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Chapter One
What would the woman, Batya, taste like?
The question had many layers and burned like fire in Quinlan’s vampire mind.
He leaned against a brick building and stared up at a wide plate glass window on the other side of the street. His pursuit of Batya Cole had taken him away from Grochaire Realm way too often, as well as his duties as mastyr. He was in charge of a million realm souls and took his job seriously.
Yet, here he was because he couldn’t seem to help himself. Batya’s blood called to him, like no woman he’d ever known.
His instincts warned him away from the ex-patriot who lived a bohemian artist’s life in the small U.S. town of Lebanon, Tennessee. But she’d been on his radar for weeks now and he wanted her in his bed.
Nothing more.
And literally nothing less.
Once he set his sights on a goal, very little could move him.
He could picture her lying on her back, hands gripping the wrought-iron head-board of her bed, the mass of her wavy-blond hair spread out on her pillows.
He’d been through her gallery, her free clinic, her bedroom. Bastard that he was, he’d been spying on her. A couple of times in the process, he’d wondered at his obsession, only to realize the nature of his pursuit didn’t matter, only that he conquered his prey.
He wanted to sink his fingers into her hair, lean close and smell all across the line of her cheek. He’d gotten near enough to her once, trapping her in a corner of her gallery, to catch a fragrance that smelled wonderfully rich, like an exotic tropical flower. He didn’t have a name for her scent, but he wanted his tongue on her to find out every nuance of her deepest flavor.
He’d been seducing her for the past hour with just his telepathy and of course his mating vibration, a serious realm-ability he’d developed over the past seven-hundred-plus-years of his life. He released another set of waves.
How does that feel, Cha?
He heard her moan, a soft whimper through the window.
Stop calling me that.
His telepathy with Batya rang clear as a bell, one more reason he knew they’d be good together. He’d be able to whisper her name through her mind while he kissed her and moved inside her, working his magic.
His mating vibration, the one that emanated from deep within his body, flowed in a stream straight up and through the second story bedroom window. He loved his mastyr status in these moments that he could do things most other vampires couldn’t. He could stand across the street and touch Batya low with just a thought and a vibrating stream of energy that had found the sweetest nest between her legs.
He added a jolt and heard her cry out. He extended his hearing so he could savor every whimper.
You should leave, Quinlan. Stop tormenting me.
Another jolt and again, she cried out. He liked punishing her with pleasure. That’s for telling me to leave. For the fun of it, he added another intense stream.
She sighed, purred, and moaned, one after the other. He had her now. He’d bring her, like he did last time, but he wanted to get closer. He wanted to watch this time and he wanted her watching him. And this time, he’d let her see what he had to offer.
I want in, Batya. Now. You’ve kept me outside long enough. He increased the force of the vibration and she groaned heavily.
This is a bad idea, Quinlan. She panted while she pathed to him. You know it is.
I don’t care. We’ll be good together.
He levitated and drifted across the street, moving close to the window. He saw her through a haze of multicolored sheers so that she appeared as though surrounded by ripples of golden, blue-violet light. He couldn’t see her clearly, but she writhed on the bed, her hands gripping the wrought iron bars just as he’d imagined.
I see you.
She rolled her head in his direction. You bastard. I never wanted this.
You didn’t have to let it get this far tonight.
Why did you come after me? You can have any woman in the Nine Realms you want and maybe a couple billion here on earth as well.
It’s all your fault. You shouldn’t have smelled so good when I first came here, remember? As soon as he’d touched her, her sex had bloomed and her exotic scent had filled him with purpose.
I can’t help how I smell.
And I can’t help how bad I want to bury myself between your legs. Besides, you refused me and I always face up to a challenge.
* * * * * * * * *
Batya could barely see Quinlan behind the layering of sheer gold, blue, and hot pink fabric that hung in loose swathes over her window, but she caught his scent, like smoky applewood, something burning hot on a barbeque. And he smelled wonderful.
She felt him, too.
Oh, God did she feel him.
His vibration moved inside her the way other things could move, in and out, but with an added shimmer of sensation both sideways and in an erotic swirl that had her aching for more.
And he knew it.
For weeks, she’d tried to resist.
Then one night, about two weeks ago, he’d brought her slowly out of a dream state and had her so worked up that by the time she finally came to consciousness the orgasm spilled over her like a sudden waterfall.
And all he’d done was use his outrageous, built-in-Grochaire realm vibration that he’d somehow turned into the seduction trick of the century. She tried not to think about just how many women he’d bedded by using just a few flicks of that vibration.
Plenty, no doubt. He had one helluva reputation. Sensible women never got near him.
But here she was, about as close as she could get to an orgasm, only this time he wanted inside her house. And the damn vampire was honorable and wouldn’t come in unless invited, so it wasn’t like she could call foul-play or anything.
The vibration inside her began to slow down, easing her back from the most delicious edge.
She murmured her frustration, but still held onto the wrought-iron as though her life depended on it.
She hated having to make this decision and wished he’d just bust through the window and take her, good and hard.
Instead, she’d have to ask for it.
Let me in, Cha. Let me give you everything this time. It’ll be good.
She settled her breathing down, trying to focus on why she needed to send him back to Grochaire. He represented what she’d been trying to escape for decades now. He belonged to Grochaire. In many ways, he was the realm he served. Of all the mastyrs of the Nine Realms, she’d never seen one more committed to governing his land than Quinlan.
But her home was here now, in the continental United States, and here she planned to stay the rest of her long-lived life. So what good was it to have Quinlan anywhere near her? No good at all.
