Grace (6 page)

Then she was there, poised on the edge for a moment before sensation swept her away in a storm of white-hot pleasure. She cried out, thrusting her hips back as her body clamped around his, her internal muscles milking his cock as her climax took over.

Jaron gritted his teeth, the feeling of her body around his more than heavenly. As soon as he’d slid inside her tight sheath, he felt as if he’d come home. He shuddered, gently stroking his hand down her back. Despite all his crude words, he wouldn’t hurt her for the world. The trust she’d placed in him had totally humbled him. As his own climax took him, he realised he’d do just about anything for her.

Life was good. Grace could hardly believe her own luck. A knight in shining armor had rescued her from the pit of despair. Well, okay, maybe that was stretching the truth a bit. But she’d certainly been rescued by her own Prince Charming. She sighed and stretched in bed, reaching out for Jaron. But the bed next to her was empty, the cold sheets telling her he was long gone.

Disappointment made her throat tight. She lay back on the expensive sheets and sighed; she’d missed him again. She never managed to wake up in time. He was always gone before sunrise, headed down to his lab in the basement before she could entice him to spend an extra half hour or maybe even the morning in bed with her.

Rubbing at her face, she banished the sleep that still lingered. She had a long day ahead of her and thanks to someone keeping her up all night with his kisses and wickedly hot body she hadn’t gotten much sleep. Pulling herself up to a sitting position Grace took a moment to get herself oriented.

She needed coffee and her medication, in that order. Honestly, she had no clue how Jaron did it. He kept her up half the night but then was gone before she awoke. She knew he’d spend all day locked down in the lab, but he’d be fresh as a daisy by the time evening came.

Perhaps he caught a few winks down there during the day? He didn’t strike her as the napping kind but didn’t a lot of high-powered execs take power naps? Yeah, Grace did power naps, too. The eight-hours-a-night kind.

The bedroom door opened and one of Jaron’s soft-footed staff came in carrying a breakfast tray.

“Morning, Ma’am, how are you feeling this morning?” the girl asked in a chirpy, bright voice quite at odds with the tired look on her face and the bags under her eyes.

Grace stretched, her arms raised over her head. “I feel fantastic, thank you. Helen isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Just coffee and toast again this morning?” The girl beamed, obviously pleased Grace remembered her name. It wasn’t a hardship. Grace had no idea where Jaron got his staff, but they had a polish that bespoke of good training and good breeding. Grace had remembered Helen’s name because the girl was a delight, always eager to please.

But Helen, like the rest of Jaron’s staff, was extremely tight-lipped and seemingly protective of her employer. Honorable, but a bit frustrating when one wished to learn more of one’s paramour’s past. All of Jaron’s employees seemed to think he walked on water. The butler had even gone as far as to refer to Jaron as ‘his lordship’. The title seemed a bit over-dramatic, and Grace had had to stifle a giggle. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see an Igor-like creature shuffling around in the corridors mumbling about serving the ‘master’.

“Yes, please; just the coffee and toast.” Grace sat back in bed as Helen placed the tray on her lap. As expected, a coffee mug sat on the tray. She’d managed to convince the kitchen staff that a fancy, porcelain coffee cup just didn’t contain enough caffeine to render her human each day. That first morning, she’d had to ‘make do’ with the butler’s holiday-themed coffee mug, with its cheery, cavorting Santa’s. But by the next day, she’d been given her own—no doubt very expensive—white mug to match the rest of the crockery. Grace missed the Santa’s; they’d been cute.

She drew a deep breath in, savouring the coffee’s rich aroma. Alongside the mug sat a small mountain of toast, half of which she already knew she wouldn’t eat. Grace wasn’t a morning person—coffee and one slice of burnt toast was her perfect breakfast. But alongside the toast was something else. Something she’d come to rely on. Something she couldn’t do without now. She reached out and picked up the small vial. Funny…to her, it still looked like blood.

As she took the vial, Helen’s hands shook and the toast and mug slid toward the edge of the tray and Grace’s lap. Acting without thinking, Grace reached out, covering the maid’s hands and steadying the tray. A lapful of hot coffee was the last thing she wanted.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Ma’am,” Helen said. Using a towel she’d had draped over her arm, she quickly dabbed at the coffee that had spilled over Grace’s hands and the tray. “I don’t know what came over me; I’m not normally this clumsy!”

“No worries hun, accidents happen.” Grace smiled, reassuring the younger woman.

Helen continued to fuss, rearranging the tray and removing the coffee-sodden toast. As she leaned over, Grace noticed the dark mark on her neck.

A love bite, no doubt. It looked nasty, though. Purple bruising spread up over her high-collared shirt.

