“What you feel for me is quite real, Kadie,” he assured her, his breath warm against her cheek. “I could compel you to want me, but there’s no fun in that. I could mesmerize you, make you do whatever I wished, whenever I wished. But again, there’s little pleasure to be gained from bedding a robot.”
“I can guarantee you’ll find no pleasure in my bed if you take me against my will.”
He lifted one brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s not!” she said quickly.
“No?” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently, his tongue sweeping over her lips.
Kadie refused to kiss him back. She kept her body stiff, her eyes open, even though she wanted nothing more than to surrender to the need burning deep within her.
He kissed her again, his hands stroking her hair as he pushed her back against the banister, his body pressing against hers, letting her feel the hard evidence of his desire.
She fisted her hands at her sides, determined to resist.
He gazed into her eyes, his own filled with amusement. “You are a stubborn wench,” he remarked. “But I can wait. I have all the time in the world.”
And so saying, he released her and vanished from sight. Feeling suddenly weak in the knees, Kadie grabbed the banister, clinging to it as she climbed the stairs and hurried into her room. She locked the door, though there seemed little point to it. Nothing as flimsy as a lock would keep him out.
She climbed into bed, fully dressed except for her shoes, pulled the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes. But sleep would not come. His scent was all around her. She licked her lips, and tasted him there. Her body throbbed with longing everywhere he had touched.
She wanted him.
Knowing what he was, how could she feel this way about him? He was a vampire, a monster.
A single tear slid down her cheek. How long would she be able to resist before she surrendered to him? How could she give in now, when she had so adamantly declared that she never would?
Kadie dreamed of him that night . . .
She was a peasant girl in a medieval village when Saintcrow came to town in the company of a dozen other English knights.
She had never seen anything like them, the stalwart men who rode into town, spurs jingling, banners flying. The village children ran to meet them, cheering and waving. There was little excitement to be had in their day-to-day lives. It was a struggle just to plant and grow enough food to survive from one year to the next. Church feasts proclaimed the time of sowing and reaping. From time to time, there were fairs, a chance to put aside all thought of work and enjoy music and acrobats. Knights came to challenge each other in the lists, merchants sold their wares, games of chance were held in the local tavern.
They were having such a fair when the knights came to town, but Kadie had eyes only for the one who rode in the front. Head high, shoulders back, he sat his charger like a king. She had never seen anything more beautiful.
When he deigned to look her way, her whole body tingled with excitement. As unobtrusively as possible, she followed him to the lists, stood in the shadows as he prepared to challenge the local champion.
With her hand pressed to her heart, she watched the knights ride toward each other, heard the harsh echo of lance against armor, gasped as their champion tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over.
Saintcrow reined his prancing charger to a stop beside the body. He dismounted in a fluid move, something that should have been impossible for a man encumbered by armor.
Tossing his helmet aside, he strode toward the fallen knight and knelt beside him.
He cried, “To the victor belong the spoils!” then buried his fangs in the defeated knight’s throat.
She tried to look away, tried to run away, but she stood rooted to the spot, her mouth opening in a silent scream when he lifted his head and she saw his eyes . . . as red as the blood that stained his lips . . .
Screaming, “No!” Kadie bolted upright, her heart hammering, her body bathed in sweat. “Only a dream,” she gasped. “Only a dream.”
She was reaching for the light beside her bed when a dark shadow disengaged itself from the corner.
“Who’s there?” She wanted to sound brave and bold; the quaver in her voice proved she was anything but.
“It’s me.”
Kadie’s breath whooshed out of her at the sound of his voice. How was it possible to be relieved and frightened at the same time? “What are you doing in here?”
“It’s my house.”
“It’s my room. Don’t I have a right to privacy?”
“Not with me.”
She switched on the light, shrank back when she saw him looming over her. “What do you want?”
“A midnight snack?”
Her hand flew to her neck in an unconscious gesture of protection. He was going to drink from her again. She wanted to protest, to rail against such a personal invasion, but how could she when she remembered all too clearly how much she had enjoyed it the last time?
Even as she tried to summon words of complaint, she couldn’t deny that she was eager to be in his arms again, to experience that wondrous sensual pleasure she had known before.
And he knew it, damn him.
He was smiling when he sat beside her. One arm slid around her waist, drawing her up against him. Her cheek rested on his chest—his bare chest. Only then did she realize he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that rode low on his hips.
He stroked her hair and she marveled that his hands—so large and strong—could be so gentle, that the touch of a man who wasn’t really a man could arouse her so quickly.
Placing his knuckles under her chin, he raised her head, his gaze meeting hers. “I want you.”
His voice was low, but she had no trouble hearing him. Or knowing that he wanted more than just her blood.
He smiled at her again and she felt her heart slam against her ribs. It would be so much easier to resist him if he wasn’t so outrageously handsome! If she had wanted to hire someone to pose for her ideal man, Rylan Saintcrow would have been the perfect model, from his long, black hair and deep ebony eyes to his strong jaw line. She had always been drawn to tall men with broad shoulders and well-developed arms, and Saintcrow fit that description to a T.
“Kadie?”
“Are you asking my permission to . . . to . . . ravish me?”
“Would you rather I forced you?”
She bit down on her lower lip.
“You would have a clear conscience then, wouldn’t you?” he asked with a knowing grin.