Midnight Embrace (19 page)

He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before. It was the first time she had known him to be at a loss for words.

"Very well, I'll leave in the morning," she said, and turned toward the stairs, her tears falling freely down her cheeks. She had gambled, and she had lost.

"Analisa." Just her name, spoken ever so softly, the way a man whispered the name of the woman he loved.

Heart pounding, hardly daring to hope, she turned to face him.

He held out his hand. "Come to me, 'Lisa."

She walked slowly toward him and placed her hand in his, aware that, from this moment forward, things would be forever different between them.

His hand curled over hers, his skin firm and cool, his touch gentle, belying the preternatural strength he possessed.

"Never doubt that I want you," he said quietly. "You will never know how difficult it is for me to leave you when dawn approaches."

"And I want you, Alesandro. You must know that."

He nodded, his dark eyes filled with anguish, his expression troubled.

Going up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. In an instant, his arms were around her and he was crushing her body to him, his mouth quickly taking control of hers. She could feel the hard press of his desire, taste it in his kisses, in the rapid pounding of his heart against her own. He had never kissed her quite like this before. It was frightening, exhilarating. Her body's response was immediate. Heat flowed through her, hotter than a brushfire, burning away every other thought but the need to touch him and be touched in return.

Muttering an oath, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedchamber. The door opened as if by magic, and he carried her swiftly inside.

The door closed behind him.

A fire sprang to life in the hearth.

He crushed her close, murmuring her name, raining kisses over her face, her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the hollow between her breasts.

She moaned softly as his tongue slid over her skin.

He lifted his head and gazed down at her, his deep blue eyes ablaze. "Are you sure this is what you want, Analisa? If you are not, you must say so now, before it is too late."

"Make me yours, Alesandro," she whispered tremulously. "Now. Tonight."

He carried her to the bed and laid her down upon it. His eyes never left hers as he removed his cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair. Slowly, deliberately, he began to undress.

She watched his every movement. No one else moved the way he did. Like smoke, she thought, fluid, graceful. He made hardly a sound as he removed his cravat, his shirt, removed his shoes and socks, to stand before her clad in nothing but a pair of black trousers. The firelight caressed his broad shoulders and chest, cast red highlights in his hair. His eyes burned hotter than the flames in the hearth.

He was beautiful, magnificent. She could feel his power fill the room, feel it flowing over her like the sizzle in the air before a storm.

He moved toward the bed. Her heart pounded ever faster as he removed her shoes and unfastened her gown. She shivered with anticipation as his fingers, so long and strong, whispered over her skin, sliding her gown over her shoulders, down her arms. He tossed her dress on top of his shirt. Her petticoat and drawers came next, and then he unfastened her garters and removed her stockings, first one, then the other, his hands sliding sensuously down her thighs, her calves. When she wore nothing but her chemise, he stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms.

She trembled at his touch, wanting more, and yet afraid of what she wanted at the same time. She knew nothing of intimacy or what went on between a man and a woman, knew only that she wanted Alesandro to be the one to teach her.

She placed her hand on his chest, her touch shy and uncertain, until he covered her hand with his own, urging her to explore to her heart's content. His skin was cool, smooth, unblemished. His stomach was hard and unyielding; his muscles rippled at her touch. She leaned over him, measuring the breadth of his shoulders with her hands, running her fingertips over the corded muscles in his arms, thinking that his biceps were larger than her thighs. There was a fine sprinkling of curly black hair on his chest that narrowed to a fine line until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. She traced it with her finger, slipped her hand beneath the cloth.

He groaned softly as she continued her exploration.

She stopped, her gaze searching his. "Am I hurting you?"

"In ways you cannot imagine," he said, his voice thick, and then, before she quite knew how it happened, she was lying naked beneath him. He bent his head. She shivered when she felt the brush of his fangs against her throat.

Alesandro went still as only a vampire can be still. Lifting his head, he gazed down at her, his eyes probing the very depths of her soul.

"It's all right," she said, knowing somehow that if she changed her mind now, he would be lost to her forever.

And still he hesitated. She read the torment in his eyes, his fear of hurting her. Murmuring his name, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. At the first touch of her lips to his, he lost whatever battle he had been waging within himself. He surrendered with a groan that was part pleasure, part pain.

He shifted his weight. His trousers vanished as if by magic, and then his body covered hers and she was lost, caught up in a maelstrom of emotions, every sense heightened and alive, every fiber of her being yearning toward his, in tune with his. She felt the prick of his fangs at her throat, a sudden sharp pain in the deepest part of her as his body meshed with hers. She clutched his shoulders, felt the tremor that ran through his arms as he waited, poised above her, while the pain receded and her body grew accustomed to his. After a time, he began to move slowly, ever so slowly, within her.

Pleasure flowed through her, hot and liquid, as the world came to vibrant life. Colors were brighter, deeper. The candle's flame seemed alive. She was acutely aware of the texture of the soft wool blanket beneath her, and even more aware of the man whose body was now a part of hers. His skin was moist and warm against her own, his hands played over her body, showing her what pleasure was, teaching her how to give him pleasure in return. He whispered love words in her ear, speaking to her in French and Spanish, in the ancient language of his people, and though she did not understand the words, she understood the fervent tone of his voice, the tenderness in his eyes, the exquisite gentleness of his touch.