“Might want to get that looked at. Looks nasty.” Grace nodded toward the mark, wondering if she should have a quick word with Jaron. Perhaps Helen was having trouble with her boyfriend or something. Although they called them ‘love’ bites, surely no loving act had caused such a painful looking mark?

*
**

She was starting the first part of the conversion. Slowly, so slowly he hadn’t seen it until now. But each day she was getting faster, stronger, and the scars on her legs were fading. Without his bite, though, the full conversion would take longer than her human lifespan.

Jaron watched the scene by the bed from the corner of the room. He often lingered there, hidden in the half shadows, his body scattered to nothingness, watching Grace as she woke. He was fortunate she was an early riser. Once the sun started to rise in earnest, he would be forced back under the earth to the sleeping chamber in the house’s expansive cellars.

He hadn’t used the chamber in years. As an elder vampire, he wasn’t crippled by the sun-paranoia of the newly converted that drove them beneath the earth to escape it. But with Grace staying over and sleeping in his bed, he needed an alternative resting place. She still thought he was human; the possibility that he wasn’t had never crossed her mind.

So if she found him dead to the world, his heart and lungs shut down by the presence of the sun in the sky... Well, freak out would be an understatement. The last thing he wanted to do was land in the human medical system. Sure, a post mortem wasn’t going to kill him, but it was going to be damned uncomfortable and a hell of a shock for the coroner when his ‘patient’ woke up. Coroners weren’t known for their bedside manner, even under the best of circumstances.

He watched as Helen left the room, her gaze flickering toward the corner where he was hiding. All the staff were sensitive to his presence. They weren’t just servants, they were all seneschals, his eyes and ears in the day, his protectors should the need arise. They were all drawn from families who knew what he was and had served him for generations. And when necessary, they provided him with sustenance.

Like last night. He had taken blood from Helen, maybe a little too much if her lack of co-ordination this morning was an indication. He didn’t have time to hunt, not with Grace around. He didn’t want to waste any of the time he had with her. Human lives were so short.

Pain flared through him. He loved her. Somewhere along the way he’d done the unthinkable and fallen in love with a human. A human he had no intention of converting. He’d damned himself enough already with Julia. He wasn’t going to repeat the mistake with Grace. Not when what he felt for her was a hundred times stronger than anything he’d felt for his wife.

He watched her pour the contents of the vial into the coffee mug and lift it to her lips. A delicious shiver of pleasure shot through him as she drank. She closed her eyes in bliss, reacting to the taste of his blood. When he was still practising medicine he’d noted that some humans found the taste of vampire blood pleasant, even addictive. Those test subjects had always converted well.

He shook himself, disappearing from the room and arrowing through the ether to reappear down in his sleeping chamber far below the earth. As soon as he reappeared he lashed out, his fists connecting with the heavy steel door, denting it in his rage.

It was over.

Tonight, as soon as the sun was down, he would have to leave. Before he lost control and pierced her skin with his teeth. Completed the process she’d already begun by taking her blood within him to create an unbreakable bond between them.

One that would damn her forever.

Jaron didn’t leave. He couldn’t. As soon as he looked at her, saw the anticipation and happiness in her eyes about the evening ahead, he couldn’t bring himself to end their affair. Not yet; he would wait until the night ended and then he’d fade away with the dawn.

Jaron smiled in reply to something Grace said as he settled her into her chair. Tonight, they were guests of the ballet, viewing a special performance of
The Nutcracker
. His hand trailed over her shoulder, which earned him a smile as he took his own seat.

He watched her as the show started. Watching the interplay of emotions over her face, the concentration as she watched the dancers, the delight when one performed a move flawlessly. She had an astounding grasp and understanding of ballet. Jaron had followed the art almost since it had
become
an art and he had never met a performer with the sheer knowledge and ability Grace had. She had been well named, indeed.

A battle warred within him. How could he even contemplate taking that talent away from the world? If he converted her—and he admitted that the temptation was hovering on the edges of his brain—then he would be. But that ‘what if’ tormented him by offering visions of a future where he could have it all. Grace’s presence in his life, her love for the rest of his days
…or rather, his nights. If he converted her then she’d belong to the night, her talent hidden from the rest of the world. And he knew without thinking it would kill her; Grace was born to perform, born to be on the stage.

Knowing he had to leave her at the end of the night, Jaron lifted his hand and stroked a finger down her delicate cheekbone. He didn’t care where they were, he just wanted one last time with her, something to imprint on his memory for the long years ahead.

Grace felt the touch and cast him a brief smile. She started to turn her attention back to the stage, but the look in his eyes stopped her dead. She’d seen him hungry, passionate, filled with desire
…but nothing pierced her heart as much as the look that he gave her now.

