The Vampire Queen's Servant(30)

As Lyssa stared at him, she resisted the urge to lift his hand to her face. Press it against her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her lips and chin. Feel her face through a man's sensual touch. He'd claimed he had no gift for words, but either he was a liar or simply unaware of his appeal.

"I leave that for you to decide, Sir Vagabond. I want my massage now."

A muscle flexed along his jaw, but he inclined his head and drew her hand into the clasp of his.

Lyssa closed her eyes at the sensation. Touch was a basic need. Babies had proven it. Though a vampire's body did not need the therapeutic effects of a massage, she loved the petting, the manipulation of her joints under capable fingers. Jacob had very capable fingers. Thomas obviously had taught him what she liked, but the pacing, the feeling conveyed through the touch, had to be genuine or it wasn't effective.

Making herself push aside the intensity of their conversation, she cleared her mind. She focused on the quiet of the room, the way the moonlight filled it. It was a warm night and the room had trapped the heat of the day's sun. It would hold it through most of the night, which was one of the reasons she liked this space. She was so rarely, truly warm. The only thing that seemed to warm her sufficiently was a man's body.

Jacob switched off the cosmetic light so moonlight was the only illumination. It also gave her sensitive eyes a rest while he did the massage. Her seizure of the other night notwithstanding, Thomas had chosen his protege's debut well, a situation where he could prove his attention for detail while bringing his unique, attractive style to one of her private indulgences.

Perhaps Thomas had hoped it would be enough to overlook the deal breakers. The fact Jacob was a former vampire hunter, and that he wasn't very accomplished at sexual submission or unquestioning obedience in general. Or maybe Thomas knew the contrasts would intrigue her. Absolute loyalty. Resourcefulness. Beautiful body, clever fingers. The mystery mixed with the pleasure offered. Razor edge intelligence, perhaps only equaled by the monk himself.

When she closed her eyes to escape, she found it was a mistake to do so. These past few days, Jacob had served to distract her, but the quiet tranquility called forth the image like a seance. The ghosts of both Rex and Thomas tended to do that, slip into the still spaces whether invited or not, taking advantage of moments when she didn't want to focus her mind, like now.

Brown eyes. Brown hair gone gray too soon for a human servant's extended mortality. A face with so much character and intelligence it defied artistic rendering. "Strong bones" didn't cover it. In her mind, she could touch each plane of that face. The deep set of the eyes, the line of his brows, his firm, determined mouth.

My friend. My truest friend. I should have protected you.

The softness of a handkerchief brushed her face. Her lashes wet, she raised her gaze and saw Jacob touching the cloth to the corners of her eyes, carefully protecting her makeup.

"I'm not crying."

"I know. Vampires don't cry. Thomas told me." He was indescribably gentle. It fascinated her, how easily he could do tenderness when so much lean musculature embellished his shoulders, the broad chest. She'd been so used to Rex using gentleness as a distraction for his planned brutality. She couldn't deny there was something… remarkable about the ease with which Jacob touched her and how she accepted it. Even Rex had never achieved that level of familiarity, in all the years they'd been together.

"You know how he liked word games?" Jacob asked.

She'd said nothing to indicate she was thinking of Thomas. But she nodded.

"One day, when I was trying to distract him from his pain, I asked him to describe you using just one sentence." His quiet voice, the compassionate quality to it, soothed the ache, gave her an anchor in the helpless sense of loss that suddenly threatened to swamp her and produce more mortifying tears. "He said, 'She has the mindless courage of a predator, the broken heart of an angel, and a woman's unconquerable soul.'"

"Always the overly sentimental poet."

"He was that." When she looked away, he put the kerchief to the side and began to massage the joints of her other hand as he'd done with the first, saying nothing further. She watched the moon and her roses as his touch soothed the pain of the memories, distracting her with other things.

"Will you choose your polish, my lady?"

She chose the wet burgundy again. He remained silent, applying the base coat. She shifted her perusal to him, noting small scars, birthmarks, the movement of his body as he performed his task. The deft way he managed it with those large hands. How the hose fit his lower body.

