Bound to Shadows

Chapter Seven

The shit, as Jack had so aptly put it, really did look nasty.

I parked half a street away from Dante's, but even so, as I climbed out of the car, the noise hit me. It was voices and anger and nastiness all rolled into one, and I hoped like hell they had more than one cop down there. Cole and his team might be able to protect themselves, but they shouldn't have to. They were only doing their job.

As was I.

But that didn't stop some fool lobbing a full can of beer straight at my head as the cops hastily cleared a way through the thirty-strong crowd for me. I caught it with one hand and met the gaze of the drunken fool who'd thrown it. His blue eyes were full of anger, his expression daring me to throw the can back. I raised it, but crushed it one handed instead—length wise, not through the middle. His eyes widened a little. Obviously he hadn't thought a woman could be that strong. The cops opened the barriers to let me through and I walked across to the three figures huddled around a small, somewhat forlorn looking body.

Cole looked up as I joined them. There were shadows under his eyes, and I very much doubted they were from spending time with his new lady love. "It's not a vampire kill."

"What? But Jack said—"

"Yeah, I know. It was reported as that, but its not." He reached out and shifted the dead man's neck, revealing two neat holes.

"It sure as hell looks like a bite to me." I hesitated, and leaned closer. "Except that there's no redness, and no skin reaction."

"Exactly," Cole said heavily. "This is an imitation. A damn fine one, but an imitation all the same."

I squatted down beside him. "Meaning we'll find another wound somewhere on the body."

"Probably. We can't be sure until we get him back for an autopsy."

I studied the frail old man for a moment, wondering if he'd been selected simply because the sight of him would garner more anger and sympathy than someone in his prime. My gaze came to rest on his left leg. A faint hint of blood rode the air, and there seemed to be something bulky wrapped around the upper part of his thigh under his pants. I was betting on a bandage. "Strip him here."

Cole looked at me like I was mad. "The crowd is going to love that."

"The crowd is the reason I'm suggesting it. Do it."

Cole shared a look with both Dusty and Dobbs, then nodded abruptly. As they started stripping him, I rose and stalked over to the mob. They weren't pressing against the barricades just yet, but they were hurling abuse and litter at the cops who stood behind it. It wouldn't take much for this whole situation to explode.

"You, you and you," I said, pointing to three of the men who appeared to be the ringleaders of this nasty little crowd. "Get over here."

They pushed forward belligerently—big, handsome men with an ugly attitude.

"What?" the middle one said. He was the tallest of them by about three inches, and towered over me by a good five.

"You think vampires did this?"

"We know it. Like we told those men over there, we saw the car. It was a vamp car."

Meaning the windows had been fully shielded against sunlight. "And you know for certain that it was a vamp either driving or being driven in it?"

He frowned. "Who else would fucking drive one of those things?"

"I see." I stepped forward, grabbed him by the shirt, thrust my other hand on his crotch, and none too elegantly hauled him up and over the barrier. He wasn't a small man and it was a huge effort, but it had the desired effect. The crowd fell silent.

"You two," I said, dumping the stranger back on his feet and pointing to his two friends, "Join us."

They did. Fast.

With my grip still on the big man's shirt, I dragged him over towards the body. The other two followed without being asked.

Cole and his team had stripped the body and were in the process of unraveling the bandage as we arrived.

"What the fuck?" the big man said, his face an angry red. I couldn't actually tell if it was anger over my treatment of him, or anger at being dragged so close to a corpse. Some people were funny about things like that. "We don't need to see this."

"Ah, but you do, because we don't need your sort spreading untrue rumors."

I hauled him to a stop as Cole pulled the final bit of bandage free. The wound on the old man's leg was obvious—a clean, crisp stroke that sliced from the top of his thigh to down near his knee. The wound split as Cole moved the old man's leg, revealing the layers of fat and muscle and then bone. There were small clots inside the wound, and the skin had a slightly darkened appearance, as if someone had hastily washed the area.

"What do you think that is?" I said to the man.

"A knife wound," he muttered.

"A knife wound that sliced through major arteries and would have caused him to bleed to death," I retorted. "Now, I can't imagine a vampire wasting blood like that. Can you?"

"Maybe whoever did it wanted us to think it wasn't a vampire," one of the men behind him said, his voice belligerent.