Longing, bittersweet need and something else swirled in his mercurial eyes. She’d once thought they were cold but that was before she’d gotten to know him. They said the eyes are the windows to the soul. If they were, then there were things in Jaron’s soul no sane woman would go near. But that was the thing about Grace. She’d always been one to venture where angels feared to tread.

His hand changed tack, sliding to the nape of her neck. His signature move as he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. Unlike his other kisses, which tended toward the dominant—demanding kisses that she couldn’t help but respond to—this one was different. Almost as though he were requesting permission to carry on, asking whether she wanted this.

The ballet forgotten, she turned in her seat, sliding her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. The kiss got hot quickly, and their tongues danced in an age-old rhythm that seemed as fresh as the new dawn. Without prompting, Grace climbed into his lap, straddling his hips as his hands shaped her waist. She giggled as her skirts bunched around her thighs.

“Good thing it’s dark up here,” she whispered, her hands on his shoulders. She traced her fingers along the seam of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle underneath.

His palm skimmed up her thigh, playing with the lace at the edge of her stocking. She’d taken to wearing thinner and thinner stockings as Jaron’s potions had achieved the impossible. The scars on her legs were lightening, fading more and more, the longer she took the medication. When she’d asked if it was normal, he’d just shrugged and said it was one of the possible side effects. It didn’t happen with everyone so she must be one of the lucky ones.

She wriggled in his lap, feeling wanton as she kissed him. Hot, open-mouthed and passionate kisses. Kisses that reminded her of how long it had been since they’d last made love. Right at this moment, last night seemed a lifetime ago.

Her fantasy of making love in a box whilst everyone around them was unawares came back to tempt her, playing over and over in her mind. She nibbled along his jaw, her eyes closed. A rumble of pleasure came from deep in the back of her throat as his hands smoothed up under her skirt. Just the touch of his skin against her bare legs, his fingers stroking up over her ass, bared by her thong underwear, was enough to set her off. The deep need she couldn’t seem to control when he was around came to the fore.

Pulling at his shirt, she tried to undo the buttons and kiss him at the same time. He laughed, stilling her hands.

“Whoa there, Gracie. Anticipation
…” he told her, reaching up lazily to undo the buttons along his shirt.

“Screw anticipation,” she whispered against his lips, desperate to get her hands on him. “In fact, screw screwing anticipation, I want to screw
you
.”

He shuddered and his eyes closed for a moment. When they opened, the longing look was gone, replaced by pure heat. He smiled, opening the last button, the fabric of his shirt falling open and revealing his smooth chest and washboard stomach.

“If you want me, Gracie, take me.”

She didn’t need his soft order. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders and halfway down his arms. With a wicked grin, she left it there, the fabric pinning his arms in place. It was a trick he’d pulled on her the other night, pinning her arms with her own top. Then he’d spread her legs and used his delightfully talented tongue on her until she’d screamed his name in pleasure, her climax so intense she nearly passed out.

“Grace.” Her name came out sounding more like a warning. She grinned unrepentantly as she slid from his lap, her hands going for his belt buckle.

“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?” She replied with a wink.

***

Jaron’s mind still reeled as he slid behind the wheel to drive them home. Home. He almost smiled at the thought. He’d not considered any place home for years. He moved around a lot, a new city every ten or so years, to stop people from realising he wasn’t actually ageing. Eventually, he’d even had to go through the elaborate charade and pretend he was his own son. He already had the paperwork in his safe for his next identity, Dragomir Conrad.

His lips quirked slightly as he twisted the key and the engine roared to life. Yet another change Grace had wrought in him. Along with his indecisiveness. Normally he made a decision and stuck to it. Normally he would have already left. But Grace kept throwing him curveballs, things like the little scene in the box earlier, and he was sticking around like a bad penny.

Next to him, Grace strapped herself in. Dragomir. He hadn’t used that one in a while. It was, in fact, his name. Jaron Conrad Dragomir. Very dark and Carpathian-sounding. Which was exactly why he hadn’t used it for centuries. But people these days were less suspicious of eastern European-sounding names, their fear of vampires and werewolves replaced by a fear of serial killers and a spot-inspection by the tax office.

Whilst it gave his kind a bit of a break, the change was sad to see. Along with their fear, humanity had lost something else. A sense of the wondrous, the belief that sometimes magic could happen. Like tonight.

Magic had happened tonight, clichéd as that sounded. When he’d drawn Grace into his lap he’d intended to seduce her, take the fantasy on the surface of her mind and make it real. However, Grace had had other ideas. She’d taken over and seduced
him
.

He pulled out into traffic, the powerful car responding to his every movement. Deep in thought, he focused on driving and getting them home safely. He was used to being the aggressor, the one in charge. So when Grace had pinned his arms in the shirt, he’d been surprised, then aroused.