She liked his abdomen, the fiat expanse of it with sectioned stomach muscles and a light covering of hair. She liked knowing she could reach out and touch any of him if she chose to do so.

"Did you win at the joust, Sir Vagabond?"

The corner of his mouth curved as he opened up a box holding tiny piles of glittering gem chips. Rubies, diamonds, topaz, amber. "I did, my lady. Quite often."

"Ever defeated?"

"Every man can be defeated if he meets a better opponent. It's been some time since I've met one, though."

She appreciated his cleverness. "I've found myself a Lancelot, then. Perhaps the only thing that can defeat him is a woman."

Jacob chuckled. "I don't claim to be exceptional in that regard, my lady. A woman can bring me to my knees quite easily."

"I certainly hope so. But can she make you want to be there?"

He didn't even blink. "One look from you and I believe you could make a man want to do anything."

Sitting back with a smile, she tapped the section holding the white diamond chips. "You're well versed in courtly love to boot."

"One of the more effective defenses against women's cleverness." Giving her a wry look, he snapped off the nail dryer and pushed it to the side to work on the next coat of polish.

She said nothing after that, turning her attention back to her rose garden. She let her mind wander among the blooms even as she remained hypercognizant of his touch, keeping her half aroused even as it lulled her into this quiet peacefulness.

You need a regular dean donor. You need…

A companion. You knew I needed a companion. Someone who would give me the will to live. To want to be alive. All of a sudden she wished she hadn't burned Thomas's note. She'd kept the ribbon under her pillow, though. She wanted it in her hand now.

"My lady?" Jacob's soft question drew her out of the recesses of her memories. She focused, seeing with amazement time had ticked away over an hour. When she'd fallen into her reverie, her right hand rested in the nail platform on the table. At some point she'd curled up in the chair, her shoulder and cheek pressed into the crevice of the winged back, propping herself for more comfortable gazing. Her right hand rested on the chair arm now and her left hand was on the table. The nail platform and his tools were cleared away. She looked down and saw the ribbon trailing out from under the palm of her right hand, against the chair cushioning.

"When…"

"I thought you might want it, since you were thinking about him." Jacob gestured. "Are your nails to your satisfaction, my lady?"

Against the wet burgundy color, he'd added a feathered brush of silver on the three longest fingers of each hand, setting in place a tiny black diamond chip at the point of each feather.

"Forgive me, but I thought you'd like to try the black diamond against the color instead of the white. You were so relaxed, I didn't want to disturb you."

They were perfect. The female in her was well pleased, both with the manicure and the manicurist, as much as she didn't want to be. He bent toward her now, his blue eyes close, that beautiful mouth. That body, meant to please.

"Why is there no woman, Jacob?" she asked softly. "Have you been married?"

"No." He was holding her hand, ostensibly to check her manicure, but pressing on her ring finger, stroking the soft skin above where a circlet would have fitted. She'd never worn one for Rex. It was a mark of ownership she couldn't allow. "I don't really know why. There've been women I've cared about. I've enjoyed their company. At a certain point, I just know it's time to let go and move on. I think I loved a couple of them, but it wasn't the type of love that would have kept me with them. Love…" He paused, lifted a self-conscious shoulder.

Despite his training in the Faire and circus as a performer, she could tell he had a man's reluctance to talk about his deepest feelings. "Tell me what's in your heart," she murmured. Vampires were un-apologetically selfish. Demanding every secret from their servants, offering their own only when absolutely necessary. That was the way it was, the way it had always been.

From his look, she knew virtually the same thought had passed through his own mind, but he responded after a long, thoughtful moment. "I've always believed love is more than just a feeling. It may start that way, but eventually it rips the fabric of what you know, becomes something far more than you expect."

"Pain and pleasure wrapped so tightly together that trying to separate the two will make you insane, as if you're unraveling a DNA strand meant to hold the universe together." She offered it quietly, as if she'd picked up the thread of the thought. As if they already shared a second mark. "It helps explain the reason for chaos. It's the alpha and the omega, beginning and end."