I released the tall man and grabbed his buddy. He squawked as I yanked him forward, moving around the body until we stood near his head. Cole obligingly moved the dead man's neck so that the bite was more evident. I could feel the waves of amusement coming from him, yet you'd never know it from his expression. Dusty and Dobbs were studiously avoiding looking at anyone.

"Do they look like real vampire bites to you?"

"I don't know," he muttered, his gray eyes darting between the body and the crowd, as if he couldn't bear looking at the old man for more than a second. "I'm no expert on vampire bites."

"Well, these men are. Do you care to hear what they say, or are you merely interested in stirring up unfounded trouble?"

"I don't want no trouble. None of us do."

"Sure as hell could have fooled me." The crowd behind us was still very silent. "Cole?"

Cole cleared his throat, a brief twitch of his lips the only indicator of the amusement I could still feel. "When a vampire bites into flesh, analgesic elements in their saliva reacts with the skin, causing a swelling around the wound. On the dead, this swelling does not abate. These wounds were very likely punched into the skin by a thick needle or the end of a knife. An autopsy will provide the answer either way."

"Meaning," I said, giving the man a bit of a shake, "that someone wanted idiots like you to think this man was killed by a vampire."

"Well, we weren't to know he wasn't," the bigger man whined belligerently.

His voice was loud, carrying easily, and a murmur went through the crowd. The tension and anger, which had already begun to dissipate, subsided still further.

"Which is why it's always dangerous to jump to conclusions," I said. "Now, why don't you all leave, before I decide to arrest your asses?"

"What?" someone said. "You can't do that!"

Which was true enough. I couldn't, because they were all human, and the rules that applied to nonhumans certainly didn't apply to them. But they obviously weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, so a little twisting of the truth wasn't going to hurt. Not if it got them to restrain themselves the next time they saw a body being dumped in the street.

"The Directorate has a whole lot more power than the police, and you three were inciting violence against both the police and Directorate personnel. Consider yourselves damn lucky I'm feeling generous today."

They slunk off. By the time they'd gotten over the barriers, the crowd had begun to disperse. I blew out a relieved breath.

"That was very well done," Cole said softly, giving me a grin that reached his cool blue eyes. "Even if a lot of it could be considered stretching the truth."

"Hey, better that than getting your head kicked in by an aggrieved crowd."

"Too right," Dusty muttered, then gave me a smile and a wink. He had a nice smile on the rare occasions that he flashed it. "Although the heads getting kicked in would be theirs, not ours, and the boss hates that."

I grinned and glanced at my watch. It was nearly eleven thirty, which meant if I didn't get my butt into gear, I'd be late for my meeting with Kye.

I refused to call it a date. Not when he was basically blackmailing me to be there.

I glanced at Cole. "Could you send me the details of the car once it's traced? I'm betting it's stolen, but Jack will still want me to follow it up."

He nodded. "I sent the details into headquarters, so it shouldn't take long."

"Thanks."

He nodded and got back to work. I rose and walked back to my car. Time to head home and get changed, because jeans and a top would never be classed as 'something nice'. Although I refused to wear something sexy, because the damn man didn't deserve that, either.

Of course, finding something that could be classed as nice without being overtly sexy was another matter entirely. I was a werewolf. Sexy was my thing.

In the end I chose a very basic floral sundress, and teamed it with a black leather belt, which nicely matched the black and white print. Classy and neat, even if the floral print was last year's style. Not that Kye would care.

So why did I?

I grimaced at my own fussiness and, ignoring a small tremor of excitement, grabbed a change of clothes, then headed out.

Franklin's turned out to be at the top end of La Trobe Street, just down from Exhibition. It was a pretty, blue two story building with lots of lovely fretwork and arched windows. The glass was mirrored, suggesting it was one way, and there was very little signage out front—which left me wondering what sort of restaurant this place was, beyond the fact that it was obviously one that didn't want to be easily found.

I parked in one of the spots down the road then walked down, my heels clicking quickly against the concrete—a rhythm that matched my pulse.

There was no handle on the double doors out front, just a discrete buzzer. That had wariness flaring.

It was very tempting to just turn around and walk away, but I didn't trust Kye not to follow through with his threat.

Besides, part of me wanted to know what this place was. A dark and utterly stupid part.

I pressed the buzzer lightly and a moment later, a sultry female voice said, "Franklin's. How may we help you?"

