Immortal Sins

She had tried to explain it to him, had tried to make him understand that it didn't matter what everyone else was doing, that she wanted to wait, to make sure that the first man she slept with would be the last. He had laughed at that. No one stayed married forever anymore, either, he had said, his voice laced with scorn. Until Ben had spoken those words, she had hoped they would be able to work it out, but what chance did a marriage have when one partner had already decided it wouldn't last?

"You are untouched," Rourke said, a note of wonder in his voice.

"Yes." She lifted her chin defiantly. "So what?"

His knuckles caressed her cheek. "It is an admirable quality, rare from what I have seen of the women of this century. Forgive me."

She looked up at him, at the desire shining in the depths of his eyes, and felt her determination weaken just a little as she imagined herself in his arms, in his bed.

He lifted one brow. "Be careful," he said, amusement evident in his tone, "lest your thoughts betray you."

Heat flooded her cheeks with the realization that he was reading her mind.

"Stop that!"

"I want only what you want," he said with a roguish grin. "You, naked in my arms. You, naked in my bed."

His bed, or his coffin? She grimaced at the thought, her desire extinguished like a flame drenched in cold water.

"Go back to what you were doing," she said, moving toward the stairs. "I'm going to change my clothes and then get something to eat."

She hurried up the steps, every fiber of her being acutely aware that Rourke was watching her every move.

He stared after her. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was afraid to fly, yet she had agreed to accompany him to Romania so he could free Ana Luisa. She was afraid of him, of what he was, yet she had offered him a place to stay. She wanted him as deeply as he wanted her, yet she clung to her principles of right and wrong as fiercely as any ancient warrior. He admired her for that most of all.

Rourke shook his head. What was he to do with her? The smart thing would be to move on. He had familiarized himself with this century. He had freed Ana Luisa from her painting. As far as he was concerned, his debt to Ana was fulfilled. It was time he fulfilled the oath he had made to himself time and again in the last three hundred years.

Rourke dragged a hand over his jaw. He should bid Karinna farewell, go after Vilnius, retrieve his father's sword, and find a place for himself in this new world.

He glanced at the staircase as Karinna descended, a raven-haired angel in a pair of faded blue jeans and a red sweater that lovingly hugged every curve. What man in his right mind, dead or Undead, would leave such a delectable creature?

He had waited three hundred years to avenge himself on Josef Vilnius. What difference would another year or two or even ten make?

Kari paused at the foot of the stairs, trapped by the intensity of Rourke's gaze. She didn't have to be psychic to know what he was thinking. It was evident in the taut line of his body, in the fire blazing in the depths of his hooded eyes. She could feel the heat arc across the distance that separated them. If he moved toward her, if he touched her, she knew she would go up in flames....

Feeling as though she were rooted to the spot, she shook her head, silently pleading with him to go away and leave her alone because she was afraid, so afraid, that her ability to deny him, to deny herself, wouldn't last much longer.

Step by slow step, he moved toward her like some wild jungle cat stalking its prey.

She stared up at him, unable to speak, unable to move. His preternatural power washed over her, leaving her feeling vulnerable, helpless. Doomed.

"Karinna." His voice poured over her, warm and sweet, like melted chocolate. His knuckles caressed her cheek. "What am I to do with you?"

She blinked up at him. She was at his mercy. He could do anything he desired; there was nothing she could do to stop him, and they both knew it.

"You are so lovely." His fingertip moved back and forth over her lower lip. "Your skin is like fine silk, your eyes as blue as the sky I have not seen since I was a young man. Your body..." His gaze slid down, lingering on her br**sts, her belly, her hips, before returning to her face. "Your body is like a symphony waiting to be played."

Lowering his head, he kissed her. He didn't close his eyes, and neither did she. She saw him then, saw him as he truly was, a man who possessed unbelievable power, who could easily take her against her will, a man who could devour her body and soul. She knew a moment of stark, unreasoning fear, and then it was swept away in the sure knowledge that he would never do anything to hurt her.

She saw something else, as well, a soul-deep loneliness unlike anything she had ever imagined. The depths of it, the pain of it, brought tears to her eyes.

Rourke drew back, a frown creasing his brow as he caught one of her tears on the tip of his finger. "Why do you weep?"

She shook her head, afraid he would laugh at her. After all, it was ludicrous that a mere mortal should shed tears for someone such as he, a being of untold power, one who had lived for hundreds of years and would live for hundreds more. What was a little loneliness compared to the centuries of discovery that lay before him? And yet, how much longer must the years seem when you had no one to share them with, when you were doomed to lose everyone you knew, everyone you loved, over and over again?

Unaccountably touched by her tears, he said, "You need not weep for me, sweeting."

"I can't help it."

With a sigh, he drew her into his embrace, his hand running lightly up and down her back. Though he could easily bend her will to his, or take her by force, he wanted her to surrender willingly, to give herself to him because it was what she wanted.

"Ah, Karinna," he murmured. "You tempt me almost beyond my control."

She clung to the word almost, knowing it was her salvation, even as she wondered if she really wanted to be saved.

His hand stroked her hair. "What do you want of me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want you," he said. "In my life, in my bed. What do you want? Are we to remain strangers to each other? Do you wish me to leave? Tell me what you want."

She gazed up at him. What did she want? Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm not sure."

"Perhaps it would be best for me to leave."

"No!"

"You do care, then?"

"You know I do." She frowned at him. "How can you say we're strangers?"

"Are we not?"

"I don't think so."