Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist 3 - Dark Harvest (17 page)

I slid my hand over the bulge under the gold fabric and batted my eyelashes. “You know you’re all male.

You’ve definitely got the alpha thing down. After all, you’re the big cheese vampire.”

“That is true.” He nodded, smiling. “And I can assure you that you have only just begun to understand how my
alpha thing
can benefit you.” He peeled one of the spaghetti straps of my red satin nightgown down my shoulder with the tip of a finger.

The touch sent a pleasant shiver down my arm. “Oh, yes. I like the way your mind works.” I was glad his good humor had returned.

Effortlessly, he stood, pulled the robe over his head, and tossed it on the floor next to the bed. He caught my eyes, noticed I was enjoying a slow scan of the lean muscles of his pale frame, and waited for a few seconds to allow me to complete the review. His platinum hair tumbled over his shoulders and down his chest, creating a shining veil of silk. Some men looked silly with long hair, but Devereux’s suited him perfectly. He always managed to look like the “after” photo in a shampoo commercial. He did have a vast array of soaps, shampoos, and gels in his bathroom—and they were clearly responsible for a portion of his excellent hygiene—but I’d become convinced the perfect state of his body and his wonderful aroma were by-products of his mystical transformation from mortal to undead. He’d told me once that his aroma was another vampire enticement—that humans were attracted to his fragrance and unable to keep themselves from responding. I could personally vouch for that.

He went down on his knees next to me, flicked a couple of fingers at the levitating candles, and extinguished a few, creating even softer light and deeper shadows. My attention was drawn to a drop of moisture glistening on the head of his erection.

As if drawn by a magnet, my finger slid over that pearl-drop and massaged the liquid into the surrounding skin, as I gazed up into his eyes. He groaned.

I rose to my knees facing him, lifted the gown over my head, and tossed it next to the Liberace costume on the floor. The protective pentagram necklace lay between my breasts.

We leaned toward each other, our lips meeting. The kiss started out sweet, then became more intense with every passing second, as our mouths moved together, our tongues caressing and thrusting. We embraced, pressing our bodies tightly against one another, both of us moaning. The feeling of his thickness pulsing against me was making me crazy with need, so I pulled Devereux to me as I let myself fall backward into the fluffy duvet. Still feasting at his mouth, I immediately wrapped my legs around his hips and ground myself into him.

He broke the kiss, licked my lower lip with his warm tongue, and gazed into my eyes. “The last time we were in bed together, we had sex. It was wonderful, if enthusiastic. But this time I wish to make love.

Slowly. Deeply.” He’d whispered the last two words, the timbre of his voice caressing my ears.

“Well,” I murmured, “if you insist.”

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It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Since not all of me had been present for the last encounter, and I didn’t have any memories of my alter ego’s sexual performance, I wouldn’t have anything to compare our lovemaking to. But I was sure I wouldn’t be disappointed.

He was as good as his word. We touched and stroked each other’s bodies, using our hands and our mouths. He licked his way from my nipples down to the wet, hot ache between my legs. His tongue slowly laved my clitoris, torturing me with ecstasy, bringing me to orgasm unexpectedly. I screamed, frantically bucked my hips as he held me in place.

By the time he slid himself inside me, I was ready to explode again. Devereux seemed to have an astounding ability to remain hard for an unusually long time, his thrusts maintaining the deep, fast rhythm we both loved. Each time he shifted his angle ever so slightly, my body spasmed with pleasure. I gave new meaning to the words
multiple orgasms.

Sated, he finally rolled over, which surprised me because we usually ended our lovemaking sessions with a blood donation. I heard him chuckling softly. I turned toward him, not sure if laughter was the most appropriate after-sex response. “What’s so funny?”

He lifted a hand in the air and let it drop heavily onto his abdomen. He laughed louder. “I simply feel good. As if every muscle in my body, every fiber of my being, is content, peaceful, and satisfied. If I slept like a human male, I would be blissfully snoring right now.”

Vampires don’t snore. Check. That makes sense. Breathing is required for snoring. No breathing while dead. Another fact to add to the list.

I frowned. “What’s funny about that? I’m sure you’ve been
content, peaceful, and satisfied
thousands of times before. I can only imagine how many devotees you’ve had at your disposal. I still don’t understand why that would make you laugh.”