"Riley Jenson. I have an appointment with Kye Murphy."

"Ah yes, Mr. Murphy has been waiting for you. Please come in."

The door softly clicked open, and I went through into a small foyer that was all dark marble and gold fittings. A small desk sat to the right, and a plush gold sofa and several potted plants to the left. The petite blonde behind the desk gave me a warm smile.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Jenson," she said, and waved an elegant hand to another door. "If you'll just go through there, Christine will show you to your table."

I did as bid, but the second I went through that other door, I knew this place wasn't just a restaurant.

The soft music that caressed the air was sensual and erotic—a melody designed to relax and seduce the senses. The air was as heated as the music and rich with the scent of lust and sex and rich, spicy food. Despite my misgivings, I breathed deep, allowing the ambiance to soak through my pores, right into my very bones. An answering tremor of excitement coursed through me.

Franklins was a wolf club—a very discrete wolf club. One that obviously only catered to certain levels of clientele. Certainly I'd never heard of them before, but I guess that was no surprise because they weren't targeting the likes of me. It was surprising they allowed the likes of Kye, but I guess he could probably afford whatever this place cost. He was one of the top hit men in the country, after all.

The door swung shut behind me, and another petite blonde appeared. "Riley Jenson?"

I nodded, my gaze roaming past her, studying the dark wine walls. No cameras, no deadeners, nothing security related that I could see, but I imagined it would all be there. If this place was catering to upper class clientele, they couldn't afford not to be careful.

The blonde gave me smile that lit up her brown eyes. A woman who enjoyed her job, obviously. "Mr. Murphy awaits you in the green room. This way, please."

She escorted me down a long hallway that was all pale gold and green. It wasn't trying to be sexy, just warm and welcoming, and in that it succeeded. There were doors to the left and the right, and the scents coming from them were a mix of food, alcohol and lust. But not sex. That scent seemed to be drifting down from above, though I could hear no noise that suggested mating. They obviously had good soundproofing.

The blonde stopped at the second last door to the right, just before a sweeping gold and glass staircase. As she swiped a card through the reader slot, I leaned forward and looked up the stairs. Two oversize doors waited at the top. A grand entrance to a grand dance floor, perhaps.

"There you are, Ms. Jenson."

I gave her a somewhat tense smile and walked in. The room was on the small side, but lushly furnished. The walls were a rich, dark cream, and covered on three sides with oil paintings that depicted various forest scenes in which naked people ran about. The fourth was covered by green velvet curtains, and in front of it sat a leather sofa so well padded it looked as if it would envelop you once you sat down. A black table dominated the rest of the room, the chairs well padded and the same rich green as the curtains and the sofa. The far end had been set for two, although the table looked able to seat at least eight.

Kye was leaning against a mantle, although the fire itself wasn't lit. Which was just as well, given the warmth in the room. But the air was nothing compared to the heat that flashed between us when his gaze met mine. It hit like a punch to the gut and I stopped, momentarily breathless.

He looked good. So good. His black pants fit his long, strong legs superbly and made the most of his well toned butt. His shirt was roughly rolled up at the sleeves, revealed his muscular arms. The color was dark green, and contrasted richly against the gold of his eyes, making them seem even brighter.

Or maybe that was just the heat in them. The desire.

His gaze swept my body—a caress that left me hot and sweating. I clenched my hands, digging my fingernails into my palm, using the sharp sting as a buffer against need.

I didn't want to want this man, but fate had taken that choice from me. But I'd be damned if I'd step into his arms without a fight.

"Why the pretence of a meal, Kye? Why not just save some money and attempt this seduction at one of the regular clubs?"

"Because I rarely go anywhere public these days. In my line of business, that can be dangerous."

"Meaning there's a contract out on your head?"

"Not yet, but I don't believe in taking chances."

"Then use a disguise. You're well versed in the art." I walked across to the table, poured myself a wine, then added a little acidly, "Actually, you're pretty damn good at lying, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "And why would you say that?"

"Because it's true." I took a sip of the wine and almost sighed in pleasure at the sweet taste. Brown Brothers really did make a decent white.

Though I really didn't want to know whether he'd known it was one of my favorites.

"It may be true, but I'm curious as to why you've suddenly mentioned it now."

"Because you lied to me about your discussion with Mandy Jones."

