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“Are you certain? I may have overlooked something.”
I didn’t answer. A hand had come to rest beside my left breast, and a warm finger was caressing the damp cloth, tracing the almost invisible indentation left by one of the bullets. I started to say something, but my throat felt oddly constricted. Then both his hands were moving over my body, searching for hidden injuries. One finger accidentally brushed across a nipple, shooting sparks all the way to my toes. Calluses, I decided vaguely, can feel very good.
“Your reaction in the caves was worrisome,” he informed me.
I was more worried about my reaction now. I found myself wanting to suck those fingers into my mouth, to see Louis-Cesare’s eyes grow dark with lust and want. “You can see I’m fine,” I told his shirt, fighting a strong urge to take the delicate material in my teeth and rip it off him. It was so intense for a moment that I had to close my eyes and concentrate on why that would be wrong on so many levels: he was Daddy’s little spy, there to insure that Drac didn’t get everything he had coming, a vampire and a Senate member. None of those spelled lover in my book.
So why did my hand reach out to push a stray curl behind his ear? To my surprise, Louis-Cesare leaned into the feel of my hand. There was a slightly pink line, warmer than the rest of his skin, on his cheek. The fast-healing injury ran from his jaw nearly to his eye, adding to the pirate effect of the clothes. I traced it lightly with a finger. We were close enough for me to count the shades of blue that blended in his eyes, to see the way the strands of gold and brown and red mingled in his hair. To note the network of lines near his eyes, the fine traces of bitterness at his mouth. It must be the blood loss, I decided, reaching up to press my lips to his.
He went completely still at my touch, then, after a startled moment, gently tugged away. “Dorina, what are you doing?”
“If you don’t know, you’re the densest Frenchman I ever met.”
“You are not well.”
“Let me worry about that.” My hand tingled faintly where it rested against the flex of his bicep. I moved it to his thigh, finding hard muscle beneath the smooth leather. No softness anywhere, except the velvet of his skin, the touch of his mouth…
“You are in no condition to worry about it,” he told me, his voice oddly tender. He caught my hands in his. “I had to use power on you earlier, and I am not certain—”
“I can’t be influenced.” I tried to tug my hands away—there were far more interesting things they could be doing—but he laced our fingers together, tightening his grip.
“If your shields are in place, perhaps not. But they were not up earlier. And the residual effects of a powerful suggestion can be—”
Need washed through me, rough and wild. I didn’t want a lesson on mind control, damn it! I cut him off by reaching up on tiptoe and sinking my teeth into that lovely full lower lip, the one that had been driving me crazy ever since I met him. I barely had time to taste the blood on my tongue before his arms went around me, pulling me hard against him. But he didn’t kiss me, and with his height, I needed his cooperation. He also didn’t let go of my hands, so I was effectively immobilized, my arms trapped behind my back, our fingers still enmeshed. That strength that had so irritated me before held me fast, and I suddenly found it extremely erotic that I couldn’t get away unless he released me.
My hands tingled with the need to run over him, to rip off those ridiculous clothes and feel warm skin against warm skin instead of leather against cotton. But he wouldn’t let me. The thought occurred that maybe Louis-Cesare was right—maybe I had been influenced—but at the moment I really didn’t care.
I finally gave up all pretense of control and arched against him. I was rewarded with a low groan in that rich voice, all velvet and heat, and suddenly he was kissing me. The feverish, openmouthed caresses started hard and got harder, almost desperate. It felt like fire was pouring through me and tasted of raw power—hot and sweet, burning and perfect. The heat of his breath was scalding. God, I was going to go crazy if I couldn’t touch him.
Then, just as suddenly, I was alone. After a confused second, I realized that Louis-Cesare was now standing on the other side of the fountain, facing away from me, his back tense. When he turned around, his eyes were shadowed and his face sported hectic color in his cheeks. Apparently he’d remembered that he was kissing a dhampir, and a bastard one at that.
So much for compliments.
I felt heat closing my throat and had to take a few deep breaths to get myself under control. God, I must be even more tired than I thought. I pulled the hideous skirt on, slipping my ruined jeans off underneath. It wasn’t my style, but it bought me a few seconds to rearrange my face.
“Why do you think the Fey is really here?” Louis-Cesare asked. There seemed to be something wrong with his voice.
I slipped on the tunic, hands tingling at the memory of what it had been like to touch him. “You heard what he said. He’s looking for Claire.”
“You have already told him what you know—that he will find the woman with Lord Dracula. Why is he here instead of looking for them?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” It certainly topped my agenda. Caedmon had asked to delay filling in details until we arrived. Considering that conditions in the car had not been conducive to intelligent conversation, I hadn’t pressed him. But all bets were now off. I was tired and confused, but I wasn’t going to bed until I had the truth about Claire.
“The Fey cannot be trusted. They speak in riddles and half-truths when they trouble themselves to say anything at all! I am responsible for you to Lord Mircea, and I do not trust Fey magic.”
“And I don’t trust you.”
“That makes two of us,” he said obscurely, running a hand through his messy curls. “May I see the note the woman left you?” It would have sounded like a non sequitur to anyone listening in, but to me, it made perfect sense. Louis-Cesare didn’t trust me, either.
Smart vampire.
“Her name is Claire. And no, you can’t.”
“And why not?”
“I lost it.”
Blue eyes stabbed me with unmasked suspicion. I wanted to look away, but didn’t dare. But he stopped short of searching me—I suppose he thought he’d done a pretty good job of that already—and I was careful not to glance at my left boot, where I’d slipped Claire’s note. Louis-Cesare probably didn’t read Romanian, but Radu sure as hell did. And the last thing I needed was for them to know about Drac’s ultimatum.
