Honor Calls (3 page)

“Good.” He rose and stood by the table, obviously waiting for Michaela to choose where they would go for their tryst.

“Where” definitely not being the flophouse where she was staying while she completed her mission. She suspected that Jesus, too, would not volunteer where he lived for their encounter.

Which left only one immediate choice—one of the backrooms at the Blood Bank.

She stood and inclined her head toward the rear of the club. “We can pay for a private room in the back.”

Jesus narrowed his eyes, seemingly doubtful, but he didn’t hesitate to follow her as she led him to the bouncer by the door. He stood with tattooed and muscular arms across a broad chest barely covered by the metal-studded leather vest he wore. He kept an unwelcoming glare on his face until Jesus reached into his pocket and extracted some cash.

“What will it be for the best room you have?” Jesus asked.

The bouncer looked at her and replied with a snicker, “I guess such a fine
lady
only deserves the best. A hundred dollars until dawn.”

“Dawn?” he asked, even as he peeled off the bills and handed them to the man.

“A virgin, are you?” the bouncer said with a sneer, but Michaela shot her hand up to silence him.

“The key is all we need from you.”

When he held out the large brass key, she snagged it from his grasp and rushed into the hallway containing the private rooms.

The hall was narrow and relatively short. The walls were painted black and seemed to devour the light from the dated wall sconces located near each door. The floor beneath their feet was carpeted with a thick shag rug in deep crimson. It was matted down in the center, testifying to the traffic that passed this way.

Jesus followed Michaela as she checked the number on the key against the ones on the wooden doors of the rooms. Finally, at the door farthest away from the club and all its noise, a brass number eight marked the room as theirs.

“What did he mean that we had the room until dawn?” Jesus asked, towering over her. His physical presence rattled her calm, causing her to falter while she tried to unlock the door. He immediately covered her hands with his and helped steady her as she turned the key and opened the door.

She had heard about the Blood Bank’s private rooms, but she had never been in one. The room was surprisingly more than what she had expected.

A queen-size four-poster bed took up one side of the space, the bed’s surface lushly appointed with a satin comforter, an assortment of pillows and remarkably clean sheets.

But it was the accessories on the opposite side of the room that subsequently snared and held both her attention and Jesus’.

He walked to the wall where an assortment of whips, chains, cuffs, knives and other toys were conveniently displayed. Running his index finger along a pair of fur-lined wrist cuffs, he shot her a half-lidded glance as he once again asked, “Why dawn?”

“Why do you think?” She removed the wrist cuffs from the wall and examined them more carefully, even going so far as to undo the strap on one of them.

“It’s when the vamps go home after a night of play,” he said.

A rough edge tinged his voice. Was it from fear or from imagining their own night of play, fur-lined wrist cuffs included?

“It takes a lot of trust, don’t you think?” she asked, slipping on one cuff and holding out her arm the way one might do when examining a bracelet.

It would take a lot of trust, Jesus thought. More trust than existed in their newborn relationship. He reached out and slipped off the cuff, tossed it aside, encircled her fine-boned wrist with his hand and urged her close.

“Tell me what you want, Michaela.” He enjoyed the contradictions she presented, but he needed something concrete on which to begin this night, on which to—perhaps—build something more. Because he suspected that with a woman as complex as Michaela, one night just wouldn’t do it.

She laid a hand on his chest and stepped so close she had to tip her head back to peer up at his greater height. Softly she rubbed her hand against the fabric of his shirt and said, “I want normal.”

The longing in her voice was unmistakable. His own yearning responded in sympathy.

It had been way too long since he had done normal.

Gingerly, aware that she was a little skittish and might bolt, he eased his arm around her waist. Slowly he urged her to move that last little bit, until her body brushed his. But he moved her no farther, not wanting to intimidate or overpower. Somehow, he understood that Michaela needed equal footing.

She needed a partner, he thought as he bent from his greater height to put his face level with hers.

“I think I can do normal,” he teased, a playful grin on his face as he sought to begin her night of respite.

Their evening of pleasure.

A smile crept to one corner of her mouth. She cradled his cheek and traced the lines of his mouth with her thumb, shifted it to the dimple beside his lips.

