Hot Blooded

thinking she'd better not let Pirate Vic suspect
he had competition.
    "Thank you," Bastien said in a sleepy tone.
    Mariann had to laugh. "You know, I'm pretty sure that's my line."
    When his head came up, a trick of the light set his eyes aglow. "I wish I
could stay, but dawn is coming, and I know you still have to work."
    Mariann's hands clapped against her cheeks. How could she have forgotten so
completely who and where she was?
    "Don't worry," he said, helping her slide off the table and into her clothes.
"Emile will have made certain Heather didn't hear. No one will gossip about what
we did."
    "Nice friend you have." She fought a wisp of unease as he turned her gently
to do up her bra.
    "The best," he reassured her. Momentarily shy, she tucked her T-shirt in by
herself. When she faced him again, he cupped her face in his big, smooth hand.
His skin was warm now, just as he'd vowed. "I meant it when I said thank you. I
know you don't trust lightly."
    "I feel bad. You didn't… I mean, it's not like I think we ought to be going
at it in my kitchen, or that you should risk, uh, aggravating your allergy,
but—"
    He stopped her nattering by taking her hand and placing it squarely over his
crotch. He didn't have to encourage her more than that. Her fingers curled
around his huge erection of their own accord, surrounding his balls and shaft in
summer-thin Italian wool. There was, she realized, nothing under that cloth but
him. She remembered her dream, where she'd seen the furry hang of him from
behind. He was just as hard as she'd imagined then, though she hadn't imagined
quite so much of him. Within her hold, his blood pulsed with enthralling
steadiness and force.
    It would have taken a stronger woman than her to resist the chance to
explore.
    He didn't wince when she squeezed him, though his normally ivory face turned
a dusky rose. Mariann's throat tightened with excitement. She sensed he'd let
her do anything, try anything, and never utter a complaint.
    "Don't you wrinkle?" she asked, suddenly noting the state of his shirt.
    Eyes dancing with laughter, he shook his head. "I'm preternaturally tidy."
    "Preternaturally, huh?" The catch in his breath delighted her as her nails
dragged back along his trouser's seam. "You know that makes me want to muss you
more."
    He caught her hand before she could. "I should warn you," he said with a hint
of roughness. "If you were touching me this way, skin to skin, with your bare
palm against my cock, I wouldn't care where we were or what work you had left to
do. I'd throw you down and fuck you on the village green."
    His slurred Parisian accent made the words sound like poetry. She had a
feeling he meant every one.
    "Boy, oh, boy," she said once she caught her breath, "do you make a girl want
to play hooky!"
    His smile could only be described as wolfish, his eyes once again catching
some stray gleam. He lifted her hand from between his legs, making an oddly sexy
gesture of licking her palm. "I look forward to you making this up to me," he
said, "when your schedule allows."
    He was smart to leave the timing up to her. If he'd been pushy, she might
have balked. Now she wasn't sure how long she could wait. Right then, a minute
sounded like an eternity.
    "I could maybe leave a little early—"
    "No," he said, caressing the side of her neck as he kissed her brow. "Don't
regret leaving me this way. You've satisfied at least one of my appetites. In
fact"—his lips curled against her forehead—"you're the best breakfast I ever
had."
    She wasn't used to men being this nice. Flustered but secretly pleased, she
searched for a joke. "Just don't expect me to be serving this to your guests."
    To her pleasure, he left on a laugh.
    Â 
    AS Bastien neared the hidden entrance to his and Emile's quarters, the sun
was trembling behind the trees, declaring its approach by adding heaviness to
his limbs. Contrary to current fictional belief, the first few rays would not
kill him, merely make him drunk and rob him of the sense it took to know when
he'd had enough. Thirty minutes of full exposure would probably prove sufficient
to set him alight, and less for serious burns. The more power an
upyr
had, the more sunlight he could withstand. The danger lay in growing addicted.
Upyr
who did that tended to die young.
    Despite the risk, Bastien felt the lure of oblivion now.
    Being in love was a powerful lot of work. His emotions were rocketing