Kiss of Temptation

  Loud cheers were the answer.

  René segued into a rowdy rendition of “Big Mamou.”

  Tante Lulu and her beau, Stanley, got up and did an incredibly good Cajun two-step, not quite fast, not quite slow, but a rhythmic mix of the two. They must have danced together before because they seemed to anticipate each other’s moves.

  All the LeDeux and their spouses and friends soon joined in, except for her and Ivak. She wasn’t surprised that the women danced well, but she was surprised to see the men obviously enjoying themselves on the dance floor, especially Tee-John, who kept teasing his more demure wife by dancing around her and making suggestive bumps and rolls of his hips to encourage her to loosen up. His wife, Celine, just smiled and continued with her more conservative dancing, shaking her head occasionally at his foolishness. Gabrielle could see why folks said Tee-John had been the wildest of the bad boys of the bayou in the LeDeux family.

  Charmaine was . . . well, Charmaine. Every man in the bar appreciated her dance moves. Every woman wished she had the nerve to be so uninhibited. And Rusty . . . well, he was just glad that she went home with him.

  “C’mon,” Ivak said. “Let’s join them.”

  “Do you dance?”

  “Darlin’,” he said with an exaggerated Southern drawl, “I invented dancing.”

  “Humility becomes you.” She laughed and got up with him. It was true. Ivak loved to dance, and he was good, too. Nothing energetic. Just slow, sexy moves that brushed her body with a whisper of promise. When he got behind her and held her waist with a hand around her front, she could feel how much he was into this “foreplay.” That’s what dancing with Ivak felt like to her, anyhow.

  When the band morphed into the slower “Colinda,” Ivak hesitated about where to put his hands, to avoid the shocks. She placed them on her hips, which earned her a smile. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his T-shirt. Chest to breast and groin to belly, they began the swaying, rubbing movement that some mistakenly called dancing, but was really making love. Just enough rhythm. Just enough brushing of skin under their clothing. Just his kiss to her hair, and her kiss to his cotton-covered heart.

  While the band moved on to another song, Gabrielle arched her head back and said, “I’m having fun. Thanks for asking me on this date.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m the one having fun.” And he tugged her even closer with his hands on her bottom now.

  “Yep, you’re having fun,” she agreed, and wiggled her hips a little to emphasize just what fun she referred to.

  “Witch!” he said, and pinched her butt.

  “I saw that!” Tante Lulu squealed as she danced by.

  Ivak winked at the old lady.

  And Tante Lulu giggled.

  Later, after at least four more dances, mostly with faster beats, like that old Hank Williams classic “Jambalaya,” “Don’t Mess with My Toot-Toot,” “Diggy Diggy Lo,” and the required song at any Cajun bar, “Louisiana Saturday Night,” to which the crowd sang along, Gabrielle asked Ivak, “Does this mean I can stay at my apartment now?”

  He hesitated for only a moment before saying, “Only if you have someone with you.”

  She didn’t hesitate at all before saying, “Let’s go.”

  Twenty

  And so the mighty fall . . .

  Ivak could have teletransported them to New Orleans, but he didn’t think Gabrielle would appreciate the favor in light of the seeming normalcy of their “date.” Good clouds! A Viking man dating? It was certainly something new for him.

  So, he drove as fast as he could without getting the attention of any highway patrol. Eighty on the open roads. He felt as if they were crawling.

  Gabrielle had her head back and she remained silent, possibly napping. She’d had the oyster shooter and two glasses of wine, after all, on an empty stomach.

  He needed this quiet to think. Her nearness kindled so many long-dead senses to life. In truth, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had these kinds of emotions before.

  There was one definite truth, though. A bond existed between the two of them, a bond so strong it scared him.

  Well, not really scared. Vikings did not scare easily. More like made him wary. Or shocked. Definitely entranced. And tempted. She was the ultimate forbidden fruit.

  Or was she?

  He’d long ago learned that nothing happened to vangels unless Michael willed it. The question was: Why had Mike placed Gabrielle in his path? As a test? Or as a reward?

