Night's Cold Kiss (20 page)

It was Antoinette’s turn to look away. “Probably not,” she admitted.

“Well then.” Lilijana continued to needlessly arrange the bedding.

Something went wrong.

Did Williams get away and now they had nothing? Was Christian okay?

Her throat constricted. “Tell me,” she croaked.

Finally Christian’s mother stopped fussing and sat back in the chair. “I’ll let Christian fill you in on the details, but he did stop Andrew from catching his flight.”

Antoinette sighed and fell back into the pillows. He was okay at least. But something else wasn’t and she could see pushing it wouldn’t yield any further information from Lilijana. It suddenly occurred to Antoinette this was the first time Lilijana had spoken more than two civil words to her.

“Why are you being so nice?” Antoinette asked.

The Aeternus didn’t answer at first, her brow crinkled—as much as her smooth brow could. Finally, she said, “You didn’t hesitate. Even with your past and your prejudices…you risked yourself to help Christian when he needed it. And I’m very grateful for that.”

Heat rose to Antoinette’s cheeks. It’d been her pleasure—literally. But she wasn’t about to tell Lilijana that.

“I’ve learned a lot about the Aeternus in the last few weeks, especially from Viktor.” She paused, thinking of him with fondness. “In the short time I knew him, he taught me more than I’d learned in a lifetime as a Venator.”

Lilijana’s features softened. “He did tend to bring out the best in all of us.”

She loved him. Antoinette had the feeling this was the real
Lilijana, stripped of all pretense and disguises.

Kavindish entered carrying a tray and Lilijana’s demeanor changed instantly. “About bloody time—I rang for you hours ago.” She stormed through the door, but closed it gently. There was more to Lilijana than met the eye. Antoinette would never underestimate her again.

“Good evening, miss,” Kavindish said, placing the tray over her legs and shaking out a napkin. Was that a twinkle in his eye? Did the corners of his mouth twitch a little?

He lifted the cover on the broth and saliva filled her mouth as she inhaled the rich aroma. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until then. The tray also had two boiled eggs, toast, fruit juice, and coffee.

Kavindish laid the napkin in her lap. “Enjoy, miss.”

“Where’s Christian?” she asked.

“He’s indisposed at the moment but will be with you as soon as he can.” Kavindish bowed and left her alone.

That was the second person who’d dodged her questions about Christian. Her loudly rumbling stomach distracted her from further worry for the moment and she fell upon the food. Spooning the hot soup into her mouth, Antoinette burnt her tongue. More cautious this time, she allowed it to cool on the spoon and picked up some fresh crusty bread spread with a generous amount of butter. The meal was simple but filling and the strength flowed back into her tired limbs.

With her appetite satiated, something else gnawed at her. Hunger still sat heavy in the pit of her belly, but not for food. Her body tingled all over, her groin heavy and nipples taut.

She’d been dressed in a nightgown, instead of what she’d worn the night Christian had…

Oh my.

The memory had her body singing in tribute. Every nerve ending tingled, every fiber thrummed, and she realized what it was she hungered for. There’d been no release for her, and now her body demanded it.

Moving the tray aside she slipped from the bed and
padded barefoot across the room. Her bags sat in the corner. Strange, she hadn’t brought them with her. She’d ask Kavindish later.

Antoinette quickly changed into some training gear before picking up her weapons’ case. Christian would have a training room here somewhere in the house, probably the basement. She’d try there first. Physical activity would help her work off some of this pent-up frustration.

The training room was in the basement and much bigger than the one at his New York house. She took her sword from the case and fell into a fighting stance on the mats. Within minutes she lost herself in the familiar pattern of
kihon
—the solo mastery of fundamentals.

“You should be resting.” Christian’s velvet voice interrupted her mid-swing.

She turned to find him propped lazily against the doorframe, unreadable behind dark sunglasses.

She dropped the tip of her sword to the floor and turned, unprepared for the fever burning through her veins at the sight of him. “I’m pissed at you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that you’d be incapacitated by my feeding, but I was desperate.”

“I’m really pissed that you know me that well.” She returned to practicing.

“You need to rest,” he said gliding away from the door and into the room.

She didn’t interrupt the routine she stepped through. “What I need is a good, active workout.”

“Care for a sparring partner then?” he asked.

Oh God, yes.
“No.”

“Really? If it’s exercise you’re after, I can help.”

I bet you could.
“I prefer to train alone. I find it more relaxing.”

“I thought you wanted an active workout,” he said, throwing her words back at her. He took off his glasses and placed them on the counter by the door, his eyes mocking. “Are you afraid?”

“Of you? Pffft!” Her indignation was a little too loud in the large room. “No.”
Damn him.

“Then spar with me.”

He had her over a barrel. “Fine.”

His eyes gleamed as he crossed to the far wall and hit a button. A panel slid up, exposing a vast number of different weapons.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s an impressive collection.”

“Shall we use bokken or steel?” he asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

“Steel of course.”

“Then use this.” He tossed her a sheathed katana, which she snatched easily out of the air. She put hers aside and held the Japanese sword level with her eye as she pulled the blade out two inches. It gleamed, even in the dimmed florescent lights. She slid the sheath off slowly, inch by inch drawing out her anticipation.

