"Love At First Bite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenyon Sherrilyn, Banks L. A., Squires Susan, Thompson Ronda)

Chapter Five

Emma sat, quiet for the first time in days, and looked out on the night from her small balcony. It wasn't that she wasn't frightened. She was. But there was nothing more to be done. She had posted her signs all over the city this afternoon even as the teeming hordes left town. The harbor was empty. The last ship had sailed on the evening tide. From where she sat she could see several fires burning in the town, but the looting now seemed sporadic. She had gathered lamps from several other rooms to be sure she had enough oil, and locked her door. She was going to sit here day and night with a light burning like a beacon until Davie came for her. She wouldn't let herself think of how angry he would be that she was here or that he might not even be in the city to see her signs. Every piece of common sense said this would work out badly. So she resolved not to listen to her common sense.

The hotel was quiet behind her. The shouting in the streets had grown distant. So she clearly heard the pounding of boot heels taking the stairs up from the lobby two at a time. Her heart leaped into her throat. She would be raped and killed in the next minutes, or…

She looked to the door. He burst through it as though it were made of paper, lock and all. "Davie!" She ran to him without thinking, relief flooding her. The door twisted into the room on broken hinges. He took her in an embrace that was like to break her ribs. She didn't care.

"Emma!" he said into her hair. "Emma, what are you doing here? This is no place for a woman." But the chastising nature of the words was lost in his lips moving through her hair, his breath warm. He was wearing only a shirt open at the collar and trousers and boots. He hadn't shaved in several days, but that didn't make him seem unkempt, only rugged and more male than she remembered. She had never seen him without a coat and waistcoat. The hardness of his body beneath his shirt and the exotic scent of cinnamon he wore combined to assault her senses.

But he'd asked a question. What was she doing here? And she'd never really thought what she would tell him. He held her away from his body and looked at her with hungry eyes. His gaze roved over her and stopped at her hair. "Oh," she said apologetically, shaking her head, now full of unruly blonde curls. "I cut off all my hair to make the signs."

Davie gave a lopsided smile. "I like it." Then his grin collapsed. "Oh, Emma, it's too dangerous here. You shouldn't have come!"

She couldn't avoid this. "I… I couldn't sit at home and let you face… whatever it was you were facing. And don't you dare tell me I'm only a woman and I couldn't help." She felt a strange anger rising in her breast. What was she angry at? That he put himself in danger? That he hadn't offered for her? That he hadn't had the courage of his convictions…

She gathered herself. "If you don't love me, Major Vernon Davis Ware, tell me straight out and I'll go home. But if you do… then we belong together, no matter the circumstance. I'll not be a burden on you. And I'll stay out of the way. But I can help you; I know I can."

He looked at her with such intensity in his eyes it made her feel faint. He seemed so… alive. He was magnetic, hypnotic even. Had he been this attractive when she'd last seen him? It must be the air of danger that made him seem to vibrate with energy. "This isn't a diplomatic mission, Emma. It's a war."

"Plenty of women follow the drum." She swallowed. "I'll work in the hospital with your wounded. I've volunteered in the hospital in London, you know. Or I'll cook, or I'll wash for your men. I'm not proud, Davie, and I'm not delicate."

He was running his hands up and down her arms from shoulders to elbows, apparently unaware that he did so. His gaze roamed the room. "Emma, Emma, you don't understand."

She grew surer of herself. "You must tell me you don't love me if you want me to leave."

"You know I love you," he almost snapped. "Or you wouldn't have come here…" He seemed to recollect himself. "Your reputation… did you have a companion? Your brother?"

"I hired two females and a retired officer as escort." He looked relieved. Well, he'd better know the worst. "I dismissed them in Gibraltar. How could I bring them here with all the rumors of blood in the streets?" Now distress furrowed his brow. "I don't care a jot for my reputation, Davie. I love you. I'll bind your wounds, and barter my jewels for chickens for your stew. I can't stay at home going to parties where the worst thing anyone can imagine is that Lady Jersey is with someone else's child again. And don't think I'll ever love anybody but you. You were talking nonsense that day in Grosvenor Square. If you won't have me, I'll go to Paris or Vienna and set up on my own and I'll die without knowing the joys of marriage. I won't settle for some loveless union with a duke or a poet."

