chapter 11
She would never survive this. This much was certain.
Rose listened to the sounds of the shower in the en-suite bathroom and felt her body heat rise with every second that passed.
The room Quinn had led her into was a large bedroom, luxuriously furnished with a King sized bed and comfortable looking furniture in the sitting area in front of a fireplace. Yet instead of using the furniture, she paced about the room.
This was not good.
What had she been thinking, accepting his outrageous condition? If she slept with him, she would never be able to keep her emotional distance from him. She would want more, feel that closeness again that they had once shared. And she would want to confess. Tell him what had really happened. Everything. And it would get her killed.
When the floorboards creaked, shortly after the water was turned off, she knew her short reprieve was over. Quinn demanded what was due to him, and she had no choice but to do what he wanted.
Slowly she turned and looked toward the door to the bathroom. Shock made her freeze in place. He hadn’t bothered wearing a robe. A towel that barely covered his groin was slung low around his hips, the ends tucked in so haphazardly, they threatened to come loose if he moved.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of his chiseled abs and the defined muscles of his chest, arms, and legs.
Her breath caught, and she quickly averted her eyes.
A moment later, the soft trickle of his voice reached her. “Now, now, Rose. You’ve seen me wearing less than this.”
Maybe, but he hadn’t looked like that back then. Clearly the year he’d spent on the battlefield with Wellington’s troupes had made him leaner, more defined. And stronger. She chanced another look at his thighs, admiring the smooth skin that covered sinew and muscle, creating a physique that would have put any Greek god to shame.
Swallowing away the lump in her throat, she allowed her eyes to travel higher. It did no good to show weakness now. She couldn’t let him know how much he affected her. After all, this wasn’t about the fabulous sex they would have shortly. It was about power, about who would come out ahead. And if she admitted that the mere sight of him made her weak in the knees, she might as well throw in the towel now.
Collecting all her courage, she raised her head to meet his gaze and forced a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve seen a lot of men naked.”
When she noticed him narrow his eyes, she added, “More than I can count.”
A low growl issued from his chest, and for some strange reason, which she didn’t want to examine at present, it filled her with satisfaction.
“Don’t think you can play me, Rose. Those days are over.”
Quinn took a step toward her. Instinct dictated that she retreat, but her mind overrode her body’s reaction. Retreat would only make this worse. She wasn’t his prey. He would be hers.
“I wouldn’t think of it. This is a business arrangement, nothing else.”
And to make it obvious to him, she pulled her top from her jeans and yanked it over her head, tossing it to the nearby couch. The bra she wore was transparent. Had she known that he wanted to collect payment immediately, she would have worn something less enticing.
“I’m assuming you want to f*ck now,” she said, getting busy with the button on her jeans. She’d always hated that word, f*ck, but she forced herself to use it, showing him how little this meant to her, even if she couldn’t convince herself of it.
Only when his hand captured hers, stopping her from lowering her zipper, did she realize that he had moved. Startled, she lifted her head and collided with his gaze.
“I think you’re forgetting one thing: I’m in charge here. I decide when you get undressed and how. Are we clear on that?”
His voice was a low rumble, but she could barely concentrate on it, because he suddenly stood too close. His scent wrapped around her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to breathe. Little electrical charges seemed to dance on his skin and jump to hers, scorching her.
His hand suddenly came up, sliding underneath her mane, capturing the back of her neck in a firm grip. Effortlessly, he pulled her head closer.
“Do we understand each other . . . Rose?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had she imagined it, or had his last word carried the same kind of tenderness as that night she’d become his wife?
She searched his hazel eyes, looking for an answer to her questions, but he gave nothing away. Whatever had been there only a split-second earlier, was gone. Or maybe it was simply an illusion, a trick her tired mind played on her.
That same mind now urged her to give in, to surrender. Maybe it was best that way. After two hundred years she was tired of running away, of hiding. She had to do this for Blake, because she had promised Charlotte, she told herself.
With a sigh, she brought her body flush against his. “I understand. Go ahead, take what you want.”
