Page 36 of Auctioned for Her Blood
But I’m not ready for this night to end. Assuming I can find the courage, I plan to invite Ryker up to my apartment, and then I’ll invite him to do other things, invite him to do anything he wants. My chest is heaving now, my breaths short and shallow.
“Nothing to fear,” Ryker whispers, and I wonder if he realizes what’s causing my anxiety.
The helicopter lands and Ryker gets out first. I shift to the door, and Ryker puts his hands on my waist, lifting me and gently setting me down on the ground. He releases me, but the expanse of skin he touched pulses with the sense memory.
He takes my hand, and we bend slightly against the wind of the helicopter’s blades as we walk to the car, where the driver is holding the door open. I slide inside.
He still hasn’t made any kind of a move on me—didn’t even kiss me for dessert like he promised, or threatened—but I’m certain of his attraction, certain his desire is building alongside my own. I might lack experience, but I’m acutely aware of the intimacy growing between us. I sense it with every fiber of my being, with every shallow breath I inhale.
Is Ryker the one?My one? I know it’s foolish to be thinking in those terms on our first date, but some claim love at first sight is real, and on our travels and at the small Italian restaurant in Manhattan, we talked nonstop about everything and nothing, and the conversation flowed so naturally. Even the moments of silence between us seem filled with the dichotomies of comfort and discomfort, relaxation and excitement, safety and danger. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel special and he makes my body sing with want.
I’ve never wantedanythingthe way I want Ryker.
“Cognac?” he asks as he pours amber liquid into two ornately carved crystal glasses. The drink reminds me of Zuben, and of his warnings, but all of that seems so ridiculous now. A vampire. Seriously?
Our fingers brush as Ryker hands me my glass, and desire ripples through me, parting my lips and arching my back—both things happening outside my conscious control. His expression darkens as his tongue grazes his lips, and he maintains eye contact as he takes a sip of his drink.
I taste mine too, even though I don’t need or want more alcohol. I’ve had more than enough to loosen me up, and don’t want to cross over to a place where I might fall asleep or be too far gone for a gentleman like Ryker to accept my consent—because as dangerous as he looks, he is a gentleman, and I plan to consent the hell out of whatever he wants.
Zuben’s warnings flash again and I smile as I swallow their absurdity. A vampire. A thief. A pirate. Ha!
“Something’s amusing you.” Ryker says, his body turned toward mine, one arm across the back of the car seat and the other holding his glass, resting on his knee. “What’s so funny?”
He reads me so well. “Nothing really. Something Zuben said.”
Ryker blinks, masking what looked like an instant of anger that flashed in his eyes. “And what did my good pal Zuben have to say?”
I shake my head. “I’m embarrassed to repeat it.”
“Come on, luv… As I’ve already said, you can tell meanything.”
The way he saysanythingwhips up everything he’s already ignited inside me—the attraction, the affection, the lust—and I feel like Icantell him anything, in the same way I’m sure that I’ll let himdoanything he wants with me tonight.
“First—” I shake my head “—Zuben claimed you were a pirate. Arr, Billy!” I grin.
Ryker just nods, swirling the cognac in his glass.
“And then he said you were avampire. As if.”
Ryker’s fingers slide from the car seat to the back of my neck and then slowly stroke my sensitive skin there. I fight my body’s desire to writhe on the seat, to slide into his lap, to press the burning hot core of me into his hard thigh—or into the obvious bulge against it.
“But…” He licks his lips. “You don’t believe him.”
I take another small sip of cognac. “Of course not. Vampires, if they even exist, they’re monsters, killing machines. I know you’re not that.”
“You’re right. I am not that.” He nods, and something new flashes in his eyes. Uncertainty? “But what if Iwerea vampire, or even a pirate?” he asks, his voice deep and soft and dangerous, like the purr of a tiger. “If that were true, would you still be here with me? Would you stillwantme?”
The way he says want, stirs my desire, but then a nervous laugh rattles through me. I love his sense of humor almost as much as I love how he makes my body feel—and my heart—but I’m not sure I get this particular joke. Is he trying to scare me?
“Would I still…like you, if you were a vampire pirate?” I grin, but his expression doesn’t change. “You’re not serious.”
“There’s a lot of misinformation in the press about vampires, you know.”
“And about pirates too, I’ll bet.” Taking a sip of my drink, I realize my hand is trembling. I don’t love the direction this conversation has taken. Why is he giving any bandwidth to Zuben’s crazy accusations?
“I’m not even sure I believe in vampires,” I say. The press is so sensationalized.
“You don’t believe in the supernatural?” he asks.