He smiled. The heat of it burned deep inside of me. "I asked her to report the dead vampire simply because, if I'd reported it, you wouldn't have come."

"It could have been any guardian who was sent there."

"Then I would have missed out on seeing your sweet face, wouldn't I?"

I snorted softly. "Cut the crap, Kye." I grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it out to sit down. "What do you want?"

"You."

"You can't have me."

He merely smiled, and this time there was nothing sensual or heated about it. A shiver crawled across my skin.

It didn't abate the need, though. Far from it. My wolf was entranced and she wanted him—heat, ice, danger and all.

"You would do well to remember, Riley—" his voice was soft and without inflection. The wolf at his deadliest—"that you have people you care about and I do not. I will get what I want, one way or another."

"You hurt anyone I love, and I will kill you."

"No, you won't. You couldn't even shoot that baby vampire." His expression was mocking. "Besides, you love life too much to ever shoot your soul mate."

Yeah, I loved life, but if he hurt Rhoan or Liander or Quinn, then I would shoot the bastard and worry about surviving the effects afterward. That he didn't know that showed how little he really understood me.

"I will have you," he added softly.

Why was the question that surged my lips, but I didn't give it voice because I very much suspected I already knew the answer.

It was the challenge I represented. Nothing more, nothing less.

Which meant that maybe my best option would be to give in to this heat and hope that once he'd gotten what he wanted, he'd leave me in peace.

Of course, giving in might just cause additional problems, and I didn't really need that right now.

"You may get me physically. I certainly can't deny the burn is there." I studied him for a moment, noting the lazy half smile teasing his lips, the determined glint in his eyes. And I suddenly realized the challenge I represented went even deeper than I'd realized.

"But you don't just want my body, do you, Kye?" I added slowly. "You want the complete package. You want what I'm giving Quinn."

He didn't say anything, but I knew I'd guessed right. I gave him a smile that held a nasty edge. "I'm telling you now, no matter what you do, you won't ever have that. You may have my soul, but that's all you'll ever get."

Anger flared briefly in his eyes, but was just as quickly gone. Control was this man's forte, and he wasn't about to lose it over a well aimed barb. He pushed away from the mantle and strolled over to the table. I shifted as he sat, crossing my legs and pointing them away from him so that there was no danger of our knees meeting. I wasn't sure my hormones could stand such a touch, however light or accidental.

But he was close enough that his delicious scent and the heat of his body swirled around me, teasing my senses and making my pulse race. I took a large gulp of the wine. It didn't do anything to help lessen the fires.

"I thought you might be hungry after your efforts outside Dante's this morning, so I've already ordered lunch," he said conversationally. "I do hope you like roast lamb."

I leaned back in my chair and wondered who he'd been talking to. Two of my favorite things appearing on the menu was one coincidence too many. "Why were you at Dante's this morning?"

He gave me a smile that was all sharkish charm. "Following a lead."

"Yeah, and tomorrow armies across the world will throw down their arms and live in peace."

"Let's hope not. If everyone lived in peace, I'd be out of a job."

"So what is your job this time?"

"Causing problems for you." He glanced around as the door opened and a waiter entered. "Ah, excellent timing. Thank you, Joseph."

Obviously he came here a lot if he was one first name terms with the waiters, because they certainly weren't wearing name tags. "You didn't answer the question."

"Yes, I did."

Frustration swirled through me, but I bit back my retort and gave the waiter a smile as he placed a plate in front of me. The rich smell of lamb wafted upwards, and despite my annoyance, my mouth watered.

I picked up my knife and fork and hopped into it. I might not want to be here, but I sure as hell wasn't going to waste a delicious meal. Especially when I wasn't paying for it.

Not with money, anyway.

The silence stretched between us. The only sound stirring the air was soft music and the clink of cutlery against fine china. But while we may not have been talking, I was all too aware of his every move. Of the way his gaze rested on me as he ate. Of my own heart racing and the deepening ache in my body.

Eventually I finished and slid the plate away with a sigh that was part pleasure and part regret. The meal was finished. That just left the rest of it.

"Okay," I said, picking up my wine and filling the glass again. "What is it you really want, Kye?"

He smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Have you got any leads on the beheadings?"

I countered his question by repeating one of my own. "Why were you at Dante's this morning?"