“You have a nice smile. You’ve done it often during your life,” Michaela said. At his puzzled look, she slipped the pad of her index finger across the faint lines on his face.

His grin turned wickedly sexy. “There’s something to be said for maturity in a man.”

Dipping one hand while bringing the other upward, she placed both on the cotton of his shirt, exploring the gloriously sculpted muscle beneath. As she closed the final distance between their bodies, the hard jut of his impressive erection pushed against the flatness of her belly.

She pressed against him, shifting her hips back and forth. “Maturity doesn’t seem to have affected your ‘something,’ because it’s definitely saying—”

“I want you, Michaela. You’re…unique.” He buried his hand in her shoulder-length hair and cupped the back of her head.

Unique?

He couldn’t even begin to guess just how different she was, but she had asked for normal tonight. Any explanations could wait until she’d experienced the wonder that he had promised.

“You sweet talker. I bet you charm all the women with lines like that.”

The playfulness faded from his face, replaced by an intensity that nearly stole her breath. “Not much for talk, Michaela. I’m an action kind of guy.”

At the back of her head came the gentle pressure of his hand, urging her to her tiptoes until his lips were a breath away from hers.

“Are you an action kind of woman?” he asked and his tequila-spiced breath spilled against her lips, creating an intense pull of need within her.

“Yes,” she replied.

A shudder ripped through his body at her answer. He knew then that no matter how much she wanted a normal night, there was one thing he couldn’t do…

“I’m not sure I can go slow,” he said.

She chuckled and tipped her head upward once again to lock on his gaze.

“That’s okay. You can go slow later.”

Later, he thought, and groaned as he imagined taking her again and again until the dawn came and maybe even beyond that. But for now…

He slipped his arm beneath her buttocks and raised her until they were face-to-face.

“I think later sounds great.” He smiled, which prompted her broad, unrestrained grin. A smile so real and inviting that he had to feel it against his lips. He traced the edges of her welcoming smile with a series of impatient little kisses until the contact wasn’t enough for him.

Or for her.

She bracketed his head with her hands, kept him close, as she tasted him and then slipped her tongue into his mouth. Raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, welcoming him elsewhere.

Jesus kept on kissing her even as he walked with her toward the bed on the other side of the room. When he bumped the mattress with his legs, he dipped down to let her sit on its edge. Michaela grabbed his lapels, the fabric expensive beneath her hands although she itched to have the more luxurious texture of his skin against her palms.

She urged the jacket from his shoulders, exposing the well-worn and cared-for leather of his holster, the menacingly black grip of his gun and the slick cotton of his shirt. Grasping the fabric, she jerked, sending buttons flying but accomplishing just what she wanted.

As the shirt hung open, she laid her hands on his skin. Hot like a winter fire. Surprisingly smooth since he had little chest hair. The rich caramel color of his skin matched the warm brown of his eyes, which were glittering brightly as he glanced down at her, a deliciously receptive grin on his face.

“I guess I’m not the only one who can’t go slow.”

“Guess not,” she said, wrapping her thighs around his legs once again, imprisoning him tightly. Leaning back against the soft surface of the bed. Challenging him to action.

He didn’t disappoint.

He teasingly brushed his hands across her breasts before helping her ease the leather jacket from her body. As the jacket came off, he tossed it to the side, seemingly ignoring the unexpected weight and metallic thud that hinted at some kind of weaponry in the garment. Instead, he immediately grabbed the edge of the black tank top she wore, pulled it up and over her head and exposed her upper body to his gaze.

Between her legs came the jump of his erection. He emitted a low rumbling moan a moment before he put his fingers at the front clasp of her black bra. The slight tremor of his fingers confused her.

“Jesus?” she asked and laid her hands over his.

His name on her lips nearly undid him it had been so long since a woman had said it with such a mix of need and doubt.

He wanted all doubt gone.

Needed
all doubt gone.

“Be sure, Michaela.”

She slipped her fingers beneath his hands at the clasp of her bra and parted the fabric to reveal herself to him.

“I’m sure, Jesus. Incredibly sure.”

