Blood Assassin

  Was she?

  “And it takes more effort to get ready,” she tried to bluff.

  “Serra, you are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen,” he growled, his large thigh moving upward to press against her moist core. “You could throw on a rag and outshine every woman in St. Louis.”

  She made a strangled sound of shock.

  For a man who could rarely string more than two words together, Fane seemed to know exactly what to say.

  Impossible, aggravating, bewitching male.

  Bewitching. Yeah. That just about summed him up, Serra acknowledged, vividly aware of the slide of his big hand over the curve of her hip that only intensified the heat blazing through her.

  She craved this man with an insatiable hunger that she knew beyond a doubt would plague her the rest of her life.

  Regardless of how long or short that life might be.

  “You’re trying to charm me again.”

  His thigh rubbed against her sensitive clit, his fingers continuing to toy with her maddeningly responsive nipple.

  “Not charm,” he murmured. “Truth.”

  Serra released a shaken breath, feeling her resistance melting.

  Christ. She was already heading toward another orgasm. Already aching to feel him deep inside her as she convulsed around his thick length.

  No. This wasn’t sex.

  This was . . . dangerous and painful and eventually heartbreaking.

  Now, however, didn’t seem the time to argue the point.

  “We agreed this was just sex,” she ridiculously tried to insist.

  He parted his lips to bite the spot where her neck connected with her shoulder. It wasn’t hard enough to pierce the skin, but the punishing nip sent a shocking jolt of ecstasy through her body.

  “There was no agreement,” he reminded her in harsh tones. “You said this was just sex, not me.”

  She struggled to breathe, her body trembling with need. “I don’t want you to think—”

  “Good,” he interrupted, using his tongue to soothe the tender skin of her neck. “Because right now thinking is the last thing I want to do.”

  She tried to focus on the expensive Picasso prints framed on the far wall.

  Trying desperately not to lose herself in the complex combination of sensations that surged through her.

  There was lust. Hell, she was a few good strokes away from climax.

  But there was also tenderness, and affection, and a dangerous yearning for more.

  Was she really willing to put herself in a position to have this man destroy her again?

  “I can guess what you want to do,” she said in husky tones.

  Fane gave a low groan, pressing his lips to the pulse beating at the base of her throat.

  “There’s no need to guess,” he rasped, “I’m quite willing to show you.”

  “Generous of you.”

  Slowly he pulled her leg higher on his thigh, allowing the tip of his cock to brush down her ass before he was between her legs and pressing the massive crown into her wet entrance.

  “I intend to be generous as often as you’ll allow me.”

  She hissed in need as he allowed just the tip to dip inside her channel.

  Dammit. Was he deliberately trying to torment her?

  “Can you be generous any faster?”

  He spread hungry kisses up the length of her exposed neck. “No.”

  “That’s it?” She tried to wiggle lower. Just the few inches needed to impale herself on all that Sentinel yumminess. “Just no?”

  His hand gripped her hip, holding her immobile. “I like it slow.”

  She scowled, glimpsing the ruthless warrior who needed control.

  “And I like it . . .” Her complaint ended on a sharp moan of exquisite pleasure as he slid inside her with one deliberate, ruthless thrust. Yes. God, yes. She struggled to form the words. “Oh, just like that.”

  His lips nibbled over her nape, one hand stroking over her lower stomach while the other continued to tug at her nipple.

  “I told you slow was good.”

  “Did you?”

  “You need to trust me, Serra,” he murmured. “I’ll never hurt you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. How could he say that? He’d already hurt her time after time.

  But the reminder of just how bad an idea this was shattered as he withdrew until he was once again posed at her entrance before surging upward with enough force to make her moan in pleasure.

  Her mind fogged with bliss her hand slipping over his side to dig her nails into his hard ass.

  “I trust you know what you’re doing in bed.”

  “It’s a start.”

  She intended to remind him about the whole this-is-only-sex thing, but all thought evaporated as he sank deep inside her, joining them until it felt as if they had become one.

  It was hokey, and stupidly romantic, but it was dangerously true.

  “Fane,” she breathed, feeling oddly vulnerable as he buried his face in the curve of her neck and his hands began a slow, delectable exploration of her exposed body. “I need—”

  “What do you need?” He moved his hand to caress her neglected breast while his other hand blazed a sizzling path down the damp skin of her stomach. “This?”

  A groan was wrenched from her throat and her head dropped back to his shoulder as his fingers stroked boldly over her eager clit.

  “Yes,” she rasped in approval.

  He pressed heated kisses down the curve of her cheek as he rocked his hips forward and back, creating a delicious friction. She hissed in pleasure, her arms lifting over her head to wrap around his neck.

  “Slow and sweet,” he said against her shoulder, his lips lightly caressing her flushed skin. “We have to enjoy the solitude while we have it.”

  Serra didn’t intend to argue. Her eyes slid closed as she concentrated on the sensation of his cock penetrating her with slow, steady thrusts. It felt so good. So . . . she groaned, already sensing the looming climax.

  “I suppose you have a point,” she moaned, her nails scraping his nape.

