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Sam didn’t seem to be stirring. I stepped back, slowly pulling my arm and the candle out of reach. A hand shot out to clamp around my wrist. Sam’s eyes were open, hungry, and dark. I pulled frantically at my wrist, barely keeping the candle upright as he dragged me down to the mattress.
“Sam, I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. There’s a storm—mmph!”
His mouth closed over mine, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling it. He pulled the candle from my hand and placed it on a bedside table. He yanked me close, rolling over me and pressing me into the mattress, plucking the buttons of my wet shirt like guitar strings. His hips pressed into mine, pinning me down. He was so solid, so sure, over me, when my head seemed to be running on its own roller-coaster track.
He pushed the wet shirt from my shoulders, running his hands under my back until they cupped my butt, and rocked his hips. I groaned shamelessly, throwing my head back against the pillow. He rained kisses down the line of my throat. I could feel his wicked smile against my skin when I didn’t so much as tense when his teeth skimmed over my jugular.
His fingers worked over my collarbone, tickled the rim of my belly button, and traced my hips. Somewhere in the course of this, my pants seemed to have disappeared. I glanced down, transfixed by the sight of Sam’s hard length slipping between my thighs.
I gasped. I would worry about the pants later.
—
The storm died down. I had no idea when, but by the time I collapsed back against the mattress, sore, sweaty, and a little dizzy, the wind had dwindled to a dull roar. We could still hear the rain spattering against the siding. It was nice, sprawling out on the bed, the light low, and what sounded like ocean waves beating against the walls.
Sam’s arm was thrown over me, his face pressed into the mattress. I didn’t want to brag, but I was pretty sure I’d broken him. Toward the end, I’d taken his power of speech and the ability to control his eyelids. But he’d done his damage, too. The pretty iron curlicues on the headboard now looked like something from a Tim Burton movie.
His head rose, and his eyelids twitched slightly as he gave me a lazy smile. He grabbed me and pulled me close.
“I was wonderin’ how long it would take you to come down here,” he murmured against my mouth. “Really, woman, how many hints do I have to give you?”
“H-hints?” I sputtered
“I left the doors unlocked.”
“That’s not a hint. That’s inattention to personal safety.”
“Says the woman who spilled candle wax on a sleepin’ vampire,” he whispered, biting lightly at the place where my neck met my jaw. “Kinky girl.”
“Nice.” I rolled my eyes and made myself more comfortable, balancing carefully on his chest. My knee hit the mattress wrong, and the bed sagged in the middle. As pretty as it was, the mattress was lumpy as hell, and the springs squeaked every time we moved. But I was so comfortable. And I loved the feeling of Sam’s hands slipping along my spine, tracing each vertebra with his fingertips. I lay there, my head tilted sweetly against the ridge of his collarbone, completely relaxed.
“So, what happens now?” he asked.
“I think that’s my line,” I said without looking up.
“You know what I mean,” he said, poking my ribs. “When you move out, will I see you again, or will I just be part of the Half-Moon Hollow welcome wagon package?”
“I’ll give you a good review on Yelp, if that will make you feel better.”
“Oh, you’re funny, you are.”
“I try.” I was so tempted to tell him I was staying right there with him, in this very house, as long as he wanted me. And I would be willing to sleep in this freaky Tim Burton bed if he would keep rubbing my back like that. But for now, that sounded a little psycho. So I gave him a Cheshire Cat smile and said, “I’m not quite sure yet.”
“Oh, that’s mean.” He groaned.
I slid my arms around his neck and rolled over him. “Maybe I should take another spin on the welcome wagon before I decide.”
I nipped along the line of his throat, leaving a deliberate mark on his collarbone with my teeth. It faded in seconds. I was going to have to find a way to make those stick.
“That’s so wrong.” he said, sighing.
“You want more genteel pillow talk, get a more genteel girl.”
—
The next thing I knew, I startled awake in the bed, alone. I could hear footsteps above me, making the floorboards creak. Sam was pacing upstairs in the living room, and I could hear his hushed tones even in the basement. I blinked blearily at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was after 10:00 P.M. Who would be visiting here at this time of night?
I slipped into my shirt and jeans and crept quietly up the stairs. The kitchen was dark, but the lights in the living room were blazing. I could hear Sam yelling, “No, I don’t have to explain that to you!” followed by tinny babbling. Was he talking on the phone? I hovered near the door, watching as Sam paced back and forth over the worn rug.
