Lucas still didn’t say anything, although he did release her hand to head for the wet bar on the far wall. They were completely alone. Some of the vampires in his security contingent had stayed on the ground floor. Others had peeled off on the floor just below this one. Only Nicholas rode all the way to the top with them. He’d checked out the entire condo, then gotten back into the elevator and presumably joined the others somewhere. Kathryn had studied his face covertly, looking for evidence of the ghastly wound he’d been sporting only two days ago. There was nothing. He was completely healed, just as Lucas had told her he would be.

Lucas poured himself a drink at the bar and strolled back to where she was standing in front of the window overlooking the river.

“What happened, Kathryn?” he asked quietly.

She gave him a quick glance. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

“Let me refresh your memory, then. You fucked my brains out night before last—”

“I told you I had things to do. I drove all day yesterday to get here—”

“—and apparently you couldn’t wait to get out of town. I talked to the motel manager. You must have gone directly there from my bed, then packed up and left with the sun barely above the horizon.”

“And what do you mean I fucked your brains out?” she snapped, seizing on the one thing she could dispute, since everything else he’d said was pretty damn accurate. “I wasn’t the only one in that bed, Lucas. Brains were fucked, and fun was had by all.”

Unexpectedly, he grinned. “You missed me, didn’t you? Oh sure, the first couple of hours you were just focused on getting away, but then you started thinking, doubting . . . and you missed me. Did you dream about me?”

Kathryn’s jaw clenched. “Arrogant,” she muttered.

He laughed. “Yeah, but I’m right.”

She rounded on him. “Why are you here? Why Carmichael’s gallery?”

Lucas took a leisurely sip of his whiskey, eyeing her over the top of the crystal tumbler. When he lowered it, he said, “I would think that’s obvious.”

“You’re . . . conspiring with him,” she accused. “With Carmichael.”

“No, a cuisle, I’ve been hunting.” He turned and set down his drink on the marble inlay of a nearby table.

“What does acushla mean, damn it! What are you calling me?” She frowned as the rest of his words caught up to her. “Wait, what do you mean hunting. Hunting what?”

Lucas wrapped his long fingers around her hip and tugged her up against his body. “It’s not a what, it’s a who. A certain FBI agent.” He lowered his mouth to hers.

Kathryn intended to resist him. She wasn’t going to kiss him, and she certainly wasn’t going to grab him like a starving female and rub up against him wantonly. But that’s what happened. One second she was determined to walk away, and the next they were inhaling each other’s oxygen, kissing hungrily, biting and licking, her arms around his neck, his fingers twisted into her unbound hair, wrapping it around his fist and tilting her head back to plunder her mouth. And his other hand . . . her breath stalled in her lungs as his other hand crushed her hips against his so she could feel every inch of his erection, long and thick and as hard as stone against her belly.

* * * *

Lucas felt a curl of satisfaction as Kathryn moaned a protest against his lips. “I don’t want—” she began, even as she sucked his tongue into her mouth.

“I know,” he muttered back. “Neither do I.” But he couldn’t stop. There was something about her, something that drove him mad, like a hot poker stuck straight into his fucking brain. He had to have her, desperately needed her beneath him, her hot pussy soaking wet as it sheathed his cock over and over again.

“Damn it,” he swore softly and tugged her tight black dress up over her hips.

“Wait!” Kathryn protested weakly. “The window.”

“It’s one-way,” Lucas ground out and stripped the dress off over her head. He hissed when he saw what she was wearing underneath. Gone was the sensible white cotton bra, and in its place, pale silk and lace, barely cupping her full breasts, with a tiny matching lace triangle between her thighs.

“You’ve been shopping,” he said, rubbing one hand over her firm and practically naked ass, while he caressed her breast with the other, thumbing her pink nipple until it poked out against its silky enclosure.

Kathryn was working determinedly on his belt buckle, ripping open the button to his pants and sliding the zipper down. He stiffened, in more ways than one, when she took him in her hand, her graceful and strong fingers gripping him tightly as she began to stroke up and down.

“That’s your fault,” she complained. “You made me feel ugly with my white bra.”

“You could never be ugly, a cuisle. I rather liked it, actually, though I do like this better. Now tell me,” he tugged her long hair, forcing her to look up at him. “Who did you think was going to see this beautiful and sexy new underwear?”

