Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (21 page)

“Well, some vampires earn their living enthralling rich humans and clearing out their accounts,” he said, smiling at her look of alarm. “Most run nightclubs or other evening-hour businesses in the larger cities. I turned out to be pretty good at playing the stock market and making investments, plus Mark’s a great business manager.”

“Were you a businessman before you were, uh...”

He knew she’d accepted that he was a vampire, but she still had trouble using the words. He couldn’t blame her. Her worldview had done a one-eighty in the last week. That she was even
standing here with him was a bloody miracle, and if he wanted her to become more at ease around him, he needed no repeats of the scene in the tunnel. He stuck his hands in his pockets, where he wouldn’t have to worry about them straying in her vicinity. Nothing he could do about the raging hard-on.

“Never a businessman. Come on. I’ll show you what I was, sort of.” He led her across the side lawn to his pride and joy. He’d actually chosen the house on Mill Trace not because it fit his status as the head of Penton but because it had a large enough yard for him to grade it level and add a freestanding greenhouse. Bronze frame with a redbrick base, bronze-tinted glass, and thermostatic roof vents. His most peaceful moments were spent here, where he could work with the soil.

He juggled his key ring, shaking loose the key for the greenhouse door, then unlocked it and turned on the lights as Krys entered.

“Oh my God.” She stopped inside the arched entrance. “You grew these?”

These
were his night-bloomers, pulsing with color and vibrancy under the soft lights. Showy white moonflowers, brilliant gold lemon lilies, rich purple evening irises, and his favorites, the red night-blooming hibiscus.

“I was a farmer before I was turned,” he said, walking down the aisles, pinching off a faded bloom, shifting a pot to equalize the light source, turning off a sprayer. “This has been my way of staying close to it. I swear when I come here early in the evening, I still smell the sunlight on them.”

God, she must think him the world’s biggest whiner. Mirren always told him he was a moody bastard but at least he used to keep it to himself. He held his breath as she came to stand
behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “That’s got to be awful, to love something so much and lose it.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer, or he’d be pouring out the whole sorry story of Abby and Owen and how they had all ended up in this shit to begin with. Instead, he gave her the greenhouse tour. When they came to the orchids, she stopped. “You grow the flowers that someone brings to my room every night?”

Now he felt stupid in addition to pathetic. Trouble was, the more he knew Krys, the more his heart and brain got in sync with his screwed-up mating instincts. He was freaking
wooing
the woman he’d kidnapped.

He turned to face her, pretending to shrug it off. “I pick one for you and give it to Melissa.”

“You pick it yourself?” She blushed. He loved the sweetness beneath her practical exterior, her utter lack of guile—even though he realized a lot of her self-consciousness stemmed from the doubts inflicted by her warped upbringing. She had no idea how lovely she was.

He leaned over and snapped off a ruby-throated hibiscus and tucked its stem behind her ear. “Beautiful. And I mean you, not the flower.”

Before she could protest—because she
would
protest—he caught her face in his hands and bent his head to hers again, his mouth taking possession, trying to show her through his kisses how much he wanted her, wanted her to be a part of him. So much for not repeating the tunnel scene.

The flash between them sparked deep and hot, her breasts pressed tight to his chest. “Ouch!” She pulled away from him, breathless, and touched a finger to her lips. It came away bloody. “How do you control those things?”

Shit, he’d nicked her. “Occupational hazard,” he said, and she laughed a little, her fingers plucking at the buttons of her jacket. He could feel her nervous energy, and God knew scaring her was the last thing he wanted. “Krys, nothing happens unless you want it, you got that? You say walk away, and I’ll take you back to your room and that will be the end of it, even though that’s sure as hell not what I want.”

She looked up at him, and he could practically see her gathering her courage. “It’s not what I want, either. I’m just afraid that I won’t—” Another laugh. “Maybe you need to enthrall me again so I can get out of my own head.”

He ran a hand through her thick, silky hair, tucking a strand of it over her shoulder. “No, we just go slowly.” He’d need to, because she wasn’t ready for him to feed from her. The vocabulary word for everyone today was
slow
.

He stepped closer again, and she backed up till she bumped one of the potting tables. Another kiss, soft at first, till she deepened it herself and he followed her lead. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered, placing his hand between them, over her heart, his fingers splayed so that her heart thudded as if he were holding it in his hand.

His mouth took hers again, and she moaned softly as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling the hard peaks through the soft sweater. Her tongue made a tentative inroad into his mouth, and he groaned, pulling her in, tasting her.

She pulled away from the kiss, but kept her arms around him. Kneading her fingers into his back, she burrowed her face against his chest.

Her shoulders shook and at first he thought she was crying, at least till she burst out with that husky laugh that drove him crazy. “I think we need to get a room.”

Aidan laughed and hugged her, memorizing the feel of her in his arms to carry with him into his daysleep. When was the last time he’d laughed this much with anyone? Rhetorical question, because he didn’t know the answer.

Krys pulled away from his embrace. “I think we should go back to my room.”

Aidan couldn’t help the pang of disappointment, but what did he expect? That she’d drag him to the dirt floor of the greenhouse and beg him to take her?
Man, you are one delusional vampire.

They retraced their steps to the suite. When she reentered her room, he paused at the door. It seemed wrong to kiss her and then lock her in. But if he didn’t, and she tried to run, and something happened to her, he couldn’t live with that.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

She stood next to the sofa, hands on her hips, a quizzical look on her face.

“I wasn’t sure if—”

She laughed, low and soft. “I said we needed to get a room.” She looked around. “This is a room, Aidan.”

Holy hell.
She didn’t have to tell him twice.