He dragged his hands away from her breasts, to her shoulders, where he ran his thumbs across the fragile lines of her collarbone before inching down the straps of her bra and removing it. Then he slowly passed the pads of his fingers down the softness of her skin until he cupped her breasts. He ran his thumbs across the hard peaks of her nipples, intent on savoring all the differences between them: the paleness of her skin against the darker tones of his; the size of him, immense against her slight frame, reminding him of her physical fragility. But as she encircled his wrists with her hands and urged him onward, her actions spoke instead of the strength of her spirit.

He circled the hard tips of her nipples with his thumbs then pulled on them, dragging a response from her as she raised her hips and ground herself against him.

Bending, he replaced his fingers with his lips, sucking and teething. He thrust his hips against her center, building her need. Enticed by the soft gasp of pleasure and the shiver of desire that came beneath his lips, that slipped from her skin to his as his body brushed against hers.

Michaela grabbed hold of his shoulders as he loved her breasts. She rocked his body against the center of her, creating a deep sensual clenching that wanted more.

While he tongued and sucked on her nipples, bringing her to the edge, she reached down and undid her black jeans. Parted the fabric there.

He sensed her motions and responded, lowering one hand down her body until it rested on the gap of skin exposed along her belly. His thumb circled the indent of her navel, while the tips of his fingers brushed the hair between her legs.

She shifted her hips and he raised his head from her breasts, locked his gaze on hers and dropped his hand down the last few inches.

His eyes were dark with emotion when he parted her with his fingers, seeking the center of her. Intense as he slowly circled the nub between her legs, building her pleasure. Warmth and damp erupted between her legs at his caress and she once again urged her hips upward.

Again he didn’t disappoint.

He eased first one finger and then a second within her and brought his thumb to her clitoris, the pressure and thrust of his movements sure. Demanding.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders. Powerful. Stable. A solid place where she found purchase as she moved her hips, seeking her pleasure and release.

Jesus loved the look on her face, in her eyes. Part wonder. Part desire.

All woman.

Strong, certain female.

He had warned her that he couldn’t go slowly and her actions only made it even more impossible to hold back.

As much as he regretted leaving her, he ripped his hands from her body and made short work of stripping off her boots, socks and jeans, revealing impossibly long legs and the nest of curls at the juncture of her lush thighs.

He stared down at her, appreciating the beauty she offered.

Fierce femininity, he realized. Sexy strength wrapped around an intensely private and vulnerable soul.

A soul that needed this night’s satisfaction and respite.

He intended to give her the evening she desired.

Quickly he undid his belt and pants. He dropped them, but didn’t bother to remove them.

He secured her hips in his hands and poised his erection at her entrance. The ripple of her desire beneath his fingers and at the tip of his penis urged him on.

Michaela gasped as he penetrated her in one sure thrust and then waited for her to accommodate the size of him.

So large.

Scalding heat within her, igniting her ardor.

She held her breath, overwhelmed by the sensation of him. Overwhelmed by his barely controlled passion.

Then he destroyed her.

He tenderly brushed his thumb across her cheek as he whispered against her lips, “Let go, Michaela. I’ll be here to catch you.”

Let go.

It had been so long since she had allowed herself such freedom. Since she had been able to trust anyone enough to permit herself such liberties.

Now, here he was. Promising so much. Unaware of the impossibilities of his promise.

But for this one night, she intended to believe as he did.

With a subtle roll of her hips, she accepted what he offered and took him deeper within.

He dropped his head to kiss her, his mouth open on hers, tasting her. Sucking in her breath while he drove into her, his movements steady and sure.

She cupped the back of his head and played her tongue against his, mimicking the movements of their bodies, but then he shifted away to lick and bite her nipples.

She held him near as her body answered the call of his, rising ever higher. Need tightened into a knot deep within that had her rocking her hips in rhythm to his thrusts and arching her back so that he might more easily savor her breasts.

Then suddenly it came, wrapping around the center of her and stealing her breath. Forcing her ever higher against him as the sharp explosion of passion burst throughout her body. Dragging a strangled scream from her as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

He stilled his thrusts, kissed her lips and whispered, “Let go, Michaela.”

She did.

