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Chapter 25

“So much for the sexy costume.” Charlotte opened her apartment door and tried not to touch anything. She’d taken a spill from the sidewalk directly into a muddy puddle from that afternoon’s heavy rainstorm. Mud caked her side, her leg, her hands. Too bad Torr and his super-quick reflexes had still been at the door talking to Laria when it happened.

“As if a bit of dirt and mud could ruin that.” Torr winked at her.

Charlotte followed his gaze downward. “I should have taken off the high-heeled boots—”

“I should have carried you.”

“Oh, yes. Exactly how I’d like to start this new phase of my life. Being carried around by some big, rugged Highlander wannabe. Carted off like a damsel in distress . . .”

She stopped talking, looking down at the muddy mess of her outfit.

“I’ll be right back. Give me like five minutes.”

Just before she disappeared into her bedroom, Charlotte snuck one last peek at him. Six feet plus of hot Highlander . . . the kilt, leather boots. He may have never worn one of these in his human life, but it looked like it belonged on him.

Charlotte stripped out of the costume she’d totally envisioned Torr taking off her, piece by piece, and turned on the shower. There was no hope for it. She was a mess.

She’d been so nervous about showing up at the bar in that getup, but it had been totally worth it. The look on Torr’s face when he first saw her . . .

Stepping into the hot shower, she moved quickly, not wanting to be away from him for long. Scrubbing away the dirt, she thought of the promise he’d made her and shivered in spite of the warmth of the water running down her—

“Oh!”

The door to the standing shower opened from behind, revealing her Scotsman. He stepped in and pulled her into him, kissing her neck—

“I said I’d be a minute—” she managed.

“I couldn’t wait.”

Spinning her around, Torr lowered his mouth to hers and took all that she was willing to give. Which was, precisely, everything. Slanting his head for better access, he covered her mouth completely, claiming her tongue—

“Mmmm,” he murmured, his hands everywhere. Hot water continued to pour over them, invading their kiss. No, not invading. Intensifying.

These past few days . . . she’d been starved for him, and Charlotte couldn’t get enough.

Fisting a handful of hair, Torr pulled her close and kissed her hard. His erection begged for attention, and she gave it. Reaching down, stroking him—

“Char,” he murmured against her mouth.

She continued, relishing in her power to make him groan, until he broke away and spun her back against the wall, forcing her hand from him. All she could do was grip his powerful shoulders as he bent down and laved her breast, his teeth nipping ever so gently.

No, those were not teeth on her breast. Sharp but gentle, his fangs grazed her nipple, and Charlotte’s hands grasped hold of Torr’s hair. Anything she could get a grip on.

Which was when she finally remembered.

Holy sweet Jesus. Was he going to do it now? She’d said she was ready, but . . .

Releasing her breast, he continued downward. To where exactly? She tried to look down, but the water made it easier to keep her eyes closed. To wait. He lifted her leg, placing it on the footstool she’d installed on the wall for shaving.

His tongue traced up and down the very core of her, joined by the rest of his mouth as he drove her completely mad with taunting, teasing . . . and fangs.

“I can’t.” She grasped his hair more tightly between her hands, pulling it.

He moaned beneath her and she really couldn’t hold it together any longer. If he bit her now . . .

“Torr,” she breathed, the spasms coming too quickly to allow her to finish. And then he lifted his mouth from her. She was about to protest, but another pleasure took its place when he thrust into her. She welcomed every single thrust, as if each one made her belong to him more—and she thrust back, showing him how much she needed him.