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze briefly sweeping me, coming to rest of my crossed legs. He reached out and snagged one foot before I could react, then slid off the shoe and tossed it to one side. His quick, clever fingers began to knead my instep and tremors of delight shot up my leg. I licked my lips, torn between the desire to enjoy and the knowledge that that would only lead to complications I'd been fighting to avoid.

"I've been employed by a desperate husband," he said softly, his gaze on mine as he continued to rub and stroke my foot. "His wife is a blood whore and it is endangering his reputation. He's hired me to track her down and take care of her."

"By take care, you mean kill."

"Not directly, as that would do as much damage to his reputation as having a whore for a wife. So I shall arrange an accident that she will not survive."

He said it so flatly, so casually—and I don't know why I was surprised, but I was. Maybe something deep inside—the stupid dark part of me that wanted this man so badly it ached—kept blindly hoping that there was some spark of humanity in him. It would have made this thing between us seem a little more palatable.

But I might as well pray for snow in the middle of a desert.

I ripped my foot from his grasp and shifted my legs further away from him. Amusement glinted in his eyes. So did determination.

"You've just admitted to planning a murder. It happens, and your ass will be in jail quicker than I could say 'thank God'."

He chuckled. It was a rich, mellow sound that ran across my skin. "There are, at last count, at least a dozen rich young things attending that club of Dante's. I know of eight that are married and cuckolding their husbands, and three of those drink so much they are accidents waiting to happen. You'll never know my target from a real accident."

Which wouldn't stop me from trying if there was a sudden run of accidents amongst the upper class. "Technically, they're not cuckolding their husbands. Blood whores get off on vampires taking their blood. The clubs cater to that, not sex."

"Most clubs do adhere to the rules. Some, like Dante's, do not. Half the upstairs is given over to private rooms, and the whores pay a hefty price to be fully serviced."

"And that's how you're hoping to catch your client's wife? You have the rooms bugged and are recording events?" It also explained why he was so horny. Voyeurism was a part of the wolf culture—and a huge turn-on for most of us.

"Yes, but she hasn't been there for a few days, hence my hanging about catching all your activities."

"So you were there on stake-out when Grant Haven was beheaded?"

"You already know I was. I reported—or got that woman to report—the crime."

"And yet you claim you didn't see anything."

He picked up his empty wine glass and toyed with it idly, twirling it around his fingers like he had the knife in the warehouse. "You've never actually asked me what I saw that night."

Fucking hell… "Kye," I said, acerbically, "What the hell did you see that night?"

He was silent for a moment, continuing to toy with his glass. I watched the movements, the quickness of his fingers, and wondered what those fingers could do if they played across my flesh.

"Perhaps," he said softly. "It's not so much a matter of what I saw, but what I know."

"What I know is I'm barely resisting the urge to haul your ass downtown, find some nasty murder to pin on you, and throw your smart mouth in jail."

He merely smiled. "Grant Haven was a member of the Melbourne vamp council. The rumor is that the vampire who was beheaded and incinerated the day before Haven was also a council member."

"And Henry Gateway?"

"I haven't been able to find confirmation one way or another, but I suspect he might have been, too."

I frowned considering him, considering the information. "Why would three men from the local council be visiting a place like Dante's when there are more upmarket venues available?"

He smiled. It was a luscious, hungry thing that swept across my senses as warmly as a caress. "As much as there are humans who do not wish their addiction known, there are also vampires who feel the same. Besides, Dante himself is a member of the council. Maybe they felt safer there."

Yet they obviously weren't. But I guess being on the council at a time when the general vampire population was extremely unhappy about the clubs and the laws surrounding them might just make them targets, especially if they were seen as hypocrites for patronizing the blood whore clubs. So was that what was going on here? A bit of retribution from the ranks?

Maybe the fact that all three murders happened near Dante's was some sort of warning to him. Maybe he'd pissed the wrong person off—which, according to Jack, wouldn't have been hard.

Still, if that were the case, why attack the other councilors in the first place? Why not go after him direct?

"How could you know all this?" I said, taking another sip of wine and feeling the mellowness grow. A dangerous situation, given the company. I put down the glass and added, "And why were you even there in the first place? We both know your monitoring equipment wouldn't be anywhere near Dante's."

And even if he'd cut into the feed from Dante's own security cameras, none of them had been pointing into the parking lot.

