A growl, more like the rumbling purr a leopard might make, arose deep in his throat.
Her pulse spiked.
Bastien braced his hands on the edge of the exam table, gripping it tightly.
“What are you doing, Dr. Lipton?” he asked hoarsely.
“Melanie,” she corrected, heart pounding so hard she was sure Cliff and Joe must hear it in their apartments across the hall.
“What are you doing, Melanie?”
She repeated the action. “Whatever feels good,” she whispered.
That drew a groan from him. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on her shoulder.
She waited for him to turn his head and nuzzle her neck, maybe take a little bite. But he didn’t. He increased the pressure of his forehead on her shoulder, pressed her back the tiniest bit, the battle raging within him palpable.
“I need you to not do that,” he said, voice low.
“Why?”
“Because every time you touch me I feel how much you want me and it makes me want you even more.”
Her blood heated. “I don’t have a problem with that,” she murmured.
Bastien groaned and did turn his head, then pressed his lips to her throat. “You should.” He lifted his head, stared at her with those incredible, luminescent eyes. So bright. So beautiful. So full of desire.
Mere inches separated them.
He raised one hand, cupped her cheek, smoothed his thumb across her skin.
Melanie had never wanted a man to kiss her more.
He shifted, leaned closer, touched his lips to hers.
Her breath caught.
“I can feel everything you feel,” he whispered.
“Is that the only reason you’re kissing me?”
His head moved from side to side in a barely discernible shake. “You don’t know how much I wish it were.” His lips again closed on hers, firmer, hungrier.
Melanie hummed in pleasure as fire licked its way through her veins. His tongue met hers, stroked, enticed. So hot she thought she might melt onto the table.
Abruptly, he broke the contact and again braced both hands on the table, rested his forehead on her shoulder.
“We can’t do this,” he said gruffly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my long life, Melanie. A lot. And, knowing me, I’ll make many more. I don’t want you to be one of them.”
“What makes you think I’d be a mistake?” She couldn’t change his mind if she didn’t know his train of thought.
He straightened suddenly, shoulders stiff, eyes lowered, though not enough that she couldn’t still see their glow. Bastien may do his damnedest to appear cold and indifferent, but his eyes reflected the strong emotions that whipped through him.
“I won’t do this.” He spoke not another word as he finished cleaning and dressing her wound.
Melanie was impressed by the quality of his work. “You’re good.” She tested the dressing. “Have you studied medicine?”
“Formally, no,” he answered, tossing the discarded makeshift bandage and other trash into the can marked hazardous waste. “But I long ago grew tired of butchering myself every time I had to remove chunks of lead, shards of glass, blades long and short, and once, a wooden stake nearly the width of your wrist. So I purchased a library full of medical textbooks that have helped me improve my first aid skills.”
“Did you understand what Montrose Keegan was doing then? His research?”
“Some. In the beginning, I read all of his notes and paid close attention to his experiments. But destroying Roland and maintaining control of an army of men who were rapidly losing their grips on reality was . . .”
“A full-time job?”
“Yes. How do you feel? Do you require pain medication?”
“For this?” she scoffed. “No.”
When she had first begun her training, she had been so freaking sore all over that she had walked like a century-old human. Hunched over. Bitching and moaning with every step she took. (The last part wasn’t necessarily characteristic of an old woman. But for some reason it had helped her to complain about it.)
She had taken no pain relievers for it though. Her trainers had emphasized the importance of becoming accustomed to pain so that if she ever engaged in battle, the pain of any wounds she might incur wouldn’t totally freak her out.
Mission accomplished. She thought she had held her own rather well tonight.
“By the way, are the vampires you hunt usually so chatty?” she asked.
He laughed, some of the tension in his body easing. “No. Many are boastful or make scathing comments until I strike the first blow. Stuart was something of a surprise. He must be like Cliff. The madness must be progressing more slowly in him, otherwise he would have run off or stayed and fought without listening to a word we said.”
“I hope he can be trusted.”
“I do, too.”
“I guess we’ll find out in three nights. Can I go with you to meet him?”
“Hell, no! It could be a trap.”
“All the more reason to have an extra set of hands—”
“Not gonna happen.”
She could see he wouldn’t budge. “Fine. At least call me and let me know you’re on the way to meet him in case it is an ambush.”
The tension in his face eased. “That I can do. Now, I’d like to go ahead and speak with Cliff before Richart returns so I’ll bid you good night.”
Melanie stared up at him. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into kissing me good night, could I?”
She thought he would refuse. So, when he cupped her face in his large hands, ducked his head, and captured her lips in a fiery hot, tongue-tangling kiss . . .
Well, she lost the ability to think and speak coherently and could only feel.
His eyes blazed brightly when he raised his head. “Good night, Melanie.”
He was through the door before she could find her voice.
Melanie was still thinking about that kiss three nights later while she was supposed to be focusing on the results of Joe’s latest MRI. Though the lab boasted no windows, she knew by the clock that the sun had just set. Bastien would be rising and preparing for the night’s hunt.
Was he still thinking about the kiss, too? Did he regret it? Because she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.
“Hello.” As though her thoughts had conjured him, he spoke behind her.
Breath catching, she whipped around. “Hi.” His black cargo pants, long-sleeved T-shirt, and coat were clean and outlined his tall, handsome form to perfection. Beside him, Richart nodded to her, then disappeared.
Neither she nor Bastien spoke for a long moment as his gaze roved her like a pair of hands.
“So,” she said when he made no move to give her a hello kiss, “tonight’s the night, huh? You’re meeting with Stuart later?”
He nodded. “I thought I’d come see Cliff first.”
Cliff. Not her. She would’ve been more disappointed if his eyes weren’t glowing faintly with desire.
“Of course.” Melanie slid off her stool and led Bastien not to Cliff ’s apartment, but to her office. Swiping the key card in her pocket, she typed in her personal security code, waited for the beep, and opened the door. “Just a minute.” Grabbing the white lab coat draped over her office chair, she slid her right arm into the appropriate sleeve.
Bastien stepped up behind her, took the coat, and held it for her while she donned it. His hands lingered on her shoulders.
“That isn’t fair,” she whispered, heart racing. He could feel her every emotion, while she remained in the dark.
“I missed you, too,” he admitted. “And want nothing more than to pull you into my arms and see if you taste as good as I remember.”