W
as she really doing this? Krys watched Aidan push himself off the doorjamb where he’d been leaning, close the door behind him, and reach her in two strides.

His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss, and she gave in to the sensations as his hands pulled her against him. “Wait, wait.” He stepped back. “Are you sure?”

She wasn’t sure of anything, except that she wanted him. Maybe if she made love to him she could sort her feelings out better, to know if what she had begun feeling for him was real, or if it was just sexual frustration. Because he definitely made her feel frustrated.

Krys took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Is there anything I need to know? I mean, uh, is...”
God, what an idiot.
She felt her skin heating and knew she was turning that particular shade of pink that clashed with her hair.

Aidan’s laugh was soft and low and made the muscles in her pelvis clench and throb. “You can’t get pregnant. You can’t catch
a disease. And as much as I’d like to taste you, I can keep my fangs to myself if that’s what you want.”

Damn, she hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m sorry, I’m not ready for that. If—”

“Shhh. No apologies.” He brushed his lips across hers and lowered his mouth to her chin, planting soft kisses around to her neck. He kissed her lightly underneath her ear, and she felt her pulse against his lips. “See?” He smiled. “No fangs.”

Krys laughed. She shouldn’t want him but, damn it, she did. Reaching up to smooth a lock of chestnut hair away from his cheek, she covered his mouth with hers and pushed him toward the bed. When he hit the edge of the mattress and tumbled backward, she followed him, resting her body atop his. She shifted her hips to bring that hardness she felt in line with her restless heat, and he groaned.

“You’re killing me, woman.” He flipped them, settling himself to align his body with hers, and shifted his hips until she gasped.

Krys felt as if she’d catch flame if he didn’t move faster, but he took his time. His tongue pulsed against hers, matching the rhythm of his hips. When his hands snaked underneath her sweater, she grabbed the hem impatiently and tore it over her head, then got to work on his. “Get this thing off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Laughing, he finished ripping his sweater off and threw it aside, pausing to look at her lacy black bra. “Sexy...too bad I’m about to tear it up.”

She giggled until he proved he wasn’t kidding. “Hey, that was my favorite—oh.” Her protest died on her lips as flicked his thumb across one nipple while taking the other in his mouth. She arched into him with a moan. God, he had a talented mouth.

“You are so beautiful.” He propped himself on his elbows, looking at her with eyes the color of arctic ice.

“No, I’m n—”

He covered her mouth with his again, stopping her protests. Krys had never thought of herself as beautiful—just the opposite. But damned if he didn’t make her feel that way. She closed her mind to the nagging doubts about the rightness or wrongness of being with him, of giving him more control over her than he already had. How could something that made her feel this way be wrong?

She stroked her fingers down the bunched muscles of his back and slid a tentative hand to the front of his jeans. He was hard and hot, and she wanted to feel him in her hand. She unzipped the jeans and closed her fist around him.

“Holy hell,” he gasped, burying his face in her hair. “You’re killing me.”

Krys knew she wasn’t the most experienced lover. She’d had a few flings but nothing serious. What if he was disappointed?
Stay out of your head. Just feel.

He rolled away from her, jerking the jeans off and throwing them on the floor with his sweater. She shed her own slacks, then followed him, wrapping her body around his like a cloak, her heart pounding against his chest, her hair a waterfall over his skin as she nibbled at his neck.

“I love the feel of your hands on me.” His breath grew ragged as she sat astride him, raking her hands down his chest and reaching behind herself to sheath his silky heat in her fingers. He rocked against her hand, and then rolled her over fast enough to make her squeal.

Holy cow, had she actually giggled? He was turning her into one of those silly girls at whom she’d always rolled her eyes.
Aidan smiled as his lips hovered over hers. “You sure about this, Krys?”

She didn’t answer, but kissed him with a fury that left no question, and finally lost herself in his mouth, his scent, the tightening and release of muscle under skin. She hadn’t realized how close to the edge she was, but when he slipped one finger inside her, then two, it didn’t take long before she felt the pressure growing, wiping out all thought as she came, tightening her arms around him like a band.

“I want you inside me,” Krys whispered. “Please.”

Aidan moved above her, and she felt him, hard and ready as she wrapped her legs around his hips. He entered her slowly, filling her with heat and restrained tension. Krys made a noise deep in her throat when he circled his hips and pushed harder, each thrust slow and controlled.

They moved together in perfect sync until her breath hitched and she fractured again, pulling him with her. He groaned, pulsing inside of her, losing his rhythm, his body shuddering with release. She wanted to hold him inside her forever, to stay this close.

He closed his eyes and rested his weight on her gently as they caught their breath, and they both laughed. “You’re bloody amazing. You OK?”

Krys twined her fingers through his thick hair. “You have to ask?” She’d never really understood what all the fuss over sex was about before. Now she knew. Her muscles felt like melted wax, the restless buzz of her brain had calmed. For the moment she felt content, and even though part of her knew it was only for a moment, she didn’t care.

Aidan shifted inside her. “Because if you need me to try again, I could probably—” A generic cell ring tone sounded from somewhere in the vicinity of the floor. “Damn.”

He ignored the phone and kissed her again. It fell silent for a few moments, and then started again. “You better answer it,” Krys gasped, pushing him away. “It might be...important.” She’d almost said, “It might be something to do with Owen.” But she really hoped it wasn’t something ugly that would spoil tonight.

Aidan groaned, rolled off her, and scrambled for his jeans, digging his phone out of the pocket. From his end of the conversation, Krys couldn’t tell what was happening, but when he ended the call, he began pulling on his clothes. “That was Mark. There’s a strange car parked outside my house, so I better go and check on it.” He sat on the bed and leaned over to kiss her. “Sorry.”