Quinn’s lips crushed hers before her last word was out. He wasn’t tender, not the way he’d been that night in London, and she was glad for it. Tenderness would have crushed her courage and crumbled her resolve to guard her heart. Yet his kiss had another effect: it stoked her desire.
His lips plundered, explored, and demanded. They were both hard and soft as they slanted over her mouth, urging her to surrender. Her skin sizzled under the impact, and his masculine breath only fanned the flames in her body.
Forgetting her plan to remain uninvolved, she slung her arms around his neck and parted her lips under the imploring command of his tongue. A rush of heat charged through her, setting her ablaze, robbing her of the ability to think. When his tongue forged into her, invading her mouth, she felt her brain disintegrate into a gooey mess.
She felt his silky tongue slide against her teeth, coaxing her to respond to him. Without thinking, she did. With the same perfect rhythm they had danced in the ballrooms of London, their tongues now twirled to a music she could sense reverberating through her entire body. The melody carried her away, cradled her in safety, yet hurtled her toward the inevitable.
Underneath her bra, her nipples chafed as he pressed her harder against his rock-hard chest. The ache was unbearable, but relief was nowhere in sight, because Quinn seemed to have no intention of letting go of her mouth yet to devote his energies to her aching breasts.
One hand was still at her nape to assure she didn’t escape the devastating talent of his mouth, the other one palmed her backside as he rubbed his groin against her sex. She felt the hard outline of his cock, but the towel still clung to his hips, preventing a closer connection.
With one swift move, she pulled on it and freed him from it.
A startled gasp was his answer. Then his kiss intensified as if he wanted to punish her for what she’d done. Did he really think he could silence her, take the lead in this? She would show him that she would not be the timid playmate he had once had, the one who’d looked up to him with wonder in her eyes. No, she would take what she wanted.
Digging her nails into his backside, she ground her sex against his hard-on.
Quinn ripped his mouth from hers. “F*ck, Rose!” His eyes were red as he glared at her. “I told you—”
“F*ck you, Quinn! You think I’m still the virgin who’s going to obediently spread her legs for you? If you wanna f*ck, then we’ll do it my way!”
Before he could reply, she reached behind her, releasing the clasp of her bra, sliding the irritating garment off her body.
His gaze instantly shot to her breasts.
“And what way is that, Rose?” he ground out, the tips of his fangs peeking from between his lips.
Her mouth salivated at the sight. She’d never before considered the view of extended fangs sexy. But now, the way he glared at her, it suddenly weakened her knees.
“Well, it sure isn’t the way you did it back then!”
His eyes narrowed. Well, now she’d done it. He looked furious. He growled low and dark.
“I know what you’re doing. It’s not working.”
She lifted her chin. “What do you think I’m going?”
“Don’t play daft! You think by insulting me, can get out of your obligation. How stupid do you think I am? I’m going to have you. Right now. There’s no way out.”
It wasn’t at all what she’d been doing, but there was no point in correcting him. All she’d wanted was to get it over with, with as little emotional involvement as possible. And that meant as quickly as possible, without any drawn out foreplay.
Before her eyes, his hands turned into claws. In vampire speed, he ripped her jeans to shreds, tossing the destroyed garment to the floor. Her bikini panties followed.
She should feel at least a little scared, yet no such feeling took hold. Instead, her nipples tightened and a steady trickle of moisture made its way to the outer lips of her sex.
Quinn took a steadying breath, hoping Rose didn’t notice that he was practically drooling. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her. Her body was more mature, her hips a little rounder than that night he’d taken her virginity. And her breasts were fuller too. Had the pregnancy done that to her? Was that why she was even more feminine now?
Her skin was still alabaster, her hard nipples a dark tan color, and her lips a deep red. He smelled the scent of her arousal and noticed the dew that glistened on the curls that guarded her sex. As his eyes roamed over her naked body, his anger dissipated. His claws turned back to fingers, but his fangs remained extended. The state of his fangs had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with lust and desire.
Knowing how close he was to grabbing her and pressing her against the wall, f*cking her standing up, he balled his hands into fists. No, he wouldn’t allow her to control him like this. He would f*ck her just like any other woman, and after it was over, he would realize that there was nothing special about it, that sex with her would be just like sex with any other woman.
