“Do not.”
The retort came so quickly, with such a childish inflection—do not! Do too!—I was struck again with the urge to laugh. I suppose the human mind, when confronted with something so vast and unexpected, had to have a stress outlet, and laughter was mine. Jimmy’s was probably sex.
I contemplated him in the now dusky light of the tack room. Black hair tumbled over his forehead, shirt unbuttoned, a sheen of sweat across his collarbone, dark eyes burning in a beautiful but tense face.
“I know I’m not up on the legendary lore,” I said, “but vampires still kill people, don’t they?”
“I don’t.”
I shook my head. “I saw—”
He was across the floor faster than my eyes could register, suddenly standing so close I caught the familiar scent of soap and cinnamon with the sharp tang of something else just beneath. My gaze caught on a droplet of sweat gliding down his neck, then pooling in the hollow of his throat. I had a nearly irresistible urge to sweep it away with my tongue.
“What did you see?”
“Fangs.”
Just then a stray beam of the setting sun turned the glistening moisture the shade of— “Blood.”
“Fangs and blood.” His mouth quirked. “That leads you to ‘murdering demon?’ “
“One and one is two, Jimmy.”
“Not always. Not anymore.”
The scent of him was driving me mad. I inched away, strode toward the door. I had to get out of this room. I had to get away from him before I did something I’d regret—either used the knife I still clutched in my hand, or used my mouth in ways I’d often imagined. And the only way to get him to let me go was to piss him off so badly he couldn’t stand to be near me. Pissing off Jimmy was one of my specialties.
“How many humans do they let you kill as payback for the ones you save?” I asked.
“I don’t kill people!”
I turned. “I know what I saw when you touched me.”
His eyes flared, and he came toward me with the speed of a striking snake. I reared back, my shoulders smacking against the still-closed door so hard I winced.
He crowded me, the heat of his body making mine tingle. “How about if I touch you again?” he whispered, his voice the one I’d heard only in dreams for so many years.
My heart skipped—excitement or dread? I wasn’t sure. “Will I get another flash?”
He stepped in, his hip bumping mine. “Let’s find out.”
Chapter 9
For just an instant, I panicked. If I’d had anywhere to go, I would have gone. The door was at my back, Jimmy at my front. I was trapped.
“Anything?” he asked.
At first I didn’t know what he meant. Then realization doused me like a pitcher of ice water—he was touching me to see if I got a psychic flash, not because he couldn’t bear another second on this earth without me—and I shoved at his chest with my free hand. “Move.”
He didn’t; I doubted I could make him without stabbing him with his own knife, and I was tempted. The only thing that stopped me was the memory of the last time I’d used the solid silver implement. The berserker had exploded, and I’d been covered in ash. I’d discovered a bit of it in my ear this morning. I certainly didn’t want to be finding pieces of Jimmy all over the place.
Of course he’d said the knife wouldn’t hurt him. But he’d also said he loved me, that he’d never leave, that there was no one for him but me. So sue me if I didn’t believe a word out of his lying mouth.
I stomped on his foot. “Back off!”
He didn’t seem to feel it; he didn’t seem to hear me, or maybe he just didn’t care. His head lowered.
I opened my mouth to protest, and he was kissing me, long-fingered artist’s hands cupping my hips, drawing me in. He was hard against my stomach, his chest warm against my own. I couldn’t help it; I rubbed myself against him, moaning at the friction, increasing it until my nipples hardened against the soft material of my bra.
His tongue taunted mine. He tasted like heat and the night. Memories.
Air brushed my stomach as his hands swept upward, palms tracing my ribs, then cupping my breasts, thumbs sliding beneath the cotton to roll the spike of my nipples.
There was something I was supposed to remember, something I was supposed to think, to do, to wonder. I almost had it and then—
He yanked the sleeves of my shirt over my shoulders; two of the buttons popped. My arms were pinned; I struggled a little, but the movements only made another button give a dull ping as it lost the battle and tumbled to the floor.
His mouth left mine; tiny kisses feathered across my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. He pressed his face into the curve of my shoulder and took a deep breath. His hands, still cupping my breasts, seemed to tremble.
“Anything?” he repeated.
I closed my eyes, saw… nothing. Then I heard Ruthie’s voice, past or present, I wasn’t sure.