"I'm interviewing all Dante's regular cliental in an effort to get a clearer picture of my target's behavior." He shrugged, a casual movement that didn't match the intensity of his gaze.

"From what I saw in the club, that's a pretty useless exercise. The whores care for nothing more than their next fix."

He shrugged again. "Leaving nothing to chance is a rule I live by."

And something I'd do well to remember. "How can you be sure the three victims and Dante are—were—members of the local council?"

"I'm a siphon, remember, and stakeouts are boring. Let's just say that, when I'm in the club, I amuse myself by seeing how much information I can steal from a vamp's mind before he becomes aware." He contemplated me for a moment. "Haven's shields were nowhere near as strong as yours."

Starke had told me that Haven had been on vacation, and that his first night back was the night he'd been murdered. Meaning either Kye or Starke was lying. But which one? Right now, I had no flaming idea.

"Did you actually see anything the night Haven died?"

"A car taking off in a hurry. A blue Ford, tinted windows. Couldn't see the driver but I did get the plate number." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and slid it across the table to me.

I ignored it for a moment, meeting his gaze, holding it. "Did you kill Grant Haven?"

"No, I did not." There wasn't a flicker in the blue of his eyes. Nothing to indicate a lie. Part of me wanted to believe him—did believe him—yet I knew this man was a professional killer who could probably lie his way out of hell itself.

There was one way to find out for sure, and yet I couldn't force myself to take that step. Aside from the fact that he was a siphon and able to steal the use of my shields, I didn't really want to get into his thoughts and discover what he really felt about me.

I was too much of a coward to face the reality of that. It was far better for my own emotional stability to keep thinking that this was nothing more than a challenge—a game—to him.

The waiter came in through the side door and began clearing the table. I picked up the paper, taking care not to touch Kye's fingers. His writing was neat, careful—much like the man himself. I folded it up and slipped it into my purse.

"Do you wish dessert?" the waiter asked, once he'd finished clearing the dishes.

Kye glanced at me, eyebrow raised. I shook my head. "No, thanks. I really have to go."

A smile twitched Kye's lush lips, but all he said was, "Just make it the usual. Thanks, Joseph."

"Very good, sir." The waiter departed, closing the door softly behind him. Music drifted through the silence, its beat shifting from the gentle, erotic melodies that had accompanied our dinner to something more upbeat and danceable. I found my foot tapping, and stilled it abruptly.

"Anything else I should know about?" As a dangerous—and sexy—glint sparked in his eyes, I added hastily, "Anything else you might have seen or heard and forgot to mention?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"Then I need to go."

I rose and walked over to retrieve my shoe. But as I bent to pick it up, he slipped up behind me, his hand clamping around my hip and drawing me back against his long, strong body.

"Dance with me," he murmured, his breath stirring my hair and tickling my neck.

"No," I said, but it came out breathy as his other hand came around my hip and resting on the flat of my stomach. His touch was so hot it felt like he was branding me, and the fires that had been on slow burn during the meal exploded into life.

Slowly, rhythmically, he began to sway in time to the music, his body pressed against mine, guiding me, teasing me. I closed my eyes, knowing I needed to break away if I didn't want this to go any further and yet unable to stop myself from moving in time with the music and his body.

The sensible part of my nature might not want this, but my wolf wasn't always sensible, and she needed his touch as badly as I needed regularly doses of coffee.

His lips brushed the nape of my neck and my breath caught. He kissed me again, his mouth butterfly light and yet searing deep. Don't, don't, don't, part of me was screaming. And yet I just didn't have the will to pull away.

His right hand eased upwards, skimming the soft material of my dress until it rested underneath the swell of my breast. He paused, his breath quickening against my neck, matching the rhythm of my own. For several seconds, we moved to the music, my body trembling, waiting for his caress to rise, needing it to rise. But instead, he moved his hand down again. The shudder that rolled through me was unfulfilled longing and relief and disappointment all rolled into one.

His fingertips brushed down my belly, over the hand that held me against him so firmly, then continued on, skimming my pubic mound, sending another shudder of delight coursing through my body. But his caress didn't linger, sliding on down my thigh. When he could reach no further, his fingers began gathering the material, hitching up the hem of the dress until he could caress skin. Slowly, surely, he began making his way upwards again, his fingertips brushing my inner thigh, the heat of his touch branding me, making me ache, quiver. A moan escaped as he cupped my mound and let his clever fingers play along the silk of my panties.

