Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

her, willing her, Yes, come to me. She took a step closer to the shadows, then another. Her hands trembled. Want them on me. Come and touch me, female.
    Touch me, and I might last another night.

    The vampire’s eyes were more frightening than Ellie had ever seen them. They were filled with both rage—and anguish . Red forked out over the whites, giving him an even more sinister look.
    Yet they were spellbinding to her.
    His bared chest heaved with breaths, his hands clenched into fists, the promise of violence in every rippling muscle and whipcord tendon. His fangs glinted as if razor-sharp.
    And still she found herself crossing to him, wanting to smooth his windblown hair off his brow, needing to feel his flawless skin.
    When she joined him in the room, something began happening that Ellie didn’t understand. He positioned himself closer to her, closer , with a silky, predatory grace.
    It dawned on her; he didn’t want to frighten away his prey. She shivered, commanding herself not to bolt.
    Because she sensed that might . . . excite him.
    Soon they were so close she had to crane her head up to meet his gaze. Her lips parted at the blatant need she saw there.
    But what does he need? What does he want?
    Why did she feel like she’d die if she didn’t know what his pale skin felt like?
    “Elizabeth,” he bit out, his voice raw, his expression crazed.
    Maybe she could touch him, could satisfy her curiosity, and he wouldn’t even remember. “Can I . . . can I touch you?”
    He shuddered, then hissed, “ Yes. Touch. Me.”
    To test the waters, she brushed a straight length of hair from his face. When he merely moved closer to her, she tentatively laid her palms on
his chest, against his freezing skin. Where had he traced to? What snowy land?
    He flinched, even as his muscles leapt to her touch. “Elizabeth,” he rasped brokenly, “you scald me.” She was about to drop her hands when he ordered, “More.”
    “O-okay.” She fanned her fingers over his chest, inching her hands out until they lay over his rigid pecs, his flat nipples.
    She didn’t understand this man, this evil vampire with his anguished eyes. He still hadn’t placed his hands on her. Because he feared to? “If I lose control . . .” he’d warned her.
    But she sensed that she calmed him, that she affected him physically—and mentally.
    Sure enough, his agitation began to ease, his lids going heavy.
    Ellie was just as affected. She grew enthralled with the ridges flexing beneath her fingertips, begging to be explored.
    When she sifted her nails through the golden hair on his chest, his hooded eyes closed.
    “Is this better?” Her voice was embarrassingly throaty. But she’d been aching for contact for half a decade—how could she not appreciate a man like him?
    All tousled hair and bulging muscles.
    Seeming to wake, he gave her a hate-filled look. He swiped her hands away with a muttered curse, then strode toward the kitchen.
    Since he didn’t trace, she figured he wanted her to follow him.
    She stared with reluctant awe at the sculpted planes of his back, the way they tapered down to those narrow hips. . . .
    Even his walk is sexy. Lothaire walked like she imagined a powerful king would.
    In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator, leaning on the door as he withdrew a pitcher of blood. It looked like a cream pourer in his big hands.
    He turned up the carafe, gulping its contents while Ellie sank into a chair, staring in fascination.
    She saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, knew he noted her breaths shallowing, her cheeks flushing.
    Now that she’d touched him, she was even more attracted to him. Flying-into-a-lightbulb attracted.
    Maybe he was a tad less intimidating without his fancy tailored clothing and expensive boots? And his chugging out of a pitcher at the fridge was so normal, so masculine , she couldn’t help but respond.
    Even when a line of blood ran from the corner of his lips.
    Vampire. Blood. Still, she couldn’t look away. How can this sight be wetting my whistle?
    When he finished, he ran his forearm over his mouth, over the stubble on his chin. “Look your fill? Grope your fill? Don’t worry, I’m accustomed to women of all species lusting after me.”
    She felt a flush of embarrassment, but curbed it. Ellie had an expiration date on her life that was closing in fast; she couldn’t waste a minute being embarrassed over anything .
    And she resolved not to beat herself up because she was