She smiled innocently, but the gleam in her eyes gave her away. “Jealous?”

Lucas acknowledged the feeling. It wasn’t something he felt very often, but she was right. He was jealous. He didn’t know how long this obsession between them was going to last, but as long as it did, no one was touching her but him.

“Never,” he lied. “But I’m a possessive son of a bitch, Kathryn. As long as we’re doing whatever this is, no one but me gets to see your underwear.” He lowered his mouth to her neck and bit softly.

“Oh, ah,” she said, her breath coming in pants. “What if I—”

Whatever she was going to say was lost in her gasp of surprise as he slipped two fingers between the wet folds of her sex. Jesus, she was hot. Slick and silky and so ready for him.

“That’s it,” he growled. He pushed her against the wall next to the window and ripped away her new lace panties, tossing them aside. Shoving his pants down and freeing his cock, he lifted her up and slid between her legs. She responded just as eagerly, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms over his shoulders as their mouths met once again, kissing hungrily. Lucas sank his cock into her creamy center, feeling the warmth of her body surround him, her channel so tight, her trembling inner muscles caressing him as he thrust as deeply as he could. He paused for the space of a breath, holding perfectly still, feeling the pulsing of her pussy all around him, her heart pounding against his chest, her breath warm and moist along his cheek. They hung there for a long moment. And then he started moving, slowly at first, easing himself in and out, relishing the satin glide of her juices along his shaft. With a long, slow thrust, he plunged as deeply as he could go, feeling the touch of her cervix against the head of his cock. Kathryn made a noise deep in her throat and did a little ripple of her shoulder muscles from side to side, like a cat that’s had a taste of catnip. One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. He liked that—the idea that he was her catnip. Kathryn’s eyes flashed open to meet his, and it was kindling to the flame. Suddenly, he had to have her, had to hear her screaming his name. He growled and began slamming in and out of her body, not going for finesse but for completion. He needed to spill inside her, to mark her in a way that no one else could.

Kathryn was making little noises with every thrust of his cock, gripping his shoulders and digging in with her fingers until he knew he’d have bruises by the end of the night. It made him happy. He wanted to carry her mark, too. He lowered his mouth to her jugular, feeling the plump vein beneath his tongue, the rush of her blood, faster now as her heart began to dance in anticipation.

“Lucas, Lucas . . .” she was moaning now, a lover’s plea as he fucked her hard and deep.

“Kathryn,” he whispered, and sank his fangs into her vein, pushing past the slight resistance of her soft skin, the thin wall of her pliant vein, and then her blood was rushing down his throat like dark honey, heated and smooth.

Kathryn’s legs scissored around his hips, her nails scraping his back. Her pussy clenched around him as the orgasm rolled through her body, her blunt teeth sinking into his shoulder as she screamed, her hips bucking against his until he felt his own climax building in his balls, roaring down his shaft and filling her completely.

Lucas retracted his fangs and licked up the last few delicious drops of her blood. He kissed the small puncture wounds, knowing they’d be sealed in seconds and completely healed in hours. Kathryn hung onto him, her arms limp around his neck, her legs trembling in reaction to their explosive lovemaking.

He glanced down at himself and chuckled. He was still more than half dressed. His pants were around his ankles, and at some point his shirt had been ripped open, but he still wore his jacket, and his tie was still in place. Kathryn lifted her head at the sound of his laughter. She followed his gaze and started laughing, too. Until he saw a tear drip from her eye.

“Kathryn?”

“What is it between us, Lucas? It’s like . . .”

“Spontaneous combustion,” he supplied. “Fire and gun powder. I get near you, and I have to touch you. I touch you, and I have to be inside you. Not later, but right now.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Sort of. I mean, in my head, I’m saying no thanks and walking away, and the next thing I know I’m all over you.”

“So, it’s all your fault, then.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Vampires are predators, Kathryn. When you run, my instinct is to run after you, and I can run a hell of a lot faster. So if you’d just throw yourself at me first thing—”

“In your dreams, asshole,” she snapped, rapping her knuckles on the back of his head.

“Ow,” Lucas said, laughing. “You’ve got some muscles, woman. And speaking of muscles . . .” He palmed her butt with both hands, lifting her higher. Kathryn’s eyes widened as if just realizing they were standing the way they’d ended, with him buried between her lovely, long legs which were still wrapped around him.