Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

And she was bored. Even though Logan had a large house, it didn’t take much effort to keep it clean. He was very tidy, for a man. He didn’t leave his dirty socks on the floor, didn’t expect her to pick up after him. Not that she would have minded, she thought wryly. It would have given her one more thing to do.

She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even four o’clock. Logan wouldn’t be up for another two or three hours. Maybe she needed a mortal friend, someone to talk to. It was a totally foreign concept. Except for Cleopatra, she had never had a female friend. She’d had acquaintances, of course, but for most of her life, Mara had preferred the company of men.

And now she was living with one of the most handsome creatures—man or vampire—she had ever known. When she had been a vampire, mortal men had been drawn to her without knowing why. Attracting them had never been a problem. A smile, a come-hither look, and they had hurried to her side, eager to do her bidding, grateful for a kind word, a touch. Would men find her equally attractive now that she was human? She smiled, remembering the clerk and the box boy at the market. They had certainly enjoyed looking at her.

Curious, she went upstairs. In the bedroom, she removed her clothes and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror Logan had bought her. She was pretty, her skin clear, her hair long and thick and black, her eyes a deep, dark green beneath delicately arched brows. She fisted her hands on her hips and turned from side to side. Her figure, always slim, was just beginning to show the signs of pregnancy.

Was she as pretty as she had been when she wore the glamour of a vampire? Would Kyle think so?

Not wanting to dress again, she slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and a soft cotton T-shirt and went downstairs. In the living room, she switched on the satellite screen, thinking how tiresome it was to have to use a remote device when she had once been able to operate the screen with little more than a thought.

She flipped through the channels until she found a romantic movie. She watched intently for several minutes and then turned it off. None of the silly ploys used in the movie would ever work on Logan. He wasn’t a mortal man who could be manipulated by feminine wiles, but a powerful vampire. A vampire who was almost as powerful as she had once been.

Going to the window, she pulled back the heavy drapes and studied her reflection in the dark glass. The one thing she hadn’t liked about being a vampire was her inability to see herself in a mirror. Now, she found herself staring at her image at every opportunity. As a vampire, she’d had her portrait painted every twenty-five years or so. The artists changed. The backgrounds changed, fashions changed, but she had always looked the same.

Lifting a hand to her cheek, she murmured, “I’m still pretty.”

“You’re more than pretty,” confirmed a deep voice from behind her. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful than any woman I’ve ever known.”

His words filled her with warmth. “Thank you, Logan.” He moved closer, his arms sliding around her waist as he nuzzled the side of her neck. “So beautiful. I can’t look at you without wanting to touch you, taste you, make love to you.”

She leaned against him. There was something reassuring about the strength of his arms around her, something comforting in the way his breath caressed her cheek, the hard wall of his chest at her back. His hand slid over her hip, his fingers splaying over the swell of her belly.

“I’ve never been with a pregnant woman before,” he said, his voice husky. “I find it incredibly sexy to think that you’re carrying a new life. Think of it, Mara. You’re doing something none of our kind has ever done before. I wish . . .”

She turned in his arms to face him. “What do you wish?”

“I wish it was mine.”

She stared up at him. “Logan . . .”

“Pretty silly, huh?”

“No.” Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “I wish it was yours, too,” she whispered, and at that moment, she meant it. Logan wanted her. He didn’t care if she was vampire or mortal. He had loved her when she was the world’s most powerful vampire; he loved her now, when she was weak and helpless and afraid of what the future might hold.

She gazed deep into his eyes, eyes that smoldered with desire. He wanted her and right or wrong, she wanted him, needed him to restore her faith in herself. She thought briefly of Kyle. What was the point in yearning for a man who didn’t want her? Would she be yearning for him if she had been the one to walk out? Maybe, like Scarlett O’Hara’s determined pursuit of Ashley Wilkes, she only wanted Kyle because she couldn’t have him.

Logan caressed her cheek, calling her back to the present. He was here now, and he loved her, had loved her for centuries. She didn’t know what she would have done without him these past months. True, he could be bossy and overbearing, but no matter what she said or how badly she behaved, she knew Logan would never turn his back on her.

“Mara.” His gaze searched hers. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn away, he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his. His kiss was tentative. Not a demand, but a request. When she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, until his need, his desire, were her own. His tongue tangled with hers, sending heat straight to her very center.

She groaned softly. She should pull away, tell him no, but her body refused to obey her mind. She tried to summon Kyle’s image, but the touch of Logan’s mouth on hers drove away every other thought, every other desire except her need for Logan. His hands spanned her hips, drawing her against his erection and she leaned into him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck. Like a bit of flotsam caught in the ocean at flood tide, she was helpless to resist the desires of her own heart, the longing that burned away every thought but one.

Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her into his bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers. Placing her on the bed, he continued to kiss her as his hands, his quick clever hands, made short work of their clothing.

And then he was lying beside her, his dark eyes burning into her own. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this? Of having you here, in my bed, in my arms?”

His hand slid beneath her head, his fingers threading through her hair as his mouth descended on hers once again. There was no gentleness in this kiss, only the hunger of a man who loved a woman to distraction and was afraid he would lose her again, all too soon.

His mouth plundered hers. He was the predator and she was prey and he drank from her lips as he longed to drink her life’s essence. His body trembled with the effort to hold back. Reining in his desire, he kissed and caressed her as he murmured love words to her in a dozen languages.