She writhed beneath him, her hands moving restlessly over his broad shoulders, up and down his back, her nails raking his skin. She closed her eyes as he moved within her; she was searching for something elusive, afraid she would never reach it. Higher and higher still until, at last, it was within her grasp. She cried his name, gasped as sunlight exploded within her, filling her with warmth and love and a contentment she had never known.

A moment later, a long, shuddering sigh rippled through Alesandro. She felt the coiled tension flow from his body as he rolled onto his side, drawing her with him so they lay facing each other, bodies still joined together, her head pillowed on his arm.

He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, her eyelids heavy. "No," she murmured. "It was wonderful. I love you, Alesandro."

He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him, words he had never expected to hear from her lips or any other.

His arms tightened around her. "And I love you," he said, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that she was already asleep.

His gaze moved over her. He was humbled by her love, her absolute trust, ashamed that he had taken her virginity. She was so young, so innocent, even now. What right did he have to defile her with what he was? But after so many years in hell, surely even a monster deserved one night in paradise. Just one night to know a woman's love, to feel like a man again.

He took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of her skin, the heady, musky scent of their lovemaking. She had fed both his hungers as no one else ever had, or ever could. For the first time in centuries, he was content, at peace within himself.

He held her close all through the night, listening to the soft sound of her breathing, the small sounds she made from time to time. He let his mind brush hers, knew she was dreaming of him. He ran his hand over her hair, dreading the time when he would have to let her go, when dawn would force him to take refuge in his dreary underground lair. If only he could hold her close through the long, empty hours of daylight.

The loneliness of four hundred years pressed down on him. Four hundred years without the sun. Four hundred years of hiding from the world. Four hundred years of darkness… until now. He stroked her hair, an aching tenderness stirring deep in his heart as she snuggled closer to him. What would it be like to wake up with her beside him, to have her face be the first sight that greeted him upon rising? He grunted softly. No doubt she would run screaming from his presence if she saw him then, when the hunger was fast upon him. And yet, he owed her a debt he could never repay. She was like a tiny ray of light, and in the total darkness of his being, one tiny ray shone as bright as the sun. Ah, the sun.

He lifted his head, drew a deep breath. He could smell the dawn, feel the sudden painful tightening of his skin as the sun's light began to chase the darkness from the sky.

Reluctantly, he let her go, drew the covers over her. "Rest well, my sweet one." He kissed her lightly; then, dissolving into mist, he fled the house.

Chapter Sixteen

Analisa woke with a smile on her face. Alesandro loved her, she thought dreamily. He loved her! And he had made love to her. Had ever a woman been loved so gently, so completely? Drawing the covers up to her chin, she giggled like a silly child. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Alesandro! His scent was all around her. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she recalled how brazenly she had surrendered to him, how eager she had been for his touch. She should be ashamed, she thought, and wondered why she wasn't. She had been taught that intimacy before marriage was a sin, but it hadn't felt like a sin. It had felt right somehow, as if she had found the other half of her soul. Did vampires have a soul? Or were they forever damned? She wouldn't, couldn't believe that.

For all that he was cursed to dwell in darkness, Alesandro wasn't evil. Not like Rodrigo, who went about killing for pleasure.

She thrust the thought of the other vampire from her mind, refusing to let thoughts of that depraved monster spoil the day, or her memories of the night before.

Sitting up, she placed her hand on the pillow beside hers, wishing Alesandro were there, wishing she could kiss him good morning, but of course he couldn't be here with her now. She thought of him sleeping in the bowels of the strange round cottage in the woods.

Rising, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. She was wondering what time it was when she heard the downstairs clock chime the hour. She smiled because it was a quarter after three. Only a few hours until she would see him again.

Feeling suddenly famished, she pulled on her robe, stepped into her slippers, and left the room, wondering why Sally hadn't come in to light the fire in the hearth.

She felt it as soon as she descended the stairs, a tension in the air, a strange hush, as if the house were holding its breath.

She looked into the parlor, the library, the dining room, the pantry, even went upstairs to check Mrs. Thornfield's room, but there was no one about. Gathering her courage, she even peeked into the kitchen, her concern growing when she saw that there was nothing cooking on the stove.

Growing more alarmed, she went out the back door into the yard. There was an unnatural silence here, too. She hesitated a moment, and then, without knowing why, she started down the path toward the barn.

Her footsteps slowed as she neared the entrance to the barn. A sudden chill engulfed her, coupled with a deep sense of foreboding. She stared at the barn. One of the big double doors stood open. She paused and looked, feeling as though she were walking through a thick fog, she stepped into the building. As she did so, she heard Mrs. Thornfield call her name, a note of panic in her voice.

The warning came too late.

Farleigh whirled around as Analisa entered the barn, and in doing so, he let her see the very thing the housekeeper had tried to spare her.

Sally lay on her back on the floor, her face drained of color, her eyes empty of life. Her throat had been savaged; dark crimson streaks stained her skin, her bodice.

Robert lay beside her, a great gaping hole where his heart had been.

Analisa turned and stumbled out of the barn. Retching violently, she dropped to her hands and knees. She was dimly aware of Farleigh kneeling beside her. As from a great distance, she heard Mrs. Thornfield calling her name.

And then she heard nothing at all.

She didn't want to wake up, didn't want to face the memory of the horror she had seen. She told herself it hadn't been real. Couldn't be real.

She heard Mrs. Thornfield's voice, soft, worried; heard Farleigh's hushed reply, the sound of hurried footsteps as he left the room.