The Vampire Queen's Servant (8 page)

"I promise he ate at least
three Jehovah's Witnesses to redeem himself," he responded.

"Bran would never eat my
dinner if it delivered itself to my door. He has manners. How did you get past
him?"

"Thomas taught me the
command he used with them. He also gave me a handkerchief with his preserved
scent. The two together seemed to do the trick."

"Fortunately for you."
She fondled Fionn's ears, feeling the soft silk of the undercoat mixed with the
rough top layer. It reminded her somewhat of the softness of Jacob's lips,
mixed with the stimulation of his facial hair. "Why is the driver still
here?"

"I think you should hire
him, my lady. He's very competent, and he's had military training."

"He would never work for
the likes of me."

"I think he'd consider it,
if an offer was made."

"What lies have you been
telling him?"

His eyes narrowed. "I would
never lie about you, my lady. I will lie
for
you, if needed for your
well-being."

"Hmm." He was showing
that edge of irritation he'd demonstrated when she'd accused him of being a
drifter, stimulating her in a way he likely wouldn't expect. It brought back
all the things the dream had roused as well. "Come with me, then."

"The driver—"

"Will wait without question
if he is indeed the type of person I can use. For now, you'll follow me and
keep silent, and that is all. Bran, take your brothers and sisters back to the
kitchen. On guard."

Immediately the dog spun, his
siblings in pursuit. They parted around Jacob, a river of fur and flashing
eyes, and galloped back down the hall, leaving the two of them standing ten
feet apart. To Lyssa, the distance didn't seem so much like the distance of
strangers as the paced-off field of potential combatants.

When Jacob hesitated, she raised
a brow. "If you can't follow my commands without question, you're also not
the type of person I can use."

He would think her uncharitable
for not thanking him, for not answering the many questions she could see he had
about her welfare, about the house, about his role in it. But she was not his
companion. He was applying to be hers. Despite their unfortunate beginning, it
was time to see if he would accept a full understanding of what that meant.
Only then could she decide whether to allow him to serve her under one mark.
Maybe two. She knew he would be discontent with anything less than three, but
it was not her role to make him content. He needed to accept that as well.

This was not the same woman he'd
helped into the limo. It was another intriguing version of her. At the salon,
she'd been a temptress. Here she was that, but also obviously queen. He felt it
in her assessing gaze, the imperious tone and the restless lust that moved in her
eyes and had his cock jumping eagerly even as his mind balked at being treated
as chattel.

She was walking away, leaving
him the choice. Once he followed, he was agreeing to be what she was requiring
at this moment and perhaps ever after. He struggled with it, the independence
of a lifetime warring with the image Thomas had given him of a woman who needed
him, who intrigued his mind and fantasies.

She stopped at the stairwell,
laying her hand on the banister. Slim, elegant fingers, the middle one bearing
a ring with a sapphire set in silver, the gem as large as a fingernail. He
wondered if her husband had given it to her, and unexpected displeasure surged
at the thought. Lifting that hand, she freed her hair from a clip that held
part of it away from her face. As the strands dropped, she ran her hand through
the silken weight of it, an ebony tide that pulled his gaze to the hips it
brushed. The black satin robe clung to her, the fit and loose neckline telling
him she wore nothing beneath it.

"Jacob." Her voice was
a purr. Her eyes were as dark as the shadows clustering around the stairwell.
"Every moment you hesitate will make your punishment much more
intense."

"I'm not afraid of pain, my
lady."

She chuckled. "Then you've
not experienced it intensely enough. But there are punishments far worse than
pain."

"Worse than losing your
sense of yourself?"

She cocked her head.
"Sometimes that is the most pleasurable part of pain. Come. I'd say I
don't bite"—her lip curled up slightly at one corner—"but we both know
that to be untrue."

When she ascended the stairs, he
found himself following, taking them two at a time to her one. As he caught up,
an instinct contrary to his nature kept him a pace behind her.

She took him to her bedroom
where he'd laid her less than two hours before, hoping he was doing the right
thing, that he was overlooking nothing for her care. He hadn't wanted to leave
her side. But when her face had eased into a peaceful expression, he'd returned
to Mr. Ingram to keep him company. The driver had refused to leave until she
presented herself to him fully lucid and assured him Jacob was welcome in her
home. If Jacob had dallied over her, he was certain the man would have come
looking for him with that Beretta, a situation certain to have disturbed his
lady's much needed rest.

