But now . . .
Now this vampire was revealing that physical need could be thrilling and consuming and so intense that she was shaking from the power of the sensations pulsing through her.
“Elijah,” she croaked.
“Hmm.”
“What are you doing?”
He chuckled, his hands skimming down her back before slipping beneath her shirt to tease the tense muscles of her stomach.
“Proving I do not see you as a child.”
“But . . .” She forgot how to speak as his hands skimmed up to cup her bare breasts. Nymphs never needed to wear bras. “Oh.”
He pressed his lips directly to her ear. “Do you like that?”
Like?
Her breath left her in a rush as his fingers teased the tips of her nipples to stiff peaks. Her toes curled in her shoes and her fingernails dug through the expensive silk of his shirt.
Dear god. It was nothing short of paradise.
“I can’t think,” she breathed.
“Bon.” His lips nuzzled up her throat and along the line of her jaw. “Just feel, mon ange.”
That was the problem. She was feeling too much.
The exquisite brush of his fingers over her sensitive breasts. The tantalizing press of his erection against her lower stomach. The silken glide of his tongue over her lips.
It was overwhelming.
She shivered. “This is madness.”
“The most delicious madness,” he murmured, kissing a path toward the side of her face she always kept turned.
Immediately she was jerked out of her sensual haze, a sharp-edged panic making her shove her hands against his chest.
“Don’t.”
Elijah stilled, seemingly caught off-guard by her reaction. Then slowly he lifted his head.
“Valla, look at me,” he commanded softly.
“I can’t.”
“Do you trust me?”
It was a ridiculous question.
They both knew that he was the one and only person in the entire world that she trusted.
Still, she knew that her answer was important.
“Yes.”
“Then look at me,” he urged.
It took a long minute to gather her courage. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she tilted back her head to discover him regarding her with a somber expression.
“Happy?”
His hands shifted to stroke her neck lightly. It was a gesture of reassurance from a vampire.
“Tell me what you see.”
“Fishing for compliments?” she tried to tease.
“I want you to look into my eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to see what I see.”
She found herself peering into the dark, velvety depths of his eyes. Not because he commanded. She no longer took orders from anyone. Especially not from an arrogant, sexy, overly possessive vampire.
But because she truly needed to know what he saw when he looked at her.
A pathetic victim in need of his constant care?
A scarred nymph he pitied?
Or Valla. A woman who he desired?
“What do you see?” she whispered.
“A strong, beautiful survivor,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic. Not vampire-mind-control hypnotic. Just deeply compelling. “A woman who could so easily have broken, but instead fought to reclaim her life.” He paused, his gaze deliberately moving to study the silvery scars. “I admire you more than you will ever know.”
Her hand instinctively lifted to touch her ruined face. “These . . .” He captured her hand, pulling her fingers to his lips. “Are a testament to your courage.”
She shuddered, unconsciously pressing closer to Elijah’s hard body.
“I hate them.”
“Because they mar your face?”
She shook her head. “Because they remind me . . .”
“Valla?” he gently prompted when her words faded.
“Of the men who hurt me.”
“But they didn’t cause these scars.” Before she could stop him, Elijah bent his head to trace the raised ridges with his mouth. “They came from your escape,” he murmured against her sensitive skin. “They’re a badge of honor, mon ange. Wear them with pride.”
She held herself rigid, but she didn’t pull away. Odd. She’d never allowed anyone to touch her face.
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, more for something to say than to chastise him.
His reaction was . . . epic.
“Easy?” The icy power returned, this time shattering her crystal bowl as he yanked his head back to reveal a lethal power glowing in the dark eyes. His features seemed sharper, as if the ivory skin had been pulled tighter over his elegant bones and his fangs shimmered with a dazzling white. This wasn’t the charming Elijah who could kiss a woman into bone-melting surrender. This was the vampire who’d claimed Paris from a clan chief who’d ruled this territory for over a thousand years. “Do you think that I haven’t been tormented by the knowledge of what you endured?” he rasped, a vase on the table exploding. “Do you think I wouldn’t give everything I possess to turn back the clock and protect you from the nightmare?”
She licked her dry lips. “Elijah.”