I would have laughed if his voice hadn't been edged with pain, his expression filled with such naked yearning that I ached for him. Some said a Vampire's craving for blood was like a terrible drug addiction for which there was no cure. Vampires suffered intense agony if they were forced to go for long periods of time without feeding. It was a relentless pain, one that grew steadily worse. The only antidote was blood. In days past, Vampires had been locked up for years at a time. Some went mad with the pain, but none of them had died from it. The need just grew more and more excruciating, a hellishly endless torment that only blood or obliteration could bring to an end.
I didn't want Rafe to suffer even a moment because of me, and yet…how could I let him drink my blood? He had told me once that it didn't hurt, but I wasn't sure I believed that. How could someone sinking their fangs into your neck not hurt? What if he took too much? I remembered the woman he had tried to bring across. Though he hadn't said as much, I was sure she had died because he had taken too much, or perhaps he had taken it all.
“What do they look like?” I asked. “Your fangs?”
“Like this,” he said, and bared his teeth.
I guess I had been expecting huge canines, like a lion's, although I knew that was impossible. Rafe's fangs were neither as big or as long as I had imagined, but they were very white and looked needle sharp. Curious, I touched one with the tip of my finger and quickly drew back as it pierced my flesh. I stared at the drop of bright red blood. Sharp indeed! I'd hardly touched the darn thing.
I lifted my hand to my mouth, intending to lick the blood away.
“Let me,” Rafe said, and taking my hand in his, he put my finger to his lips and sucked lightly.
The heat of his mouth was unexpectedly erotic. A soft “ohhh” of sensual pleasure rose in my throat. If being bitten felt anything like this, I was surprised women weren't lined up for miles on end waiting their turn.
I could see by the look in his eyes that he knew the exact effect his touch was having on my senses. He kissed my palm, his tongue stroking the sensitive skin, and then he let go of my hand.
I looked at my finger, amazed to see that the tiny wound had already disappeared.
“Sweet,” he murmured. “Even sweeter than I imagined.”
“Blood isn't sweet.”
“Not to you, perhaps, but to me it's like the finest wine.”
“Well, at least you got your taste,” I muttered. “I hope you're satisfied.”
“Indeed, but it only whet my appetite for more.”
“If I let you drink from me this once, will you promise never to ask me again?”
“Do you think that's fair?”
“I don't care. Is it a deal?”
“Yes, it's a deal,” he agreed, “but with one stipulation.”
“What kind of stipulation?” I asked suspiciously.
“I will not ask you again, so long as you do not ask me.”
“You don't have to worry about that!” I said, completely confident that such a thing would never happen. “So, now what?”
“Now this.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders, tilted my head up ever so slightly, and kissed me, a long, lingering kiss that made me forget everything but the taste of his mouth, the heat of his body intimately pressing against mine, and a growing desire that threatened to spiral out of control.
I clung to him, lost in a world of sensual pleasure as he kissed me again, his hands skimming lightly over my back, my thigh, the curve of my breast. His touch was oddly familiar, as if we had made love a hundred times before. My whole being vibrated with need and with the excitement of discovery as my own hands moved over him, measuring the width of his shoulders, the hard wall of his chest, the silky texture of his hair.
His lips were warm as they kissed their way to my throat, his tongue like a living flame as it laved the skin beneath my ear. Moments later, pleasure such as I had never known flowed into me and through me. In a distant part of my mind, I knew that he had bitten me, that he was sipping my life's blood, but I didn't care. He could take as much as he wanted, he could take it all, if it would make this incredible feeling last forever.
I felt bereft when he lifted his head. “Don't stop,” I begged softly. “Please don't stop.”
“I told you I only wanted a taste.” His knuckles stroked my cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I'm better than all right,” I said, and then, remembering how I had begged him not to stop, I glared at him. “You knew, didn't you?” I stabbed my finger against his chest. “You knew that once I let you do it, I'd want it again. Didn't you? That's why you made me agree to that stipulation of yours.”
He tried to look guilty but failed miserably.
“It certainly explains a lot. I used to wonder why some women were so obsessed with Vampires. I couldn't understand why your mother married your father. Well, now I know.”
“Is that right?” Laughing softly, he sat up, drawing me with him. “Kathy, love, you were ‘obsessed' with me before I ever tasted you.”