He smiled ruefully and sighed. Then he touched her cheek with the back of his index finger and stroked gently. "My brave, rebellious Emma. You always did have more courage than any ten girls put together."

She wished he would take her in his arms again. As a matter of fact, she wished he would do more. She wanted to cross some line from which she couldn't retreat. In spite of her brave words, she needed to put England and home and small social concerns beyond her reach, to remove any risk that she might just run home with her tail between her legs if the going got rough. Today in Casablanca she had realized that the going might get very rough. She wanted to leave who she was behind entirely. She slid her hand up behind his neck and pulled him down to her. He looked… well, frightened. She brushed her lips across his, not quite believing she could be this bold. She really was a rebel!

"Emma," he breathed into her mouth. "You don't know… what I might… do."

"Yes, I do, Davie," she said with more confidence than she felt inside. "At least I know what I'm hoping you'll do." To punctuate her statement, she slid her hand underneath the open collar of his shirt. The skin at the nape of his neck was damp in the heat of Casablanca. "We love each other. You're going to show me how to love you." She was going to give up her virgin state in order to cross her line. All she had to do was convince him.

"You must save that for your marriage bed." He was breathing hard. She sidled into him and felt the shocking hardness under his trousers roll against her hip. He wanted her!

"That can be my marriage bed," she breathed, pointing to the bed in the other room of the suite. "When we can find someone to perform a ceremony, we will make it official." She saw the conflict churning behind his eyes. How dear that he was so concerned for her he would try to suppress his physical desires. But she wasn't going to let him do that. "If you want me, take me," she challenged. "But know I don't give myself lightly. It will be our troth."

A thousand thoughts careened and collided in Davie's head. The thing in his blood shouted down his veins, throbbing with life and a sexual intensity that muddied his thoughts. He shook his head as though to clear it. He couldn't make love to Emma. Who knew what he might do when in the throes of passion? And he couldn't marry her either. She didn't know he was a monster. He couldn't let her stay in Casablanca where horror stalked the streets. He'd be dead soon, or, if he lived through this terrible campaign, he'd live forever. Neither would be good for Emma.

And yet… she needed the protection of marriage, at least in name. He could not let her go to some foreign city alone, to fall victim to the first rogue she met. If she bore his name, he could write to Charles. Davie's family would look out for her. Then she could return home to the comfort of England and her own family at least. He'd make up some tale as to why she had abandoned her chaperones. He'd think of something.

Very well. He'd find someone to marry them, if he lived through the night. He swallowed and tried to breathe, and took her in his arms. "I am yours," he whispered. "For as long as I live. My name will be your protection, and all that I have."

"For better or worse, 'til death do us part," she recited.

He swallowed, then nodded.

"Then love me."

The thing in his blood sang out in agreement with her, but that was too dangerous. He couldn't give in to passion. He thrust himself away from her and stumbled to the doors open to the balcony. He leaned against the wall. "I dare not consummate our marriage vows," he choked.

She looked stunned and hurt for moment. Then he saw her muster herself. "You won't get off so easily," she chided, her tone deliberately much lighter than his. "You've practically promised me a night of lovemaking, and I shall hold you to it."

He jerked back to her. "I'm not safe," he said through clenched jaws.

"You'd never hurt me," she said, trying to smile.

"I'd never want to." His eyes were wild now. "But people like me, they… they hurt people like you. I know. I used to be like you. Someone… hurt me."

Her brows contracted. "Hurt physically?"

He nodded, a jerky motion, cleared his throat. "You wouldn't think it possible, I know—a woman hurting a man. But it is." He almost choked on those words.

"A woman hurt you when she made love to you?" She sounded incredulous.

He swallowed and looked away. "Yes."

There was a moment as she digested that. Finally she said, "Whatever has happened to you in this godforsaken place, you are still you. You're a good man, Davie. And you love me. I trust you." She went up behind him and put a hand on the muscles bunched in his shoulder. The water was rising against the dam inside him. She sucked in a breath and put her other hand on his hip. The feel of her hand on his flesh beneath the fabric sent an electric charge straight to his loins. "And whatever happened before, you need a woman who loves you and wants to give herself to you." He turned, tentatively. She smiled. "I think I fill the bill."