“Lie down.”
Her lips opened as if wanting to protest.
“Now, Rose!”
Maybe she had seen the determination in his eyes, or maybe the fact that he had shredded her pants had finally made it clear to her that he wasn’t joking, but she complied with his request and stretched out on the bed.
She looked like a kitten, her beautiful body contrasted against the dark red sheets, her blond hair fanned out around her like a halo. One leg angled, she made an attempt at hiding her exposed sex from him. Despite the coldness she’d displayed, he had to wonder whether this meant anything to her.
She’d made it clear that she’d seen many men naked. It had been her way of telling him that she’d slept with countless men since he’d deflowered her. Flaunting this fact, was an attempt at angering him, for sure. It shouldn’t matter, yet it did. Knowing that other men had touched her, been inside her, pleasured her, made his blood boil.
His anger was back in an instant. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe the anger he felt inside him would prevent him from making this into more than it was: pure sex. An itch he needed to scratch.
Determined to prove to himself that she meant nothing to him anymore, he lowered himself onto the bed, pushing her legs apart in the process. He noticed how she closed her eyes. He didn’t care. If she didn’t want to look at him, it didn’t matter. She’d gawked at him earlier, and those few seconds when her eyes had roamed his half naked body had given him some satisfaction. If she wanted to deny it now that there were still remnants of desire between them, then he’d allow it.
Smelling her arousal more intensely, now that her legs were spread before him, reminded him of how he’d feasted on her that night, how he’d enjoyed licking her, drinking her nectar. But he wouldn’t do it tonight. This wasn’t lovemaking. It was simply sex. If only he could convince his body of this fact.
Quinn moved between her thighs, centering himself over her sex. Without a word, he drove his aching cock into her, pushing deep.
Her eyes shot open, her lips parting on a moan.
Oh, f*ck, he was so screwed!
Her slick warmth welcomed him home, her interior muscles gripping him like a tight fist, holding him there like a prisoner. With one single thrust, he’d sealed his fate. It couldn’t be. It was impossible, but just being inside her, without even moving, without doing anything, he was aware of the power she still had over him. The power she would always have over him.
“Rose,” he whispered, unable to stop his lips from moving.
His hand came up, wanting to caress her cheek, but he quickly suppressed the urge. This wasn’t lovemaking, he repeated his mantra. No emotions, no feelings should be involved. He had to remain unaffected. Maybe once he’d found release, he would feel differently. Maybe then, he would see her as just another woman.
Determined to destroy whatever power she had over him, he withdrew from her tight sheath, then plunged back in. It shouldn’t matter to him what she felt, whether she enjoyed this or didn’t, yet he found himself watching her for signs of pleasure. Every time she let a moan or a sigh emerge, his chest swelled with pride and his cock throbbed in anticipation. He sensed how he adjusted his rhythm to her breathing, how he longed for her hands to touch him.
But her hands remained at her sides. Why didn’t she touch him? He glanced at them and noticed how her nails were digging into the sheets, slicing them.
His head whipped back to her face, and he saw how she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, clearly trying not to cry out.
F*ck, pride be damned! “Touch me, Rose!” he commanded. “Do it!”
She instantly released her lip, a surprised look on her face. But moments later, her hands let go of the sheets and she placed them on his chest, stroking him.
He expelled a shaky breath, followed by a moan. Wherever she touched him, he was on fire. There was no use in denying it: her hands were magical. They conjured up memories of a life long gone, of secret kisses and stolen moments, of clandestine meetings and frantic touches. Of a forbidden love.
Everything felt like the first time. Her hands were just as soft as then, yet the shy hands of his virgin Rose were replaced by the experienced touch of a woman who knew what a man needed. Her nails dug into him, demanding, he’d increase his tempo and pound harder into her. Back then, he hadn’t been able to do that for fear of hurting her, but today he could drive into her as hard as he wanted, and she would welcome him. Her body was as indestructible as his, yet as pliable as ever.
“More!” she demanded, pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around him.
He had no objections. Riding her hard and fast was just what he needed.
