Deadly Desire (Page 10)

"Nothing at all," I said, voice husky. "Do you think someone could have held enough of a grudge against Lambert to kill him?"

"Easily," he said, his gaze thoughtful as his fingers slipped underneath the edges of my jacket. "But from what I understand, Bovel had nothing in common with Armel. No similar friends or interests."

His hand slid down lace, until he was cupping my breast. Casually, he brushed his thumb across the nipple, sending a ripple of pleasure across my skin.

I licked my lips, saw the knowing smile play across his mouth. The damn man knew which strings to pull to get me aroused, but I'd be damned if I'd let him win me this easily. Besides, drawing it out would only make the result all that more satisfying.

"Well, they do have one thing in common-they died the same way." I took another sip of wine but its taste was suddenly sour compared to the dizzy sweetness of his touch. "Both were drained, decapitated, and had their legs chopped off."

"It would have taken a great force to subdue Armel. He was a powerful vampire." His hand was on the move again, drawing back to the buttons on my jacket. One came undone, then another.

"There was no sign of a fight. It looks for all the world like he caught robbers in the act and they overpowered him."

The front of my jacket fell open. "Lovely," he murmured, then leaned forward and brushed his lips across the red lace. I close my eyes against the sensation, but couldn't suppress the shudder of delight.

But I wanted to play, to tease, and draw out the time before sex, so I pushed my butt back and put some distance between us again.

He smiled, but there was a determined spark in his eyes that suggested he wasn't about to give up his sensuous assault.

And I certainly didn't want him to.

"Trust me," he said, picking up his wineglass again and taking a sip. It was an action so sensual I practically melted. "Someone like Armel would never be overpowered. Not only was he a vampire, he was an extremely strong telekinetic. He could have blown any attackers into the next suburb had he wished to."

I took a gulp of wine, but it really didn't do a whole lot to quench the fire inside. "We think there might have been magic involved."

"Magic done on the run shouldn't have been strong enough to contain psi elements." He slid forward, so that his legs were pressed hard against mine again.

"Shouldn't being the operative word." I stood up and retreated a few steps.

"True." He smiled lazily and took another drink. "I can hunt around and see if there's any whispers about either of them, if you'd like."

"I think Jack is already doing that."

"Ah, but he is younger than I, and will not be able to push as far."

He rose and stepped toward me. I took several more steps back, flashing a nice bit of leg as I did so. His gaze drifted down and the rich scent of desire increased, until it felt like I was drowning in it. And oh, what a way to go.

"Armel was Jack's friend," I said, amazed my voice was sounding so normal when every inch of me was practically shaking with need. "I think he'll push as far as he damn well needs to."

He continued to walk toward me, and I continued to retreat, all the while sipping my wine and giving him a lazy, come-get-me smile.

"What you forget," he said softly, "is that vampire hierarchy is very feudal in its structure, even in this day and age. He's restricted in what he can say and do to the older ones."

My back hit the glass hard enough to slop wine over my hand. He closed the distance separating us, leaving only a few bare inches between us and overriding my senses with the delicious scent of man and lust.

"Have I told you about these windows?" he said, neatly pinning me in place by placing his hands on either side of my head.

"They're windows," I said, my voice steadier than my pulse, but only just. "Why do you need to tell me about them?"

"Because they're made from a special glass that reacts to heat."

Then they'd be reacting now, because I was burning. And it wasn't just his closeness, but the brush of his breath along my lips and the caress of his desire across my senses. Everything about this man was hot, and everything he did made me want him all the more. And he didn't even have to touch me to achieve this.

"And this is important because?"

"Because when something hot touches them, it becomes visible to the outside world."

My heart began to pound that much harder at the thought. Danger might be an aphrodisiac to a wolf, but so was exhibitionism.

"And will something hot be touching them?" I asked, the words little more than a gasp of air.

He smiled and plucked the wineglass from my hand, putting both of them on the sill. Then he leisurely hooked his thumbs under the bra's underwire, and slowly slid it up and over my breasts, until the lace no longer covered them.

"I think perhaps it will," he said, his voice little more than a low growl as his hands replaced the lace and gently began to press and tease and massage.

God, it felt good.

And my resolution to prolong our lovemaking for as long as possible was getting more frayed by the moment. I took a deep breath and tried to remember what we'd been talking about.

"Jack's sister is one of the older ones." She was also the head of the whole Directorate in Australia, and based in Melbourne right alongside her brother. "Surely she'd-" the words came to a sudden halt as he caught both nipples between his thumb and forefinger and lightly began to pinch. A shudder went through me and my knees just about gave way. I licked my lips again, and somehow managed to add, "help him out?"

"Madrilene Hunter will not tie herself to personal vendettas, even for her brother," he murmured, his touch leaving my breasts and moving down my stomach.

I didn't know whether to sigh in relief or whine about the temporary reprieve from the sensual assault.

"Meaning she won't help him, either."

"No."

His hands slid around my hips, until the length of me was pressed against the long, hard length of him. It felt so good I stopped thinking and just started reacting, letting my hands slide down his back to cup his butt and press him even harder against me. Slowly, sensually, I rubbed myself against him, enjoying the heat of him, the hard press of his erection.

He kissed one puckered nipple, then the other, then murmured, "Turn around."

I did as bid, and found myself pressed against the cool glass, the heat of my body making the surface flare and go clear. Suddenly everything on the street below was visible.

"I want everyone to know that this gorgeous body is mine," he murmured, sweeping my hair to one side and kissing the nape of my neck. "I want everyone to see just how glorious you look when you come."