Antoinette swung the sword, testing the weight. It fit as if made for her hand. The balance was perfect. This was a true Samurai weapon, a thing of beauty made by a master swordsmith. She flicked it to the right then with a twist her wrist twirled the blade in a full circle at her side.

“Nice,” she said trying to appear nonchalant.

Christian repeated her moves with his own weapon as they squared off. Circling to the right, one foot in front of the other, she twirled her sword and sized him up.

“
Kata
or freeform?” he asked.

“Freeform—definitely freeform.” She didn’t want to dance set steps, she wanted to go hell for leather.

Confidence gleamed in his eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Antoinette narrowed her eyes, watching every nuance, every action; the way he held the sword, each step he took as she waited for him to make the first move.

He glanced left, but she wasn’t about to let such an obvious ploy force her to react too soon. His mouth twitched and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

“So tell me what happened with Andrew Williams.” She stopped, and held her sword high and ready.

“He was assassinated right in front of me. I learned nothing except that I was close to discovering who he was afraid of.”

Shocked, she dropped the point of her sword and came out of her stance. “He’s dead? How?”

“Shot in the head.”

“And the assassin?”

He dropped his gaze and stopped circling. “He escaped.”

“So, what now?” She straightened and gripped the sword.

“I don’t know yet, but I may have a new lead to check out.”

“Like what?”

“Are we sparring or not?” he asked, circling again.

She fell back into her previous stance and Christian mirrored her, both waiting for the other to attack first. Antoinette wasn’t about to be goaded by Christian’s stony countenance into striking first. With a tilt of her head, she turned her left palm upward and jerked her fingers toward her in a “come get me” gesture.

She barely had time to block his lightning-fast attack. The vibrations of the strike convulsed so hard up her arms she almost dropped her sword.

“Hey, no fair,” she cried. “That was your Aeternus strength behind your strike.”

“Who agreed to be fair?”

“If that’s the way you’re going to play it then.” She darted forward and sliced open his shirt diagonally across his chest. His eyes dropped to the damage—a thin scarlet line appeared then immediately started to heal.

“How did the assassin escape from you? Are you losing your touch as Intel’s finest?”

“Now you’re really asking for it.” He grinned, but his eyes held a darkness as he ripped off the remains of his shirt and discarded it.

He began twirling the sword easily, again sidestepping in a circle. “I was shot by airport police.”

Antoinette kept her eyes firmly fixed on him. Not that she could tear her gaze away, even if she tried. His alabaster torso was straight out of a Greek legend. “So did you think to clear it with them first before you pursued a suspect on their turf?”

Pale he might be, but each muscle rippled in exquisite definition. His brown nipples contrasted nicely, as did the thin line of black hair trailing down his abdomen just below the hollow dent of his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his low-slung sweatpants. Her gaze kept going down to the taut quadriceps bunching beneath the fabric. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, but it too had gone dry.

“No, I didn’t have time nor did I want them to give the game away. You would’ve done the same thing.” Then he came at her again.

She ducked under his raised arms and spun, landing an openhanded blow to his side. The air whooshed from his lungs, he turned and grinned.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” he said.

“I don’t plan to.” She brought her sword up again.

Next time he attacked, she brought her elbow up and took him in the chin, rocking his head back.

While he rubbed his jaw, she dropped and spun with her leg outstretched, sweeping him off his feet. He fell on his back and before he could react, she straddled him and claimed his mouth with her own, hunger consuming her. Their swords fell to the side.

His smile said he’d allowed her to pull that move and he was only toying with her. Abdomen muscles bunched under her thighs, setting off the butterflies in her stomach. He dropped his sword and took her face in his hands, kissing her with a fierceness to match her own. When he sat up, she wrapped her legs around him, hooking her feet behind his back.

With their lips still locked he stood, taking her with him. She kept her arms encircled around his neck, tightened the
grip of her thighs and pressed her breasts to him, the taut nipples rubbing against his naked chest. He groaned against her neck and squeezed her closer, trembling. He was close to losing it. She had him. Just a little more…

With tenderness, he unwrapped her legs from his waist and set her on her feet, gently prying her arms away. Antoinette felt empty, her body screaming for contact, but he moved away to pick up his sword.

“We’re sparring, remember.” He shifted to cover the bulge in his pants.

As she turned to pick up her own weapon, she felt him cut the tie binding her hair and with the flat side of the sword, helped the braid to unravel. Now he really was playing with her.

She spun on him, her hair flying across her face. She dragged it out of her eyes with one hand and brought her blade up with the other.

“Now,” he said, his white teeth showing through his self-satisfied smirk, “we’re even.”

“Oh—you think so, do you?” She fought to keep the smile from her lips.

The game was just beginning and she intended to win. Again they began to circle each other, the tips of their swords almost kissing. His gaze sizzled her insides. Liquid fire pooled in her stomach then spread down the inside of her legs, making her toes curl in the heat. She clenched and relaxed her grip on the sword handle, waiting for the perfect moment.