Sweet, giving Emma. Her generous nature, her courage touched him deeply. He couldn't let her think he didn't want to make love to her. "Oh, God, Emma! I want you, like… like I've never wanted anything or anyone before."

"Then take me, because I want you just that much in return." Her voice was calm, though he could see her heart pounding in her throat. The dam inside him burst. He couldn't resist her. But he could resist the thing in his blood. He'd make sweet love to Emma and give her something of a wedding night, in case he was dead tomorrow, and she a grieving widow.

He swept Emma up as though she weighed nothing and carried her into the bedroom. The feel of his hard chest against her breasts made her shudder. At last! Whatever had happened to him in the past, she knew she could heal with time.

"I'll keep control, Emma; I promise," he said as he laid her across the bed and began to strip off his shirt. It was dim in this small room. Only the light from the lamps in the sitting room cast a glow through the doorway. His pale, muscled torso and shoulders made her suck in breath. His chest was covered with curling light hair. His nipples looked soft She licked her lips and thought what it would be like to kiss them. He sat beside her, pulled off his boots, and began unbuttoning his trousers. Then he stopped, swallowed once, and ducked his head. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't be a rushed affair."

"Then you'll help me undress?" His trousers, partially unbuttoned, gaped over his belly, only just concealing what she wanted most to see. She swallowed.

He did help her undress. He took the pins from her dress one by one as though it was a precious ritual and untied the skirt, unlaced her light corset, pulled off the sleeves until she was standing in her chemise. Her nipples, turned suddenly sensitive, pressed against the fine linen fabric. She felt so vulnerable, unlaced in front of him. She sat and unrolled her stockings herself, as she glanced under her lashes to see him taking off his trousers and smalls with far less ceremony. He turned from her, but not before she had seen his erect member rising out of a nest of hair a shade darker than the blond on his head. It was so much larger than the statues she had seen. Well, that was rather… intriguing. Could all that fit inside her? She wanted to touch it, examine it. And that thought, in turn, made the throbbing between her legs turn… wet.

She let her gaze rove over his tight buttocks, strong thighs, the muscles moving in his back as he folded his trousers. His shoulders were wide—wait, what were those marks? She peered at him in the dim light. Scars. Deep furrows where wounds had healed without benefit of stitches.

All his talk of being hurt became real. Someone had hurt him terribly, purposefully, once. Could he mean a woman did these things to him? All Emma could think about was that she wanted to take that hurt away. She wasn't experienced in love-making, had never even seen a man in the state he was in now. But she was a rebel, wasn't she? She would cast aside maidenly shrinking from the act and try to give him pleasure, show him that love could be generous and sweet…

Davie turned away, ashamed at the throbbing erection that must shock her. Lord knows he'd had erections so frequently in the last week he should be used to it. But the thought of making love to Emma had induced a need that was almost painful in its intensity. He'd had those kinds of erections only with… her, but never of his own volition. He wouldn't think of that.

He was having trouble thinking at all. He shouldn't make love to Emma. It was his duty to restrain himself. She shouldn't give up her virginity. He couldn't marry her when he would be dead in a matter of days one way or another. He should send her home. How? The ships had left the harbor. But she must be married, mustn't she? She couldn't return home after traveling unescorted without the protection of his name, even if he himself was dead. Alone in Vienna or Paris? Unthinkable. What to do? Could he keep control? She must never know he was a vampire. He must never hurt her. His breathing grew ragged. How had he let her talk him into this moment, when he was naked and needing and not thinking clearly at all and she was there sitting on the bed behind him wearing only a chemise, her nipples clearly visible, and that halo of hair glowing in the dark… ? He could smell her musk of desire, feel the throbbing of blood in her veins. He closed his eyes, knowing he was lost.

He was going to make love to her, and in spite of the fact that he hadn't had blood in two nights, he would muster control of his urges and give her only tenderness and slow enjoyment in her first sexual encounter. He would find the strength. He had no choice.

He did not lay down his folded trousers but clasped them at his loins before he turned back to her, his unruly cock pressing insistently against the fabric. He gasped. She had shrugged out of her chemise and now sat, naked, on the edge of the bed, with a shy smile. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her breasts were as full as he'd imagined them, her legs long and shapely, and there, at the vee of her thighs, was the delicate curling blonde thatch that called so to him.

