Grace (2 page)

He stepped farther into the box as he spoke, sweeping a glance over the two of them and instantly dismissing Grace’s companion in favour of looking at her. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes as she stiffened slightly.

“Of course, Mr. Conrad, please do.” Grace’s voice was calm and collected as she motioned him to come in and join them. She indicated the empty chair to her left. Her companion, who occupied the chair to her right, shot Jaron a dark glance from under her lashes.

If looks could kill…
  He smiled his thanks as he sat down, lethal grace in every line of his body.

“Thank you. Did you enjoy the ballet this evening?”

“Boring. The lead dancer was flat-footed and the orchestra was off-key,” the other woman said, flicking her hair back over her shoulder and crossing her legs. A gesture designed to bring attention to their long, slim length. Jaron spared her a glance.

Taller than Grace, she had a slightly heavier build. Her face was familiar, her elfin features similar to Grace’s. A relative, of some sort. But instead of Grace’s vibrant coloring, deep red hair and emerald eyes, this woman was a faded, washed out version, and her strawberry blonde locks and brown eyes did nothing for Jaron.

“I thought it was a good performance.” Jaron looked back and forth between the two women as he tried to figure out the relationship. Sister, maybe? No, their scents weren’t close enough, even if you discounted the sickly perfume this one was wearing. Cousin, perhaps?

“Fayte, would you go and check whether the car
has arrived for us yet, please?” Grace’s voice cut between them.

“Oh I’m sure it has; John’s usually early.” Fayte turned a bright smile on Jaron as she leaned forward, displaying her ample cleavage. Jaron ignored her. He knew her type—all false tits and equally plastic personality. Not something that appealed to him, except maybe as a way to slake the darker needs within him for ten minutes or so. He turned back to Grace.

Grace was a different matter. She’d captured his attention from the moment he’d first seen her a couple of years ago. This close to her, within touching distance of her delicate, fragrant skin, his cock ached and hardened in his pants until it almost burst through his bloody zipper.

Grace flushed scarlet, her voice sharp as she repeated her request. “Fayte, go and check if the car has arrived, please.”

Fayte huffed. Even softly spoken, Grace’s words were an order. One designed to set the other woman in her place and remind her who was boss. He’d teach Grace who was boss alright… In his bed. Bent over his bed. Tied to his bed. Jaron shook his head to dislodge the wayward thoughts. He needed to keep sex off his mind—not an easy task when her delicate perfume, warmed by the erotic fragrance of her skin, wrapped around him in a siren’s call.

Fayte stood, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she flounced out. “
Bloody pervert. Probably can’t get it up for anything other than a bloody cripple.
”

She’d muttered the insulting comment, but obviously meant for both of them to hear. Jaron wasn’t surprised. The woman had a spiteful aura. He’d noted the jealousy in her eyes whenever she looked at Grace.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Hear what?” He turned a blinding smile on her as he shifted closer and closed in for the kill…

Oh lord, he’s handsome.

Grace felt her traitorous body relaxing, turning to him like a flower toward the sun. His arm wrapped around her, resting across the back of her seat. Grace shivered.

“Thank you.” She offered a small, grateful smile. Sometimes the things Fayte said embarrassed her but normally her cousin had the decency to keep quiet when they were in public. Her more caustic comments she kept for when they were at home. Even so, what she’d just said had gone beyond the pale; she and Fayte would be having words later.

“So what brings you to chat with me tonight, Mr. Conrad?” Grace eyed him with interest, trying not to stare as the sharp, angular lines of his shadowed face drew her attention. He’d always sent her flowers when she’d performed, the same as he’d done for the other primary dancers. He’d also sent her flowers after the accident, but those had been different. Somehow, he’d found out what her favorite flowers were. His bouquets had changed then. Instead of white roses, he’d started sending freesias. She loved freesias, always had. They’d been her grandfather’s favorite flower as well.

“Thank you for all the flowers you sent, by the way. I would have sent a note but
…I wasn’t really myself at the time.”

“It is forgotten.” He waved a hand in elegant dismissal. He had a lazy, indolent manner Grace found fascinating. If she didn’t know better she might almost suspect him of being a dancer himself.

