Tempted by Blood. Laurie London

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      “I said I’ll be right out.” But he lied—he’d need at least a few more minutes.

      He turned his attention back to the woman beneath him. He was aroused but didn’t feel like using what the good Lord gave him. That wasn’t what he was after. At least not this time.

      Soft waves of hair tickled his nose as he settled in again. The too-sweet smell of her drugstore perfume was so concentrated, so overpowering here at the base of her neck that he almost sneezed. He tried like hell to ignore it and placed his hand to her temple anyway.

      Technically, Mitch was right. They were on duty tonight and being on duty didn’t involve this. He just wasn’t a slave to protocol like some people were. Sure, he’d be the first one to admit they shouldn’t be at the Pink Salon for more than just a standard walk-through. A drink at the bar? Maybe. Shooting the shit with a few of the regulars? Yeah. But this? Not really.

      It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious about his role as a Guardian—he was. It was just that this was necessary, too.

      With a jolt, her energies shot through his palm and up his arm, static electricity popping in his veins, leaving in its wake a warm, numbing sensation.

      Heaven.

      Inch by inch, his muscles unknotted, the gnawing hunger in his gut subsiding. Clarity settled over him, the clutter in his mind evaporated. Now he’d be able to concentrate on the things a Guardian should be doing. Walking the streets. Monitoring the police bands. Hanging out in alleys, searching the shadows for those who lived on the fringe of their secret but civilized society.

      For a short time, at least.

      Thank God things had been slow lately, so he didn’t feel too guilty being here. After the Seattle field team busted a huge Night of Wilding party recently on one of the San Juan Islands, the streets had been pretty quiet. Those who weren’t killed during the raid had gone into hiding. Not that there weren’t still members of the underground seeking out desirable blood types to sell on the black market—hell, he’d caught one last night stalking a young mother who was holding her child’s hand—but, for the most part, work was slow. Mitch just needed to unknot his tighty-whities and chill out.

       Ah, yes, sweetheart, just a little more and I’ll be finished.

      “You must work out a lot,” the woman said, running her hands over Jackson’s back.

      “Yeah, guess you could say that.”

      Not wanting to crush her small frame, he shifted his weight slightly and kept his hand against her temple. Evidently the anorexic look was in fashion this winter. The chick he’d been with earlier had been just as skinny.

      Having yanked off her own shirt when they got to the room, she now tugged at his clothes, fumbled with his belt. He didn’t put distance between the two of them to make it any easier for her.

      Lucky for him, she’d had a healthy dose of sun recently—her stored energy levels were higher than most people’s in Seattle who lived under a gray blanket during the winter months when the ultraviolet index was low. He was feeling stronger already, much more rejuvenated than if he’d been with someone else.

      Had she just been to Hawaii? Cabo, maybe? Yes, Mexico, he decided. When they entered the private room a few minutes ago, he’d asked her to remove her silver rings and bracelets, citing an allergic reaction if his skin came into contact with the metal. Not exactly true, but close enough.

      “God, I needed this.” Maybe he would be able to skip a couple of days.

      “Me, too.” She managed to slip her hands under the waistband of his low-slung jeans, reaching, searching. Of course, she thought that was why he’d brought her here. It’s what he wanted her to think. It’s what he wanted everyone to think.

      “Ooh, you’re commando. Did I tell you I like a man with easy access?”

      “You lucked out then because I’m all about easy.” He sucked his abs in farther, making more room inside his pants without having to go through the hassle of shoving them down. He’d let her handle him for a few moments while he did his thing. As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect combination.

      Her fingers brushed the head of his erection and she gasped. “Is that—oh, my God—what I think it is?” She’d found his piercing. Her pulse spiked as he hoped it would.

      “It’s a little surprise for you.”

      “No way.” She giggled nervously, her voice higher pitched than before. “Does it really, you know, make it better?”

      “I’m told it does.” That tiny metal stud had seen its fair share of action. With minimal effort on his part, he could easily satisfy any woman. “Like I said, it’s your lucky night.”

      And just like that, her excitement shot into his veins like a pinball ricocheting off the lighted bumpers. He held still and wallowed in the sensation.

      She said something else, but he wasn’t really listening. This was his favorite part, experiencing the rush of anticipation from a female donor host when she made that discovery. It added an extra spice to the energy. Fear did the same thing, but he didn’t let himself think about that.

      She tilted her head, seeking out his mouth.

      I don’t think so. With his face turned away to keep his fangs hidden from view, he chose not to react to her body language. He ran his free hand down her arm to distract her.

      “Kiss me,” she ordered.

      “Tobacco. Just chewed a wad.” The lies easily rolled off his tongue. Only a few more moments, then he was outta here. “Didn’t know I’d be hooking up with the hottest girl in the club.”

      “Really? You think so?”

      “Absolutely. If I had, I’d have never taken a dip. I’m addicted, though. Weak. Totally unable to quit. Will you forgive me?” God, he was laying it on thick, but then women liked being with men they thought needed fixing. Men who needed their help.

      “Of course.” She gave a little laugh that sounded like a cross between a woodpecker and a machine gun. It would’ve grated on his nerves if he wasn’t so mellow right now.

      He didn’t like to kiss them, if he could help it. Even the pretty ones. Kissing led to feelings, which led to intimacy, which led to talking about the future. Not that he hadn’t played house with various women—both human and vampire—over the past century, but whenever they started in with the baby names, the bathroom colors and the mixing of bank accounts, he got itchy. As in the kind of itch that needed someone else to scratch it. After a while, when the charade became too hard to maintain, it just so happened that he’d become a shitty liar, very conveniently forgetting to cover his tracks. He really hated the “sugar, this just isn’t working for me any longer” speech, so he gave them a reason to break up with him.

      His last on-again, off-again girlfriend had thrown all his crap on the front lawn when she discovered he’d been with another woman. His leather coat, his Xbox, all his games—ruined in the rain. He didn’t blame her for being pissed—he’d expected it. He cringed, though, when he thought about that damn coat. His favorite. It’d smelled musty ever since. Yeah, it СКАЧАТЬ