Holiday with a Vampire 4 (15 page)

Although her guest didn’t move, his next smile was a thing of real beauty.

Chapter 3

I
t took all of Dylan’s willpower to keep from lowering his mouth to the soft crook of Savannah Clark’s neck. Her body was giving off a luxurious kind of sexual heat that made her fragrance sultry. Savannah Clark was like a piece of candy offered up to a starving soul.

“What’s that delightful smell?” Dylan hoped that a question might lessen the extraordinary heat of the moment.

“Cinnamon candles and my friend over there.” She pointed to the tree, the turn of her head exposing more pale skin that lured him with the smooth grace of the forbidden. He had to tear his attention away from that enticing bareness. Though he had fangs, his kind didn’t thirst. Yet tonight, so close to Savannah, his fangs seemed to have a mind of their own.

The discernible tick of Savannah’s pulse filled the hallway with its echo, each beat marking the passage of time with a reminder of how little of it he had to share with her. Dylan raised his hands to trap that pulse beneath his fingers, and stopped himself. Just one look, now, into her eyes, and he’d avoid confronting the rest of this mysterious dilemma of justification, lust and restraint.

Do it.

She stood inches away.

All he had to do was whisper his instructions for her to forget about that star.

He felt her hands on his shoulders and had to hide his surprise. When she said “Take off your coat” in a breathy voice, he was slightly taken aback.

The warmth of her hands seeped through his clothes, penetrating his skin layer by layer, first with a hint of heat, then real fire. At the same time, her invitation seemed filled with the expectation of comfort and companionship, rather than danger and withheld secrets. He had never been offered such an innocent invitation to share space, certainly never from a target.

This was strange and troubling. The way his skin danced beneath her touch, as if anticipating more touches to come, was as much a discomfort as it was a pleasure.

He searched Savannah’s face for hints of apprehension over having him so close and found none. He smelled no fear on her. Savannah didn’t know what kind of being stood beside her and what he had come here to do. Her eyes were incredibly bright.

He was keenly aware of every detail of her movement, as if it were somehow suspended from time. He saw each golden lash that lined Savannah’s blue eyes and the delicate flush of pink tinting her cheeks. She was biting her lip, and he wanted to do that for her. His fangs weren’t the only parts of him that ached.

Heaven forgive me, I need more from you than your research, Savannah. You make me want to be a man, with feelings I thought I had lost.

This was a shocking discovery. If he were a man, instead of what he was, things would be simple. He’d take her in his arms and to bed. He’d give her pleasure and take some back, then be there when she woke in the morning, able to soak in every nuance of her wide-eyed, golden existence. If mortal, he might have stayed here with her forever.

These were painful ideas. Immortals couldn’t afford to think or look back. Still, his heart had begun to beat with Savannah’s heart’s rapid rhythm, as if it were his own. That beat had the power to seduce in a way that nothing else could.

Dylan tore his gaze away. He would do his duty, but he had to understand this sudden problem with his resolve first. He needed some mental distance from Savannah in order to get his bearings.

He glanced at the colorful braided rugs covering the wood floors, and the soft furniture along the walls that were dotted with pictures in silver metal frames. The lamps near the front window cast a soft light.

The sideways slide of Savannah’s hands from his shoulders to his chest brought him back to the situation at hand.

She slipped her palms under the edges of his coat and pushed the coat to the side, her fingertips lightly rubbing against the silk shirt he wore underneath. Withholding a sound, Dylan worked to keep his body motionless—even though the physical sensations rushing at him were overwhelming.

Savannah had no idea what her touch was doing. Removing his coat meant he’d play the game out for a while longer and see a little bit more of what this woman had to offer.

He let her have the coat, though the imprint of her fingertips lingered after she turned to hang the garment on a peg near the door. When she turned back, she said in that same breathy voice, “Maybe you can get that tree out of the way while I get the cookies?”

