“Now,” he said, prowling toward her, “let’s get those clothes off.”
Her pulse skittered wildly. “What?”
“The best thing we can do to stop the shaking is get you into a nice hot shower. You’ll feel much better once you’re warm and the remnants of the day are washed away.”
Sarah had no idea what he had just said. She couldn’t concentrate when he was staring at her with those incandescent eyes. Especially since he was pulling his ragged T-shirt over his head while he spoke. Beneath lay bloodstained muscles that rippled and flexed as he tossed the material aside. There were no signs of any wounds. Only pure perfection.
“What am I supposed to be doing again?” she asked absently.
“Taking your clothes off and enjoying a steamy shower.”
“And your plans are?”
He smiled and reached for the hem of her shirt. “To enjoy it with you.”
Sarah let him pull her shirt over her head, her tongue inconveniently tied.
“Seth wouldn’t have brought us here if he didn’t think it was safe,” he went on. “But until I double-check the security myself, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
She nodded. That worked for her.
“Don’t worry.” His face softened, though his eyes still glowed. “I’ll respect your No Sex with Strangers rule and keep my pants on. You, however”—a teasing glint entered his eyes—“should feel free to take off as much as you want.”
Even covered with blood, he tempted her.
She had told him she didn’t have sex with men she had just met, men she didn’t really know, but … when Sarah took into account what she did know about Roland, were the things she didn’t really that important? So she didn’t know his favorite color or his favorite ice cream flavor. No, wait. Actually she did know those. His favorite color was green and he liked banana nut soy cream, one of her own personal favorites. She didn’t know his favorite movie or what kind of music he preferred, what his favorite television show was.
But she knew he was honorable, that he had spent every night for nearly a thousand years defending and protecting humans like herself from those who preyed upon them, suffering untold injuries in the process, then turning around and doing it all over again the next night. She knew he placed her safety above his own and wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life in order to save hers. She knew he had willingly drawn her pain and injuries into himself to ease her discomfort and would do so again.
He had been nothing but kind to her since the moment they had met. He was patient with crazy kitties. He was very loyal to his friends and clearly felt affection for them, though he hid it behind a gruff facade when in their presence.
She knew his troubled past, some of it anyway, and suspected he was as leery of surrendering himself to another as she was. Yet he was capable of such tenderness, such passion, as she had learned firsthand last night. Just thinking about it made her body clench.
That little practical voice that usually stayed her when tempted instead taunted her by pointing out that, since he was immortal, she didn’t have to worry about STDs. And this was a safe time in her cycle, which meant no pregnancy fears either.
What the hell was she waiting for?
Sarah smiled and unbuttoned the waist of her jeans.
She knew she felt as comfortable with Roland as she would with an old friend. And more drawn to him than she had ever been to another.
His gaze dropped to her hands.
She knew he wouldn’t touch her if she didn’t want him to, even with an erection already straining against the front of his slacks.
He watched every movement avidly as she slid the zipper down, then peeled the jeans down her legs and stepped out of them.
And she knew she wanted him to touch her. Needed it. Almost desperately.
“Roland,” she said, reaching around behind her and unhooking her bra.
“Hmm?” His hands curled into fists at his sides as the black lace fell away.
“You aren’t a stranger.”
* * *
Roland stared at her, pulse racing. He wasn’t a stranger? “Are you saying …?”
“I’m saying take your pants off. The sooner we wash this blood off, the sooner you can do to me all of those things I can see you’re thinking about doing.”
Oh shit.
His pants were on the floor before she drew her next breath.
Sarah jumped at his super-quick movement, then laughed.
He grinned, shrugging sheepishly, then felt compelled to caution her. “This could be a reaction to the violence and having come so close to getting killed, Sarah.” He had experienced such a reaction himself a time or two before he had been transformed—that need for a physical reaffirmation of life after coming so close to death.
“I know. I don’t think it is. But if I’m wrong, I don’t care. I just want your hands on me. Everywhere. As soon as possible.”
“I can do that,” he murmured, stepping closer.
She raised her face to his for a kiss, eyes twinkling. “I know you can. But do you want to?”
Placing his hands on her hips, he brushed his lips against hers. “You already know the answer to that.”
Roland teased her with his tongue, grazing her lower lip, then gliding within. Withdrawing. Sliding within. Withdrawing. She tasted so good.
Moaning, she rose onto her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned her nearly bare body into his. Her soft, full breasts came to rest against his chest. His cock, no longer restrained by his pants, was trapped against her flat belly.
It was torture. Wonderful, exquisite torture. Because he wanted to bury himself inside her and couldn’t. Not yet.
Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her black panties, he tore himself away from her lips long enough to slide the small scrap of material down her body to the floor. She made a light sound of protest at his retreat, then rested a hand on his shoulder as she liberated one foot and used the other to kick the panties away.
When he looked up, his face was nearly on a level with the triangle of dark curls he had touched through her jeans the night before. He wanted to lean forward, kiss her there. Lick her. Stroke her. He glanced up, saw her staring down at him, seeming to read every thought as it occurred to him.
“Maybe we can forgo the shower,” she whispered. Shifting the hand on his shoulder, she moved it up to tunnel through his hair, grip a fistful, and give it a light tug.
Excitement shot through him.
Oh yeah. This was going to be good. This was going to be so fucking good.
But as he rose, preparing to pounce and please her in a hundred different ways, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind her. Unlike Sarah, who only had blood on her face, hands, and a little bit of her chest, he was covered in the crimson liquid. He had been shot a dozen times or more, had bled copiously, and had been spattered with the blood of his opponents as well. There was scarcely an inch of skin left clean. It even dampened his hair.
He couldn’t come to her like this.
She glanced over her shoulder, caught his reflection in the mirror, and turned back, eyes questioning.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I wasn’t either.” She looked at the steaming shower, then back at him, lips quirking. “Wanna race?”
He grinned. “I’ll wash you if you’ll wash me.”
“Deal.”
Laughing, they stepped into the shower and closed the door. Steam swirled around them, brushing their skin with spectral fingers. Sarah closed her eyes, ducked under the water, scrubbed her face, then gave the spray her back.