Kiss The Night Goodbye (Nikki & Michael 4)

It was so damn frustrating, this not knowing. He turned and pulled down the blind, determined that Kinnard would not be spying on this woman. Then he stripped and lay down beside her, under the top blanket but not the rest. A possibly dangerous move, given her earlier attempts to seduce him, but the need to simply lie here and hold her close was one that would not be denied right now.

* * * *

Nikki woke to the realization that she was no longer on the sofa. And no longer alone. Michael lay with her, his arm wrapped around her waist and his body pressed against her back, warming her spine, despite the layer of blankets between them.

She smiled. Sometimes love could not be ignored, no matter how strong the magic or the will. She shifted slightly and realized then she was still in her T-shirt and sweat pants. Damn . Seducing him when she was naked would be a hell of a lot easier. And she had a feeling if she took time to undress in the middle of the action, he might take off again. He was determined to be honorable, which was absolutely wonderful in one respect, but not what she wanted right now. She slipped free of his arm and carefully got out of bed. He stirred and she froze, watching as he turned onto his other side. He flung out a hand, as if searching for her, but quickly settled back to slumber. She stripped, then carefully pulled back the first blanket and climbed in beside him. Knowing she couldn't allow him time to think, only react, she pressed herself against the length of him. The heat of him flowed around her, through her, burning her skin, stirring the desire long held at bay. She'd always found it a little weird that he was so warm given he was a vampire, but as he'd often said, he was undead, not dead dead.

She slid her hand down his firm, flat stomach and touched him intimately. His response was immediate. Instinctive.

As his body leapt to life, he made a sound that was almost a growl and turned around, pulling her into his arms. Then he was kissing her as if his very life depended on it, and whatever slivers of control she'd had were totally and irreparably smashed by the force of it. By the passion behind it. God, she loved this man. And right now she needed him more than she needed to breathe. His hands seemed to be everywhere, urgent yet gentle, leaving her shuddering with pleasure and yet aching for more. He kissed her, caressed her, until need, deep and primal, rushed through her, and all she could think about was getting him inside, feeling him fill her, complete her. She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, claiming him in the most basic way possible. He groaned, his hands sliding to her hips, pressing her down harder. Then they began to move, and thought became impossible. All she could do was savor the sensations flowing through her. There was nothing slow, nothing gentle, about this lovemaking. It was all passion and heat and desperation, and she'd never felt anything so damn good in her life. The fever burning between them became a furnace that made breathing difficult, and deep inside the pleasure built, until her whole body burned with the need for release. She clung to him, clung to that edge, staring deep into his beautiful black eyes, willing him to remember this, remember her. For a moment, she thought she saw a response—a spark of joy, a spark of love.

Then pleasure spiraled beyond her control, and her climax hit, the convulsions stealing her breath and tearing a strangled sound from her throat. He came a heartbeat later, his body slamming into hers, the force of it echoing through every fiber of her being.

Once the shudders had subsided, she leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in place as he lengthened the kiss.

"You do not play fair, woman,” he said eventually, eyes sparkling as amusement touched his lips.

"I never said I intended to."

"This does not mean I will work with you."

She grinned. “You won't have any other choice, because you won't be able to keep your hands off me." He chuckled softly, then rolled them over so that he was lying on top. “Nothing like being comfortable with your own sexuality."

She kissed him again, soft and lingering. “It's more a case of being comfortable about us."

"There is no us—not beyond this, anyway."

She didn't bother disputing his claim. Until more of his memory returned, or until she was able to soap away some of the spell on his back, there wasn't much point. “Why do you stink of smoke?" The amusement and tenderness died in his eyes, the black depths becoming hard. Furious. “Because I made a bonfire of some pictures I discovered in Kinnard's rat hole." She frowned. “What sort of pictures?"

"Photos of a woman with brown hair and amber eyes. Her features were that of the dead woman we saw earlier.” He ran a finger down her cheek, sending warm tingles of desire shooting through the rest of her. Desire hadn't finished with her yet—but then, that wasn't exactly unusual when they made love. “But her eyes were rather like yours."

While the thought that Kinnard had been not only watching her, but taking photos of her, left her cold. The fury so evident in Michael's dark eyes, and the fact that he'd burned every one of those photos, made her heart sing. Deep down, he knew her, spell or no spell. And if he could now see her eyes were amber, did that mean the spell concealing her identity was fading, or that he was beginning to see beyond it?

"Kinnard will know you did it."

"I don't care."

She smiled. “So where was this rat hole?"

"Near the old reservoir.” His voice was distracted as he slid a little further down her body and began to trace the outline of her breasts with a soft fingertip.

"Near where he was hiding in the bushes?"

The look in his eyes set her pulse racing again. “You don't miss much." Neither did he. Especially when it came to getting her aroused. His touch was moving in on her breasts in ever tightening circles, sending goose bumps fleeing excitedly across her skin. “No." It came out breathlessly, and he chuckled—a throaty sound as seductive and as arousing as his touch.

“You may have started this, woman, but I intend to finish it—and a lot more leisurely this time." She had no problem at all with that, and normally she would have been right there with him. But there was the situation and the spell to consider as well. “Stinking like a bonfire? That's not at all seductive, you know."

His breath was warm on her skin as he dropped a kiss on a nipple. “Didn't seem to bother you a few moments ago."

"That's because my sense of smell was still half asleep."

"So what will it take to get you concentrating on the business at hand?"

"A bath.” She grinned. “We can share, if you like."

"I like.” He shifted back up, kissed her fiercely then rolled out of bed. “I shall go prepare it."

"And I'll get the soap and the salve for your shoulder."