Dylan made no move to disconnect from her extraordinary circle of heat. Again, he was wavering.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him. “The cookies are in the kitchen. I baked them yesterday.”

Dylan thought about asking what a cookie might be and how it fit into her holiday sphere of influence, but that would have revealed too much about his long seclusion from her world.

“Cookies sound delightful.” He was careful to hide the fangs that were a reminder of the thin line he had almost walked before seeing the light.

“Great.” She smiled again, better at disguising her feelings. Her tone was steadier now, though her body language told him a different story. She was a ball of nerves. Every strand of her golden hair quivered ever so slightly.

Savannah Clark was as drawn to him as he was to her, and this posed a real challenge.

“If you’ll drag that tree to the stand, I’ll be right back,” she said, breaking free of the spell binding them together by heading toward another open doorway, giving him a great view of the back side of her commendable anatomy.

“Santas or stars?” she asked over her shoulder. “I made both.”

He stared at her, completely at a loss.

“Stars, then,” she said. “That seems appropriate.”

Leaving behind a fragrant stream of scented pheromone particles as strong and vibrant as the tail of a comet, Savannah Clark disappeared into the adjoining room. For the second time in an hour, she had left him standing in her wake.

He was surrounded by her world, and it was filled with enough color, dazzle and scent to render the world he would go back to a colorless, loveless, lifeless place by comparison. Slipping back into the shadows seemed impossible now that he stepped out of them. Yet Dylan knew he was a visitor here.

He didn’t belong in Savannah’s home.

May the angels forgive him, he thought. The worst thing possible had happened. He had become a sucker for his prey.

* * *

Savannah pressed her back to the kitchen wall. Her breath came in great rasps that made her chest rise and fall as if she had been running. These reactions were due to the man in her foyer and the belief that she might have wished him there after all.

She leaned around the doorjamb, watched him finally head for the tree. He glanced around, his attention landing on the Christmas tree stand in the corner.

With the same smooth, effortless grace she had witnessed in the tree lot, he lifted the fir, carried it to the stand and set the tree upright. After studying the tree stand, he crouched on one knee to tighten the screws that would hold the tree in place. Back on his feet, he viewed his work with a critical eye.

Dylan McCay had to be the finest specimen of manhood she had ever seen. His black silk shirt billowed slightly above the waist of his pants when he moved and clung becomingly to his shoulders. His legs were long and lean. His dark hair swung sensually against the back of his neck when he turned his head. The inexplicable mystery of why these things affected her so strongly kept her nerves humming like the old wall heater.

Satisfied that he was okay for the time being, Savannah placed a few frosted sugar-cookie stars on a plate, poured milk into two crystal glasses and closed the refrigerator door with a bump of one hip. Before heading back to her guest, she glanced at the recording system on the counter. Because the visuals sent to the observatory would capture everything she did tonight as well as everything he did, she prayed that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

“Perfect,” she said to Dylan brightly, stepping into the living room and setting the plate of cookies down on a table parked in front of her quilt-covered sofa. “Your penance is complete.”

Her guest looked at the plate and raised an eyebrow.

“Old family recipe,” she said. “Cookies make the house smell like Christmas and taste like sugar-coated sin. Clarks have made these same cookies for generations. I even leave some of them out for Santa, sure I’ll score more points.”

Dylan didn’t reach for a cookie or pick up a glass. It was possible that his family didn’t have traditions. He might not believe in the Christmas fuss at all. He hadn’t, she reminded herself, been in that lot to buy a tree.

Of course, his less-than-enthusiastic reaction to her baking skills could also mean that he wasn’t sure if astronomers could handle themselves in a kitchen.

“I eat Santa’s share of cookies myself on Christmas Eve, you know, and just pretend there’s a giant elf in a red suit coming down the chimney to get at them,” she said. “Sometimes it just makes me feel good to temporarily believe that I’m a child again and that my family is still here.”

