower floor and
leaned against the rounded corner.

Dominic shut the
water off and came back with a bathrobe. He wrapped the terrycloth
around her and helped her out.

“My poor baby,”
he said, as he kissed the hollow of her throat. “Did I break you
this time?”

Nicole smiled
weakly up at him. “I’m spent. This has to be the last time
today.”

“No promises.”
He swatted her bottom through the robe, then went to his side of the
double sinks and ran a comb through his hair. “Why don’t you run
to the coffee shop and get us our usual?”

She jumped at the
opportunity for a reprieve. It was the only way she’d go five
minutes unmolested. Her husband was in fine form today.

***

The coffee shop
was small and intimate and local. They made Cuban coffee—an
espresso blend that was strong but not too bitter. It was all Dominic
would drink when he worked into the night, and he’d brought Nicole
along for the ride of his addiction.

She’d never been
able to go for drinking it black like her husband and always ended up
with a frothy, cold drink that more resembled a milkshake than
coffee. When he’d tried to convert her to real coffee, her response
had been, “You can take my frappés from my cold dead hands.”

Dominic had
decided against killing her in favor of allowing her this one vice.

“Hey, Nicolette,
your usual?” The woman had read Nicole’s given name off her
credit card one day, and Nicole hadn’t bothered to correct her with
the less formal version she went by. Nicolette was a nice change. It
made her feel sophisticated and mysterious. It fit the atmosphere of
the place.

The barista was a
rotund redhead who made overweight elegant. If Nicole were the same
size, she was sure she wouldn’t look so amazing.

She sighed. “Yes,
we are boring people.”

The barista
laughed and rang up the order.

That was when
Nicole sensed the man behind her. How she knew it was a man, she
couldn’t be sure. Was he wearing a touch of cologne or aftershave
she’d picked up on? Had she heard heavier footfalls behind her that
had faded into the background of her awareness? But no, he’d been
silent as a ghost.

The hair on the
back of her neck stood up, and unable to stand it any longer, she
turned to find out who was crowding her space. She feared she’d
discover no one there—a sure sign of going crazy, but a man
was
there. He stood no closer to her than was appropriate in any coffee
line. It had only felt like an invasion of her personal bubble.

The man wore dark
jeans and a gray sports jacket. A Rolex glinted at his wrist. Whereas
Dominic had light brown hair, this man’s hair was so black it was
as if he colored it with a bottle of pure evil. His eyes were a light
hazel that almost glowed against his swarthy skin. There was
something sad in his smile, but also something dangerous.

The silver cross
around his neck advertised piety. But the religious jewelry did
nothing to assuage her anxiety or convince her of his inherent
goodness. Those eyes were too empty for that.

“Turn around and
get your coffee,” he ordered, obviously used to being obeyed. Who
the hell did he think he was?

“Excuse me?
You’re a little rude, aren’t you? Did they not cover charm in the
charm school you attended?”

“What’s your
name?” He didn’t seem aware of the non sequitur or the continued
inappropriate rudeness. The man didn’t have an ounce of social
grace.

When she didn’t
answer, he grabbed her arm. His grip wasn’t harsh, but somehow it
still burned. There was something wild and frightening about this
man.

“WHAT is your
name? Tell me.”

“No. Hands off!”
She pulled her arm from his grasp.

Panic entered his
eyes as he looked around the coffee shop for reactions, but aside
from the two of them and the barista, the place was vacant.

He regrouped. “I
apologize. I don’t know what… it’s… you remind me of
someone I once knew. I’m August.”

He offered a hand
for her to shake, but it was too late to be disarming. Nicole
couldn’t bring herself to touch him. Instead she deflected with,
“That’s a name?”

“Augustine, but
people look at you funny with that name.”

People probably
looked at him funny with August.

He was trying to
relax her, trying to charm her with his smooth smile and now
twinkling eyes. And maybe if she were someone else, it would have
worked. But she was immune to what passed for charming from the
majority of the local assholes. No doubt he’d left a long line of
destroyed women in his wake, their wounded hearts laid out to shrivel
and die in the hot sun.

She turned back to
the barista, working to ignore the deep gut instinct that said
turning her back on this man was dangerous.
Predator
, her mind
screamed in the same tone one might shout
idiot
or
don’t
go down that dark hallway.
She wondered if her senses would have
been this finely tuned if she were alone and seeking a man.
Empirically, he was hot. This one would have wrecked her, maybe in
the find-your-bones-seven-months-later-in-a-ravine way.

