“My younger brother couldn’t pronounce Luther, so he called me Rafe, short for Raphael, my second name.”
“On Earth, Raphael is an archangel from one of their religions. He is associated with healing.” Francine had been studying up on Earther culture and history since before she’d been kicked out of her family. It fascinated her.
“Yeah? Well, I’m a bounty hunter, not a healer.” He looked like a dark, sexy hunter.
Francine glanced at the kitten and rubbed her nose against the sweet little feline’s pink nose. “I am going to call you Angel.” To Luther, she said, “And I’m going to call you by your second name, Raphael, regardless of your healing skills.”
“Are you?”
“Problem with that?”
He stared at her so intently, she almost took it back. “No,” he finally responded in that low, sexy as sin voice. “I like it.”
“Excellent. I have a question for you, Raphael.”
“Only one?”
“Probably not, but I would really like to know where you came from.”
“Ichor-Delta. You already know that.”
“That’s not what I meant. How did you get to my side so fast when I fell to keep from crushing little Angel here? The parking lot was completely empty when I walked out.”
His eyes darkened, if that was even possible for his obsidian-rimmed gaze. “Perhaps I run exceedingly fast.”
“Speed-of-light fast?”
He shrugged. “No. Just Ichor-Delta fast.”
“Vampirically fast.”
He laughed. The low rumble made her a little woozy with joy. “You think I’m a vampire?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of you? No. Not even a little.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Why? What are you going to do?” Francine took half a step closer, hoping he was about to kiss her senseless. That was what she wanted. His kiss. Even before shaking his hand in Wyatt and Valene’s foyer.
What I wanted to do the moment we met at Valene and Wyatt’s place.
Francine stared into his dark eyes, willing him to read her mind, move closer, take her in his arms once more and kiss her like he wanted to turn her into his vampire bride and spend eternity loving her. An odd wish to have, since she hadn’t wanted anyone in a very long time. Not since someone she once loved broke her young heart into a thousand pieces. His cruel betrayal had seen to that.
The intensity of Raphael’s gaze didn’t subside. Time stood still as their gazes became all-consuming.
Kiss me. Kiss me like you want me.
Seconds later, Francine got her wish.
Luther Raphael Boudreaux pulled her loosely into his arms, taking care not to squish the kitten, cupped a hand to her face, lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her hard, deep. Her eyes wanted to roll back in her head at the delicious joy his lips sent through her. Francine engaged. She kissed him back, harder. She could have been more intense, but she still held Angel in her fingers.
He seemed surprised by her explicit acceptance, but the growl low in his throat told her he liked it. He promptly kissed her harder, twisting his lips over hers in some sort of sensual thrall meant to capture her heart and etch his essence onto her soul forever. She was unquestionably captured and etched. They might have kissed forevermore if not for the intrusion of a sound.
“Mew. Mew. Mew.”
