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“Like me?”
“Your blood is richer than normal, due to the power of your office,” he explained, tossing the tie aside.
“Why does that matter?”
“It matters because your power used to belong to a god.” He started to pull off the shirt, but I put out a hand.
“Leave it,” I said huskily. He wasn’t the only one who liked a contrast. And the white, white fabric against the honey-drenched skin was . . . pleasing.
He quirked an eyebrow, but did as I asked. Then he slid back over me, grinning wickedly. “Perhaps that is why you taste divine.”
“You’re saying those mages were—were some kind of demigods?” I asked as he nuzzled my neck.
“I do not know, having never before had the opportunity to sample a god. But their blood was like yours—thick, rich, like old cognac.”
I had another question, but then his head dipped and his mouth closed over me again and I forgot what it was. I pretty much forgot everything as his tongue laved the small puncture wounds he’d made, the gentle, tender probing sending shudders through my whole body. I arched up mindlessly and he sat up, pulling me, naked, onto his lap.
My lips opened to protest, because if I’d been visible before it was nothing compared to now. But then strong hands grasped me and a magnificent hardness pressed against me and he started to suck not so gently. And my protest turned into a moan as my legs tightened around him, my skin flushed a deeper shade of pink, and my body squirmed, craving friction, craving more. I buried my fingers in the raw silk of his hair and forgot the passing cars and the curious driver and everything except the pull of that mouth and the feel of those hands, smoothing up and down my back and clenching—
And, okay, I thought dizzily, maybe this could work, after all.
But the next second Mircea was drawing back. “You’re hungry,” he announced, as if this were news.
“What? Do I have low blood sugar?” I asked facetiously.
“Yes.” He rapped smartly on the partition, which lowered so fast I barely had time to snatch up the mink. The vampire driver wasn’t a family member or a high-level master, so Mircea had to talk to him directly. “The Club,” he said succinctly.
“We are already there, my lord,” the driver said softly. “I took the liberty of anticipating your wishes.”
“Good man,” Mircea said, and before I quite knew what was happening, he’d pulled me out into the snow.
Even with the mink, the shock of cold air was a little stunning after the cozy warmth of the limo. But we weren’t out in it for long. My toes barely had time to register the frozen sidewalk before Mircea swung me up and ran with me up the stairs of a beautiful old row house.
A plain red door, like a dozen others on the street, gave way to a narrow little hallway boasting a priceless chandelier, a mahogany welcome desk and what looked suspiciously like a Cézanne, its bright colors glowing against the dark wood paneling.
A rotund little vampire bustled around the side of the desk and then disappeared. It took me a second to realize that he’d bowed, so low that even peering over the edge of the mink, all I could see were the lights gleaming off his shiny bald head. He bobbed back up after a minute, and then he did it again, like one of those drinking bird toys that just can’t stay upright.
But eventually he did, leading the way up the stairs. And I guessed he must have been a lot older than the driver, because not a word was said until his slightly shaking hands had opened the door to a magnificent suite. It was saffron and coral and deep chocolate brown, with a fireplace in caramel-colored marble and a huge window overlooking the city lights.
“I—I hope it is to your liking, my lord,” he murmured, and turned pink-cheeked with delight when Mircea casually nodded.
“Yes, it’s fine. We’ll eat up here.”
“Of course, of course. Right away.” The little vamp bowed himself out—literally—bobbing three times as he withdrew backward into the hall. And then Mircea finally let me down, only to get his hands inside the coat and push me against the wall.
“I’m dirty,” I protested.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Promise?”
“Mircea!” I laughed in spite of myself. “I want a bath before we eat!”
His eyes, glinting in the discreet light of the suite, met mine. “If you’ll indulge me.”
“I’m not bathing with you,” I told him firmly. I’d never get any dinner that way.
“Of course not,” he said, in pretend shock.
“Then what?”