“Here you are,
Nicolette.” The barista passed her the two coffee beverages, one
cold, one hot.

She took the
drinks and made a beeline out the door.

The bell over the
door rang again, and she knew he’d followed. Her heart thudded in
her throat. Another block to her car and everything would be fine. It
was bright and sunny out. There were people. He wasn’t going to
take her. And what? Fling her down in the middle of the street and
have his way with her? She was oversexed. Imagining things.

“Nicolette,
wait!”

That stupid
barista and her first-name basis with regulars. It was a great reason
to pay cash.

The melancholy in
his tone caught her off guard and made her turn. She was surprised
he’d moved as fast as he had without getting winded. He didn’t
just
seem
in great shape. If he decided to chase her, she
couldn’t outrun him. She tried not to look terrified. Dominic would
forgive her for throwing his coffee in this man’s face if it would
keep her safe.

“I’m sorry. I
don’t know what was wrong with me back there. I didn’t mean to
frighten you or make you uncomfortable. I’m having a weird day.”
He offered a sheepish grin.

The alarm bells
rang so loud they vibrated out of her. Everything inside her warned
that she must put as much distance between herself and this man as
possible. And fast.

“It’s okay,”
she said, trying to disengage the conversation, backing toward her
silver Lexus as she spoke.

“Perhaps we
could get coffee sometime.”

“I’m afraid I
can’t. I’m married.”

His gaze lingered
too long on her ring before he looked back into her eyes with a naked
hope that scared Nicole in still more ways.

“Happily?” he
ventured.

“Yes, very. I’m
sorry, I have to go. My husband’s coffee will get cold.” She
forced herself to turn away, fighting every instinct that considered
it unwise.

She held her
breath until she was locked inside her car and had pulled safely onto
the street. She regretted glancing into the rear view mirror to find
him standing in the road, a determined expression on his dark face.

Chapter Two

August’s mind
raced as he got into the black Bugatti to follow her. Could she be…
? No, of course not. It was a fairy tale. It wasn’t real. But
there was no denying that Nicolette had resisted thrall. He’d been
annoyed when she’d stared as if he were a museum piece.

Women displayed a
morbid fascination with him, which would last until they were in his
cellar. Then it would be gone unless he enthralled them to prolong
the illusion. And such wasted magic required him to feed more.

He’d slipped the
command into his words, his eyes boring holes into hers as he’d
told her to turn around. When that awful zombie-robot thing hadn’t
happened to her face and she hadn’t obeyed his order, everything
stopped. All the sounds he could hear miles away silenced. The smells
muted. The colors grew fuzzy. All that existed was her, glowing
brilliantly like the one shining star on an otherwise cloudy night.

Hope. Salvation.
He could stop hurting people. He could stop suffering. He’d tried
again, not yet daring to believe. He’d put every ounce of force he
could into demanding she obey him. He’d touched her to forge a
stronger connection, but no, she couldn’t be controlled by a
vampire’s thrall. At least not
his
thrall.

It had taken a few
moments to collect himself. He didn’t remember how to deal with
human beings without controlling their minds, how to persuade or gain
what he wanted without that touch of black art that made them fall
into his arms.

She had blonde
hair that fell in delicate waves halfway down her back. He imagined
she was gorgeous getting out of bed in the morning with that hair
tousled and in disarray, falling forward to conceal her breasts from
a hungry male gaze. Her skin was luminescent. Her eyes were the color
of blue topaz, fringed with dark lashes. She was willowy and delicate
but with enough curve to not be boyish. She was, in a word,
beautiful.

But none of that
mattered. Her beauty, though appealing, wasn’t what made her
special. She could have been thirty pounds overweight and frumpy with
dull, brown hair and eyes the color of dishwater. She could have been
fifty-five with deep crow’s feet and a bad knee. Nothing mattered
to him but the fact that he couldn’t control her mind, that she
could save him if she were willing. She could have been somebody’s
grandmother, and he would have dedicated the rest of his eternity to
her because nothing was more attractive than salvation to a man
condemned forever.

But she was
perfect, except for that one detail.

Married. Happily.

August’s mind
went back to the woman he’d released the night before, the one who
would have stayed with him, who felt bad for him. He didn’t care
that her strongest emotion for him had been pity, she would have
saved him. She could have been his blood mate if her mind weren’t
so weak against vampire thrall. As angry as it had made him, as
unfair as it had been, he couldn’t bring himself to punish the one
soul in centuries who’d seen the truth of his suffering and shown
him compassion.