She held out a hand. He could not help but go to her. As he stood before her, she gently took his trousers from him and dropped them. "Would you keep me from enjoying all of you?" she whispered. Even in the dark, he could see her blush. But then, mustering her courage, she reached to stroke his cock, gently, caressing the underside, thumbing the tip. He thought he might pass out. "It's so silky soft," she marveled, "and yet so hard."

"I'm… glad it… pleases you." What did one say to a beautiful woman admiring her very first cock? Especially when one was busy wondering how one would avoid throwing her back on the bed and plunging said cock into that little vee of curling hair? Her hand cupped his balls and lifted them gently. They were so damned swollen and heavy they filled her hand.

"I've heard that these are very tender. Does this give you discomfort?"

He took two breaths before he could manage, "No."

"I can feel the stones inside."

"So can I." That was enough. He couldn't bear any more of her gentle explorations, so different from… No. He wouldn't think about her. It was time Emma had some pleasure. And he knew what pleasured women. He had been taught. He had… her to thank for that. He picked Emma up and placed her on the center of the bed and lay down beside her. He must introduce her slowly. She might be frightened if he asked to lick her or, worse, asked her to lick him. And then there was the fact that she was a virgin. She might be in so much pain after he broke her barrier, pleasure might not be possible. That meant he had to hold himself in check even longer. She must be pleasured first.

He brushed his lips across her forehead. His cock lay, hard and needing, against her soft white thigh. He willed it not to throb against her, without success. He could feel the blood pulse in the arteries just under her jaw. He put down all thought of blood ruthlessly and moved his lips down to hers. Her mouth opened to him easily. She had been kissed before. Someday he would want to know by whom. He licked the inside of her lips and then caressed her tongue with his. She returned the caress, making a little sound as she pressed her breasts against his chest. Her nipples, now tight buds, seemed to burn his flesh. He ran one hand down her back to cup her buttocks, squeezing gently. She took her lead from him and did the same. Her fingers trailed fire over his body. He had never felt the sensations of lovemaking so intensely. The aroma of her was so layered with complexity! He could distinguish the smell of the charcoal she had used to write the signs, the spices from the market she had been in, the musk of her desire, and underneath, her own sweet signature of scent. And she was alive with blood. But he couldn't think about that.

Now to bring her slowly and inexorably to her pleasure. He laid her back and sucked at first one nipple and then the other. She gave a little moan of pleasure and arched up to his kisses. What a sensual creature she was! As he sucked, his hands explored her body, smooth hip, tight belly, and then the thatch of hair. She spread her legs so that he could have easier access to her. That sweet act of giving touched him. He slid a finger inside her folds and felt the viscous fluid of desire there. Her bud of pleasure was already swollen. She gasped at his touch.

"Oh, Davie!" But she didn't pull away.

He slid down between her folds and put his middle finger into her tight passage. Her blood throbbed against his hand. He pushed deep, felt the barrier of the hymen. But… yes, it was partially torn already. Thank goodness for all her tomboy ways, climbing trees and riding ponies. She had probably been torn a little long ago. It would make tonight easier for her.

He turned his attention back to her lips and kissed her long and hard as he fingered her rising nub with his thumb. She brushed her nipples across his own instinctively searching for more sensation. God, but if he were given enough time he would show her everything. A woman like her should have the full experience of lovemaking and do it often. With him. She was gasping now, into his mouth. He lowered his lips again to her breasts and pulled gently against her nipple as he rubbed her slick membrane. He thought she was near. He mustn't keep her this close to her release for too long, or she might not plunge over the edge. He stopped all movement, all sucking, for a long moment; then just as she began to move her hips, seeking the return of sensation, he redoubled his efforts. She arched against him almost instantly, crying out over and over as he sucked and rubbed. He kept her going until her body jerked away of its own accord and she lay there in his arms, gasping, the pulse in her throat throbbing at him, aching to be opened. His Companion prodded him. He clenched his jaw and refused.

It was exciting to see her orgasm. She came to it so naturally. He lay there, cradling her in his arms, as her breathing returned to normal. He was nearly sure he could give her another one, if he waited for a moment to enter her. She opened her eyes. They were hot with desire. "That was marvelous. Is this what married women get to do?"