He smiled, the one blue eye she could see warm with amusement. “Of course, I reserve the right to exact a forfeit at a later date.”

Grace chuckled at the teasing, feeling the familiar heat building in her cheeks again.
She’d always had a tendency to blush at the drop of a hat. Her colouring was so fair, her skin almost translucent, that a blush instantly transformed her into a human beetroot. Not an attractive look. At least in here it was too dark for him to see her clearly.

“Actually, I thought it was about time I introduced myself to the vision of loveliness who keeps
bringing me back here each week...”

When he trailed off, looking at her expectantly, the hope that had been building in her chest fell flat.

”Oh.” She managed to keep her face blank as she wondered which dancer had caught his eye. She knew most of them so she could easily arrange an introduction. But why would he need
her
help? All he had to do was walk backstage, and his identity and his heart-stopping good looks would do the rest. He’d only have to crook his finger and he could have any female dancer he wanted. Hell, probably half the guys as well. She bit her lip, waiting for him to name someone, and knowing that her name would never be on that list.

“Tonight she smiled at me, drawing me to her side. First I had to slay the dragon and now I hope to lay claim to the fair maiden’s heart.”

Grace blinked in surprise. “Excuse me? Dragon?”

His lips quirked, threatening to send Grace’s pussy into meltdown.

“Your little fiend…I don’t think she likes me.” He winked. “But then I am a marmite sort of a person.”

Grace just gaped at him, having rapidly lost track of the conversation. Had he just described himself as marmite?

Damn it, she’d started to fall under his sway. Jaron cursed under his breath, reining in his abilities just as her eyes started to glaze over. As a predator, when he saw something he wanted those instincts took over. His voice grew silky, beguiling, and his eyes hypnotising. It wouldn’t take long and she’d be his for the taking.

Yes!
His instincts all clamoured at once.

No. He wanted Grace but not because his abilities had enchanted her. Male vampires were naturally dominant. With all the abilities at his command he could snap his fingers and she’d fall at his feet. His lust-shrouded brain offered up an image—Grace on her knees in front of him, her eyes dark as her small hands crept over his thighs up toward his belt buckle. Heat and need hit him in a whirlwind but he fought the temptation down. He closed his eyes, breaking the connection he’d unwittingly forged.

That wasn’t what he wanted. Well, it was. He wanted Grace naked in his arms, naked under him. Spread-eagled over his bed as he had his wicked way with her. But only if she wanted to be there. It was about choices, knowing your lover trusted you, allowed you power over them willingly.

That was the rush, the elation, what he wanted from Grace. He wanted her on her knees in front of him, sucking his cock, or spread under him as he took her hard and fast. But she had be there of her own free will.

If he took away her choices and used his abilities to get what he wanted he didn’t have Grace. He had a fuck toy that
looked
like Grace. He’d done that in the past, all too often, and it just didn’t work. Without the spark of free will, sex became routine. Boring.

He sat back, giving the beautiful woman sitting next to him a few moments to recover. He reached out and took her hand, lacing her warm fingers with his.

“So, how are you doing now, Grace? Since the accident, I mean?”

His words ripped Grace out of her sensual daze and slammed her back into reality harder than a wrestler hitting the mats. Her own foolishness added a vicious leg drop.
Way to go, Grace. A handsome guy only has to get near enough for you to smell his aftershave and you act like a star struck teenager
.

“I knew it was too good to be true.” Her voice was shrill with disappointment as she launched herself to her feet. She wobbled a little as she tore her fingers from his. She was pathetic; she should have known he wasn’t interested in her at all.

He was just like all the rest, only interested in details of the accident. What was it with these people? Did she have to parade around bloody naked, show off every scar, all the damage that being in a car as it rolled six times could inflict? Would they be happy then and leave her alone?

She turned away, intending to storm out of the box, but he stepped around her, blocking her path. He loomed over her, his expression intense, his hard gaze on her face. His expression should have frightened her—a man, any other man, looking at her that way would have scared her to death. But the look on Jaron’s face didn’t frighten her; it thrilled her right down to her toes.