His words had me shuddering in pleasure, and it was all I could do not to turn around, to take what I so desperately needed.

But this was his game. Mine could wait until later.

His fingertips slid up my bare leg, making my muscles twitch in delight and the deep-seated ache all that much fiercer. When he reached the top of the skirt's split, he hesitated, and my breath hitched in expectation. I wanted, needed his touch to slide underneath the material. To explore where I ached.

Instead, his hand moved down to my thighs and slowly, surely, the skirt slid upward.

For several seconds, he didn't do anything more than simply stand behind me. But I could feel the weight of his gaze on my body, hear the rapid intake of his breath, smell the raging of his desire. And it was as arousing as a touch, making the throb of desire fiercer than I'd ever thought possible.

More minutes ticked by, and sweat began to trickle down the back of my neck. The weight of expectation was not something I'd experienced before, and while it might be sweet, it was also torturous.

Finally, his hands touched my shoulders and moved down, sliding around to my breasts. His body pressed lightly against mine as he caressed and pinched my nipples, and I moaned, thrusting back against him, enjoying the steel of his erection pressed so firmly against my butt.

Then one hand began to move downward, along the flat of my stomach, across to my hip, down the outside of my thigh. My breathing was getting harsher by the moment, and expectation was rising, until it felt like I would surely burst if he didn't damn well touch me there soon.

His fingers brushed the inside of my thigh, and my breathing hitched. Slowly, surely, his caress moved upward, and when he finally brushed my clit, I cried out in sheer, aching pleasure. His fingers slid through the wetness, caressing, delving, and all I could do was shudder and writhe and moan. And then he was in me, thrusting hard and deep, and I came, shaking with the sheer force of my climax. And still he thrust, the thick heat of him stabbing deep, the sensation so glorious pleasure rose thick and strong all over again. Then he came, and his teeth were in my neck, and the dual sensations was so glorious I came a second time.

For several minutes we did nothing more than merely stand there, our bodies locked together and the heat of our union clearing the glass. On the street below, several men had gathered, obviously trying to figure out if they had just seen what they thought they'd seen. If I'd had the energy, I would have waved.

"That," I said eventually, "was a brilliant start to the evening."

"It surely was."

He dropped a kiss on my shoulder blade, then stepped back. I turned and followed, letting the glass go smoky again. Quinn placed his hands on each side of my face and gently kissed me. It was a sweet kiss, yet one that spoke of passion not yet sated.

The thought had my hormones coursing in delight.

He leaned down to pick up the drinks, his undone shirt revealing delicious glimpses of toned stomach muscles as he gave me my glass. I took a sip, enjoying the coolness of the sweet liquid, then said, "So, where was our conversation again?"

"I believe I said something along the lines of Madrilene not going out of her way to help her brother solve these murders."

"Ah yes." I took another sip of wine and idly wondered if it would taste as good if it was licked off his skin. "Why do you call her Madrilene when she's known everywhere else as Alex?"

His smile was sensual and dangerous. A man getting ready to seduce again. "Most older vampires have had several names over the years. I met her when she was Madrilene, so that is what I call her."

"And what does she call you?"

"Ciaran. Quinn is a derivative of my original surname, O'Cuinn."

"Ciaran O'Cuinn." The name rolled off the tongue sweetly. "It suits you."

"But it is no longer the name I go by."

"And will your current moniker also hit the dust one day?"

"It's hard to say, because the existence of nonhumans is an accepted fact now. Back when I was young, they were very much a myth, and anyone who lived too long or didn't age was treated with great suspicion-and that often resulted in death." His shrug was an elegant thing. "But enough of me. Continue with your tales of death."

I smiled. Getting Quinn to talk about his past was as difficult as ever, but at least I was now getting little bits and pieces. Once upon a time, he'd clam up tighter than, well, a clam. "We also happen to have a couple of hellhounds running around. Don't suppose you've some more of that holy water lying about, do you?"

He laughed softly. "It's not something I keep in the cupboard, no. But I can get you some, if you'd like."

"Please." I dipped my fingers into the wine, then lightly sprinkled it across his chest. Stepping away from the window, I pressed myself against him and slowly licked the droplets off. Desire stirred, his and mine, filling the air with its richness. "How much time have we got left before our meal arrives?"

He barely even glanced at his watch, merely wrapped his arms around me and said, his lips so close to mine I could practically taste them, "More than enough time to uncover some more creative uses for the wine."

"Good," I said.

And it damn well was.

Someone was touching my feet. The sensation was feather light, but nevertheless annoying. I twitched my feet away but the annoyance seemed to follow.

"Go away," I muttered, not opening my eyes.

"I will be in about five minutes," Quinn said, amusement evident in his rich tones. "You need to wake up."

"Says who?" I grabbed the pillow and hugged it tighter. As if it would chase away the reality of the morning and the fact that I did need to get up and go to work.

"I have coffee."

My nostrils flared. "Not in your hand, you haven't."

He chuckled softly and kissed my cheek, leaving it tingling. "I'm not that stupid. It's out on the table, along with your bacon, eggs, and toast."

"I don't want to get up." It sounded petulant, but God, I was tired. Between the sex at the restaurant and the sex here in his penthouse, sleep hadn't played a major part in our night.

"Trust me, neither did I. Not when you had your warm and luscious body wrapped around me. I have meetings I can't get out of, however."

And I had killers to chase. I blew out a breath and opened my eyes. "Why this sudden rash of meetings? Your airline business isn't in trouble, is it?"

"No, but I am considering shifting the headquarters down to Melbourne so I can see a certain redhead more often."