"As often as they want it."

"I will want it often." Then she looked conscious. "I had thought… that it happened with… with your…"

"My cock?" He smiled. "It does. And other ways as well."

"Well, then, I think I want your… cock."

The word on her lips, breathed into his ear as she touched the organ in question, drove down to his loins with exquisite torture. She rubbed the head again, only this time the clear liquid of his restraint was slicked over his burning flesh. "God, Emma," he choked. He raised himself and parted her knees, then knelt between them. A rising film of red desire seemed to coat his body. He wanted her, wanted… wanted. Lord help him go easy in spite of the flames that threatened to consume all control. He held himself above her and positioned himself at the entrance to her tight shaft.

"This might be uncomfortable," he said.

"Davie, I want your cock." Her tone was urgent. She wanted restraint no more than he.

He pressed inside her. She was so tight around him. A little farther… there was what remained of the barrier. He pushed home. She sucked in a breath as he filled her. That was all. Then he pulled almost back to the entrance, plunged again. This time she arched her hips and he lost all restraint. He slid in and out. He pulled her against him, showing her the dance in counterpoint that gave them both most pleasure. God, could he wait for her to reach her climax? His blood roared at him. His shaft throbbed inside her tight sheath. Emma, this was for Emma, not for him. She gasped, her panting growing quicker.

He pulled her up and held her against him while he knelt on the bed, moving her easily up and down on his shaft with his newfound strength. She arched her neck just in front of him, making small sounds with each stroke. No, he wouldn't answer the blood he felt throbbing in her throat. He wouldn't do what had been done to him…

And then she shuddered and made small yipping sounds as her muscles contracted around him, milking his cock. He exploded. The world went red. He spurted his soul out in a stream of molten lava, even as blackness threatened to overwhelm his vision.

He blinked as the room wavered back into view. What kind of an orgasm was that? He had felt as though he was… what? Transformed? Reborn? But he had managed not to take her blood. A new world opened up in front of him. He could resist the need. It had been sexual intercourse, extraordinary, but ordinary after all.

Emma was looking at him with a soft expression in her eyes.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"I felt a twinge only. Nothing compared to what came after. You know," she mused, "the first time was very good, but the last time with you inside me felt more fulfilling. You said there are other ways?"

He smiled and nodded. "Lots of other ways."

"I want to know them. How many times can we do it?"

"I don't know," he said, barking a laugh. "A lot of times."

"Good," she said, snuggling into him.

"Maybe not an infinite number just in a row," he amended. "After a few we will have to rest. But there is always tomorrow…"

Rufford! Rufford and Fedeyah would be coming at dawn. If they survived the night. They had been doing their duty and suffering for it while he had been dallying here with Emma. He raised himself on one elbow. And when they came, they would be wounded and bloody, and they would heal too quickly. He had to keep Emma away from that and from knowing that her only protection from monsters was another monster. She must never know what he was.

But first, he'd let her show him how many times she'd like to be loved tonight.

"We're going to get some visitors at dawn," he said, looking at her tenderly. He was supremely sorry this night had to end.

They had made love to exhaustion. She was just stretching awake from having slept for a few hours. He drew her into his chest. There was no stopping time, though. "They need a place to recuperate from their battles. It… it has been my job to attend to them, and I must go when they come. And tomorrow night, I'll be with them, fighting."

She, too, raised herself on one elbow. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her cheeks and breasts still flushed. "Of course. I can help. I can take care of your compatriots, and you, God forbid, if comes to that."

"They have their own ways. There's nothing you can do." He hated rejecting her offer.

She looked at him strangely. Then she sat up. "Vernon Davis Ware, if you think I came all the way to Casablanca, married you—which I just did, minus the minister—just to have you keep me at arm's length, you'll have to think again. Whatever trials you have ahead are my trials. Do you understand?"

He did. But of course she had no idea what she'd gotten herself into. When it got close to dawn, he'd lock her in the room next door to protect her from the knowledge of just what she had married, for however brief a time. At that thought, winter seemed to blow into his soul, bleak and sere. And even more concerning, a little fire in that frozen landscape would not go out and hissed into the blowing snow, The blood is the life!