Fuck yeah, that had been a turn on
. His cock sprang to life in his pants again at the memory. He planted his foot on the accelerator, desperate to get home and finish what they’d started. Next to him, Grace squeaked as he wove in and out of the traffic, driving at breakneck speed until they left the city lights behind them.

“Jaron. You’ll get us killed!” She protested, one white-knuckled hand gripping her seat belt, her other hand scrabbling for purchase on the door as he threw the car into another bend.

Jaron laughed but took pity on her. She wasn’t to know that his reactions were razor sharp, he could drive the car at top speed and it still felt like a Sunday afternoon stroll to him. He slowed the car to a more reasonable speed, one that wouldn’t attract the attention of the local cops, and smiled across at her.

“There, that better?”

She swallowed and nodded, looking less green now. “Much, thank you. What got into you? In a hurry to get back or something?” She gave a little, nervous laugh.

He looked at her, dropping his amiable mask and letting her see the need and desire inside. Deliberately, he sent her a scene from earlier. She wouldn’t know where the image had come from. Thanks to their link, forged by her taking of his blood, it was easier for him to slip in and out, inserting the image directly in her mind.

Her on her knees, reaching for his belt buckle and releasing his straining cock…her small, pink tongue as it flicked out and swept over the sensitive head.

He smelled her arousal the instant her body softened. The sweet scent flooded the cramped confines of the car to drive him mad. His hands clenched on the steering wheel again. Desire hit him broadside. His nostrils flared as he tried to get himself under control. He stifled the groan that came to his lips and tried to act normal.

She rolled her head back against the headrest and looked at him. It was all Jaron could do to keep the car on the road rather than pull over, throw the seat back and take her right there in the damn passenger seat. He flicked a glance at the back seat in the rear view mirror. Perhaps... No, he was not taking her in the bloody car like some hormone-driven teenager.

He kept his eyes on the road, feeling her interested gaze on him. She reached out, smoothed her hand down his shoulder. He slid her a sideways glance, pretending he had no clue what was on her mind.

“Hey babe,” he murmured, the easy modern phrase sounding a bit odd as his accent thickened.

Her smile broadened as her hand crept downward. She’d made the connection between his accent and his state of arousal.
Damn it
. She stroked down his stomach, and his muscles contracted automatically. In his pants his cock strained, as if trying to get closer to her hand.

And then—
Oh God
—her hand reached his cock. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as she stroked him through the fabric, examined the length and breadth of him, as if gauging the strength of his arousal. He was hard, so fucking hard he felt like he was going to burst any minute.

“Gracie
...” He warned, having trouble concentrating on the road ahead with her hand in his lap. Especially when she started to play with his belt buckle. She wouldn’t go down on him, not in the car…would she? His cock pulsed, desperate to feel her mouth on him again. He’d had blowjobs before, of course, but rarely, and none had ever seemed to enjoy it as much as Grace did.
That
was the real turn on. The pleasure she took in giving him pleasure.

“So, pleased to see me, I take it?” She purred in his ear, out of her seatbelt and moving closer. Distracted by her, Jaron slowed the car down as a van pulled onto the road ahead of them.

“You know I am,” he said as she kissed his jaw and along the side of his neck. Her hand whispered over his straining erection, stroking but not fulfilling. “You keep this up and you’re going to find out exactly how pleased I am to see you.”

“Oooh, tough talk. You man enough to back up your words?”

“You want me to stop this car and bend you over the hood to fuck you?” he asked, slowing the car to a crawl as the van in front slowed.

“Great,” he muttered, “Some people should really learn how to damn drive.”

“Rawr. Scary Jaron.” Grace giggled, still curled up around him as she kissed along his neck. Kisses interspersed with little nips from her blunt human teeth. His eyes rolled back in his head, pleasure exploding through him at the sensation.

“Harder.” His demand was a ragged whisper filled with dark need. Not until she complied with his request did he realise how dangerous a game they’d begun. Just one proper bite and he’d lose control. He slammed his foot on the brake and grabbed her hand.

“Holy shit, Grace; you’ll be the death of me.”

He locked gazes with her, her hand caught in his between them. His body was rigid as he fought for control. All he wanted to do was drag her into his arms, press her lips to his throat and make her bite him again. Damn it, why shouldn't he? Hadn't he spent enough time alone?

But before he could move a muscle the door was wrenched open and a harsh voice said, “We can do this the easy way or the painful way. Personally, I prefer the second but it’s your call.”

***

Grace trembled and fought back the terror, the hysteria that had closed off her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, to speak.

Before either could react, she and Jaron had been dragged from the car. Jaron had tried to fight but there had been too many of them and there wasn't much arguing anyone could do against a crowbar. Her initial thought—that they were being car-jacked—faded into fearful confusion when they'd been tied up and bundled into one of the vans.