“Don’t count on it,” I hissed. “I’ll take on that son of a bitch Dracula any day, any time. You tell him to bring it on.”
She suddenly swooped forward, her face morphing into a horrifying replica of Sebille Fenwick’s rotting corpse, somehow knowing about the nightmares that had plagued me for the last few months. Then she grabbed my throat and squeezed. I clawed desperately at her ghostly hands, doing nothing more than scoring my own skin with my fingernails.
“Do not underestimate the master,” the phantom warned, her breath rank, making me gag. “You are his, Trish. And you’ll be joining him very soon.”
With a parting cackle, she flung me backward, but instead of hitting the mattress, I kept falling, the darkness growing deeper. Screaming, I threw my arms out to my sides, desperately grasping for anything to stop my descent. My nails dug into something soft and foul. Was it dirt? Just when it felt like I would fall forever, I suddenly hit bottom, and the air was forced from my lungs.
“This isn’t real,” I panted, squeezing my eyes closed with relief. “It’s just a dream. It’s all just a dream. Wake up, Trish.”
But when I opened my eyes again, I was still lying at the bottom of a freshly dug grave hundreds of feet deep. “It’s just a dream,” I ground out, balling my hands into fists. “Wake up!”
I suddenly felt an arm snake under my back and around my shoulders. With a gasp, I rolled toward my unexpected companion in the grave and found myself lying on top of him, his blazing red eyes burning into my soul. “What the—”
“Hello, little one,” came the low, hypnotic voice, the tendrils of sound wrapping around me, drawing me closer.
I was still screaming when his fangs plunged into my throat.
“Trish!”
I jolted awake, my arms flailing wildly, the scream still burning my throat.
“Trish, it’s me! It’s Nicky!”
The sound of Nicky’s voice brought me out of the fog of fear and desperation. I snapped my jaws shut, my scream abruptly cutting off, and blinked at him in confusion. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair was wet and droplets of water glistened on his skin.
I shook my head as I sat up, not understanding. “What’s going on? You were just here. On the bed beside me.”
His brows came together in a frown. “I got up a couple of
hours ago, doll. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you up.”
I shook my head again, more vehemently this time. “No, that’s not—” I bit off my words. Realizing it really had all been a dream, I let out a sigh of relief so deep my shoulders sagged, suddenly feeling boneless. “Nightmare,” I muttered around chattering teeth. “I must’ve had a nightmare.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, tucking a ringlet behind my ear.
I shook my head. “No. Not yet. I just—” I just need you to hold me, was what I wanted to say, but I bit off my words, not wanting to admit how rattled I was.
But to my surprise, Nicky pulled me into his arms anyway, pressing me close to his bare chest. “You’re safe now,” he murmured against my hair. “I gotcha.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against him, letting him hold me and trying not to think about the fact that my cheek was resting against his fabulously sculpted chest, or about how right it felt with his strong arms wrapped around me. After a moment, I tentatively slipped my arms around his waist and curled into him a little more. His heart began to pound faster in my ear and his arms tightened around me. Then his hand started moving in a slow circle on my back, just a small gesture of comfort, but it sent a lance of white-hot heat through my body, slamming me with the ache I experienced every time I fantasized about just such a scenario. I let my eyelids flutter shut, focusing on the gentle pressure of his hand on my back instead of the increasingly persistent heat between my legs.
Oh, God . . . please don’t let this be another dream. . . .
I felt him swallow hard; then his hand roamed a little lower, tentatively at first, but soon he was skimming across the curve of my ass and down my thigh. My pulse was racing so rapidly as he eased me back onto the mattress that I could hardly breathe. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes seemed brighter, filled with a fiery desire that startled me. I caught a glimpse of what was going through his mind—just a flicker. But I didn’t need to see beyond his mental defenses to know what he wanted at that moment—the rock-hard length pressing into my thigh was a damned good indicator. And I was so onboard with where his thoughts were going.
His hand slid back up my thigh over my hip and to my ribs as he shifted, scooting up a little to stretch out on the bed beside me. I kept one arm around his waist, my fingers splayed across his back, and let my other hand drift up along his muscled forearm to his bicep where a beautiful Celtic design marked him up to his shoulder and around to his back. I traced the tattoo with my fingertips, gliding lightly over his skin. When I reached the nape of his neck, his lids snapped shut briefly, his lips parting in a sharp exhale. And when he opened his eyes again, I shuddered at the intensity of his gaze.
My God—was this really happening? Was I actually lying on a bed in Nicky Blue’s arms, his body pressing against mine, straining toward mine? After so long dreaming of such a moment, was it actually happening?
But just as I began to doubt that I was awake, the increasingly agonizing ache at the center of me assured me that this was no dream. He was right there, staring down at me, wanting me, just as much as I wanted him. I grasped the nape of his neck and urged him toward me, desperate to feel his lips upon mine, to slake some of this heat building inside me before I went up in flames and was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash.
His gaze flicked down to my mouth.
God, yes! Yes! Finally . . .
I let my lids flutter shut as he pressed a whisper of a kiss to my lips. Just a tender brush of his mouth against mine. And not nearly enough. On the next pass, his lips lingered a little longer, testing, teasing. And again, even longer this time. He lifted his head for a moment, meeting and holding my gaze. There was something there, something I couldn’t quite see. Was it caution? Fear? But before I could look closer, there was a sudden shift in his gaze as if a switch had tripped, and then his mouth was on mine again. And he was done messing around.
This kiss was possessive, demanding. His mouth claimed mine as no man’s ever had, drawing out of me a fiery passion I’d never experienced before. I clung to his lips with each pass, gasping, breathless, hardly daring to believe that it was really Nicky’s mouth devouring mine. I nipped at his bottom lip, then sucked it into my mouth, making him moan.
He shifted position again, rolling on top of me so he was between my legs, his hips pressing into me in urgent need. “Jesus, Trish,” he groaned before his mouth captured mine again, his tongue slipping between my teeth in an insistent caress.
My God, as kisses went, it was off the charts. I could’ve gone on kissing him for hours, days! Even without his hips grinding so maddeningly against mine, I was on the verge of coming just from the way he was making love to my mouth. And when he began pressing those fevered lips to my cheeks, my jaw, it was just as intoxicating.
When his hand finally slipped up under my T-shirt and caressed my skin, I thought I was going to come undone. I shuddered, a precursor to what was building deep inside, when his thumb passed over my nipple. I choked back a moan and arched my neck, granting him access to the curve of my throat, dying for him to explore every inch of me, place those hot kisses on my skin over and over again.