Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“Let me go,” she demanded.
His hand released her. “We should talk.”
“Not here,” she said, hurrying to the door.
“The living room,” he said, stopping her. “Take the stairs at the end of the hall down to the foyer. It’s the first room to the left of the front doors.”
She nodded and rushed out the door and down the hall. His kiss lingered on her lips, and she swiped her hand across them, but it didn’t do any good. Her lips pulsed and ached, as if missing his taste, as if hungering for him.
What disturbed her the most, though, was how he had read her mind. That he should know that her last sexual encounter had been anything but satisfying upset her. Worse, though, was him saying that he would never disappoint her, he would always satisfy her.
Her whole body flushed at the thought of what sex would be like with him? Could he satisfy her that easily? She had always struggled to reach orgasm and when she had one it had never been as satisfying as her friends claimed them to be. No one had ever rocked her world or had come close to it. She had wondered if it was her fault or the fault of inept lovers. There just always seemed to be something missing, something she failed to grasp—something that lay just beyond her reach.
Now that he had planted that suggestion in her mind, she couldn’t shake it. It lingered there tormenting her, whispering over and over, reminding her of the pleasure he could bring her.
Lara didn’t remember taking the stairs down to the foyer, but once there she stopped and took a breath. Stay in control, she silently warned herself. Keep your wits about you. Don’t surrender your will. She couldn’t, however, help but wonder what it would be like to surrender to Michael, but to surrender would mean to trust and how did one trust a vampire?
She entered the living room, a fairly large room with a mix of contemporary furnishings and antiques. The colors were a blend of gray, black, beige, silver and a splash of blood here and there. Red. Red. The color was red, not blood. She turned her attention to one of the four windows. Black and beige drapes were drawn open and the falling snow clearly visible, though it was the only thing outside that was visible.
Snowbound. How long? Recalling the forecast, the snowstorm was expected to last two days, and then there would be digging out from the storm, which meant she could be here possibly three or four days. Lara felt herself pale. Could she survive that long with a vampire? Listen to yourself, Lara. A vampire? Was Michael Valaine really a vampire? It was a question she was definitely going to have to settle for herself, though the alternative wasn’t promising. If he wasn’t a vampire, then he was a nutcase who thought himself a vampire. She didn’t know which one was worse to be stuck in a snowstorm with.
Lara paced the room, never feeling so trapped in her life. There was little recourse left to her, though her father had always told her that once you waded through the bullshit, you’d find at least an ounce of truth. She needed to start with the truth. Was Michael Valaine really a vampire?
Lara jumped when she saw him standing in the doorway. He had changed to black jeans and a black V neck knit sweater. His black hair was no longer damp and was pulled back away from his face, defining his handsome features even more.
A thought struck her than and she voiced it. “Why did you shower?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said entering the room and going to a black lacquer cabinet and opening it.
She watched him uncork a bottle of red wine all the while wondering what it was that she wouldn’t want to know. Could he have gone on a hunt for food? Did he keep food stored here? Or was she his next meal?
Lara jumped when he suddenly appeared in front of her, offering her a glass of red wine.
“I make you uncomfortable,” Michael said with no apology.
“You think?” she said, accepting the much-needed wine.
“Why don’t we get to know each other better?” he suggested and pointed to the grey sofa.
“How much better?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch, though remaining perched on the edge in case she had to run. Run where, idiot, she silently admonished herself. You’re good and stuck like a prisoner in a cell. The comparison unnerved her, and she shivered.
“I’m not going to bite you if that’s your worry—not yet at least,” he said with the hint of a smile.
She shook an accusing finger at him. “You may smile and appear as if you’re joking but trust me when I tell you I don’t think it’s funny.”