The shy virgin from two centuries earlier had vanished. Quinn couldn’t say that he regretted that fact, because the woman who now writhed underneath him, whose body gave him such pleasure, was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. She’d blossomed into the perfect lover.
Passionate and wild, she tantalized him with unscripted moans and sighs. Her body’s reactions to his powerful thrusts were immediate and raw. And with every slide into her silken softness, he lost himself one bit more. Every second of their bodies dancing in perfect harmony, brought him closer to ecstasy. Release beckoned, but he pulled back, slowed down. He couldn’t allow this to be over yet. It was too good to stop.
So he endured the torture she dealt him: one lash at a time, one slide, one push. And maybe just one kiss. What would be the harm in that?
On the next thrust, he lowered his head to hers, brought his lips down on her mouth and kissed her. It was different this time, not as angry. She greeted him with passion, slid her tongue against his invitingly, asking him to take her. She didn’t have to tell him twice. This time when he invaded her mouth, he did so knowing that she wanted him and that it had nothing to do with the bargain they’d struck. He felt it.
The knowledge catapulted him over the edge. Without warning, his balls tightened, the pressure in them becoming unbearable. Fire shot into his cock, exploding from the tip.
Rose gasped into his mouth.
“Oh, God!” he ground out, ripping his lips from hers.
The waves of his orgasm hit him and whipped him like an Atlantic storm tossing a canoe in the surf. Then another wave crashed, and he realized that this one wasn’t coming from him. It was Rose. Her muscles convulsed around his iron rod, clamping down on him so he couldn’t leave, couldn’t withdraw from her moist cavern. Not that he had any intention of doing so.
He continued riding her, his thrusts slowing and adjusting to her spasms. Captured between her thighs, he moved in and out of her, prolonging the pleasure that coursed through his veins.
When he finally rolled off her, he heard her exhale next to him. He turned his body to face her, angling his elbow and resting his head on his palm.
Maybe they could repair what had gone wrong between them. What he’d just experienced with her had been perfect. He couldn’t just throw that away.
“Tell me what happened back then,” he said softly, stroking his knuckles along her neck.
She evaded his gaze. “We had an agreement. I’ll tell you once Blake is out of danger.”
At her refusal, his heart beat faster, but he wasn’t willing to give up trying. “Why not? Please tell me, Rose. After you got turned, why did you let me believe you were dead?”
Her mouth tightened. “It doesn’t matter.”
Quinn shot up to sit. “It matters to me. I loved you, Rose! I thought you felt the same back then.”
He stared at the empty fireplace, waiting for her answer, knowing what he wanted to hear: a confession of her love. Then whatever else she would tell him wouldn’t matter. Whatever reasons she’d had for never coming to see him, he would understand. If only she’d loved him. Even if she didn’t love him anymore. He could live with that. At least he would try.
“I told you I’ll explain everything later. But Blake is more important right now. He’s in danger and—”
He lifted a hand, stopping her. The knowledge that she was hiding something from him solidified in his stomach and formed tiny painful knots. “I understand,” he ground out. “You love Blake more than you ever loved me. I hope you two are gonna be very happy together.”
Catapulting from the bed, he snatched the towel from the floor.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t turn but stalked to the door, wrapping the towel around his hips in the process. “Where do you think I’m going, Rose? To my room. We might be still married, but we’re not a couple anymore. We never truly were.”
The words almost choked his airways off and delivered a painful stab into his heart as if somebody were driving a knife into it. God, how much he’d wanted to have her in his arms, listen to her heartbeat as she slept, cradle her, feel her breath ghosting over his skin. And then, at sunset, wake up with her, feel her stir in his arms, her warm body molded to his, her sweet bottom tucked into his groin.
How many days had he dreamt of it? How many times had he wished for the impossible, for a life with Rose? And even now as he slammed the door shut behind him, he knew those dreams hadn’t died. He was irrevocably in love with Rose. For two hundred years he’d kept the love for her alive, and tonight, it had been reaffirmed. She was still his, the wife he’d claimed that fateful night, the woman he couldn’t forget. The one who’d spoiled him for all others.
His plan of purging his love for Rose had failed.
What was he supposed to do now?