And still we danced, moving to the music, our bodies molded together, his erection pressed against my butt, as heated as the rest of his flesh. I wanted that heat. Needed it.

No, the inner voice screamed, don't do this. But the voice of resistance was weaker, drowning under the myriad of sensations flooding through me.

I wanted this. I'd come here for this.

And we both knew it.

Even if I hadn't actually admitted it until right now.

The hand resting on the flat of my stomach moved upwards. His fingers found the edge of top and slid underneath, brushing lightly across my erect nipple. I shuddered and arched back against him. He chuckled softly, and kissed my ear, my neck, my shoulder. His teeth caught skin, nipping lightly, playfully. A tremor ran through me and the deep ache increased.

If you can't walk away, that inner voice said. Then seduce him. Don't let him be the aggressor. That way, he wins.

And I couldn't let him win even this small battle. Not on his terms, anyway.

I shifted, drawing his hands away from my body then turning in his arms. Cupping his face in my hands, I brushed my lips against his, tasting him, teasing him. A shudder went through him and his arms tightened around me, dragging me closer, his crotch grinding against mine. I deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth with my tongue, pressing him backwards towards the table.

The back of his knees hit a chair, and I pushed him down into it. I leaned over him, claiming another kiss as I brushed my fingers down his body to the top of his jeans then went further, scraping them down his fly, feeling his cock jump under the restriction of the material. I did it again, harder this time, and heard the hiss of air escape his lips as his body tensed in reaction.

The third time I did it, he moaned. With a satisfied smile, I quickly undid the top button, then the zipper. His cock leapt free, thick and hard, the tip shiny with pre cum. I ran my hands along its length, watching his eyes, enjoying the shudders that wracked him, the urgency I could sense growing in him.

When it neared the point of no return, I smiled and stepped back, my gaze holding his as I reached for the dress zipper and slowly undid it. He watched me avidly, hungrily. Heat and lust swirled all around me—his and mine—making my body tremble and little beads of sweat prickle across my skin.

I slid off the dress then hooked my fingers under the elastic of my panties and slowly slid them down, my body moving in tune to the music. His breathing quickened and his fingers flexed, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for me.

I smiled and tossed my panties next to my dress, then stepped forward and straddled him. I wrapped my arms around his neck then slowly lowered, until the tip of his cock was barely inside.

"Is this what you want?" I said softly, my lips brushing his as I spoke.

"Yes. God yes," he groaned, his hands going to my waist in an effort to push me down.

"How badly do you want it?" My thighs were trembling with the effort of resisting the fierce pressure of his grip and remaining above him. Especially when all I wanted to do was plunge down on him.

"Very." It came out as little more than a hiss of air. It tore at my lips, tasting of hunger and desire and need. Everything I felt, everything I wanted. "God, please."

Those two words tasted very sweet. The man who controlled every little aspect of his world was begging me to finish what he'd started. The turn-around was an incredible turn-on.

I slowly pressed down, shuddering at the sheer pleasure of it. The heat of him filled me, completed me, and yet it wasn't just flesh. As I'd feared, it also became a meeting of souls, a strengthening of the ties between us.

Part of me just wanted to get up and run, but it was already too late for that. So I tried to ignore the heat of him in my mind, concentrating instead on the heat of his flesh and on spiraling pleasure. His breathing was short, sharp, his body rearing under mine. I rode him hard, grinding into him, enjoying the urgency, feeling the pleasurable tautness grow and grow, until my whole body was shaking with the force of it. Then it shattered and I came, shuddering and shaking and moaning at the sheer depth of it—a depth that was body and soul. A heartbeat later he followed me into that sweet oblivion, his body fierce in mine as he came, hard.

Then it was over.

For a moment I did nothing more than simply sit there. My body was replete, satisfied, and yet my heart was torn. I wanted this, I needed this—needed him—and yet at the same time, I hated it. Hated the need—hated him.

Hated me for not being strong enough to resist what my soul craved.

I pushed away from him, grabbed my clothes, and walked to the door. My hand was on the door knob when he said, "Same time tomorrow, then."

I didn't say anything, just opened the door and walked out.

And yet I knew that, come tomorrow, I'd be back.