CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Driving away from the woman’s house, following Peter, my body shivered with excitement. I wanted to tear off my clothes, free myself of anything touching my skin. Feeding on that werebitch had left me desperate for release. I rubbed my free hand across my breasts as I drove, barely able to concentrate on the road. My nipples were hard and warm, and each time I touched them, I got closer to the edge. I still had the were’s blood on my arms. I licked it off, reveling in the rich resin taste. It wasn’t until I parked next to Peter’s Jag that I forced myself to calm down and pull back from the passion that was threatening to bring on a change. He didn’t need a full-blown vampyre awakening the neighborhood. I sat in the car for a minute, breathing slowly, letting the energy flow away from me. Letting my nerves relax.

It was the first time I’d seen his house. I concentrated on that. It was charming—a three-bedroom Spanish bungalow in a canyon off Beverly Glen, with a hot tub and a lap pool and a guesthouse in the back. While he was looking for something for me to wear, I walked through the rooms. He’d turned one of them into a combination office and workout space; free weights and a treadmill had been set up in front of a flat-screen TV, with a computer desk and bookshelves across from it. The other bedroom looked as if it was reserved for guests. And ironing. A full-size ironing board with an iron on it stood in the middle of the room. Made me smile; no wonder he always looked neat.

We met up in the master bathroom. He’d removed his leather jacket and bloodied shirt. His blood had soaked through and was drying on his face and chest. The smell roused my need all over again. Forget oysters. Blood does it for me every time. He had a black terrycloth robe in his hands and he was turning on the shower.

“Here,” he said, handing me the robe, “I’ll go over to SuzieQ’s and see if she’s got something you can wear to go home in. Her car’s here but her shades are up, so she’s probably out on a date. She won’t mind if I borrow something for you.”

“I can wait, Peter,” I said. “Let’s get that glass out of your hair before we do anything else. You’ve got a bunch of cuts we need to clean.”

He shook his head over the sink and slowly ran his fingers through his hair to flick out any remaining slivers. Then he opened the medicine cabinet and handed me a bottle of Bactine and some Q-tips. He leaned against the counter, watching my face while I dabbed each of his cuts with the medicine. His blood was still flooded with adrenaline from the attack. I wanted to lick off every drop. I said, “You know, the last time you cut yourself, it was all I could do to keep from jumping you.” It was the first day we’d met: I’d scratched him with my claws and convinced him it was a shurikan he’d cut himself on. I could probably tell him the truth now that he knew I was a vampyre.

“Really? Well . . . if I’d known that,” he said, “I’d have been using a dull straight razor to shave with. Ouch!” I pulled a tiny sliver of glass out of his forehead. “Are you doing that to make me bleed?” he teased. “ ’Cause I’ll be happy to oblige the jumping me part without any more cuts or slicing.”

I looked in his eyes. He was smiling, but he wasn’t teasing any longer. “All right,” I said. I put down the Bactine and the Q-tips, pulled my sweater over my head, and stepped into the shower in my boots and bra and black leather pants. He could do the rest. I turned around and stared at him. His chest was broad and muscled, with a layer of flesh that made him look solid and strong, not cut like a gym rat. His skin was smooth, just a trace of dark chest hair. I wanted to lick the strands that curled around his nipples.

His eyes never left mine. He unbuckled his belt, pulled off his shoes and socks, worked his pants and briefs down over his body, and joined me.

There was a tile bench along the back of the shower. I sat on the edge, arching my back against the wall, stretching my legs out straight under the stream of water. He straddled my hips, his cock hard and huge, inches from my mouth, and then he bent forward and reached around to unhook my bra. I scraped his chest lightly with my nails, circling his nipples. We kissed, our mouths only, while his hands moved down to unzip my pants. It took a while to peel the wet leather down my legs, especially since he’d buried his face in my body, but neither of us minded. The heat from the shower coupled with the heat from his flesh made it hard for me to breathe. I kicked the shower door open to let the cool bathroom air temper the steam. He put my pants and my boots on the rug outside the door. Then he knelt in front of me, and I stopped paying attention to anything else.