  After Vikar and then Trond’s relationship with mortal women, Michael had sworn it would be the last time. No more love connections, or any other connections—i.e., sex—with women who had limited life spans . . . i.e., heart-beating human beings.

  Then there was all that soul mate nonsense. Was that all it was? Nonsense?

  Well, that settled it. He wouldn’t have sex with Gabrielle. He would just kiss her a little bit. Maybe touch her a little bit. Then he would stop. That would be all right, wouldn’t it?

  Hah! As if you could stop at “a little bit,” the other side of his brain argued, the irksome side best known as a conscience.

  He’d gone without “real sex” for one hundred years. For a man with lust running in his blood, he’d proven how much he’d changed, hadn’t he?

  Only because you haven’t been offered a real, heart-racing, I’ve-got-to-have-you-or-die, bone-hard, continual erection. Easy to be good when Satan hasn’t offered you the ultimate temptation.

  Oh, that is a low blow. And so untrue. Gabrielle hadn’t been sent by Satan. She’d been sent by Michael. Ivak would bet his worthless life on that fact.

  Your life will definitely be worthless once Michael finds out what you’re up to. “Up to” being the key words. Have you looked down yonder lately?

  Down yonder? Someone was hanging around Tante Lulu too much. Okay, new plan. All he was going to do was deliver Gabrielle to her apartment. Maybe have a cup of coffee with her. He would sleep on her couch because he wasn’t yet sure how safe she was on her own, even with guards outside. He’d give her a kiss good night, of course. A good good-night kiss, to be sure, but just a kiss. Then he’d send her off to bed, alone.

  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

  They were approaching the outskirts of the Big Easy and he reached over to touch Gabrielle lightly on the knee to see if she was still asleep. No reaction. And surprise, surprise, no shocks. Instead, there was an air of electricity surrounding them with enough sexual energy to power a 747. Like a magnetic field of carnality, it was, or something even scarier . . . love.

  His throat went dry.

  By some miracle, he found a parking spot on the crowded street in front of Gabrielle’s apartment. “Sweetling, we’re here,” he said softly, touching her on the shoulder.

  She awakened immediately and stretched. Then, unlatching her seat belt, she turned and gave him such an open, loving smile his heart swelled almost to bursting. “You let me sleep.”

  “I wanted you wide awake and eager for what I planned to . . . no, no, no, forget I said that.”

  She arched her brows.

  “You were tired; I let you sleep.” That is so lame. Where is my renowned charm? Gone with the frickin’ wind!

  “I liked the first version better.”

  What? No, no, no! Begone, temptation! Begone! He got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Helping her out, he took her hand and walked, fingers laced, toward her apartment.

  “No more sparks,” she noticed.

  “No more sparks,” he agreed. Worse.

  “It’s misty out tonight, isn’t it?”

  It was the sexual aura that surrounded them, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “Yeah, mist.”

  They walked side by side up the steep stairs to her apartment. He felt as if he were Dead Man Walking.

  “Are you staying?” she asked as she inserted a key in the door and started to open it.

  He gulped and almost swallowed his tongue. Is
that a loaded question? What exactly does she mean? Maybe she means nothing. Maybe she just wants to offer me a cup of coffee. Yeah, that’s probably it. “Yes, but I’m sleeping on your couch.”

  She slanted him a glance of surprise, then smiled one of those little smiles that women have been perfecting since Eve.

  “I mean it.” Or leastways I am trying to mean it.

  She shook her head with disbelief.

  He raised his chin haughtily. “Do you doubt that I can be chivalrous?”

  “Sometimes chivalry is overrated,” she said with a laugh, and bent over to pick up a small, red, tasseled pillow that must have fallen. The bending over was bad enough because that shimmery dress outlined the double curve of her buttocks, and he was a man partial to female buttocks, but then she leaned over the back of the sofa to replace the pillow. A sucker punch in the form of a backless dress hit him hard.