“That’s Christmas for you?” he asked. “An elf and some cookies?”

“Not entirely. It’s what I like to remember about the things surrounding the Christmas holidays and about my family who aren’t with me now. I like to keep track of all the things we shared to celebrate the season, from when I was a kid on up. Don’t you?”

Dylan shook his head. “My family didn’t hold to such things. It’s a pity, though, after being here and seeing this.”

He walked to the window and looked out at the night. “What happened to your family, Savannah?”

“They died.”

He half turned back. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But you wanted to know about my Christmases, I believe.”

“Yes.” He looked to the corner. “How about the tree?”

“Trees in the house are all about nature and spirit, things that everyone should be reminded of this time of year, no matter what they believe,” she said. “Plus, like the cookies, they flat-out smell great. No other time of the year indulges the senses like Christmas.”

“What will you do with the tree now that it’s here?”

“Decorate it with lights and the ridiculously shiny things my family made through the years. I probably have strings of popcorn that are ten years old.”

“All this brings you closer to your family?”

“Every bit of it.”

Savannah took a cookie from the plate and held it without taking a bite. “I’ve answered a couple of your questions, so how about answering some questions about you?”

His blue eyes found hers with a directness so personal in intensity it brought another blush to her face. Savannah dropped her attention to the black silk shirt that rippled across his chest like poured liquid, and again felt that hint of a warm current filling the space separating them.

“You came here to find me, you said, and to talk about my work, but I think you might owe me more of an explanation.” Her voice sounded weaker than she would have liked.

Dylan’s face sobered.

“I came to see if you believe that star was a supernova. And if not, what you think it was,” he said after a pause.

“Are you asking for insider trading, maybe hoping to beat me at my game, Dylan?”

“I’m no scientist,” he said.

“Yet you know about my research.”

“I’m interested in what you’ve concluded and if you’ve pinpointed when the phenomenon actually occurred.”

Savannah sat down on the sofa and tucked both legs beneath her. “I believe you also mentioned that you knew something about the star and used that magical statement as your ticket into this party.”

He nodded. “So I did.”

Savannah waved a hand. “I’m listening.”

“Can I ask one more question first?”

“I’m pretty sure that might be cheating or reneging on the deal.”

“There’s something I have to know before I say anything on the subject.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Are you interested in the religious side of the story of that star, Savannah?”

She shook her head. “I’m only interested in finding it. I’m a scientist, not a theologian. I’m not out to prove or disprove anything having to do with anyone’s beliefs.”

“You don’t want to see if the biblical stories are correct, or incorrect, as the case may be? That isn’t what drives you?”

“Heavens, no. Tracing star histories is what I do, and I picked that one because this time of year holds such good memories of my family.”

She took a small bite of the frosted star but found swallowing tough with her dark-haired guest watching her. Although they were six feet apart, he felt closer. She had a feeling that talking kept them from being in each other’s arms but that even that barrier was thinning.

“Do those things concern you? Is that why you want to find out if I can prove anything about that star? I know this kind of research isn’t popular with some people, especially if the event turns out to be something different than they’ve imagined. I’ve been careful with my ideas so far because of that, but eventually I will publish what I find.”

Even though Dylan McCay smiled, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was troubled. Some new emotion in those blue eyes darkened them and made her think of sadness and loss. She recognized the haunted cast in his blue gaze. She’d had her share of loss.

She wanted to see him smile in the way he had smiled in her yard, open and earnest, relaxed. She wanted him to sit down next to her and tell her exactly what he had in mind.

Why had he wanted to know about her tree and what it meant to her when he’d come here to talk about the star?

“Does that answer your question sufficiently?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you. I appreciate your candidness.”

“Then the next question will be to ask you, point-blank, what my research means to you and why you’ve come to see me.”

He seemed to carefully weigh his answer.

“The timing of the appearance of the star you seek means something to me and to my...people,” he said.

“People?”

“Those I live among and work with.”