She sat on her bed. Perhaps not quite the same. There had been those moments of softness. She hadn’t imagined them.

Had she?

Flopping back onto her bed, she looked up into the darkness, misery welling up inside her. Emptiness filled her chest, making it hollow and cold.

She closed her eyes at the sting of tears. Foolish, addled woman.

That was she. Foolish. Addled. In love with a cold, hard man. The wrong man.

Foolish…

Maia must have slept, for she dreamed.

He was there in her dreams again, but this time she recognized him. The wide, strong hands, the dark hair, the smooth sensual brush of lips, the flash of fangs as they slid easily into her shoulder.

For the second time that night, she woke suddenly, heart pounding, breathless.

Her dreams were so real. Her body was damp and alive, throbbing and tight…but she was alone.

Maia sat up. All at once she remembered the dream she’d had when Corvindale was gone, the dark, frightening one. The dream that must have been…could it have been…what he was experiencing? At the hands of Mrs. Throckmullins?

Did that mean that…

She swallowed hard, heat rushing through her. Could that mean that, just now, he was dreaming the same thing that she had been?

Heart thumping madly, hardly realizing what she was doing, Maia slid off the high bed to the floor. She glanced at the window to see a faint glow in the distance, out over the rooftops. Dawn was near. Her feet made no noise on the wood planks as she went to the door and opened it.

If he were dreaming what she was dreaming…

Her fingers closed around the doorknob and she hesitated. Her knees trembled. She knew what she wanted to do. What she was about to do…but would it make any difference? Would it not only cause deeper problems?

But as she stood there in the shadows, half in the corridor, half in her chamber, she realized that she stood on a different threshold.

If she went back to bed, she would remain Maia Woodmore, soon to be Mrs. Bradington, peer of the ton, the epitome of propriety and gentility. She’d marry Alexander and they would be happy together, they would have children, God willing, and she would have a very even, calm, proper life. And she would never forget the Earl of Corvindale.

And if she didn’t go back to bed… Her insides filled with butterflies, and for a moment she almost swooned with fear and apprehension…and hope.

If she didn’t go back to bed…anything could happen.

Good or bad.

Loving or hurtful.

Maia closed her eyes, struggled and made her decision, closing the door softly.

18

WHEREIN ALL IS LAID BARE

Dimitri woke to find himself hard, hot, damp and tangled in the bedcovers. His fangs were fully extended, his body swollen with need. The Mark on his shoulder shuttled pain through his limbs, but even that deep agony wasn’t enough to chase the potent dreams from his thoughts.

All at once, he realized his chamber door was ajar. Opening. That was what had awakened him from the dream.

He smelled her.

Satan’s stones. Dimitri froze, holding his breath, pulling himself out of the sleek, hot dream with great effort.

He dared not move. He could hardly think as she slipped into the chamber and closed the door behind her. His heart pounded, filling his ears, and in his mind he kept thinking, no, no, no, no.

Yet his body raged and beckoned.

If it had been anyone else disturbing him, he could have bellowed and ordered them out. Or even leaped from the bed to show them the door.

But he was paralyzed.

She stopped next to the bed, and he looked up at her in the dark, able to see the details of her face, even the curl of a lock of hair over the white night rail.

“Maia,” he managed to say. “What are you doing here?” Get out.

Her eyes found his in the dim light. He saw her draw in a deep breath and bite her lower lip. “I’m not certain,” she replied.

“Then leave. Now.” His breathing had become unsteady and he gripped the bedcoverings, curling his fingers into them, forcing his body to remain still. Like stone.

“I’m going to call off the wedding.” She was close enough that her gown brushed the side of his bed. His hand, wrapped in a sheet, rested on the edge right next to it.

He forced himself to remain rigid. Tight.

“That would be outside of foolish,” he said, his voice harsh and grating even to his own ears. “Maia. What are you doing?”

“I’m here,” she said, shifting. The warm cotton gown brushed the back of his wrist and Dimitri’s fingers released the crumpled bedcoverings all on their own.

“Here?” He forced an edge of disdain into his tone. “Whatever for?”

She shook her head as if to clear it, her eyes steady on him, as if to somehow read the lie there, even in the dark.

And then she touched him. Her fingers, settling gently on his bare wrist next to the edge of the mattress, released him from his paralysis. He was done.

His arm lurched, moving before his conscious thought, and his hand whipped out, dragging her onto the bed. His other hand moved around to slide fingers into her hair, guiding her lush warmth down onto him. Yes.

Maia didn’t pull back, didn’t resist. If she had, he’d have released her immediately. But, foolishly, she came willingly, sliding onto the bed, her knees pinning her blousy night rail to the mattress before she collapsed next to him, tangled in the soft cotton.

