Home > Sex and the Single Vamp(13)

Sex and the Single Vamp(13)
Author: Robin Covington

God, but she wanted a tomorrow with this man. She’d never been crazy enough to deny the attraction or to rewrite their history. He was her first love, the one that got away, and no matter how many lovers she had or the places she lived or the things she did—he would always be that guy. The challenge was training her heart to accept the man he was now and not long for the rose-colored version she’d concocted in her fifteen-year-old brain when they’d first met and he’d captured her attention. Deacon was open in his disbelief in love and forever, and she was a card-carrying, charter member of the hearts and flowers hopeless romantic club.

Whatever this became, it wouldn’t be easy.

“I would have chosen you if I had known,” she whispered into the gloom of the room, unsure if he slept.

“I know.” His sleepy reply didn’t match the decisive way he tightened his grip on her, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. “We can’t change the past. You’re in my bed. That’s all I want to focus on right now.”


“Cici, it took us over two hundred years to sort this shit out enough to f**k each other. Let’s get the killer out of the way before we deal with whatever else is going on between us.”

It wasn’t flowers or a ring in a box but it was something. A new beginning. A chance. She’d take it.

“I’ll stay. For now.”

“Thank God. I’m too f**king beat to fight with you about it.” He snuggled in closer, the rigid length of his c*ck sliding along her ass. “You can keep the beast calm.”

“That’s impossible.” She laughed as she wriggled against him and he moaned in delight. Her own body was responding to his touch, fatigue washing away with the heat of arousal spreading along her skin.

“Maybe. But it will be fun to try.” He wedged a knee between her legs, making room for him to shift forward, his dick nudging her entrance, sliding easily through the hot lube drenching her folds.

“I have a thing tonight. For my business,” she gasped as he entered her in one solid push. He was big and she was deliciously full of him, surrounded by his heat in their cocoon of covers. “At the British Embassy.”

“No problem,” he groaned in her hair as his h*ps kept up the languid pace. “But you aren’t going unless I go with you.”

“It’s invite only.”

He laughed, low and deep, as he withdrew from her body and rolled her over, covering her body as he slid in deep again. Deacon leaned down, taking her mouth in a kiss that left her aching, pulsing around him as he began the slow pace that would lead to either insanity or bliss.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”

She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the party or the orgasm building in her body or both. Right now, she was good with either one.

Chapter Twelve

Deacon was a Duke.

Cici stood next to him in the receiving line at the British Embassy, unable to form a sentence in any of the eight languages she spoke fluently.

Her hosts, Ambassador Gareth Richman and his wife, Serena, were currently fawning over Deacon as the people waiting behind them craned their necks to see what the hold-up was.

And he was quite a tantalizing roadblock.

He wore his custom-made tuxedo like a second skin, the silk fabric fitted perfectly to his large, muscular body like a jealous lover. His glossy black hair was loose, the rough tousled mane and his feral grin reminding everyone that while he might look like the gentleman, underneath there was a beast dying to get out and wreak havoc. She shivered, tingles cruising along her spine as she remembered just how good havoc could feel.

“Your Grace,” Serena Richman said with an indulgent smile. “If you had told us you were coming, we would have had you to supper beforehand.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I didn’t know I was coming until just today.” He reached out and wrapped an arm around Cici’s waist, drawing her close and casting a heated look down at her as he answered. “I didn’t know until early this morning actually.”

The heat rose in Cici’s cheeks and she knew the skin of her cheeks and across the tops of her br**sts was turning pink; she was reacting viscerally to his suggestive reference. If the Richmans had any question about whose bed she was in last night, they now had no doubt.

“Oh. Oh!” Serena gushed, reaching out to pull Cici into a fierce hug. “Cici, I had no idea you and the Duke were…when did this happen? You’ve been holding out on me.” She pulled back, but maintained a firm hold on her arms as her face broke into an even more excited grin. “Oh my God! Are you two getting married? You would be a duchess!”

Whoa. Cici reeled back, only Deacon’s hold on her waist keeping her from toppling over on her three-inch platform shoes.

“Serena, you know Deacon isn’t a marrying type,” Gareth said, his expression apologetic.

“That’s just with humans. Cici’s a vampire, too. No problem,” Serena said.

“Umm…” Again her command of several languages failed her as she struggled with her response. One night in his bed had not changed Deacon in essentials, and he’d never uttered one word about a future. It was still the original deal: find the killer and then it was done.

She was a sap and grateful when Deacon took over the awkward turn of the conversation. Her mouth couldn’t be trusted.

“When I find my Duchess, you’ll be the first to know, Serena.” He leaned down to kiss the woman’s cheek and made their good-byes after agreeing to a night of poker with Gareth in the near future.

Cici let him lead her through the crowd and she shook off enough of the surreal haze her life had become to nod to people and exchange smiles and a few words. Some were clients and all were future clients. She was supposed to be at this party to network, an opportunity provided by Gareth and Serena, one of her earliest matchmaking successes. Were-shifter Gareth was crazy about his human wife and vice versa.

Deacon had spent a good portion of his afternoon hacking into the embassy computer and reviewing the security measures for the party while Andy checked the guest list. He’d compromised with her to allow Your Other Half to remain open, with Mya manning the office. She’d been even more surprised when he’d so readily agreed to her attending the event, but he explained she had to be out and accessible if they were going to draw her attacker out and provoke him into exposing himself.

She still wasn’t thrilled about being the bait, but if it brought this nightmare to an end, then she could endure it, especially with Deacon by her side.

“You know, most women would jump at the chance to be a duchess.” Deacon’s deep voice rumbled in her ear, his lips brushing the tender skin of the lobe.