He moved. He hauled her up against him, holding her captive against his lean, hard body. No chance to struggle, but she didn’t plan to. Her lips parted as the softest of moans escaped. As soon as he’d touched her, it was as though a switch had been flicked inside her.

“I can assure you, if you paraded around in front of me naked I wouldn’t be leaving you alone. In fact, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” His voice was liquid temptation by her ear, his warm breath fanning over her neck and stirring the loose curls that had fallen from the elegant pleat.

Heat blossomed in the pit of her belly. Grace sucked in her breath as her body clenched with need.
Hell, if he can do that with just his voice, what would it be like if he kissed me?

He chuckled, the sound soft and melodious in the darkness. “Why don’t we find out?”

His hand slid into her hair, strong fingers massaging the delicate bones of her neck as he bent his head to press his lips to hers. Warm and firm, they moulded to hers, brushing softly as he explored. She gasped as her lips tingled, the sensation spreading out through her whole body. He took advantage of her gasp, gathering her closer as he deepened the kiss, taking them both into the dark tumult of desire that awaited them.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea. I mean, what if he’s some lunatic axe murderer or something?” Fayte’s petulant voice broke across Grace’s contemplation as she tried to decide what to wear to dinner with Jaron. It wasn’t a date. Not yet. Not even with that kiss last night.

A kiss that had left her aching and wanting more. When he’d lifted his head, the look in his eyes had taken her breath away. Hot, possessive need, visible for a split second before the amused mask he used to keep the world at bay clicked back into place. The glimpse she’d had had been enough. Just the memory had her all hot and bothered again.

“Oh, come on Fayte. This is Jaron Conrad we’re talking about. Everyone knows him.”

Grace flicked through the rails in her closet as she spoke, one hand resting heavily on the cane at her side. “Anyway, you know where I’m going so if I don’t come back you can raise the alarm, can’t you?”

Fayte mumbled something sharp under her breath and flounced out. Used to her cousin’s dramatics, Grace ignored her. Fayte’s moods were getting worse. One day soon she’d have to deal with it, but not today. With Jaron’s driver picking her up in—she checked the time by the clock on the bedside table—three quarters of an hour, she needed to get a wriggle on to be ready in time.

Forty-five minutes later, she slid into the back seat of the car Jaron had sent for her, a thick wrap over the turquoise evening gown she’d chosen. She shivered, chilled from the short walk, and pulled the wrap tighter around her bare shoulders as the door closed behind her. Thankfully, the car was warm and within a few minutes she released the death grip on her wrap, letting it slide back a little.

The scenery passed in a blur. Grace stared blankly out the window, nibbling at her lip as another worry occurred to her. Would she be over-dressed? The strappy gown she’d picked was suitable for a night at the ballet or a swanky reception but what if he took her somewhere informal? A shudder ran up her spine as she imagined being seated in a fast food joint dressed like this. Just as quickly, she dismissed the thought; Jaron wouldn’t do anything to make her uncomfortable. Even so, the worry lingered in the back of her mind until the car slowed and turned off the road.

All thought fled as a huge gateway loomed before them. Ornate and detailed, it looked like something out of the last century pulled into the present. The car came to a stop, and the driver waited as the heavy steel gates opened.

The sense she’d been transported back in time grew stronger as the car swept up a long driveway to the house. Like the archway, the mansion was something out of another era. She caught her breath as the car pulled up in front of the huge front doors. Any worry about being overdressed disappeared; she could arrive in a ball gown and not be out of place here.

The chauffeur walked around the front of the car to open her door but Grace barely noticed him. Normally, she made an effort to avoid being rude, but her eyes were locked onto the front of Jaron’s house and speech was impossible. Dread coiled into a tight knot in her stomach as the chauffeur opened the door. Which was pretty impressive when she felt like she’d swallowed a brick.

Steps. Long, stone steps led up to the front of the house. Low and wide, they wouldn’t be a problem for most people. But for her, they presented an almost insurmountable problem.

Trying to keep her panic under control, she looked for a handrail or anything else she could use to pull herself up the staircase. Nothing. The steps wrapped around the main door in an unbroken half-circle. Unless she wanted to try to crawl up the wall she was up a creek without a paddle.