  “Ivak!” she scolded, glancing at him over her shoulder to see him staring at her bottom. Then, as she straightened, she frowned with confusion.

  “What?”

  “I could swear you just cupped my bottom with your hands, then licked a line down my spine, from nape to waist.”

  He tried not to look guilty. Then he couldn’t resist asking, “Did you like it?”

  “Whoo-boy! You have a hot tongue.”

  Whoo-boy!

  “Why are you making those whoofing sounds?”

  He realized that he’d been exhaling rapidly in little puffs. A futile attempt to bridle his lust.

  She wasn’t helping matters, especially when she sealed the deal, so to speak. Heightened color bloomed on her cheeks, and her eyes became luminous pools of arousal as she whispered, “I want you, Ivak.”

  His blood thickened, his incisors elongated, and his mind went blank. Good intentions be damned. Chivalry? What chivalry?

  With a supernatural whoosh of speed, he was in front of her, lifting her in his arms. “Aaah, Gabrielle!” he murmured, forehead to forehead. He did not dare kiss her or nuzzle her neck at the moment with his fangs nigh weeping to take her blood in the ultimate mating.

  Her feet were dangling off the floor, but only for a second. With the quick thinking of a woman on a mission, she wrapped her legs around his hips, thus bringing her woman’s center smack against his almost painful hardness.

  He saw lights behind his eyelids, then released a long sigh of surrender. This must be how Adam felt when he took the first bite of that damn apple.

  No, he couldn’t blame Gabrielle for tempting him. He’d been in a state of temptation from the first time he’d seen her. It was his destiny.

  Without thinking and with the speed only a vangel could engage, Ivak had Gabrielle braced against the wall, her dress up to her waist, her panties ripped off, and his own lower garments puddled at his feet. He was totally out of control, a victim of his own lust.

  Worst of all, he was inside her body. Full-blown, to the hilt, in her woman’s sheath. How had that happened?

  He raised his sorry head to look at Gabrielle.

  Her arms were around his neck. So, he hadn’t forced her into this position. Thank the heavens for that! Her eyes were huge with wonder, the pupils dilated with arousal. “Wow!” she husked out just before her searing silken folds closed on him and began to convulse, which triggered a like response in him. His balls tightened and rose, his cock flexed and shot forth his male essence in a peaking so powerful it brought him to his knees on the carpet, taking Gabrielle with him.

  He blacked out for a moment, something that had never happened to him before. When he came to, he was lying atop her, his male part still half hard and still inside her.

  “I am so embarrassed,” they both said at the same time.

  “You must think I’m pitiful to have climaxed so quickly,” she said, her face flushed a lovely shade of pink. “My only excuse is it’s been so long since I’ve had sex.”

  “You’re embarrassed? Hah! I’m a man. A Viking, for the love of a fjord! I’m renowned for my finesse in the bedsport. I didn’t even take my jacket off, or remove my weapons.”

  “I enjoyed it,” Gabrielle confessed, her cheeks even rosier.

  “So did I, but that is neither here nor there. If my brothers ever heard about this, I would never live it down.”

  Appalled, she asked, “Do you discuss your sexual activities with others?”

  “No! Well, I might have on occasion long, long ago, but mostly ’tis my reputation that I must live up to.”

  “Pfff!” she said. “Are you aware that you’re still inside me, and you’re not some squiggly little worm, either?”

  To his continuing embarrassment, his cock flexed of its own accord, probably at the mention of squiggles. ’Twas like his appendage had a mind of its own. “Of course I’m aware, but I don’t want to tup you again with my braies about my ankles like a lackwit youthling.”

  She put her hands on his buttocks and he about exploded inside her again.

  “We’re not going to do it that way again,” he asserted through gritted teeth, and carefully withdrew his hardness from her inner folds, which were grasping at him to stay like erotic fingers.

  “Good Lord!” she said, gaping at the size of his continuing erection. So hard and big was it now that blue veins stood out like marble. “That’s what some people call a blue steeler.”