“I was not!” I declared hotly. I straightened my clothes, embarrassed by my reaction to what had happened. I'd been so sure it would be disgusting when it was quite the opposite.
“Weren't you?”
“You're mighty full of yourself all of a sudden,” I muttered sullenly. “I'm probably no different from the hundreds of other women you've had.”
“There's one difference,” he said, cupping my cheek in his palm. “I love you. That makes all the difference in the world. When I drink from a woman, I make it as pleasant for her as I can. After all, she's giving me her life's essence, but it's nothing like what you felt. Love makes all the difference.”
“And was it different for you, as well?”
“Yes. Drinking from prey eases my thirst, but drinking from you…how can I explain it?” He considered a moment, then said, “Drinking from a stranger is like drinking water, but drinking from you is like savoring a rare and exotic wine. Do you see the difference?”
It was impossible to stay angry with such a man. “Stop talking so much,” I said, “and kiss me again.”
“With pleasure,” he murmured, and claimed my lips with his.
He had tasted my blood and found pleasure in it. Even as my body responded to his kisses, I found myself wondering what it would be like to taste a Vampire's blood, Rafe's blood.
The thought had no sooner crossed my mind than Rafe drew back. Wordlessly, he ran the pad of his thumb across the tip of one of his fangs, and then held out his hand. “Go on, satisfy your curiosity.”
I don't know which was more disconcerting—having him read my mind, or the thought of actually tasting his blood. “What will it do to me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It might heighten your senses for a few days, but nothing more.”
“It won't make me a Vampire, will it?”
He laughed softly. “No, love.”
I stared at that single drop of dark red blood in morbid fascination. It was thicker, darker, than my own blood. Before I could change my mind, I quickly licked it from his finger. It was like putting my tongue to an electrical wire, and yet strangely pleasurable.
Smiling, he drew me into his embrace again. I wasn't sure what the term was for it these days, but whether you called it necking, petting, or making out, that's how we spent the rest of the evening. I had never in my life been kissed so thoroughly, never been closer to losing my virginity, than I was that night in Rafe Cordova's arms. I experienced each gentle touch, each tender caress, with an intensity I had never known before. Was it love, or was it that tiny taste of forbidden blood that made the difference? I didn't know, and I didn't care. One taste of Rafe's blood had intoxicated me. If I could bottle the sensations erupting inside of me, I could probably make a fortune.
I don't know how far we might have gone if he hadn't stopped when he did.
Caught up in a sensual haze of passion, I stared at him as he gained his feet and straightened his clothing. “What are you doing?”
Taking my hand, he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. “I need to go.”
“Why?”
“Because it's very late and you need your rest.”
“What's the real reason?”
“I haven't fed yet, and it will be dawn soon.”
“Oh.” The reality of what he was hit me like a splash of cold water. He was going out to hunt for prey. He was going to drink someone else's blood, and he would be taking more than just a taste.
“I'll see you tomorrow night.”
Nodding, I lifted my face for his kiss. No doubt my lips would be swollen and sore tomorrow, I thought drily, but what the heck.
He kissed me lightly and gave me a quick hug. “Good night, love.”
“Good night.”
I walked him to the door, watched him get into his sleek black car and drive away, and went to bed with a song in my heart and a smile on my face.
I was still smiling when I woke the next morning, partly from my memory of Rafe's kisses, and partly from the dreams I'd had the night before. Never in all my life had I had such erotic dreams. Had Rafe's blood been responsible? Just thinking of my wayward fantasies made my cheeks burn. If Raphael was half the lover he had been in my dreams…oh, my!
I made my bed, ate breakfast, dressed, and went to the bookstore. I had no sooner opened for business when a delivery man brought me two dozen long-stemmed red roses. The only time I had ever received flowers before had been from my father. He had sent me an enormous bouquet of yellow daisies on my twenty-first birthday.
I was pretty sure these weren't from my father. Filled with giddy anticipation, I read the card aloud. “For Kathy, lovelier than the fairest flower. Love, Rafe.”
Half an hour later, another delivery man arrived. He handed me a heart-shaped box of candy. Smiling, I read the card. “For Kathy, sweeter than chocolate. Eternally, Rafe.”