A second later the full force of her climax washed over her, so intense that her body shook from the power of it. Around his erection, her muscles tightened, as if afraid he would leave, but then he slowly pulled out and the slick friction of his withdrawal yanked a protest from her.

Jesus answered that protest, driving in again and again, his forehead leaning on hers. His mouth swallowed her gasps and sighs of pleasure as he drew out her release until unbearable pressure built inside him.

She must have sensed it since she reached down and cupped him, caressing him and dragging a finger along the sensitive gap right behind his scrotum.

Her touch undid him.

With a sharp swift inhalation, he buried himself so deeply it almost seemed he might split her in half. He spilled his seed in her womb, his body taut. His back arched as he closed his eyes and experienced every nuance of her body, became intoxicated by the smell of her, now marked by his sweat and release.

Michaela watched him as her own climax ebbed around him, the last fluttering motions rippling across his erection as it nestled within her. Milking the seeds of life that could never find fertile soil within her.

His arms were braced at her sides until she laid her hands on his forearms and ran them up to his shoulders. With a gentling touch, she said his name and urged him down onto her. He came willingly, laying his head beside hers, his larger body nearly engulfing her as she lay pressed beneath him.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked and she shook her head.

“No,” she replied, welcoming the protective weight of him. She continued her caresses, wanting this tenderness after the intense way they had taken one another.

He brought one hand to grasp her waist, slowly running it up and down her side in a soothing motion. He waited until the tremors had left both their bodies and their breathing had slowed to a regular tempo. Only then did he pull away from her to remove the rest of his clothes. Almost before she could notice his absence, he was back by her side.

He urged her upward on the bed until they were once again lying beside one another. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder; her one thigh tucked between his legs while his arms held her close.

She had wanted physical satisfaction and gotten it.

She hadn’t counted on this.

The loving caress of his hand along her back.

The way she was surrounded by him and not just physically.

There was unexpected security in his embrace. A surprising sense of dependability.

Not that it would last.

Jesus sensed her pulling away from him even though she had barely shifted physically. It was more in the way a slight tension had crept into her body. When she looked up at him, that furrow of worry was back between her finely shaped brows.

“Running already?” he asked softly, but he didn’t stop the gentle glide of his hand along her back.

“Is that what you think I do? Hit and run?”

She moved away from him then and he immediately felt the absence as the night chill replaced her warmth.

“Am I wrong?” He spread his hands across her back to keep her from escaping.

She shook her head and looked away, but much as he was determined not to let her leave, he would not abide her hiding her emotions from him.

He cupped the side of her face and tenderly urged it upward. That was when he noted that her dark brown eyes were bleeding out to the weird blue-green gleam he had seen earlier that night.

Fighting back the fear he suspected she wanted to see, he injected calm into his voice. “Who are you, Michaela?”

“You mean
what,
don’t you?” she asked, a low inhuman rumble in her tone. A slight bit of fang nipped just below the edge of her full upper lip.

He could take a guess at the what, although he was still finding it difficult to believe, even with the proof staring him in the face. He mustered control over his gut reaction to the unexpected, then realized he was neither fearful nor repulsed.

She’d made him feel more than he had ever felt before. Because of that, he was willing to suspend his usually strict approach to learn more about her.

“No, not what, Michaela. Who? Who are you and why are you doing this?”

Christ, she thought, completely at a loss on how to deal with him.

With her vampire powers engaged, there was no missing the slightly hurried beat of his heart and the chill and tension that had crept into his body. Sure signs of fear, not that he was revealing it.

Or giving in to it, she thought, totally puzzled and unbalanced by his reaction.

By him.

“You’re afraid of me, but you’re not fleeing?”

He laughed harshly. “I didn’t get to be an ADIC by shitting my pants and running at the first sign of trouble. So you can cut out the whole creature-of-the-night routine—if that’s what it is—‘cuz I’m not going anywhere.”

She morphed back to her human state and realized his response proved what she had initially thought about him—he was a man used to dealing with danger.

A man who might be prepared to deal with her.

So she gave him his answer, praying that once she did, things would return to the way they should be so that she could figure out what to do about him.

“I’m a dhampir.”