  “The Lord has naught to do with this, steel or otherwise, believe you me.” He yanked up his pants and underbriefs together, being careful of his extended cock, then lent a hand to help Gabrielle to her feet.

  She was smoothing out her dress when she went still and put a hand over her heart with alarm. “You didn’t use a condom.”

  He waved a hand dismissively as he attempted to adjust the fabric at his groin so that he could walk without crippling himself. “I am disease free.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not worried about that. I don’t want to get pregnant.”

  “That is one good thing”—or bad thing—“about vangels. As I told you before, we cannot breed. Our seed is unable to catch.”

  “You shoot blanks?” At his nod, she asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It is rather like mixed species of animals mating.” He could see that she didn’t like that comparison. “It is what it is. No changing nature.”

  “Your fangs are still out. I’m curious. Are they ever used in the sex act?”

  He really did not want to talk about this. “Sometimes.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Clearly, she was not going to drop the subject.

  “There is a strong compulsion on the part of vangels to fang their partners. I believe that Vikar and Trond’s wives let them take a little of their blood when making love. But you are not to fear. I would not do that to you.”

  She nodded. “But—”

  “Enough talking!” He growled against her neck where the pulse did in fact tempt his fangs mightily. “I have one hundred years to make up for in a short period of time.”

  “Just one thing,” she said, raising a finger. “I thought you weren’t allowed to have ‘real’ sex. What we just did, brief as it was, felt like ‘real’ sex to me.”

  “Oh, it was, and you can be sure I will be punished for it. A lot.” He shrugged.

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t do any more.”

  “Bite your tongue, my teasing wench! If I am going to get many, many years added onto my sentence as a vangel, or whatever punishment will be levied, I’m going to make sure I’ve enjoyed myself.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Just wait ’til you see how I live up, or down, to my bad deeds.”

  He locked the apartment door, then, lifting her into his arms, he carried her to her bedchamber, where he tossed her onto the bed. A click of a bedside table lamp put an ambient light into the small room.

  She shimmied her bottom up to a half-sitting position against the pillows.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  She arched her brows at his dictatorial tone, but she o
beyed. Smart girl!

  He took off the blazer and hung it over the back of a chair, being careful to place his weapons . . . a pistol, several knives, and a retractable lance . . . on a high chest. He had no reason to think they were in danger from Lucies at this point, but it was always wise to be prepared. Like the old adage: “Pray to God, but carry a sharp sword.”

  After heeling off his shoes and pulling off his hose, he began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly. Holding her gaze the entire time. Her breathing accelerated. With his overdeveloped senses, he could smell the musk of her arousal, even from across the room.

  “I like your chest,” she said as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto the floor.

  “I used to be bigger, more muscular. Back in Viking times.” I cannot believe I am carrying on a polite conversation about upper body muscles when it is another muscle entirely that has needs attention. “Wielding a heavy broadsword required great upper body strength.”

  “Sure it did,” she replied, still skeptical of his background. “I prefer the way you are now.” Then the impudent wench waggled her fingers for him to continue.

  When he began to unbuckle his belt, her lips parted.

  When he ran the zipper down, she licked her lips.

  When he shrugged out of the pants, her eyes went wide. “Holy cow!”

  “No, wholly cock!” he corrected. “But just ‘Wow!’ will do. I must admit, I am as impressed as you are.” Or embarrassed. Who knew I could be this big? Much bigger and I will need a sling, he jested with himself.

  “Are you saying I’m responsible for that?”

  “Must be.”

  “Supposedly, Errol Flynn’s penis was so big he had to tuck it under the waistband of his trousers. Tante Lulu read it in some pulp magazine years ago. Did you ever have to do that?”

  “No! Holy clouds, no! Who in bloody hell is this Air-hole character? Never mind.” He crawled up onto the bed and straddled her thighs. “Stop looking at my cock.”

  “Why?”

  Why, why, why! “It likes it too much.”

  “Your fangs are really big, too.”

  Tell me something I do not know. Ah. She must be nervous. That is why she has become a chatterling. “Sorry. It took me many years to accept them myself.”