“Kind of,” he allowed.
“Why would you stop taking your meds?” What was wrong with him? She hated secrets.
He sighed. “Because taking my meds leads to danger and complications.”
Oh. She took a deep breath. The changes in him had been physical, so what could that be? “I’m not saying you can stay here, because I haven’t decided. But if you do, you have to level with me about your condition. I need to know what it is, what I can do, and what the side effects are for the medication you seem to be taking again. Start talking, please.”
He sighed. “No.”
* * * *
The woman socked him right in the abs again and then looked stricken. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” she whispered. “I forgot you have an illness.”
“I do not have an illness.” He frowned. “I didn’t even feel your punch. Is your hand injured?”
She shook it out. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Now you know how I feel,” he returned, grasping her hand and turning it over to see her knuckles already bruising. “You are a delicate one, now aren’t you?”
She pulled away. “No. Tell me what’s wrong with you, or I’m going to take my chances with the sheriff. I don’t want to go that route, and I’m sure you agree, so start talking.”
Right. If he told her he was an immortal vampire with a hint of demon in his lineage, she’d call the sheriff in two hot seconds to have him committed. Oh, he could prove it to her, but what then? He sighed and ran a rough hand through his thick hair. “Can’t you just trust me?”
She frowned and reached for his hand. “When did you get a tattoo?”
The second he’d met her, actually. He looked down at the M marking on his right palm—M for his last name, Maxwell. The Maxwell crest was jagged and rough—showing both Celtic and Nordic ancestry and the dangers of having both. The barbs extending from the brutal ‘M’ showed his strength…and his curse. After finding out about her, he’d instantly headed to Dallas for just one look. Then he’d stood close to her in a silly coffee shop, and the branding mark had instantly appeared. “It’s a long story,” he murmured.
“Isn’t everything with you?” She leaned over for a better look at his brand, and the damn thing started to heat to a temperature that drummed energy through his veins.
Oh, he’d watched her and fallen hard. She had a sharp wit and a kind heart to go with an obvious beauty that hit him square center. The muscles bunched down his back with the hunger to take her to the floor. The female had no idea what she was unleashing by just touching him. “Mariana? That’s just a family crest and nothing else.” He nearly choked on the lie. The brand darkened before his eyes, so near to her flesh. To her soft, silky skin that he could possess with the rest of her. The vampire, or maybe demon, strength in his body soared to the surface, let free once again. For now.
She pressed her thumb to the brand and nearly dropped him to his knees.
Fire, hunger, lust all rushed through him so quickly he didn’t have time to grab control. Instead, he grabbed her. Fast and rough, he lifted her against the wall and moved in, taking her mouth in a way he’d dreamed about since the first day they’d met.
She did taste like peaches.
He dove deep, pressing her to the wall and plastering his hard body against her soft one. So much softness combined with sweetness.
She moaned, and her hands dug into his hair as she returned the kiss.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her harder against him while the other hand went through her silky hair to cup her head and hold her where he needed her. He kissed her, taking her taste and sweetness into him, letting her soft moans drown out the roaring in his head.
In his body.
The kiss consumed him in this small space where only they existed, but every predatory instinct he had spiraled out from the two of them, seeking for threats in a natural way most people used to breathe. The primal being at his core held her close, tasting her, finally appeased that she was right where she should be.
Where they both should be.
The marking on his palm cut deep with an insistent drum that he mark her—that he mate her. Only Mariana, no matter the cost.
At the thought—the only thought that would bring him back to reality—he lifted his head. Her eyes had darkened while a lovely peach flush covered her high cheekbones and matched her now slightly bruised mouth. A mouth he wanted to take again. Right now. “I want you,” he said.
Humor melded with the need in her eyes. “Yeah. I got that.” She didn’t attempt to draw away.
How could she make him want to smile and tear off her clothing at the same time? “I’m dying.” Shit. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.
She blinked and then stiffened. “You’re what?”
