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“I never admitted Ming-de.”
“Hmm.” He’d never denied it, either. And then he cleverly got out of the argument by the underhanded trick of sitting back on his heels and starting to strip off the robe.
The white terry cloth had made his skin look darker than normal, a deep, rich caramel, but I didn’t miss it. Not with the fire painting intriguing shadows on a body that was already intriguing enough. It gilded his muscles, cast a very incongruous halo around that dark head and licked at the smug smile hovering about his lips.
He took longer undressing than strictly necessary, because he was a bastard and a tease and because he clearly did not have a problem with nudity. I kind of suspected that Mircea liked nudity. Of course, if I had a body like that, I probably would, too.
I must have said that last aloud, because he grinned as he crawled back over me. “If you had a body like mine, we would have a problem.”
“You don’t like men?” I asked, running my hands up hard-muscled arms.
“I like them well enough, just not in my bed,” he said, nibbling on my lower lip.
“Have you tried it?”
“I didn’t need to try it, dulceat?a?,” he said, kissing his way downward. “I know what I like. I have always been very clear on that point.”
I was, too, and Mircea pretty much hit every button, with smooth lips and rough fingers and cool, cool hair that he deliberately dragged across my body as he worked his way down. The silken caress followed the warmer, more insistent one, making me crazy, making me writhe, lighting up nerves I hadn’t even known I had. Until I arched up—in pain, because his mouth had fastened over the livid bruise below my belly button.
“That hurts,” I protested, as he sucked at the already tortured flesh.
“Not for long.”
And sure enough, the size of the mark began to fade as I watched, the edges dissipating like a cloud in a windstorm, the color thinning and then breaking apart and then disappearing altogether, letting the clear, pale skin show through. I suddenly noticed that a lot of my other scrapes and scratches had vanished as well, soothed away by the healing ability that was one of Mircea’s gifts as a master.
“Doesn’t that take a lot of power?” I asked, amazed.
He smiled, licking the last of the bruise away. “I have it to burn tonight.”
“Because of those creatures.”
He nodded. “It pleases me that their blood should heal you, since they were the reason you require it in the first place.”
And, okay, yes. Healing had its place and it was nice of him to make the effort and I was suitably grateful not to be hobbling around like a ninety-year-old for the next week. But at the moment, I’d have been a lot more grateful if he would just move that talented mouth a few more inches south....
He must have read my mind. Because the next moment, rough hands slid up my inner thighs, silky hair cascaded over my stomach, and a warm, wet tongue went to work. Along with lips and teeth and God knew what else, but whatever was happening definitely wasn’t normal. Because it suddenly felt like there were maybe a few extra tongues down there, which my brain kept telling my body was clearly impossible, and my body told it to get bent, because it was busy arching and writhing and thrashing and screaming. And then it didn’t matter anyway, because the next instant my brain stuttered and short-circuited and all but blew out the top of my head.
Maybe I passed out or maybe I just lost a few minutes there. Either way, I came around to find him just barely stroking, too light to give any friction at all, too light to do more than tease. And I writhed anyway, every tiny movement sweet torture, shuddering down nerves still raw with pleasure.
He looked up at me teasingly. “How about now?”
“What?”
“The date.”
It took me a moment to even realize what the hell he was talking about. “Oh . . . it’s fair . . . I guess,” I said, trying for joking, but mostly sounding breathless.
“Fair.” Dark eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to try a little harder, then, won’t I?”
I stared at him. I thought a little harder might just kill me.
And then I was sure it would, when the bastard moved on—to my thigh.
“What—what are you doing?” I gasped. I wanted him in me. I wanted him in me now.
“Healing you,” he said innocently, mouthing a completely inconsequential bruise.
“It can wait!”
