In the Dead of Cold (13 page)

Milo remained truthful. “They can, but most don’t.”

“Do you?”

“I can, but I haven’t used anything to control you.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Except that if you were using your mind control on me, I’d never know.”

“I’m not.” He so wanted her to believe him.

“The warm water was a nice idea. Thank you. It’s slowed things down a bit.”

“How’s your body feel?”

“It was stiff—”

He knew the feeling.

“When I climbed in, I wanted to scream when the water first touched all the skinned places, but now it feels good.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” He moved his hands through the bubbles that floated on the surface from the jets, anything to keep from reaching out to her.

“In our dreams, there’s always been nothing but honesty. I think it’s best we keep it that way, don’t you?”

Milo stared at her lips, still swollen from his kiss. “Oh, yes.”

She shifted, and her leg brushed against him. His skin tingled from the contact. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to her. She needed his understanding and his patience. She needed to know she could trust him, in real life, in reality, as she did in the dreams they shared. He wouldn’t push her or frighten her, no matter how strong his need to touch her was. Or how rock hard his cock was.

“So, what’s it like being a vampire?” She still didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. I wondered, since you…”

Since he drank from her?

Before he drank from her, he existed. Now he felt alive.

He waited for her to meet his gaze, and understood she was overwhelmed with emotion. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“But—”

Milo held up his hand to stop her next question. “For now, I want you to relax. You’ve been through a lot. Give your brain and body a rest.”

She was so close to him. He smelled her, his woman. He licked his lips and still tasted the sweetness of her. Need for her welled up inside him. He shouldn’t be close to her, not at all. But the thought of being separated from her caused his chest to hurt. He gave in to his overwhelming need to touch her and reached out.

She reached for him at the same time. He took her hand. She let him.

“Why do I feel better when I touch you?”

He didn’t tell her that they were two halves of a whole. “I said no questions now.” A moment later, he gave up fighting the need to be closer. He tugged her through the water and held her against him, fitting her on his lap, her back against his chest. “Relax, and let me hold you. I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.”

She must have thought it was a good idea as she molded herself against him and relaxed. Her ass was soft and warmer than the water. She said nothing of the hard dick that touched the small of her back. Nor did she move away from it.

Their hearts beat as one.

He might be able to convince Mr. M. to take her somewhere safe, but Milo would still know where she was. And was he as strong as or stronger than Bart? Would Jane be safer away from Milo?

Or safer with him? Milo wasn’t so sure.

He’d thought she’d be safer away from him, but she felt pretty damned safe in his arms. He closed his eyes. He’d talk to Mr. M. in the morning. The thought of having Jane more than a few feet away caused his breath to catch in his throat and his heart to skip a beat. The pain in his chest grew sharp. He had to keep her safe, but he was no longer certain how to do that. Right now, having her in his arms was the right path.

He was in control, complete control while he held her close, skin to skin, warmth to warmth. Yes, he wanted to make love to her, but he didn’t want to ravish her. Yes, he would have loved to taste her again, but not so much that he wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh and rip her throat to pieces. He breathed in the heady, flowery scent of her hair and wished he could stay there in the hot tub with her forever, with him in complete control, with her safe in his arms.

“Milo?”

“Yes?”
Anything, my heart.

“Make love to me again.”

His heart moved to his throat. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“The world feels right when you make love to me.”

He moved her so fast she gasped. He shifted her about on his lap so she faced him, causing the water to slosh, and sank his cock to the hilt inside her. At the sudden, exquisite contact, she reared her head back and sucked in a breath, exposing her tight nipples to him above the water. With his arm around her, he held her to him. He explored one breast with his fingers and the other with his hot, needy mouth. She felt sweet and tasted sweeter.

Her nipple was tight and hard and hot, and her already tight pussy clenched in reaction. Her breasts were small but full. They fit his mouth and his hands perfectly.

More water sloshed as he rocked his hips, moving deeper.

