“Let me tell one of the maids we’re going,” she said, though it was hard to think coherently when he was holding her close, his tongue sliding seductively along the length of her neck.
“Hurry.”
Reluctantly, she eased out of his arms and went in search of one of the housemaids.
“Lucy, I’m going for a walk with Stefan. If I’m not back when my parents return, let them know where I’ve gone.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Smiling, Bryony hurried back to the parlor. Stefan wrapped her in his arms and a moment later, they were in a quiet glade surrounded by trees and flowering shrubs. A full moon smiled down on them.
Kneeling on the lush grass, Stefan pulled her down beside him, his mouth covering hers while his hands stroked up and down her back, brushing against the sides of her breasts. His touch lit a fire deep inside her and she moaned softly as he stretched out on the grass and drew her body close to his, her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest, theirlegs entwined. She yearned toward him, aching for more than kisses.
“Bryony, my best beloved one.” His voice was whiskey-rough with desire, every instinct urging him to take her, to make her completely his, body and soul. He had never wanted another woman the way he wanted her. Not since the fateful night he had turned Salina had he considered making another vampire, but he yearned to drink from Bryony, to glut himself with her life’s blood and then give it back to her, to make her a vampire, so that she would be his forever. His kisses turned more ardent as he thought of what it would be like to have her share his whole life. He would show her a world she had never seen, never imagined. Places mere mortals had never been, sights unknown to human eyes.
His fangs extended at the thought.
A moment later, Bryony let out a surprised cry.
Stefan recoiled immediately, an oath escaping his lips when he realized his fangs had drawn blood. The scent of it inflamed his senses and he sprang to his feet.
Bryony wiped her mouth, then stared up at him when she saw the blood on her fingertips.
“I am sorry,” he said, his voice rough with guilt. “Forgive me.”
She frowned, thinking he looked different somehow. She saw a hint of his fangs before he turned away. “Stefan?”
He took a deep breath, wondering if he dared tell her what had happened. Would she understand? Or would it frighten her to know how close he had come to turning her?
“Stefan?” Overcome by a sudden chill, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “You tempt me on so many levels,” he said. “Your beauty. Your sweetness. Your acceptance of what I am.” His heated gazemoved over her. “Your kisses. The enticing scent of your life’s blood. It calls to me in ways you will never understand.”
His words, the faint touch of red in his eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. “What are you trying to say?”
He shook his head. “Do not ask me to explain. Come,” he said, offering her his hand. “I will take you home.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong?”
“You will not like the answer.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking how much I would like to make you what I am.” He didn’t know which of them was more surprised by his answer. He had sworn he would never again make another vampire. And yet, apparently, his subconscious didn’t agree.
She stared up at him, a look of horror spreading across her face as the meaning of his words sank in. “You wantmeto be a vampire?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. It was only…” He shrugged. “You were in my arms and your blood sang to me so sweetly…” He shrugged again. “Forgive me. It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more.”
He lifted her to her feet. He didn’t say anything, just put his arm around her. In the blink of an eye, she was home, in her bedchamber, and he was gone.
A moment of weakness, she thought later that night, when she was safe in her bed. What if he accidentally turned her in a moment of weakness? It was a worrisome thought, one that kept her awake far into the early morning hours.
Stefan relaxed in a hot bath, a glass of wine in his hand. He had accumulated a great deal of wealth in four hundred and fifty years, some by nefarious means, some at the gamingtables in London and Paris, some by wagering on sporting events. Of course, being able to read minds took the gamble out of most of it. He kept the bulk of his wealth in banking institutions around the world.
He would have to buy a new home for Bryony if she would still have him. A carriage, furniture. A soft, new bed. He smiled at the thought of making love to her in their own home, in their own bed, with no one to interrupt. He grunted softly. A new home far away from that of her father.
Rising, he set his glass aside and reached for a towel. There were no bathing facilities other than a pitcher and bowl in the old castle, which was why he was spending the night at an inn in Ireland. While drying off, he imagined sharing a tub with Bryony, washing her from head to toe, drying her off, making love to her all night long. The very thought had his body hardening.