  She savored the scorching heat from his large body pressed behind her, her body bowing with a coiled tension as he caught the tip of her breast between his finger and thumb.

  “You will soon discover I’m always right,” he assured her with outrageous arrogance.

  She tried to make a sound of disgust, only to have it come out as a shaken moan. “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As if to prove the truth of his words, Fane picked up his pace, slamming into her until her entire body shuddered with satisfaction.

  “God, you feel as if you were made for me,” he rasped.

  “Or maybe you were made for me,” she muttered, shaken by the intensity of their lovemaking.

  And it was lovemaking.

  Not sex.

  Not a casual hookup that would be forgotten the minute she crawled out of bed.

  Females would sacrifice everything to hold on to this sort of feeling.

  “I don’t have any doubt at all,” he groaned, pumping into her with a swift, magical pace. “Just you.”

  “Fane—”

  “Shh,” he said, halting her protest, kissing a path of destruction up the side of her neck. “Just let me pleasure you.”

  Serra shoved aside the warning voice in the back of her mind.

  What did it matter?

  She would deal with the emotional fallout later.

  After she’d found Molly.

  And the toxin was removed from her body.

  And she’d killed that bastard Bas.

  “Yes,” she breathed, forgetting everything but the explosive pleasure.

  Serra took one last glance in the mirror.

  Any other night she would have appreciated the Chanel silver lamé gown.

  A skimpy sheath with spaghetti straps, it skimmed her lush curves before ending several inches above her knees. The short style combined with
her three-inch Jimmy Choo shoes gave the illusion her legs went on forever, while her upswept hair emphasized the slender length of her neck.

  It was shimmery and flirty and designed to drive men crazy.

  Exactly what an expensive gown was supposed to do.

  But this wasn’t any night, and she was far more interested in disguising the pallor of her skin with a light coat of powder and emphasizing her lips in a brilliant shade of red.

  She grimaced.

  Just an hour ago she’d been flushed and disheveled, her eyes smoldering with the pleasure from her most recent orgasms.

  She forced her lethargic, delectably sated body into the shower. The knowledge that Bas would soon be arriving had stripped away the lingering haze of passion, brutally reminding her that this wasn’t a magical holiday with the man of her dreams.

  This was life or death.

  And not just for her.

  Tucking the ribbon from Molly’s stuffed hippo along with the picture of the heart-wrenchingly vulnerable girl into a tiny silver clutch purse, Serra sucked in a calming breath and forced her feet to carry her to the sitting room.

  Her lips twitched as Fane slowly turned to her from the windows where he was watching the spectacular sunset, his massive body covered in the elegant black tux that had been delivered just before she stepped into the shower.

  Only a Sentinel could be dressed in a thousand-dollar suit and still manage to look completely feral.

  His dark gaze searched her face, easily noticing the pallor beneath her carefully applied makeup.

  “Ready?”

  She grimaced, her mouth dry and her stomach clenched with nerves.

  “As ready as I’m going to be.”

  He stepped forward, grasping her hand in the heat of his. “You won’t be alone.”

  The urge to melt against the solid strength of his chest was so overwhelming Serra actually caught herself swaying forward.

  Dammit, this was exactly what she’d been scared of.

  This instinctive desire to depend on a man who was only here because she was in danger.

  With a muttered curse, she was yanking her hand from his comforting grip.

  “Fane.”

  He scowled, his jaw clenching as she stepped back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you serious?” She forced a stiff smile to her lips. “What isn’t wrong?”

  “Fine, let me be more specific.” His expression was tight, his fingers twitching as if they were longing to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake. “Why are you putting walls between us?”

  She tilted her chin. “I wasn’t the one who put them there.”

  “So this is my punishment?”

  His dark, accusing gaze flayed over her skin, but she resisted the impulse to turn away. She’d given in to temptation. No, she hadn’t given in. She’d leaped headfirst into temptation and then wallowed in it. But that didn’t mean she had completely given in to insanity.

  Not when she still carried the wounds of loving him.

  “It’s survival.”

  Heat filled the air as his temper threatened to combust, then with a visible effort, he regained his stoic Sentinel composure.

  “You’re right.”

  She studied him in suspicion. “I am?”

  “You need to concentrate on finding the child.” He held her wary gaze, his voice soft. “Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

  She frowned. Damn, the aggravating man.

  She was all braced for a battle of the wills. One she was determined to win.

  Instead he slid past her fragile defenses, touching her where she didn’t want to be touched.

  Lost for words, she was almost relieved when Fane turned toward the door, his acute hearing picking up the sound of Bas’s arrival before he ever knocked.

  Moving to open the door, Fane reached into the pocket of his jacket, no doubt palming a handgun.

  He had a hundred different methods to kill, many of them with his hands and feet, but Sentinels were trained to use the most effective tool for the job.

  Sometimes a bullet to the head was the most effective.

  Stepping into the room, Bas ignored both the gun and the massive Sentinel who was poised to kill.

  It was a deliberate insult, as was his smooth stride that brought him directly in front of her so he could lift her hand to his lips.

