Forbidden Nights with a Vampire(65)

 

The iceberg lodged in her chest melted away, and more tears streamed down her face.

 

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

 

"A crazy undead lady with purple hair and a mean disposition?"

 

He smiled and ran his fingers through her damp hair. "I see a beautiful young woman who is smart and brave and can accomplish anything she sets her mind to."

 

"You think I can be happy?"

 

"I know you can."

 

More tears escaped. "You say lovely things, Phil."

 

He kissed away the tears. "Actually, I'm more a man of action."

 

She could imagine what actions he had in mind. "Phil, it will kill me if anything happens to you."

 

"I'll be fine." He kissed her brow. "Trust me."

 

"That's why I refused your help, you know. It's not that I'm ungrateful or stubborn. It's that I…I…"

 

He kissed the tip of her nose. "You've grown a little fond of me?"

 

"Yes." Her face felt hot again. "Just a little."

 

"Good." He grabbed the Indian blanket off the back of the couch and spread it on the floor in front of the fire. "I'm a little fond of you, too."

 

Her gaze drifted to the bulge in his flannel pants. "And yet, you show it in such a big way."

 

He grinned. "Come here. I want to kiss some part of you that doesn't taste like aloe vera." His blue eyes glimmered with heat. "I'm sure I can find just the spot."

 

She knew he could. She circled the coffee table and stood in front of him.

 

He touched her cheek. "Vanda, I love you."

 

Her heart cracked wide open. "Phil." She threw her arms around his neck. "What would I do without you?"

 

She was falling in love. She hadn't wanted to. But he was proving far too irresistible. And sweet. And sexy. "Will you make love to me? Now?"

 

"I thought you'd never ask." He bent his head down.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

 

 

 

Vanda leaned into Phil as he kissed her. It was a languid, leisurely kiss. No doubt he intended to make love to her slowly and thoroughly. But the rhythmic stroking of his tongue against hers, the feel of his soft skin under her roaming hands, and the earthy, manly scent of him filling her senses—it made her bones melt, her heart race, and her desire spiral out of control.

 

She dug her fingers into his back and arched into him. She pressed her hips against his groin, rubbing his hard length. The aching emptiness between her legs grew hot and demanding.

 

To hell with leisurely lovemaking. They could do that the second time. Or the third.

 

She broke the kiss. "Let's get on with it." She fumbled with the knot on her terry-cloth belt. Everything was tinted red, so she knew her eyes were glowing.

 

"Sweetheart, I love the eagerness, but we need to talk first."

 

"You've got to be kidding." She yanked her robe off and tossed it on the floor.

 

He sucked in a breath. "Good God, you're beautiful."

 

"Thank you." She noticed his groin was even larger. "Enough chitchat." She grabbed hold of the waistband of his flannel pajama bottoms.

 

He clasped her wrists to stop her. "We really do need to talk."

 

"Why?" She yanked her hands from his grasp and glared at him. "Are you dumping me?"

 

"No! I love you. I want to spend my life with you."

 

Her heart swelled. "Really?"

 

"Yes, really."

 

"Then what's the problem? I can't get pregnant. I have no diseases. Your gorgeous body will not be harmed in any way." She grabbed her whip off the coffee table. "Unless, of course, you piss me off."

 

He laughed.

 

She huffed. "That was supposed to scare you into submission. The whip or personal love slave—which will it be?"

 

His blue eyes twinkled. "You don't have to resort to threats. I gladly volunteer."

 

She tossed the whip onto the table. "Then stop talking and kiss me. Make me scream. That's an order."

 

He shifted his weight. "I have to say something first."

 

Vanda groaned with frustration. She should have used the damned whip.

 

"Remember how you mentioned that the Nazis sent wolves after you?"

 

She froze. Her skin chilled with goose bumps, in spite of the blazing fire nearby. "I don't want to talk about it." She couldn't let Phil know. He'd never look at her the same way again. "The past is gone. There's no point in talking about it."

 

"But this—"