Cheeks burning, Grace reached for her sticks, fumbling with them as the chauffeur waited patiently. His patience made things worse and she dropped them. Grace’s eyes prickled with tears as she cursed under her breath and fumbled for purchase on her canes.

Why hadn’t she thought to call ahead about this? Used to a world of lifts and elevators, Grace hadn’t even considered it. She hadn’t expected Jaron to live in a cross between an old English manor and a bloody castle. She’d figured him more for a condominium or high-rise kind of man. Finally, she got herself sorted, sliding from the car with the sticks held firmly in her hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the chauffeur.

Moving away from the car, she studied the steps in front of her, her knuckles white on her canes. The car door shut behind her, the crunch of the chauffeurs’ steps over the gravel barely heard as she steeled herself for the task ahead of her. She could do this. She had to do this.

She’d taken less than a step before Jaron was in front of her. Startled, she stumbled. Strong arms closed around her and stopped her fall.

“What…where did you come from?”

She blinked in surprise as he steadied her. He didn’t release her; instead, his large hands splayed over the small of her back as his fingers rubbed in small circles. The slight touch drove her blood pressure through the roof.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

“No, you weren’t; I would have seen you,” Grace said, absently smoothing her hands over his arms.

Despite his lean build, he felt solidly muscled beneath her fingertips. Much more so than she would expect for someone with his leisurely lifestyle. He must lift weights… Her thoughts trailed off as he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly. The tiny imperfection—a small mark of age—in his otherwise-perfect face reassured her but then his look changed, became intense. Hungry. Like that of a starving man who’d just been served a fine steak.

“Let me...
Please.” The order was softened by the plea, as though he remembered his manners at the last minute. But it was an order. Grace sensed Jaron Conrad was a man used to being obeyed, to getting what he wanted.

Her heart skipped a beat and then started up in earnest, hammering against her breastbone like an animal desperate to escape. Without breaking eye contact he leaned down, scooping her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing. Grace stiffened as a flush built over her cheeks. She hated to give any sign of weakness and having to be carried up a couple of steps by the guy you fancied the pants off counted as a weakness in her eyes. There was an upside, though; she got held all up close and personal to the lean male body she ached to run her hands over.

Grace shivered but held his eyes. She’d always found his eyes striking but she’d never realised ice-blue could hold so much heat. A dark heat, which held her captive as he carried her up the steps.

She was so light and perfect in his arms. With his preternatural strength, Jaron could juggle small cars if he wanted to, so her weight wasn’t an issue. But he wasn’t prepared for how light she felt or how perfect the moment was. Her arms curled around his shoulders, she fit against him as though she’d been made to be there.

Making his stride as smooth as possible, Jaron walked through the front door. Picking her up had been a bad idea. The feel of her curves against his chest, her subtle perfume and the hum of her blood under her skin all conspired to drive him mad
…arousing the instincts of the man he’d always been, and the vampire he’d become.

His hands tightened slightly as he took another breath, isolating the scent of her skin under the perfume and lingering smell of shampoo. The perfume was nice but the smell of
her skin... He drew the scent into his lungs. She had a sweet, addictive smell. The olfactory version of chocolate and opium combined, perhaps…exotic and erotic.

His mind blanked as he walked through the front foyer. He couldn’t remember one good reason why he shouldn’t just carry her on up the stairs. Turn left and walk down the corridor to his bedchamber. Lay her on his bed.

He imagined her there, spread-eagled with her glorious hair spread around her like a bright halo. He’d tie her with the silken cord he’d purchased for just such an occasion. How delicious she’d look with the cord looped around her delicate wrists and ankles, pulled tight to open her body to him...

He swallowed as his body tightened, his balls drawn up and aching. The need to make the fantasy a reality nearly overwhelmed him, the need to spread her soft thighs and drive his rigid cock into her, over and over, nearly undid him. He longed to pleasure her until they were both too exhausted to move.

He started to walk toward the stairs when he caught her searching gaze. The trust in her green eyes slammed a brick into his gut, and his steps faltered. He couldn’t do it. Her arms tightened around his neck a little and she smiled. Just the slightest curve of her lips but Jaron felt like he was basking in a sun he hadn’t seen for centuries. Changing course, he headed for the dining room.

