Dead Sexy

She took a deep breath and Santiago's scent was borne to her on the evening breeze, and then she saw him striding toward her. He smiled when he saw her, though his eyes were guarded.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Never better," she replied, thinking he was more handsome than ever. "What's wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do I feel so good? I should be dead."

He took a deep breath. "Undead," he said quietly.

The word hung between them in the air as bits and pieces of what had happened the night before rose in her memory. The wolves fighting. The weight of the gun in her hand. Santiago's voice telling her that he loved her, telling her that if she died, he would join her in the morning.

"You did it," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "You made me a…"

He nodded. "Vampire."

"I don't feel dead." She ran her hands over her arms, across her br**sts, over her face. "I feel as if I could fly." She tilted her head to the side. "You told me that it was painful when you were brought across. Why didn't I feel anything?"

"It happened while you were unconscious."

"I'm a vampire." She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Does this mean I have to live in the park?"

Grinning, he drew her into his arms. "No, my love. We can live wherever you wish."

"Are you still going to marry me?"

"Just as soon as I can."

She stared up at him. "Can we get married tonight?"

"I do not think so. At home, I know a priest who will marry us, but here…" He shrugged. "I am a stranger here."

Reaching up, she trailed her forefinger across his brow, down his cheek, and over his lower lip. "Can we have our honeymoon now and get married tomorrow night?"

He took her finger into his mouth and suckled it a moment before asking, "Is that what you want?"

She nodded, surprised to feel a blush heat her cheeks. "I almost died last night and all I could think about was how sorry I was that we hadn't made love. I don't want to wait any longer."

He understood her need even better than she did. She had been through a number of terrible ordeals in the last few months. She had been turned into a werewolf and been near death, and now she was a newly made vampire, unsure of her future, wondering if she had made the right decision. Few things were as life-affirming as the act of love.

He brushed a kiss across her cheek. "A blanket in a cave was not what I had in mind for our wedding night."

"Don't you know it isn't the place that matters," she said, "it's who you're with?"

"Nevertheless," he said, swinging her up into his arms, "I do not intend to spend our first night together in a cave."

"No?" She glanced around. "I don't see a hotel."

"There is one in the village," he said, striding swiftly through the night.

The inn was old and small and quaint, with a pointed roof and a bright red door. The grizzled clerk gave Regan and Santiago an odd look when they walked into the lobby hand in hand. Regan couldn't blame him. Even though Santiago had scrounged up a dress from somewhere, she still looked as though she had been ridden hard and put away wet.

The clerk, who, as it turned out, was also the owner, insisted on being paid in advance. Regan couldn't blame him for that, either.

She glanced around the lobby while Santiago signed the register. An ancient tapestry depicting a king riding to hounds hung from one wall. A small, round, mahogany table and four elegant chairs occupied one corner. The chairs looked so old and fragile, Regan doubted if all of them put together would hold her weight.

There was no elevator. Santiago took her hand and they walked up the curved stairway to the second floor.

Their room was located at the end of a narrow hallway that was lined with old portraits. Regan wondered if the inn was a family business and the portraits were of the former owners.

A murmured, "Oh, my," escaped Regan's lips when Santiago swung her into his arms, opened the carved oak door, and carried her across the threshold. The tiny parlor was done in blue and white with peach accents and was perhaps the loveliest room she had ever seen. The sofa was curved, with a high back. A matching chair sat at a right angle to the sofa. Dainty white doilies, as delicate and lacy as spider webs, covered the arms of the furniture. The framed pictures on the walls were scenes of days gone by—a horse-drawn carriage driven by a man in blue and gold livery, a man and a woman in Victorian clothing strolling alongside a placid lake. Old-fashioned lamps with fringed shades provided the room's light. Patterned rugs covered the floor. A fire was laid in the marble hearth, needing only the touch of a match.

"Not bad," Santiago said, glancing around.

"Not bad?" Regan punched him on the shoulder. "It's beautiful."

He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, "You are."

Turning her in his arms, he slowly lowered her feet to the floor. Her body made a slow, sensuous descent down the length of his and by the time her feet touched the floor, she was as aroused as he was.

But this was her wedding night, and she wasn't going to bed smelling of fear and perspiration and dirt. "I need a shower."

"An excellent idea," Santiago said agreeably.

When Regan started to undress, he gently batted her hands away. "Let me," he said, his voice rough with desire.

Regan stood there, blushing, as Santiago slowly bared her body to his gaze. She felt a rush of feminine power as his eyes grew hotter.

Santiago toed off his boots and was about to slip off his shirt when she said, "My turn," and with hands that trembled with eager excitement, she removed his shirt, trousers, and briefs.

He was, in a word, gorgeous, from his inky black hair to the soles of his feet. And he was hers, for this night and every night for as long as she lived. It was a heady thought.

Swinging Regan into his arms, Santiago headed for the bathroom.

"I can walk, you know," Regan said dryly.

"Of course you can," he replied easily. "But why should you?"

She laughed softly. "Are you going to carry me everywhere?"

"Perhaps." He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, the curve of her jaw. "You do not wish to deny me the pleasure, do you?"

Regan smiled a sultry smile. "I wouldn't think of denying you anything that would bring you pleasure."

Chuckling softly, Santiago opened the shower door. Muttering, "how quaint," he turned on the old-fashioned shower and adjusted the temperature. When the water was just right, he stepped under the spray. Then, as he had before, he slowly lowered Regan to her feet.