, "Creates all the important questions and answers anything." An ironic smile curved his mouth. "Like why I have no woman."
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
Lyssa looked down at herself critically. "I certainly hope nobody' recognizes me at the mall, because if they do I'm going to do something equally humiliating to you. Three times over."
He chuckled, came out of the bathroom. "With your permission, my lady, I'd like to put this on your lower back."
He pulled back the wet towel to show her a temporary tattoo, a black rose and thorns done in artistic interwoven loops. She'd seen versions of the design riding on the lower backs of young women, revealed by their jeans. Jeans much like she was wearing now. Blue and riding low on her slim hips, for which he'd provided a pair of equally low-riding black panties. The pants had been worn at the stress points and were embellished with a scattering of painted pewter roses just below the front pockets, highlighted with a touch of silver pink. She had to admit the decoration was pretty, whimsical. He'd combined it with a snug midriff-baring tie-dye T-shirt, also in swirls of pink. On the front was an image of several kittens with jade eyes like hers. Two of the kittens cavorted across her breasts. There was a third kitten napping between them and they were all perched on top of the shirt's lettering: "Not everyone is a morning person."
Her scoundrel, teasing her.
He'd pinned up her raven tresses and covered them with a shoulder-length wig of expensive quality. The human hair feathered naturally around her face with a red brown coloring.
Her comment notwithstanding, she allowed him to kneel behind her, pressing the tattoo to her lower back. As he held it there with one hand, he smoothed over it with the wet, warm cloth in the other. Tendrils of the water trickled down the curves of her buttocks beneath the jeans, an intimacy that made her very aware the points of his wrists were pressed against her denim-covered ass.
Despite her lapse at the pool, she'd continued her self-imposed abstinence. Five days now since that night. She couldn't trust herself to take advantage of the delights of his body and skill as a lover and resist the desire rising exponentially in her each day to give him the second mark. It was too soon. He had to at least get through the dinner to prove to her he was up to what they would face at the Council Gathering.
A mall was public. She could enjoy him without taking the risk. That, despite the fact she suspected he was deliberately testing her resolve as he brought his other hand to her front. His wide palm settled over her abdomen to anchor her as he increased the pressure on her lower back. He fanned his fingers so his smallest finger was under the waistband, just to the left of the button, perhaps a bare inch from the elastic of the panties. Which, given the style of the garments, did not put him far from a part of her body all too aware of him.
"You look lovely, my lady. But unless someone is expecting you to dress like this, you'll be very safe even without the wig. Plus we're taking other precautions."
The paper now sticking on its own, he rose but didn't take his hand from her waist. She knew she should move as she felt his thigh press against the back of hers, the line of his hip against the curve of her buttock.
"So you like the way I look then?" she managed. "You seem as if you're thinking about taking liberties you've not been invited to take."
"I welcome my lady's punishment," he murmured. The provocative words set off volts of current through every needy part of her body. The whisper of a moan escaped her as his chin nudged away the red brown hair and his lips closed on her collarbone. His hand slid up under the T-shirt, under the fabric stretched taut over the curves of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, and his thumb and forefinger curved under the left one, gently squeezing as her whisper became a true sound of need. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she felt the prick of her fangs on her lips.
Control. An easy word to bring to mind and equally easy to ignore in the face of the blatant erection he pressed against her buttocks. His arms were now both around her, one grasping her breast, the other hooked in that waistband. His thumb teased the line of her panties, his fingers curved low on the outside, stroking her mound through the denim just above her clit.
"How long will you refuse me, my lady, when I can tell you want me in your bed? Why deny yourself what belongs to you?"
That formal courtesy and language Thomas knew she found so appealing in a man, especially during this vulgar century, combined with Jacob's unique confidence and aggression, gave him the ability to seduce her, a woman who knew everything there was to know about seduction.
His voice was against her ear, his breath teasing the side of her neck. She'd noted his bite there had lingered a day or so, like the love bite of a teenage lover. That was unusual, for wounds, let alone blemishes, healed almost instantly on her. While it could be a progression of the illness she still refused to discuss with him, it could also be the fact they shared at least one mark. She'd heard of such things, though she hadn't noted it with past servants.
"I have my reasons. Be patient, Jacob, and don't press me."
"But I have a much shorter life span than you, my lady. By the time you make up your mind, I may no longer be able to live up to your demands."
She elbowed him in the ribs, giving him an exasperated snort. "Perhaps if I wait until you're old and doddering to give you another mark, you'll be more manageable. I can always find myself a young and energetic lover."
"Can you, then?"
She stepped back, turned and faced him. The Irish had slipped into his tone, this time she suspected without conscious awareness. For some reason the way he uttered it, softly, a little threateningly, ran a ripple of reaction through internal areas already experiencing some turbulent seas when it came to him. Tamping it down, she focused on more important matters. "Is there anything someone who knows me well would recognize?"
Though he obediently shifted his attention to serious contemplation of her question, it didn't make her body tingle any less, watching his eyes course over every part of it. She wondered what he was seeing. It had been a long time since she'd thought about that. Of course she knew by human standards she was stunning. But beauty could be surface. Drawing the eye before it tired of the display and then wandered on. Did he see anything worth looking at for several centuries?
What a ridiculous thought. While there was a sexual component to the vampire-servant relationship, she'd never denied her past servants the right to pursue a human lover as long as it didn't interfere with her own needs. So why did the idea of Jacob being with another woman displease her so much?
She reminded herself that a vampire-servant relationship had phases just as any other. Since Thomas had been her last servant, she'd simply forgotten about that. Sometimes servants were possessive at first. They learned the foolishness of that in time, but it could affect the vampire, too. It was just the newness of the attraction, of course. As they settled into it, it would become what it should be. She should enjoy this fun, flirtatious phase, the sharp pleasurable bite of sexual tension, anticipation.
And for heaven's sake, she hadn't made him her servant yet, officially. She kept threatening to throw him out every other day. It was alarming that she seemed to be reminding herself of the same things she was reminding him.
"Just your eyes. Here." He offered a pair of sunglasses suited to the rest of the attire, with pale silver pink frames and fashionable tinting. "They'll also help if there are any bright lights in the mall."
"So how does it look? The tattoo?"
"I'm reconsidering. Every male in the place will have his gaze glued to your backside. I'll have to stick close." As she slipped them on, Jacob wondered at how she could make anything appear beautiful, even a pair of cheap sunglasses.
"How are we getting there?"
"In the limo, at least part way." He lifted a full-length, cowled cloak. "Ingram's bringing two people with him who are roughly our height and build. He'll drop them off at the opera, they'll get out, her in your cloak and him dressed like me, and go enjoy our opera tickets. When Mr. Ingram parks the limo to wait for them, we'll slip out the passenger door and go get my bike where I've parked it."
"You have a motorcycle?"
He nodded. "Assuming we've not been followed, my lady, I'm going to treat you to a bike ride in the woods. I hope you're not faint of heart."
She took the cloak, haughtily ignoring that comment, and settled it over her shoulders, lifting the cowl and drawing it down over her face. "It seems you've thought of everything. Have you had the silver cleaned for our dinner?"
"Yes, my lady." He shrugged into a dark suit coat emphasizing his wide shoulders. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and dark dress jeans that fit his groin nicely, making the palm of her hand itch. "Did it myself. Not a spot on it."
"Food all ordered?"
"Catering service prepped and food ordered. Linens have been dry cleaned, fresh flowers will be delivered that afternoon, complete with a special bouquet I picked out myself for my lady's table setting."
"Music?"
"Done." When she paused, he cocked his head. "Are you playing wicked stepmother again? Can I please go to the mall now?"