  Serra rolled her eyes. The bastard looked indecently handsome, of course. Dressed in a Gucci tux, he hadn’t bothered with an illusion to disguise his astonishing bronze eyes, or the dark hair smoothed from his pale, breathtakingly handsome face.

  It was a damned shame he was a sociopath.

  “My lovely Serra,” he purred, his low voice filled with a sensuous promise. “I understand why you hover at her side like a rabid pit bull.”

  Fane snorted, refusing to rise to the bait. “Serra doesn’t need my protection.”

  “True. A dangerous female.” The bronze gaze swept downward, lingering on the tantalizing hemline of her dress. “In more ways than one.”

  Serra yanked her fingers free, not in the mood for his games. “The clock is ticking.”

  “So it is.” He waved a slender hand toward the still-open door. “Shall we?”

  Serra deliberately moved to stand beside Fane as they left the suite in silence. Then, entering the elevator, Bas used a key card to punch in a secret code. They traveled downward, and it was no surprise when the elevator opened to reveal the underground parking lot that was off limits to the public. What did startle her was the fact that it was suspiciously dark, as if someone had shut off several lights.

  Prepared to step off the elevator, Serra was halted as Bas held an arm across the opening, waiting until the uniformed driver climbed out of a black stretch limo and gave a nod.

  Obviously that was the all-clear signal, although Serra didn’t know what they were all-clear from, as Bas lowered his arm and led them toward the car.

  All very James Bond, she wryly acknowledged, her heels clicking on the cement floor.

  The driver moved to open the back door, the light from the interior outlining the stark male profile.

  Kaede.

  Serra rolled her eyes as she slid into the butter-soft seat. That’s all she needed. Three male alphas trapped in one small space.

  As if to prove her point, she was abruptly squished between two male bodies that smothered her in a searing heat. Sweat trickled down her spine and she struggled to breathe as the overabundance of testosterone seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

  Kaede slid into the driver’s seat, adding to the smoldering tension, as he shifted the car into gear and they headed toward the north.

  Serra clutched her tiny purse, resisting the urge to slam her elbows into the ribs of her two companions, telling them to tamp down the heat before they fried her to a crisp.

  They were all on edge. She could bitch all she wanted, nothing was going to ease the tension.

  Her only hope was directing all that male aggression in a constructive direction. “Where are we going?”

  Bas adjusted his starched, diamond-studded cuff, which glittered in the passing streetlights.

  “A local socialite is hosting a ball to raise funds for one of her pet charities.”

  Well, that explained the tuxes.

  And her own drop-dead gorgeous dress.

  “The socialite was a client?” she asked.

  “No, but the owner of the home directly behind her estate was,” Bas explained. “We can slip away once the dancing starts to see if you can sense Molly.”

  Serra nodded, resisting the urge to fan herself. Christ, it had to be a hundred degrees.

  Her sideways glare toward Bas was predictably ignored, as was the more direct glare she sent at Fane’s rigid profile. Even Kaede managed to elude her silent chastisement as he split his attention between the road and the mannequinlike passengers in the backseat.

  Eventually the car slowed and they pulled into a n
arrow side street. Serra grimaced as she realized they were headed into one of those fancy-assed communities that were stuffed with the rich and overprivileged.

  It was even gated to keep out the riff-raff.

  Stuck-up prigs.

  Of course, there was some satisfaction in watching the guard wave them through the gates with a wide smile.

  The idiot had just invited in three lethal killers and a psychic who could crush his mind without batting an eye.

  And all it’d taken was a limo and a pretense of sophistication.

  “Nice neighborhood,” she muttered.

  Bas deliberately rubbed his knee against hers, the bronze eyes shimmering in the darkness.

  “I would be willing to purchase you a home in the area if you wanted to come and work for me.”

  “Work for you?” Serra sent him a glare filled with loathing. “You’ve infected me with a toxin, threatened to kill me if I don’t perform a miracle, and you think I would ever willingly work for you?”

  “It’s not personal, Serra.” A flicker of emotion tightened his expression. Something she might have suspected was regret if she hadn’t known just what a cold-blooded bastard he was. Whatever. It was swiftly replaced by a mocking smile. “I’ve done what was necessary to earn your cooperation, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t have a profitable alliance in the future.”

  “Go screw yourself.”

  He softly chuckled. “Sex is negotiated in a separate contract.”

  There was a blur of movement as Fane reached over Serra to grasp Bas’s knee, his grip hard enough to make the assassin grunt in pain.

  “There are few things in life I’m going to enjoy more than watching you die,” he said, the flat certainty in Fane’s voice disturbingly chilling.

  Serra froze, the violence in the air hammering at her psychic senses.

  Shit. This could get really bad, really quick.

  Then, with an experience that spoke of years dealing with pissed-off Sentinels, Kaede was pulling the limo to a halt and turning to send his boss a warning glance.

  “Show time.”

  Fane slowly released his punishing grip and settled back in his seat. The threat of bloodshed remained, but it had returned to the slow simmer that allowed Serra to draw in a shaky breath.

  Bas muttered something beneath his breath, then, closing his eyes, he focused on weaving his magical disguise.