Dark Needs at Night’s Edge (Immortals After Dark #5)(16)
Author: Kresley Cole

Am I shaking? For eight decades, she’d never yearned to touch anything as much as his body. Even though she knew she couldn’t feel him, it was everything she could do not to reach forward.

His hands abruptly stilled at his privates, and his handsome face flushed. His gaze landed directly on her, before skittering away. He acted the way a reserved, inexperienced man would when he’d realized he was washing himself in front of an audience of one.

Her eyes went wide. He damn well can see me. She frowned. Then that means I’m being… ignored.

"Vampire, look at me. Please talk to me."

But he gave no reaction. The one man on earth she could communicate with wouldn’t talk to her.

Which meant…

"Do you think I’m pretty, Conrad? Beautiful, even? After all, you can see me, can’t you? And I know you can hear me, too. Now I’m going to prove it. You dare throw down that gauntlet to a woman who entertained for a living? You can’t simply shut me out."

Few knew there was a second reason that Néomi had chosen her dream of ballet over following in her maman’s footsteps, tempting crowds of men as a femme fatale: Turning males into frothing, gawking, mindless beasts had been too… easy.

With merely a throaty laugh and a dab of her tongue at her bottom lip, Néomi could send a man diving for his hat – to cover his stirring lap.

Too easy. And Néomi had always craved a challenge.

With a wicked grin, she decided it was time to draw on her shady background, time to put away the popguns and engage the cannons. And Néomi had a hidden arsenal he couldn’t even comprehend.

10

Perhaps I haven’t been stimulating enough for you, vampire?" Néomi made her voice a breathy murmur. "And didn’t I promise that I’d show you more than a garter if you could only see me?"

She tugged her skirt up slowly, making the fabric appear to bunch in her hands. "I have a bit of experience with what men like to… be shown."

When she’d bared the tops of her thigh-high hose, she asked, "Still not stimulating enough? Maybe Conrad wants to see my panties instead?" Just before she revealed them, she floated into the corner, the one that was farthest from his vision. He’d have to turn fully to see her there.

"The line… the line… " he muttered urgently.

He must be talking about some line with her that shouldn’t be crossed. "Yes, Conrad, the line! Let’s cross it! Or am I going to have to up the ante? Very well," she sighed. "You drive a hard, hard bargain. But I feel overdressed anyway, and since you’re so deliciously naked… " His body shot upright with tension, muscles bunching in his neck and shoulders. "Here I am, in the corner, unlacing my dress." She made her voice drip with sensuality and her dress rustle as she removed it. "I’m doing it slowly for my vampire. Oh… so… slowly."

Did he just growl?

She moved forward to dangle her dress in his line of vision. Like a lure for an animal, she eased it back toward the corner.

He gave a groan as if defeated and turned. His jaw slackened.

She stood with her back to him, peering over her shoulder, wearing only her garter belt, hose, and her tight black panties. "I knew it, vampire," she said with delight.

His riveted gaze lingered over her face, descending to her back, her ass, and her legs, then slowly back up again. His voice broke when he rasped, "Turn around for me." Had his accent ever sounded so heavy?

He was talking to her, the first person to address her in eight decades. She was trembling with happiness and gratitude, elated by the interaction – and helpless not to be excited by his heated looks. She faced him with her arms crossed over her br**sts, not shyly, but provocatively.

He ran a palm over his mouth. "Y-your arms now."

Standing against the wall, she removed one arm, then the other, raising them above her, appearing to rest them against the wall. With his gaze locked on her br**sts, he clenched and unclenched his hands as if he was imagining squeezing them. She felt a thrill when he subtly rubbed his tongue over a fang, those red eyes smoldering like embers.

"Did you think I was bluffing?"

Never glancing up, he gave her a sharp nod, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

"I never bluff. If it took baring my body to prove you can see me, then look your fill, Conrad." When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, she tilted her head and cast him a flirtatious smile. "But why have you ignored me?"

He said, "Because you’re not… you weren’t real," then winced as if he found his comment idiotic.

He’d thought she was a hallucination! Poor vampire! He hadn’t ignored her for any reason other than the need for self-preservation. "Do you want me to be real?" Drifting away from the wall, she sauntered toward him, her eyes holding his. He didn’t seem to realize that he was easing toward her, leaving the spray of the water. "I’m Néomi," she purred.

"Néomi," he repeated absently. "Does nothing abash you?"

She shook her head, and her hair bounced over her shoulders and lower. When the locks swayed across her ni**les, his gaze dipped once more. "And it’s difficult for me to regret undressing when my vampire’s giving me a look that makes my toes curl."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple working. "I make your toes curl?"

She nodded. "Would you like me to come in with you?"

His brows drew together. "Why would you want to?"

She told him honestly, "Because right now you are my favorite man in the entire world."

A half-naked ghost with high, plump br**sts wants to get into the shower with him.

And he has no idea how to go about processing this. He starts sweating, his teeth grinding. He has no experience like this to draw from.

He was born and raised in a conservative culture. As an adult, he’s never been wholly unclothed in front of a woman, certainly has never washed himself in front of one.

Yet this female is standing before him, clad in only her hose, garters, and a pair of wicked panties. They’re black and lined with a tight band of jet lace that cuts up across the generous curves of her ass. Her br**sts are proudly bared.

She’s acting as natural as if he and she were wed. I don’t even know her last name.

Unable to help himself, he rakes another hungry gaze over her body. She’s surprisingly defined, her legs taut and strong. The lines of her form are lithe – a dancer’s body, with softly flaring hips and a tiny waist he can span with his hands.

And those br**sts…

He shakes his head. She’s too pretty. A half-naked beauty dropped into his shower? Into his life? This simply isn’t in keeping with his fortunes over the centuries. "You’re probably not real." When she grins, he curses his clumsiness with this. He wishes for Murdoch’s ease with women – he never has before, even when he’d recognized at a young age that he lacked charm.