“Oh.” Another pop culture myth debunked.
My skin tingled where Andre’s deft fingers touched it, my first indication that I was getting better. He placed my hand back into the water and reached over to grasp my hips.
I sucked in air at his touch. I could be frozen over, a step away from death, and yet his touch still brought me back to life.
Andre’s eyes moved to mine, and I felt the soft stroke of his thumbs against my skin. He threw a leg over my own, so that my torso was imprisoned between his thighs. With a sly grin he picked up my other hand and began rubbing blood back into it while I shamelessly ogled him.
My gaze traveled up Andre’s sculpted chest, which was much too tan considering that he lived in darkness. My eyes scoured over the chiseled bands of muscle that roped around his arms.
Andre paused in his work. He gazed down at my hand, his nostrils flaring, and I felt his body tense.
“What?” I asked. That one word came out breathless and flustered.
Molten eyes met mine. “Your scent …” Almost as if he couldn’t help himself he leaned in, his lips skimming my throat. That live wire between us flared, electrifying my skin.
I turned my head so that my own mouth dipped near his hairline. I breathed in Andre’s spicy scent and blinked when I realized it was his pheromones. They must be pouring off of him. The scent had my skin glowing pale, golden light.
Andre drew back, and I saw barely contained lust behind his eyes. He closed them and took in a shaky breath. “It is so damn hard to keep my hands off of you, even now, when you’re recovering from injuries.”
His words sent a bolt of heat through me. A few more lusty looks and some sexy talk from him would have me sweating soon.
I lounged back, leaning my head against the rim of the tub. “Then don’t.” Despite my glowing skin, that wasn’t the siren speaking. Just as the devil might be growing bolder with me, so was I getting bolder with Andre.
The lust Andre had tried so hard to push away swamped his features once more. His eyes glittered. “Don’t tempt me,” he said.
“What if I want to?” I asked, not backing down. Oh yeah, I was definitely feeling better.
In the past Andre had kept himself tightly controlled. But now, he didn’t look like the master of his emotions. “You need heat and sugar,” he said, “you’re low on blood.”
“I need you.”
I saw how my words evaporated the last of his self-control. Hunger took over his features, and his gaze fell to my lips. He reached a hand up and ran his thumb over my lower lip, mesmerized by my mouth. Still he paused, like he just remembered that he was indulging in something he shouldn’t.
So I pressed a kiss to the thumb that rested against my lips.
That spicy smell of his amplified, and a subtle tremor moved through him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, a possessive ferocity shined within them.
“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not when you’re still recovering,” he said.
I flashed him a slow, sultry smile, my skin beginning to illuminate. Who knew I could so easily fall into the role of femme fatal?
Seeing my smile, Andre cursed under his breath and ran his hands through his hair. Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he glanced back at my lips and stared. And stared.
His hands dropped to his sides, and he leaned in achingly slow, drawing out the moment so that when his lips touched mine, the touch was sweeter than honey. A kind of desperation took over as our mouths moved against each other.
He coaxed my lips open with his own, and then the taste of him invaded my senses. My fangs nicked our tongues, and the sweet tang of blood joined the mix.
Andre groaned at the taste, and I felt my skin ripple approvingly. We were creatures of blood and darkness, and at the moment I fearlessly embraced this.
His hands skimmed my shoulders, sliding under the damp coat I wore. Without breaking off the kiss, he tugged it off of me.
I smiled against his lips, and he made a noise at the back of his throat. “You undo me, soulmate,” he murmured.
His hands dropped to my waist, and he pushed my shirt up. He drew away to pull it over my head. I heard the distant smack as it hit the bathroom floor.
Wind whistled through Andre’s teeth as he sucked in air, his gaze riveted to my chest. I glanced down and saw I wore one of the lacey bras Oliver gave me.
“Jesus Christo,” Andre muttered running a hand over his mouth, his gaze transfixed.
The last of Andre’s resistance crumbled right there. His lips were on me once more, but this time, the slow burning sensuality was replaced by an insistent, carnal craving that demanded more, more, more. For once, me, the demanding siren inside of me, and Andre were all on the same page.
Hurriedly we shucked off the last of our clothes, save my lingerie and Andre’s boxer briefs. Those required some admiration.
Andre chuckled at whatever expression I wore. “The best is yet to come, soulmate.” He wrapped a hand around my thigh and another around my back, and stood, lifting me with him.
His words jackhammered my pulse.
I latched onto him, reveling at the feel of our bare skin pressed together. “Where, exactly, are you taking me?” I whispered against him, pressing a kiss to his neck.
“To my bed.”
Chapter 19
His bed? Brilliant light flared along my skin; I might as well have sent up a smoke signal informing all interested parties that I was turned on. It would’ve been less obvious. “So the doctor thinks I’m healed enough for physical activity?” I asked.
“What makes you think we’ll be doing anything other than tending to your injuries?” Andre said.
My eyebrows shot up, and I drew back enough to see his face.
Laughter danced in his eyes. “I have every intention of giving you a thorough physical examination.”
My lips twitched, and then I laughed. A melodic echo laced my laughter. It was eerie as hell.
One sizzling look from him, and my laughter died away, replaced by throbbing need.