adorns and defends.
—Robert South
A loud pounding jolted Savannah awake. “Okay, I’m up.” She pushed herself into a sitting position on Luke’s living room sofa. One bare leg peeked out beneath a soft white blanket. Strange, she didn’t recall changing into her pajamas last night. She didn’t recall much after their chase. The chase, how could she have forgotten? And Luke. His lips on her neck, his hands on her. A flutter of electricity moved through her and she knotted her fist in the silky material of her shorts.
Another knock sounded and she bolted up, wrapping the blanket around her as she hurried to the foyer. “Coming.” She reached the front door and swung it open.
A pale, dark-haired male smiled and lifted a large rectangular package. “ Buongiorno, signorina. Il suo quadro. ”
She understood good day but he’d lost her with the rest. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Your painting.”
Of course. Luke’s auction painting from the other night. “Oh, come in. You can put it over here.” She walked through an arched entryway and pointed to a large granite island in the middle of the kitchen. Luke could decide what he wanted to do with it when he woke up—if he ever woke up.
The man followed her and slid the painting onto the counter. Turning, he smiled and winked. “Enjoy and grazie .”
She felt her cheeks grow heated. Incorrigible Italians. “Thank you.”
Once alone, she returned to the painting and smoothed the brown paper, covering it with a finger. Luke probably wouldn’t mind if she took a peek at it. She bit her lip. She could always wrap it back anyway.
Mind made up, she took a knife off a wall rack and slid its sharp edge beneath the clear tape holding the paper closed. Peeling back a layer of soft cloth beneath, she released a slow breath. Vibrant colors. From afar, the background had appeared black, but up close, she could tell it was more of a deep plum. Two males lay side by side beneath a masked woman. Their skin held a deep bronze tone, their cheeks were flushed. Both faces were handsome and angular, but she couldn’t tell the color of their eyes, as they tilted up in an expression of euphoria. Bodies strained. Their muscular forearms flexed as each dug their large hands into the sheets beneath them. Erotic, and yet the dark colors seemed to signify protection for the males, a comfort with the night. A false sense of security, maybe?
The woman was different. She displayed an almost obvious dominance as she knelt atop the males’ torsos. Her skin was pale, translucent almost, and her blond hair combined with the gold mask she wore brought to mind a sense of angelic fragility. Yet somehow Savannah knew with every atom in her body the vampire was far from angelic or fragile. Burgundy dripped from her lips, but her exertion seemed effortless. Her breasts sat full and high, flawless like her entire body. Pure sex, seduction and darkness. The woman’s beauty also represented perfection. The kind she would never possess.
Smoothing a hand over her collarbone, she moved it along a raised scar. Down further over the swell of one breast. The skin felt silky, untouched by nightmares of her past. She circled a nipple over the thin material of her camisole. What would it be like to be the woman in the painting, to feel and look so erotic? Floorboards down the hall creaked and she stopped her exploration. The hall remained empty.
Luke? The sun would set in a few hours and he hadn’t woken up yet. The mere thought of him made goose bumps surface along her arms. Despite his old-fashioned manners, he had a presence about him, a lethal power riding beneath the surface. It aroused and frightened. How could a man who seemed to guard his emotions so closely touch her with so much passion? His lips against her throat the night before had tingled and warmed, awakening her skin in a way she’d never experienced. She trembled and shook her head. She didn’t need any more
—Robert South
A loud pounding jolted Savannah awake. “Okay, I’m up.” She pushed herself into a sitting position on Luke’s living room sofa. One bare leg peeked out beneath a soft white blanket. Strange, she didn’t recall changing into her pajamas last night. She didn’t recall much after their chase. The chase, how could she have forgotten? And Luke. His lips on her neck, his hands on her. A flutter of electricity moved through her and she knotted her fist in the silky material of her shorts.
Another knock sounded and she bolted up, wrapping the blanket around her as she hurried to the foyer. “Coming.” She reached the front door and swung it open.
A pale, dark-haired male smiled and lifted a large rectangular package. “ Buongiorno, signorina. Il suo quadro. ”
She understood good day but he’d lost her with the rest. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Your painting.”
Of course. Luke’s auction painting from the other night. “Oh, come in. You can put it over here.” She walked through an arched entryway and pointed to a large granite island in the middle of the kitchen. Luke could decide what he wanted to do with it when he woke up—if he ever woke up.
The man followed her and slid the painting onto the counter. Turning, he smiled and winked. “Enjoy and grazie .”
She felt her cheeks grow heated. Incorrigible Italians. “Thank you.”
Once alone, she returned to the painting and smoothed the brown paper, covering it with a finger. Luke probably wouldn’t mind if she took a peek at it. She bit her lip. She could always wrap it back anyway.
Mind made up, she took a knife off a wall rack and slid its sharp edge beneath the clear tape holding the paper closed. Peeling back a layer of soft cloth beneath, she released a slow breath. Vibrant colors. From afar, the background had appeared black, but up close, she could tell it was more of a deep plum. Two males lay side by side beneath a masked woman. Their skin held a deep bronze tone, their cheeks were flushed. Both faces were handsome and angular, but she couldn’t tell the color of their eyes, as they tilted up in an expression of euphoria. Bodies strained. Their muscular forearms flexed as each dug their large hands into the sheets beneath them. Erotic, and yet the dark colors seemed to signify protection for the males, a comfort with the night. A false sense of security, maybe?
The woman was different. She displayed an almost obvious dominance as she knelt atop the males’ torsos. Her skin was pale, translucent almost, and her blond hair combined with the gold mask she wore brought to mind a sense of angelic fragility. Yet somehow Savannah knew with every atom in her body the vampire was far from angelic or fragile. Burgundy dripped from her lips, but her exertion seemed effortless. Her breasts sat full and high, flawless like her entire body. Pure sex, seduction and darkness. The woman’s beauty also represented perfection. The kind she would never possess.
Smoothing a hand over her collarbone, she moved it along a raised scar. Down further over the swell of one breast. The skin felt silky, untouched by nightmares of her past. She circled a nipple over the thin material of her camisole. What would it be like to be the woman in the painting, to feel and look so erotic? Floorboards down the hall creaked and she stopped her exploration. The hall remained empty.
Luke? The sun would set in a few hours and he hadn’t woken up yet. The mere thought of him made goose bumps surface along her arms. Despite his old-fashioned manners, he had a presence about him, a lethal power riding beneath the surface. It aroused and frightened. How could a man who seemed to guard his emotions so closely touch her with so much passion? His lips against her throat the night before had tingled and warmed, awakening her skin in a way she’d never experienced. She trembled and shook her head. She didn’t need any more
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