Before she could blink he moved behind, pinning her back to his chest with his arm under her heaving breasts and just as quickly, released her and moved away again. She felt her sweatpants drop away where he’d sliced them open. The ruined material gathered around her ankles and she kicked them off. Now she stood holding her sword at her side, wearing nothing but a thong and her cropped sports top. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples screaming for his touch. Her breathing became short and the pulsing between her legs demanded to be filled.

Enough.
Antoinette knew exactly how to get what she wanted. She brought her blade up under the band of her top and sliced. The material parted neatly under the razor-sharp edge, freeing her aching breasts. She was going to have him and on her own terms. With a wicked grin, she dropped her head and looked at him from under her lashes, holding his gaze, while she made a shallow cut above her left breast. She blinked slowly and sucked back her breath at the sharp, exquisite pain. Crimson beads formed as she leveled her gaze at him—daring him. Confident he wouldn’t be able to resist her now.

Christian’s pupils contracted, zoning in on the growing red line. His face changed, full of raw hunger and all the animalistic power to take it. Lips peeled back to reveal his fangs, fully extended and he stretched his jaw wider.

“You’re playing with fire, Antoinette,” he growled.

“Then burn me,” she breathed.

She’d barely finished the last word when he threw his sword aside. Before it hit the ground he’d crossed the room, gathering her as he went and slamming her back against the wall. The air was forced from her lungs but she hardly felt it. He pushed her up the wall, bringing her chest level with his mouth and covered the cut, sealing it. He snarled—not an entirely unhappy sound. She moaned and buried her hands in his hair while wrapping her legs around his chest.

He hovered close to her nipple. Not touching nor tasting, staying less than an inch from the surface. He looked up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. Antoinette arched her back trying to bring her taut flesh closer to his waiting mouth. But he moved with her—his breath stirring the air between his lips and her flesh—torturing her with the promise of pleasure yet denied.

Finally, he opened his mouth and scraped the hardened nub with the tip of one of his fangs. Without warning she rushed over the edge, the orgasm taking her completely unaware and unprepared. She flung her arms out along the cool wall behind her and threw back her head. Her back arched,
her legs quivering as she cried out again and again with the waves of release thundering through her.

But it wasn’t enough. She needed more, she needed him deep inside her. As he let her slide down, she took fierce possession of his mouth, his hardness pressing against her as she let her legs drop to the floor. Antoinette tugged and pulled at his sweatpants. Finally, she had them far enough down to take his length in her trembling hand. Using the wall at her back for balance, she lifted her legs again around his hips and maneuvered her thong aside so she could slide him into her.

Her private flesh stretched around him and she clenched, trying to let him in as far as she could take him. With one hard thrust he filled her completely; she arched her back and cried out against the painful exquisiteness. Her arms gripped his shoulders, her thighs clenched slick with sweat. He drew back and thrust into her again.

He held her by the hips and dropped his gaze to watch himself moving in and out of her. The sight of him filling her took her breath away, heightened the sensations with each thrust.

“Bite me,” she moaned.

“No…it’s too soon…you haven’t recovered enough,” he gasped as he plunged into her again and again, each time harder than the last.

“Please, oh please. I need you.”

His gaze burned her soul. For a moment he stopped moving, his eyes dropped to her lips. She licked them. He groaned and leaned forward. Then he nipped her.

A metallic taste filled her mouth as he held her close, sucking on her bottom lip, and he began driving into her faster and harder. The pressure built and built until she rushed headlong toward orgasm—rising higher and higher until she was there—crashing blissfully over the edge.

Christian grunted against her mouth and gave one last shuddering thrust as he joined her.

Antoinette’s ragged breathing roared in her ears, sweat
bathed her skin, her chest heaved, and all the bones disappeared from her limbs leaving them loose and trembling. He was still inside her and when he withdrew she felt a fleeting moment of loss.

He smoothed the hair away from her face as he kept intense eye contact. “Did I hurt you?”

She sighed at his unexpected tenderness. “Only in the best possible way and nothing a long soak in the tub won’t fix.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, kicking the sweatpants from around his ankles as he tightened his grip around her waist.

Antoinette wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her naked through the house, seemingly unembarrassed by their state of undress or their intimate embrace. He carried her to an enormous room with a sunken tub like a small bathing pool dominating the center. He sat her gently on the edge and turned on the faucets before lighting the candles semi-hidden in niches around the room.

How many women had he seduced in this room? And why should she care?

Christian poured scented bubble bath into the tub. The aroma of sandalwood and lavender filled the room. She worked the thong over her hips and lowered herself into the hot, soothing water, then looked up to find him watching her.

It was a side of him she hadn’t seen or expected. Such thought, such consideration. The bath filled fast, almost deep enough to swim in. She submerged, letting the water-dampened silence soothe her troubled thoughts. Usually she’d forgotten the guy she’d just had sex with as soon as she’d pulled her panties back on. But not this time. Christian was still very much in her head. When she resurfaced he’d joined her.

Sluicing the water off her face, she smiled.

“Come here,” he said, reaching for the shampoo.

She settled between his legs and he massaged the scented
lather through her hair. Antoinette lay back as his heavenly fingers kneaded the knots from her scalp and soothed away her reservations. After all, it had just been sex…right?