He rolled over onto me and pressed his lips to mine for a quick kiss. “You, of all people, should understand, Dr. Knight. It requires a great deal of trust to feel emotionally safe enough to release all of one’s defenses and protections around another individual. I have never done it. Until now. It is a heady, addicting—unfamiliar—sensation. I have, indeed, had more sexual experiences than I can remember, but quantity has nothing to do with intimacy. I am in unknown territory with you.”

“Why didn’t you take any blood from me?” I stroked his hair. “You always do. I was ready to have a few more of those brain-numbing orgasms.”

“There is always tomorrow.” He smiled wide. “I can promise you an endless supply. You were so depleted—both physically and emotionally—that I did not wish to stress your resources any further. You need time to build up your blood again.” He kissed me. “Come. It is time to travel to the penthouse. You require sleep before seeing your clients in the morning.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Should I get dressed first?”

“There is no need. The penthouse is empty, awaiting our arrival.”

He slid off the bed, scooped me into his arms, and I felt the familiar sensation of air blowing against my face. We materialized in Devereux’s sumptuous living room to find Luna standing in front of the wall of
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windows, staring out at the lights of the Denver skyline. She turned and gasped as we entered.

“I told you to stay away from me!” Devereux bellowed.

“But you must listen to me. Don’t let her ruin everything. If you would simply allow me to explain …”

“Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?” he growled. “There is nothing that I
must
do. Get out of my sight and do not return until you have regained control of yourself.”

“Master, please …”

“Be gone!”

Eyes wide, Luna nodded and vanished.

Whoa. What the hell?

What was going on between Devereux and Luna? He’d always treated her respectfully—spoken highly of her, despite the fact that she made my life miserable. I’d often joked that I wouldn’t mind if she relocated to Transylvania or had a personal encounter with a sharp stake. He’d always insisted I didn’t understand her. I thought I understood the snarly bloodsucker perfectly. She was in desperate need of the vampire equivalent of electroshock therapy and some heavy-duty mood-stabilizing medications—not that any of those interventions would actually be effective with the mysterious animating systems of the undead. But since the relationship between them had always been friendly before, I knew something was terribly wrong.

Devereux’s expression was as angry as I’d ever seen it, and his grip on my body had tightened uncomfortably. Obviously distracted, he stared off into the distance, his mind elsewhere, unaware that his strong hands were pressing indentations into my flesh. I wiggled in his arms, finally catching his attention, causing him to remember he had a passenger. He gazed down, released the tension in his muscles, mumbled “Many apologies, my love,” then lowered my feet to the pristine wood floor. “Luna’s presence was an unpleasant surprise.”

It felt weird to be standing nude in the middle of Devereux’s luxurious penthouse, but I wasn’t about to say anything that might give him an excuse to change the subject. I wanted to know what had happened.

“I don’t understand. Why are you so angry at Luna? What did she do?”

He gave a slow blink, then met my eyes, his posture rigid, mouth tight. “It is a long story. One I am not at liberty to share at the moment.”

I’m sure my face registered shocked surprise. “Not at liberty? You mean you’re not going to tell me?”

My stomach tightened, sending alarm signals to my brain. I couldn’t remember any time since I’d known him he’d refused to tell me something about Luna. In fact, he usually seemed to enjoy discussing his minions. Whatever the secret was, it was bad.

He visibly relaxed, smiled, and floated two fingers to my breast, capturing my nipple. Pinching the tender nub, he chuckled as I twisted away.

“Hey!” I covered my breasts with my hands in case he intended to poke or prod them again in his
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pitifully transparent attempt to hijack my focus off the subject of Luna.

He smirked and held his hands up, feigning innocence. “Do not trouble yourself about Luna. As you have often mentioned, she is not your favorite … individual. Just enjoy her absence.” He bowed from the waist, then straightened, offering me an elbow. “Let me show you to your room.”

Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly …

I studied his face, seeking signs of an ulterior motive, and found a mischievous angel staring back at me.

One of his hardest-to-resist aspects.

I took his arm and he guided us through the absurdly large area.