“Oh, yes.” In response, she moved her hips down, trying to take more of him.

He ran his tongue around her nipple, making her shiver and pulse her hips farther.

Delicious.

At her throat, his tongue moved over the spot where he’d bitten her. She cried out and moved in a frenzy on his lap, coming instantly and yet needing more, her hips—her entire body—moving. Milo hadn’t expected that, hadn’t understood the strength of their need for one another until he’d tasted her bite spot. His fangs popped out as her orgasm struck her.

But he controlled them and pulled them back in as he filled her with his seed, and his groan of ecstasy was swallowed by her kiss.

* * * *

Later that morning, August Hawthorne silently stepped into the morgue. As one of the best trackers for Graham Masterson, he had been in the morgue many times. He knew how to deal with the morgue attendants. He approached the desk where one of the attendants sat. The young man looked up at him.

“Good evening, Richard.” August liked to draw out the words like Bela Lugosi. Richard was held captive in August’s deep stare as he had been many times in the past.

“Good evening, August.”

Richard’s words were flat and emotionless. It made no difference that it was no longer evening but ten in the morning.

“Are there any bodies I need to see?” Because August had been here before and had dealt with Richard, his instructions were embedded in Richard’s memory. And he didn’t have to explain the type of body he would need to see.

Richard stared at him like an obedient robot. “There’s one, in number eleven.”

“Is Dr. Stevens here?”

“Yes.”

August walked away, knowing he didn’t have to worry about Richard remembering he had been there or even remembering anything about their conversation. He wouldn’t.

Dr. Melanie Stevens was tall with auburn hair that looked like fire and eyes that sparkled like emeralds. If there was ever a mortal woman August wanted to make his own, it would be Dr. Stevens. Brains, beauty, and breasts high and pointed, she was everything he wanted in a woman. And every time he saw her and talked to her, he fought an inner battle. He wanted her. He wanted to see her perky breasts unclothed, wanted to feel what he’d only been imagining for years. The very sight of her, mixed with the musky, exotic woman smell of her and the deep, throaty sound of her voice set an instant fire in his soul. Not only was it a fire he couldn’t prevent, but it was growing out of control.

He wanted to sleep beside her—and he had only slept about a dozen times in the last year.

He wanted to share meals with her—and he had the uncanny feeling that she wouldn’t be the least bit put off by him drinking blood from a wineglass. Of course if she were, a nice rare, bloody steak would do just as well by him.

He wanted to see her smile up at him with love in her eyes as he often saw Mrs. M. look up at Mr. M.

Hell, even the slabs in the morgue were starting to look inviting as long as she straddled his hips as he lay upon one.

He told himself time and time again that despite her young widowhood—her husband had died of cancer a decade before—her life was full. She didn’t need him. She had a fulfilling job, two busy teenagers, and friends who loved her. Her time was full, along with several hobbies she enjoyed, including music, skiing, knitting, and art classes. She played a violin.

He knew these things because he watched her at every opportunity. He shared in her life without her knowledge.

The last thing she needed was a vampire, a hunter who was an expert at finding his prey and would be more merciless than merciful when he found his mark.

And still, he couldn’t help but want her.

Each time he saw her, it was harder to suppress her memory of him. He wanted her to remember him. So with each visit, he left a remnant of a memory of him. A touch, a kiss on her cheek, a whispered word in her ear. It was enough for her to always recognize him and never fear him.

His plan was someday to let her remember his entire visit and see how she reacted the next time she saw him. He knew it was a test that might not work in his favor. His hope was that her face would light up at seeing him a second time. Perhaps with enough small memories of him, she might think of him in the middle of the night. He thought of her, after all, often coming to the morgue at night to check on her when she worked night duty, and make sure she was safe. He watched over her. August would never think of taking advantage of her.

His angel.

“Hello, Dr. Stevens.”

“Hi, August.”