“You have a beautiful house. Have you lived here long?” Grace asked, her voice trembling with nerves as Jaron carried her along the darkened hallway. Seriously, did the guy forget to pay his electric bill? He gave her a brief glance, and for a moment there, just a split second, the look in his eyes scared her.

No, not scared, exactly. More like excited, but frighteningly so. It was the sort of look that turned her heart over in her chest and rendered the lace between her thighs damp with need. That’s what scared her.  Something deep inside told her he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want or ask him to do. Which was the problem. It wouldn’t take much to get her to beg. Or to reveal her deepest, darkest desires, no matter how deviant they seemed.

“Seems like forever.”

His lips, full and sensual in the masculine lines of his face, curved in a small smile as he shouldered his way through a door and into a large dining room. A small gasp escaped her. If she’d been awed by the outside of the house, it was nothing compared to her sense of amazement now. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, just without the whole ‘falling down the rabbit hole’ bit.

The room was huge, the table nearly as large. Grace started to count the chairs but gave up quickly. You could hold a banquet in there and still have room for a live band in the corner. Tonight, only two places were set, at the far end of the table nearest the fire crackling in the hearth. Jaron headed that way, his long strides eating up the room. Hooking a foot around the chair leg, he pulled it out and settled her down without effort.

“Do you work out?” she asked suddenly as he moved her chair in for her. He was stronger than she’d expected. He’d lifted her without effort and she wasn’t at her slimmest these days. Months and months with minimal exercise had seen to that.

“I’m sorry?” He blinked, those gorgeous eyes locked on hers as he leaned over. So close his breath whispered over her shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Do you
work out? You’re very… Um...” Built? Ripped? What was the right term? He was lean but she’d felt the muscles under those clothes. Sexy as all damn hell? Grace swallowed, caught in his interested gaze. “You’re very strong. Carrying me like that.”

He slid into the seat next to hers, kitty-corner around the edge of the table. Amusement crossed his face as he glanced down at his plate. “A little, yes. It’s not easy maintaining a reputation as a Lothario if you’re piling on the pounds.”

Grace laughed, the sound low and musical, as he reached out to pour a glass of wine for her. She’d expected the evening to go slowly, full of awkward silences and false starts. The normal sort of thing when two people were getting to know each other.

To her surprise, dinner came and went in a blur and if she’d been asked later she wouldn’t have been able to say what they’d eaten. Jaron was witty and easy to talk to, with a dry sense of humor that had her almost crying with laughter at certain points during their conversation.

Wiping her eyes after yet another laughing fit, she glanced up to find him looking at her, a strange expression on his face. She’d caught the same look a few times—a combination of a smile and puzzlement that put a frown between his brows and a quirk on his lips.

“What? Do I have something between my teeth?”

“No, nothing in your teeth, I promise.” Jaron smiled and sipped his wine. The deep, rich fluid flowed past his lips, the strong muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. He watched her over the rim of the glass. “Why do you ask?”

“You keep looking at me oddly. As though I puzzle you.” She took a sip from her own wineglass to hide her self-consciousness.

Jason watched her. He’d made sure her glass was topped up all night but he didn’t intend to get her drunk and seduce her. No, his plans were longer-reaching, and although the temptation was there, he wasn’t going to take her to bed tonight. He just needed her in an amenable frame of mind for his proposal.

Besides, when he got Grace into his bed, he wanted her stone-cold sober. Aware of every wicked pleasure he led her into, every touch and caress, every lick... He stopped the shiver midway up his spine, his cock jerking within the confines of his pants again. Shifting in his seat, he tried to ease the ache that had seemed to become a permanent feature around Grace.

“You don’t puzzle me. You fascinate me,” he said, putting his glass down next to his plate as he studied her. Her words gave him an excuse to do openly what he’d been doing covertly all night.

“I do? Why?” Grace asked in surprise, leaning forward to put her elbows on the table, her chin in one delicate hand as she waited for his answer. The firelight caressed her, highlighting the delicate collarbones revealed by her strappy dress and her porcelain skin.