While he'd followed Thomas's
direction to get past the dogs, even Bran had not given him an unconditional
green light. He'd stood stiffly by the front door, his stock-still posture and
the watchful eyes seeming to say, "
Well, then. Do you have the stones,
mate
?"

Now in the present, as Lyssa
glanced over her shoulder at him, he had the feeling the same challenge was
being issued.

Do you have the stones,
mate?

As he stepped over the threshold
she was moving to the walls, switching on small spotlights to highlight the
room's artwork. "Stand in the center of the room, arms at your
sides."

A Matisse. A Titian. A Van Gogh.
Deep expressions of the soul in a multitude of colors, like the woman who lived
here. While he had many questions for her, he knew the spur of curiosity was
not why he wanted to ask them right now. A part of him wanted to deny she could
order him to be silent. But he had to understand the unfamiliar before he could
determine if it needed to be rejected or defied. What was swirling through him
now as he obeyed her command was definitely unfamiliar. His loins tightened
with every quiet sound he heard. Her feet sinking into the carpet. The soft
swish of her robe moving on her legs. She fluttered at the corner of his vision
and then disappeared.

Before he could turn in surprise
and look for her, her hand touched his back.

"That's a neat trick,"
he said.

"Jacob." Her voice was
a whisper along his spine. "I know you're nervous. I can hear your pulse.
You've never submitted before. When you make love to a woman, you take her
over. You let her feel your strength, your desire. If there is any
surrendering, she surrenders to you. When you let yourself go, it's only when
you're certain she's become lost in you. In the passion you've given her."

Did he detect a certain edge to
her tone, as if she resented the women he'd had before? That would be absurd.
Almost as absurd as his relief when he saw no evidence of Rex's presence in
this room. Nothing to remind him she'd been alive long enough to have been
touched not only by her husband, but by many other men.

She caressed his hips, holding
him as she rose on her toes to press her mouth under his ear. "If you wish
to be my servant, you must learn what surrender truly means." Her hands
slid under his arms and she began to toy with one of the shirt buttons, the
color on her nails shining faintly in the soft light. "So don't make me
gag you. I want to make use of that pretty mouth of yours, that clever tongue.
You'll stay silent from this point forward unless I command you to speak.
Remain still."

He'd begun to raise his hands,
intending to clasp them over hers on his abdomen, but at that he stopped,
battling his own will. Taking a deep breath, he made himself lower his hands
back to his sides.

"Good. Very good."

As she opened his shirt, she
moved closer, the barest brush of her body against his back, his buttocks. Her
breath tickled his spine through the light fabric.

Though he knew it was a defense
mechanism, Jacob tried to sort out the questions he had, mundane and less
mundane, as if writing them down in his head for later reference. Anything to
keep himself motionless as her fingers tormented him with nothing more than the
unfastening of his shirt and her command to be still. Why did she breathe? Did
she like coffee? Max had said she preferred a pot brewing in the foyer of
Eldar, but she hadn't even asked for a cup. Was it the aroma? Should he make
her breakfast? What was the driver doing? Had she ever had a man self-combust
and die, incinerated by the fire she ignited in him?

Placing her palms on his now
bare stomach, she kept one there while moving the other up to find his nipple.
He swayed, leaning back into her as sensation shot through him. Her arms
tightened, holding him. He felt her pleasure in his response, in the way she
touched her lips to his neck. While he'd never thought of the throat as an
erogenous zone for him, it apparently was now, for his cock became harder every
time she went near it.

"Perhaps you're thinking
this will be like those times when you
let
a woman control the moment.
Let
her ride your cock to climax while you held onto the bed rails and
pretended you were bound. Soft games of pleasure with no real risk, the dark
areas of yourself untouched, vulnerabilities unchallenged."

She came around to face him, her
fingernails scraping his skin as she followed the waistband of his jeans, just
inside the band of fabric. "Lovely musculature. Mature, lean. Not the body
of an untried boy. There are scars here. You've fought battles."

"I've—"

"Hush. You do not have my
leave to speak."

A sharper command this time, in
a tone that shot resentment through him. She began to hum softly to herself. As
if her dialogue was intended to be a one-way conversation, like a potential buyer
examining a thoroughbred racehorse. He suspected she was doing it that way
deliberately to goad him.

On the other hand, her
expression was focused, fascinated, as if she'd been given a private viewing of
a special work of art and was standing alone in a room with it, envisioning it
as hers. The look in her eyes was enough to make him want to reach for her,
hold her against his aching want.