Dimitri was aware of a rushing sound in his ears, of a warning voice in his head, but it was too late. He had her. In his arms, wrapping Maia in the warmth of his body and the tangled bedclothes, their flesh separated only by a flimsy gown. Wild need surged through him, and he ignored all of the reasons he should send her away.

Taking care not to cut her with his fangs, he covered her mouth with his, drinking desperately from the corners of her lips, sliding over and across them, nibbling and sucking as she shifted against him, her mouth hot and teasing in a slick, sensual kiss, her breasts rounding against his chest.

He gathered her close, imprinting her body against his, capturing her against him with one bent leg and his hands, sliding along her slender back, pulling her onto him, into him, close. She burned him.

His breathing was out of control, his body tight and throbbing, his fangs jutting so far that his mouth hurt.

“Maia,” he managed to say, focusing on the sudden sharp pain from his Mark. Ah, that was it. If the pain became worse, then Luce was unhappy with his actions. And right now, now that he’d stopped, now that he was set to do the right thing, to send her away, the pain was white-hot, blasting and searing down his side and around by his left hip. An incentive for him to change his mind. “This is your last chance. Leave now.”

Perhaps her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, for she focused on him, met his gaze. “I’m not going to leave,” she said. “Unless you truly do not want me.”

Even then, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t send her away.

“Very well,” he said in a harsh voice, horribly aware that his Mark eased. That Lucifer approved. “I will give you nothing, Maia. Do you understand? This is nothing more than me, taking what you offer.”

“Is that not how it’s always been?” she replied.

“You must wed Bradington,” he said, grasping the front of her gown as he twisted around, shoving her back onto the bed, curving over her, pinning her down with the weight of his hips. “I can give you nothing else,” he said again. “Nothing. And wedding him will save you.”

“I make no promises,” she replied.

“Nor do I.” And, his patience gone, his goodwill trampled, he shoved his conscience away. She’d come to him. He’d warned her off. He grabbed her gown with his other hand and yanked, renting it down the middle with a loud, violent tear that made her slender body jerk.

With a little more care, but no lesser intent, he whipped the cloth away and bent to her again, covering her mouth with his. She reached up and slid her arms around him, pulling him down so that they were skin to skin, her soft, pale and silky curves rising up into his hard, hirsute body. So warm. Her long hair caught beneath them, and he tugged it away, threading his fingers in and around it.

He buried his face in her neck, tasting the hot, sensitive skin there, his lips tracing the curve of her shoulder as he struggled to keep from sinking his fangs deep. The need pounded in him, in his swollen gums and thrusting teeth, through his veins, in his cock, tight and raging against her thigh. Maia shuddered and sighed as he sucked hard on the delicate rise of her shoulder, still fighting to keep from sinking deep and drinking of her.

Dimitri moved to her breast, covering the taut rise of nipple with his mouth, sliding his tongue around the sensitive little tip. She dug her fingers into his hair, arching closer as he licked and gently sucked, his fangs gently surrounding the areola, brushing her skin with their tips. One little nick… She exuded heat, and the musky, sweet scent of desire filled his nostrils as she writhed and moaned against him.

He slid his hand down between her legs, finding her slick and swollen. She shifted against him, lifting up into his palm, and he pressed down into her, trembling a little at her passionate response. Sliding a finger inside, into the tight heat, Dimitri shifted as he teased and slid in and out and around, releasing her lush musky scent, turning his vision red and cloudy. Desire pounded in him and his gums throbbed, his cock shifting insistently next to her. Maia gasped something, reaching out blindly, her hands pulling at his shoulder, drawing him close.

He could wait no longer. Dimitri moved quickly and decisively, rising back up to rear over her slender white body and sliding his leg between hers. She curled her fingers around his shoulders, pulling him down as he fitted himself inside her. Maia’s gasp was swallowed by the roaring in his ears as he slid in, deep, filling. His muscles shuddered with the effort of control…she was sleek and tight and he found his face buried once again in her throat as he moved rhythmically: away, then closer, away…closer. Hot, damp, smelling of her, that sensitive, erotic spot…

It was too much to resist. His fangs brushed her skin and as he slammed deep between her legs, he bit into the warm, silky skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder, the points of his teeth sliding in with ease. She jolted and gave a soft cry, shuddering, but he was too intent, and he held her steady as the warm flow of lifeblood rushed into his mouth. The pleasure was heavy, the taste of rich, lush earth and life laced with Maia’s own particular essence, filling his senses, over his tongue, down into his body.