Thunder and Lightning

He was a vampire.

Yet already he knew the innate attraction that existed between them was impossible to deny. Not only could he feel his desire and need for her to the depths of the soul he’d fought so hard to restore, but he could see the passion he stirred within her when he looked deep into her mesmerizing, peridot-colored eyes.

The vampire and the human were a powder keg and a match just waiting to be lit!

And he’d burn in hell if he got too close to her. Because her scent alone drove him wild, made him damn near forget all the rules by which he lived.

One taste of her skin, her lips, her blood… Hell would become a picnic for the torture he’d suffer.

Because he could never truly have her.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he raked a hand through his hair. Fate could be so goddamn cruel.

As it was, he couldn’t have gotten away from her quickly enough upon that first meeting. When the scent of her had infiltrated every crack and crevice of his body, mind and soul. Her blood had oozed onto his hands as he’d uncurled her injured fist and he’d nearly lost all control. Despite his trained aversion to human blood.

Bev was different than any other woman he’d known in his extended lifetime. He couldn’t attribute the reason to anything tangible or logical. All he knew was that he’d never wanted to taste a mortal’s flesh or blood the way he had when he’d held her wounded hand and gotten his first full whiff of her mesmerizing essence.

It drove him mad to even think of how aromatic, how sensual, how provocative she smelled. How much her scent alone aroused him, never mind her magnificent, luscious body…

“Stop!” His low hiss echoed around him as he contemplated his strategy for resisting the greatest temptation he’d ever encountered.

Sure, to spare his sanity, he could pull a few tricks from up his sleeve to warn off this unexpected threat. Make the woman forty feet away from him think her newly acquired home was haunted, as many were in Savannah. He could terrify her with his lightning-quick speed and ghastly white, pre-dusk appearance.

A vampire before twilight could scare the shit out of Satan himself.

All of which would send her packing.

The idea had merit. And he gave it serious consideration. Because the dizzying bouquet of her blood and the strong, steady beat of her heart was just about the worst kind of torture he’d ever endured. Only one other thing topped it, actually. But Cane didn’t allow himself to think of the crime he’d committed—the evil he’d created—when he’d turned Amy…

Perhaps the best way to alleviate the new bane of his existence was to leave Savannah himself and return to Europe for a few decades. Put an entire ocean between him and the bewitching aroma of Bevelyn Goitia.

But then the rich, seemingly velvety texture of her scent suddenly intensified, as though he’d conjured it with his thoughts, inflaming his nostrils, tormenting him further as it drew him deeper into a sensual abyss he’d never known existed.

Masochistic as it was, the idea of driving Bev away flew right out of his mind, along with the thought of fleeing to his homeland to escape the wicked web she’d so easily entangled him in.

Cane’s head snapped in the direction of her house, just as the tall, curvaceous redhead who’d unwittingly taunted him the past six days stepped out onto her third-story veranda. The golden glow coming from her bedroom illuminated her features. Not necessary for h

is benefit, for he’d already committed every breathtaking inch of her to memory.

A soft, late-night breeze ruffled her long, loose hair and rippled the swath of black satin that barely constituted a nightgown, making the short hem swirl around her at mid-thigh. Her skin was a warm bronze color. Smooth and flawless.

Coming to an abrupt halt, concealed by the inky darkness, Cane watched her. His eyes drank her in from the tips of her elegant bare feet, up the line of shapely legs that were long enough to wrap tightly around him as he thrust into her, to the soft rounding of her hips, and then the sharp dip of her narrow waist. His gaze rose higher still, to the plump breasts that nearly spilled out of the triangular-shaped, black lace cups covering them.

Couth had never been his strong point. Not that she knew he was staring at her, devouring every inch of her with his supernatural vision. Cane easily blended into the shadows surrounding him as the moon hid behind a patch of thick cumulus clouds and he was as still as the sturdy oak trunks sprouting up around him.

But damn it, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rounded bronze flesh he suddenly burned to fill his palms with. It was almost sadistic how easily he could envision her in his arms, her head thrown back, her long, graceful throat exposed to him. He fantasized about skimming his hand over the obsidian satin that smoothed across her flat belly, moving upward until his fingers grazed the lace that covered her breasts, the pads of his fingers lightly brushing her warm, supple flesh before he peeled away the black triangles.

He imagined her nipples would be a dark, rosy color, complementing her beautiful skin tone. Small and tight, they’d beckon him to bend his head to her chest and curl his tongue around each pebbled peak, teasing them even tauter. Then his large hand would palm one full breast, his thumb stroking the swollen bud as his mouth continued to pleasure the other nipple. He’d flick his tongue over the delectable offering, then draw the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make her gasp in erotic bliss—

“Shit,” he groaned. “Human,” he reminded himself, the angst and torment dripping from his dark tone, filling the quiet night that surrounded him.

“Mortal,” he whispered to himself. “She’s mortal!”

Why the hell was he having so much trouble remembering that? Why was it so damned impossible to get this woman out of his mind?

In his two centuries of existence as a vampire, Cane had only been this distracted by a human once. And it’d had nothing to do with lust. Had not been the least bit relative to desire and certainly hadn’t rivaled the all-consuming attraction he felt with Bev.

Though Amy had meant a great deal to him, inevitably, she’d been but a means to recover some of his humanity.