“Well, I would have had to have known you were a Duke to try and trap you for a title.” She pulled back and gave him a pinch to his side. “Did it occur to you to clue me in before we got here?”

“Yes, it did, but I like to surprise you. Your reactions are priceless,” he said, completely unapologetic.

“I looked stupid back there.”

“You looked beautiful, sexy enough to make me want to drag you back to my place.”

Oh, she wanted that, too. She leaned into him, letting him brush her mouth with a kiss that ended on a sigh from her and a muttered curse from him.

He pulled her the few steps onto the dance floor and swirled her out before pulling her in against his chest. She laughed, the unexpected discovery that he had this talent making her a little giddy. He was just one big surprise tonight.

“I didn’t know you liked to dance,” she said.

“I don’t. It gives me an excuse to hold you close without getting disapproving looks. These people are so…British.” He moved them among other couples, deftly maneuvering them closer and closer to the wall of glass double doors that led to a balcony. The balcony doors were open to let in the cooler air of early fall. “And holding you close covers up my boner.”

She pinched him again, her fingers twisting his skin as well as the cool silk of his shirt.

“Ouch.” He tugged her even closer, his grip preventing any more assaults on her part. “It’s your fault for looking damn gorgeous. You blow my mind, and now that I know what’s underneath that dress…well, these pants aren’t made to conceal that kind of reaction.”

Cici shook her head, unsure what to say. She got back to their prior discussion. She’d heard bits and pieces in the past, but after so much time she wasn’t sure how much was true and how much she’d invented to fill in gaps. “So how did the whole duke thing happen?”

“I’m the second son of the eighth Duke of Northam and I came to America as a soldier to make my own fortune.” He twisted his mouth in a grimace as he recalled his story. “It was either that or become a clergyman. My father and I both agreed that was not the profession for me.”

“So the beast wasn’t calm even when you were human?”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest rubbing the rock-hard expanse of him against her ni**les. She wore no bra underneath the silk corset top, and the sweet abrasion caused her skin to tingle in all her deliciously erotic places. Maybe they should cut this evening short and head back to his place with the huge bed above the city.

“You know that the Turning only makes you more you,” he murmured against her neck, just below her ear, as he pulled her lower half flush against his own. Layers of clothes could not dampen the heat of his body or her reaction to it. “I would have still wanted to f**k you until we both collapsed when I was human.”

“Deacon,” she whispered against the warm skin of his neck where his unique smell mixed with soap, aftershave, and the fragrance of fresh linen to create an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

“Too much, sweetheart?”

“Never.” She kept her eyes averted, unwilling to let him see just how deeply she meant it. She needed to keep her head in this game; her heart would take leaps without looking, but the territory beyond the boundaries of sharing their bodies was an unknown land. She couldn’t be certain whether Deacon was the knight in shining armor or the dragon. “So, you came to America?”

“Yes, and five years after landing on this shore, I was turned by a half French/half Algonquin I met in what is now Canada. I couldn’t go home. Ship travel was too dangerous for our kind, so I never saw my family again.”

“And they thought you were dead?”

“According to the empty tomb at Northam Castle, yes.”

“Wait. You have a castle?” She didn’t bother to hide the delight in her voice at this piece of news. “A real life castle?”

“An oversize, impossible-to-heat monstrosity just outside Oxford.”

“I bet it’s wonderful.”

He leaned down, pressing his cheek against hers as he twirled them around. “You’ll have to visit it with me.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered back.

“Yeah, me too.” Deacon spun her out with one hand, tugging her back to him as the song ended. “The line died out and the title lay dormant for years until we were able to live openly. So that is how I became a Duke, and apparently many women would love to become a Duchess.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Yes, but they would have to be your duchess.”

“And the problem with that is?”

“You don’t fool me with all this civilized clothing and perfect manners.” She reached up and tweaked his lapel, pulling him close for a quick kiss on his lips. “You are a hot mess and a handful for whoever ends up with you.”

Deacon wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close, his mouth twitching with his amusement. “I think you could handle me just fine. You might be the only one who can.” His expression became serious. “I need to know what this is between us. When all this is over I want to take you to my castle, a place where we can hide away and figure this out.”

“Have you changed your mind about relationships for our kind? You still own Sanctuary. You still oppose the mixing of humans and Others, right?”

“Yes, I do. But I think I might have changed my mind about you.”

Cici stared back at him, mesmerized by the low flare of bronze in his eyes. This was a conversation that rivaled the best scriptwriters in Hollywood, but his meaning of “figuring it out” might be very different from her own. If she let herself go too far down the path of her fantasy it would come back to bite her in the ass. She was a hopeless romantic who flirted with the idea of falling, but in the end could never take the leap because eternity was a long time to spend with one person.

Deacon made her think that maybe it might not be long enough.

“Too much?” Deacon traced her cheek with a fingertip, a move so tender it caused her eyes to blur as they misted over with her emotion.

She opened her mouth to reply that it sounded wonderful when a blond woman approached them. She was tall, midsixties, with warm eyes and a smile that automatically prompted your own mouth to curve into an answering grin.

“Ms. Trent?” she asked as she held out her hand in greeting.

Cici extended her own and cast a questioning look at Deacon. He shook his head—he didn’t know her, either. He turned away slightly, speaking in a low voice to Andy on the other end of the communications mic pinned to his lapel. “I am Cici Trent. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t, but I’ve heard so much about the success of your business.” The woman extended her other hand and encased Cici’s in a double grip. Her skin was soft, cool to the touch, and her nails were perfectly manicured. “I’m Beatrice Park.”

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