Since the penthouse belonged to Devereux, of course it was stunning. But, unlike his personal area beneath The Crypt, which was filled with his artwork, magical potions, books, and mystical symbols, this huge space was sparsely furnished and had an un-lived-in look. It was perfect enough to be featured in an interior design magazine, but it felt sterile. Empty. The black leather couches and chairs created a lifeless façade of sophisticated elegance, rather like a never-visited funeral parlor or the dentist’s waiting room from purgatory. Large, abstract, silver sculptures—beautiful but soulless—sprouted from the polished wooden floors in seemingly random patterns throughout the rooms.

The window glass was invisibly tinted, shielding the interior from outside view, while leaving the panoramic vista unobstructed from the inside.

He led me into a large bedroom.

“Wow.” The last time I’d seen it, the design had been lovely but generic—everything white—but now the room appeared to have been designed with my tastes in mind. Blue was the predominant color and varying, complimentary shades could be found in every detail.

A flick of his fingers illuminated the room. He sailed his hand through the air, indicating the lovely furnishings. “I hope you like the decor. My staff worked very hard to create a welcoming sanctuary. I wish for you to be comfortable while you are here. My home is your home.”

I stepped around so I stood in front of him and raised my eyebrows. “Do you sleep up here?”

He blinked and lowered his chin, gazing down at me from beneath those dark eyelashes. The corners of his lips curled into a gentle smile. “As you will notice,” he glided toward the walk-in closet, “much of your clothing and accessories were brought from your townhouse, and various new items have been added.

Please feel free to request anything additional you need.”

Very slick. He was getting absolutely too skilled at ignoring me. “Why do you always avoid answering that question? Is it possible you don’t trust me with your physical safety while you’re dead to the world?”

“No.” He turned to me, face serious. “Keeping the location of my daytime chamber unknown is simply a deeply rooted habit. Not disclosing that information to any living soul has kept me safe for centuries. I trust you implicitly, and after we are bonded, I will share my most intimate secrets. You are not the only one who must adjust to new conditions.”

His comments effectively slammed the coffin lid on the discussion. I didn’t want to talk about the bonding issue again and the fact that he brought it up probably meant he knew exactly what he was
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doing. I was too tired to try to figure out the next pothole on the vampire-boyfriend highway. Devereux had been right earlier when he said I needed sleep. Fatigue had begun to feel like a constant companion.

If I didn’t zone out a few hours before seeing my clients, I’d be worthless.

I glanced up at his serious face and smiled. “Okay. I won’t ask you about your hiding place. It’s more fun to imagine you lying in a red-silk-lined coffin anyway. More Bela Lagosi-like. I want to take a quick shower before I go to bed. Would you care to join me?”

A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes and he lifted my hand, kissing the palm with his soft lips. “It would be an honor, but I must regretfully decline. I have many business details to complete before the dawn arrives, and time is short. If you desire anything, simply lift any of the telephones in the penthouse and someone will satisfy your needs. I will come to you tomorrow evening when I rise. Sleep well, my love.” He leaned in, pressed his warm lips to mine, and vanished.

I chuckled as I thought about picking up the phone to have someone satisfy my needs. Just how far did Devereux’s hospitality stretch?

* * *

When I finished luxuriating in the spacious, dual-stream shower, I wrapped myself in a thick, terry-cloth robe and perused the contents of the huge closet. My eyes skimmed the familiar garments that had been transplanted from my own, humble abode, before locking on a fashion masterpiece. Hanging on a separate, portable rack, the silky, sky-blue, ankle-length dress waved hello and winked at me. Whoever selected it had read my mind. No doubt, literally. Silver threads in Celtic patterns adorning the neckline and along the sleeves, glittered softly in the light. Next to the gorgeous dress was a matching duster.

The outfit was fancier than I usually wore to work, but I couldn’t resist slipping the soft material over my head. Naturally, it fit perfectly—a slim column, encasing my body with elegant style. I didn’t have to search far to locate the matching shoes. The master certainly had taste. I spun in front of the three-sided mirror a few times, enjoying the sensation of the smooth material against my skin.

After indulging myself, I completed my morning tasks, grabbed my briefcase, and headed toward the hallway.

Feeling like I was strolling along a Paris runway, I strode to the elevator and rode the mirror-walled box to my office a couple of floors below. I’d always enjoyed my morning conversations with Victoria in the lobby, and it seemed odd to miss the familiar routine. Arriving at my waiting room entrance, I held out my key card, preparing to swipe it through the electronic lock, and found my door open a crack.

