Had he isolated himself from the world so much that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of a woman touching his knee?
His body reacted as though it were a sexual overture. He wanted desperately to kiss her. To taste those full, pink lips. Press her back against the sofa. Lean his hard body into hers. There was just something about Sarah that constantly set him aflame.
But he seriously doubted she had meant it as such. The way she pressed his knee against hers felt almost like a hug.
If he were seated next to her, would she have embraced him?
“Thank you,” she said again.
An adequate response eluding him, he nodded and went back to digging for glass.
“Did healing my hand just now hurt you?” she queried.
“The wounds didn’t open on me,” he assured her. “That only happens when I’ve been weakened physically first and haven’t fed or if I try to heal mortal wounds.”
“But did it hurt you?”
He didn’t want to answer that. She was softhearted and—
“Roland?”
Persistent.
He sighed. “Only for a moment. But it was worth it.”
Her frown told him how much she disliked that. “Can all immortals heal with their hands?”
“No, whatever gifts we were born with—healing, precog-nition, telepathy, telekinesis—remain with us after the transformation. The older the immortal, the greater and more varied the gifts.”
“What can Marcus do?”
Roland grimaced, thinking of it. “Marcus’s gift is rather unsettling. He can see spirits.”
“Spirits as in ghosts?”
“Yes. And when I say he sees them, I mean he really sees them. It isn’t like those charlatans on television who claim your dead Aunt Esther is talking to them and says to tell you not to worry about the money.”
Sarah laughed.
“Marcus is the real deal. He sees dead people and it is neither cool nor comfortable.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at Marcus’s gift. I was laughing at your description of the fakers.”
He raised his head long enough to smile at her. “I know, Sarah.”
She smiled back.
“I should warn you, he’s a bit sensitive about it.” Extremely sensitive. “When Marcus was a boy, his stepfather thought he was mad and beat him nearly every day until Marcus was old enough to run away and squire for the Earl of Fosterly. He was careful after that never to reveal his ability, even when he met other gifted ones. It wasn’t until after he was transformed that he finally mentioned it, and then, reluctantly.”
“I can see why. Do you have any gifts in addition to the healing?”
“I have minor telekinetic abilities, but they’re weak enough that they aid me little in battle.”
“Telekinetic? That’s wild.”
Concentrating, Roland made one of the pillows beside her rise into the air without warning. Sarah jumped and stared at it with wide eyes. It hovered there for a heartbeat, then flew forward and gently bounced off her face.
Laughing, she caught it with her free hand and met his gaze.
“I couldn’t resist,” he confessed with a grin.
“Uh-huh.” She set the pillow aside. “Your telekinetic abilities don’t seem so weak to me.”
He shrugged. “It requires time to focus that I often lack when fighting vampires.” Roland set the tweezers aside. “I think that’s it.” He started to cover her palm with his free hand.
Sarah grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”
He raised his brows. “Don’t what?”
“Heal me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Roland stared at her. He had just spent a good half hour or more hurting her and she was worried about the few seconds of discomfort healing her cuts would cause him? If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have any cuts.
He waved away her concern. “I told you. The pain is fleeting.”
Her chin jutted forward. “Fleeting or not, I won’t let you do it.”
She wouldn’t let him? She, a five-foot-one-inch, ninety-five-pound mortal female, wouldn’t let him, a six-foot-two-inch immortal sporting two hundred pounds of muscle—
Oh, screw it. He had never been the bully type. If she didn’t want him to heal her, he wouldn’t force it. Damn it.
Roland let his gaze wander over her charmingly stubborn expression, then focused on those lush, pink lips.
Although … perhaps he wouldn’t have to force her. Perhaps there was another way.
She had been wreaking havoc on his thoughts and senses with her innocently provocative touches ever since he had met her. If he were to take a page from her book …
Without giving himself a chance to think about it or to point out that he was probably only using this as an excuse, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
Her breath caught at the tentative touch, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted in surprise.
Hell. This was a mistake.
She tasted as good as she looked. As good as she smelled. She was intoxicating, like a fine wine that went straight to Roland’s head. One sip wasn’t enough. He needed more and took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss.
When Roland’s tongue stroked her lower lip and delved inside to duel with her own, flames whipped through Sarah, searing her from her head to her toes. Her heart began to pound. Her whole body flushed.
Releasing his wrist, she cupped his face. The coarse stubble on his jaw abraded her palm as he tilted his head to heighten the contact, teasing, exploring, tantalizing.
The man kissed as though he had spent centuries learning everything there was to know about it. She had never been so turned on so quickly in her life!
When Roland leaned farther toward her, she met him halfway, scooting to the sofa’s edge, wanting to feel him against her.
He continued to devour her lips even as he began to stroke her fingers.
Sarah at first attributed the warmth that suffused her hand, then her forearm, to the burning desire Roland’s kiss was kindling. She felt his hand slide up her arm, curling around her elbow in a gentle caress, and delighted in his touch, wanting more … until awareness of what he was doing finally penetrated her hazy thoughts.
He was healing her!
Tearing her mouth from the heat of his, she looked down at the arm he was still fondling. Sure enough, the cuts had all healed.
Sarah glared at him, feeling absurdly hurt as she struggled to catch her breath. It had been a ploy? “You tricked me.”
Roland returned her stare blankly, his eyes all aglow.
That made her feel a little better. He had said they only did that when he was experiencing strong emotions.
Or sometimes pain. Maybe it wasn’t desire. Maybe it was a result of the pain healing her cuts had caused him.
“You tricked me!” she repeated, clinging tenaciously to her anger. “You knew I didn’t want you to heal me, so you kissed me to distract me, then healed me anyway.”
“I did?” He glanced down at her arm and slid his fingers across her newly mended skin, making it tingle.
“Don’t even bother trying to deny it.”
“I’m not denying it. I’m surprised it worked.” Then, in more of a mutter, he added, “Never in my life have I had such a hard time concentrating. I can’t believe I even remembered to heal you.”
Her anger evaporated.
He stilled … as though realizing he had said too much.
Satisfaction sifted through her. He had been as swept away by the kiss as she had.
His beautiful, iridescent eyes met hers.
A slow smile curled her lips. “Caught in your own web?”
“Very much so.”
She liked that he didn’t deny it. And her ego liked that he was attracted to her.
Unfortunately, he showed no such elation.
“You have that look about you again,” she told him.
“What look?”