His heart skipped at the sound of his name on her lips. He decided today he would only erase what was absolutely necessary to protect his colleagues at the Moonlight. “I need to see number eleven.”

She led him into the cool, bright holding room to the freezer compartments on the wall. She slid open door number eleven and pulled out the stretcher within. After she unzipped the heavy bag for him, she stepped back without a word so he could look at the body.

The woman was young, but then August knew her age. Twenty-seven. She was blonde. Not that she looked blonde at the moment, given the blood matted in her short hair. There was an indescribable look of terror etched into her features, distorting her beauty. His breath caught at the sight of her, at the recognition.
Fuck.
He didn’t want to have to tell Mr. M.

“She was devoid of blood,” Dr. Stevens said.

She was also devoid of a throat. August allowed his gaze to penetrate Dr. Stevens’s. He wanted to get lost in that green sea. “You will declare this an animal attack.”

“Yes.”

“It’s apparent she got lost skiing and was attacked by a bear.”

“Yes,” Dr. Stevens agreed. “But people will question that, as bears are hibernating now.”

“One woke up. Hungry and very mean.”

She stared up at him, under enough of his control that all he had to do was suggest she accompany him into the nearby broom closet, and she wouldn’t hesitate to lift her skirt for him. His mouth turned dry at the thought. And tempting as it was, he didn’t want her that way. No, he wanted
her
to suggest they find the nearest broom closet. He wanted her to look up at him with need and desire and the fire of passion in her eyes, not compliance. Perhaps with a few more subtle memories… He loosened the reins he held on her thoughts a little more and allowed her to see the need and passion in his gaze. His heart skipped again when she smiled. He wanted her hands on him. He looked down at her hands and her lovely long fingers. “What did you do to your finger?”

“I cut it on a scalpel blade.”

The wound looked fresh. August took her hand and raised her finger to his mouth. Her skin was salty and delicious and soft. Her blood was the sweetest he’d ever tasted. It took all his willpower to close the wound with his tongue instead of sucking it and drinking more. He had to force in a breath as he placed her hand back on the slab door where he’d picked it up.

With a longing he’d never known existed, he reached out and felt the softness of her lips with his fingertips. “Until next time.” And he left her with the memory of his touch.

August waited until he was outside to call his boss. “Mr. M.? I’ve found a victim at the morgue. She’s Miss Ella’s assistant, Lara Hatch.”

“
Fuck
,” Graham replied. The line went dead.

Chapter Seven

Milo watched as Jane stood at the window and looked out at the approaching new morning. The snowfall was over, but leaving would still be difficult if escape was what she looked for. Remnants of their room service breakfast graced the table nearby—syrup from French toast, a bite of sausage left from the original five patties, crumbs of scrambled eggs, and biscuits with gravy. With all the energy she’d exerted the day before, she’d been famished.

She had to be tired too. She hadn’t slept last night. No, even after all the time they’d spent in Milo’s hot tub making love and talking, she’d never relaxed enough to close her eyes.

Milo stepped up close behind her. “Jane?”

She said nothing and continued staring out the window as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Jane, what are you thinking?” It was time to talk, time to tell her at least a few of the things she needed to know, but he had to tread carefully. He knew she was in a delicate place with all her confusion, especially since she was also sleep deprived. She drew in a deep breath but didn’t turn to face him.

“I’m still trying to put everything into some sort of perspective. Everything is so blurry. I feel like I’m out in the snow, trying to find my life. I can’t remember everything that happened in any chronological order. And when I try to, it’s all in bits and pieces jumbled together like a puzzle thrown on the floor.”

Milo wished he could forget a few parts, but he said nothing. He reached out and moved her hair away from her neck.

At the same time, Jane reached up and touched the mark he’d left on her throat. “I also think that perhaps if I got away from you for a while, I’d be able to think.”

“Do you really?” Milo doubted it.

“I don’t know!”

Milo rubbed his hands down her arms, wishing he could do more. Maybe giving her space would be best.