My stomach tightened. The last time I’d found my office door open, bloody carnage waited inside. Of course, that was at my old building, where the security was non-existent and underpaid cleaning personnel often left the doors unlocked. Devereux’s properties had state-of-the-art alarm systems, hidden surveillance cameras, and human and undead guards, depending on the location of the sun. In the five months I’d used the space, there’d been no problems. Maybe Victoria had opened my door for some reason.

Using one finger, I pushed the door gently. Sitting on one of the cream-colored leather couches in the
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client waiting area, her feet propped on the magazine table, was Maxie. She grinned when she saw me, threw her copy of
Psychology Today
onto the pile, and stood.

“Hey, Doc! It’s good ta see ya. Wow. Snazzy outfit. I didn’t know you were the Psychologist to the Stars. I’m impressed. If I’da known, I woulda dressed for the occasion.” She pointed to the faded black T-shirt and baggy jeans she wore. Her white hair was gathered into a braid that brushed the backs of her knees.

I was relieved to find neither a corpse nor the police waiting for me, but how the hell had Maxie gotten into my private office? “Maxie? What are you doing here? How did you get in? The door requires a key card for entry.”

“Yeah. I expected to find a receptionist or someone down in the lobby, but nobody was there.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’d better complain to the owner. I could have been anybody. I waited around for a while, because I’d been in the building before and seen a New Age type sitting behind the desk, so I figured maybe she went out for coffee. But she was a no-show. Since your name is on the directory, it was easy to find your office. I went upstairs, knocked on the door, and noticed the key card lock. When you didn’t answer, I went back downstairs and rummaged through the reception desk to see if there was a master key.” She grinned wide. “There was. So I returned, let myself into your waiting room, and … waited.” She held out the card in question. “I imagine you want this?”

I took it, making a mental note to ask Devereux to change the lock codes. The breaking-and-entering adventure of a couple of nights ago was fresh in my mind, and I knew Maxie wasn’t above snatching more than one copy of the master key card so she could keep one. And where was Victoria? She’d never leave the lobby unattended, especially not with all the vampire weirdness afoot.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I have a client in a few minutes. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Maxie plopped down onto the couch again, her expression serious. “Yeah. I need to tell you something I heard. About Devereux.” She stared at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.

I tensed. “What about Devereux?” What could Maxie possibly know about him? It simply wasn’t possible that she’d uncovered anything dangerous, but if she had …

She jumped up and stood in front of me. “It’s too long to go into right now. Can you get away for a while at lunch?” She moved to the door, appearing agitated.

“What’s this about, Maxie? You seem nervous.”

She rested her hand on the doorknob. “Too much caffeine.”

“Come on. Friends don’t lie to friends. What’s going on?”

Her gaze slid to the floor. “I’m the bearer of bad tidings. It wigs me out.”

Bad tidings for whom? For Devereux? Mentally reviewing my schedule for the day, I argued with myself. It wasn’t unusual for me to meet clients outside the office. Being in the fresh air often calmed them. Maxie wasn’t a client, so that wasn’t a concern, but she was acting odd—anxious—and I didn’t think moving our discussion to a public location was a good idea. I opened my mouth to suggest we reconvene here at noon, but that’s not what came out.

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“I can take a half hour around noon. Do you want to meet here? Or at the café down the street?”

What? Why did I say that?

“Let’s do the café.” She nodded. “I know where you mean. I don’t think we should talk here in
his
building.” She frowned. “I’ll see you then. Have a good time listening to the loons.”

She left and closed the door behind her.

We shouldn’t talk in Devereux’s building? What did that mean? Was she being a paranoid drama queen or did she know something? Whatever she had to say, I knew I wasn’t going to like it. But, even more important, what the
hell
was wrong with me?

* * *

I slanted my eyes surreptitiously toward the clock. “What happened then?”

Shirley scooted to the edge of her chair, excited, a manic edge to her aura. She always saved the most outrageous portion of her tale for the last ten minutes of our sessions. Lowering her voice, she leaned toward me. “I opened the window. He smiled like the devil himself and climbed into my bedroom.