Page 28 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
“I-I don’t…” She wasn’t sure if it was the chill or her nerves causing her to stutter. Either way, it seemed to have an effect. He detached himself from her so quickly, she felt a strange sense of loss that left her reeling.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. The sudden change in his demeanor was jarring. It was like he could change his personality with the flip of a switch. In fact, that was probably exactly what it was. He had no interest in her beyond using her to remove the crucifix and ensuring his own safety. The draw that she felt between them was nothing more than two opposing sides of a magnet. A quirk of anatomy beyond her control.
With that thought, she viewed him with fresh eyes. His fangs were not out, and his eyes were entirely brown with no trace of blue. For the moment, she was in no danger.
“I agree.”
His eyebrows rose all the way to his hairline. “What?”
She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her bodice before she could change her mind, then grasped the fabric and pulled it back. “Do it.”
He stepped closer. She braced herself, but he stopped before he touched her. She glanced down to see his finger pointing at his own chest. “The crucifix.”
She flushed, having almost forgotten he was not capable of biting her while he wore the item. Removing it would put her in enormous danger, but she had to take that chance. She still had her weapons and could scream to draw the guards circling the other parts of the museum if necessary.
She removed the artifact from around his neck but kept it balled in her palm.
“W-Will it hurt?” she asked. She hadn’t intended to speak the words, but they had come out unbidden. She had read several accounts of hunters who had been forcibly bitten by vampires, but most of them had spoken of the incident only in vague terms.
Mr. Drake’s eyes turned vibrant blue again, and when he parted his lips, he revealed the sharp tips of his fangs. A rush of heat flowed through her and gathered in the place between her thighs, making her squirm.
His nostrils flared. “Stop that.”
She swallowed thickly. “I am not doing anything.”
He closed his eyes and lowered his face until his cheek was pressed against hers. “The scent of your desire is making it difficult to concentrate.” His icy skin made her shiver. His being able to smell how she was feeling made her want to cover her face with her hands. It was horrifying and exciting at the same time. She kept imagining how it would feel to have his fangs pierce her flesh. How would she keep herself from screaming and alerting the guards? She bit the inside of her cheek. Harming herself was better than being caught.
Then his ice-cold lips touched her skin, and her knees went weak. She clenched the slippery fabric of his shirt to keep from collapsing into a heap. “Please.” The tension was unbearable.
He growled, a sound that raised the hairs on her arms, and then whispered, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”
*
Jonathan had fullyintended to take the smallest amount of Felicity’s blood required to dim the intensity of her scent, but the moment her blood filled his mouth, he was lost. She tasted of freshly pressed cherries and honey squeezed directly from the comb. Her blood slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out. He could almost feel it pulsing through his veins, chasing away the aches and pains that had accumulated over the past few weeks.
She moaned and twisted in his arms, so much more pliant than she’d been before.
With the crucifix removed and the codex within his reach, he was tempted to drain her, Marcus’s orders be damned, but she was far too entertaining to be allowed to die so easily. He forced himself to withdraw, then ran his tongue along the wounds he’d made until they healed. He kept her soft, limp body pressed against him until she recovered enough that she began to stir.
She looped her arms around his neck. “That was incredible.”
He grinned, then realized his mistake as she slipped the crucifix back over his head. It settled into place and vanished beneath his clothing. He grabbed for it, but once again, his hands passed through the object.
“Damn it, woman!”
She finished restoring her blouse and hair to their former proper state and folded her hands together at her waist, thepicture of a proper lady. Nothing like the woman who had moaned and thrashed in his arms. He allowed himself a moment to imagine how much better she would have tasted if he had thrust his cock inside her at the same time as he had drained her. The more powerful the sensations elicited in the donor, the more intense the experience.
She’d been terrified, yet her blood had been the most delicious liquid he had ever consumed.
“What now?” she asked. She looked so serious that he almost made another quip when he caught a whiff of something that made him step closer and peer at her lips.
She stiffened. “I told you not to—”
“The crucifix wouldn’t let me bite you again if I wanted to,” he said impatiently. There was something wrong with her mouth. He could detect a faint scent of blood, which should have faded when he had licked all traces of it from her skin. He brought his nose closer to her face and sniffed until he located the source.
The muscles in his shoulders tightened. She had bitten the inside of her cheeks. Perhaps she had not been as lost to pleasure as he had thought. His gut twisted. “You’re wounded.”
“It’s nothing.”
