Into the Spotlight (9 page)

Long, slow penetrating strokes of his tongue, swirling from her slit to her entrance and back. A low moan vibrated from her throat and resonated through his cock. Her mouth seemed to throb around him, pulling, sucking and demanding.

Somewhere, deep in his soul echoed the oath that he would never stop wanting this. Wanting her. Her hips arched, her legs spreading obediently and he locked his lips around her clit, sucking the moist bead until her screams threw off the delicious rhythm of her mouth on his dick. He teased a finger against her entrance and pushed. Her sex, so sensitive, grasped at him greedily and then thought vanished for all he could do was hold on as the little gasping explosions of her breath brought him to the edge. He drummed his tongue against her clit and then it was his turn to groan as she pulled his orgasm from him, draining him in hot sheets of pleasure.

Malcolm braced a hand against the tiled wall of the shower, hot water sluicing over his body. His muscles ached, shivering with the aftershocks of satisfaction. Strength surged through his veins, his heart pulsing with vitality. The water thudded against his skin. The spicy scent of the soap tickled his nose. The light glistened in the humid haze of the hot shower. Vigor infused his senses. Her blood filled him. Her passion brought him to life.

Malcolm closed his eyes, summoning the image of Jeannie, splayed out on the midnight blue of his bed sheets, her body flushed from the pleasure
he
had given her.

His cock jerked, and he rinsed the soap away hurriedly, eager to rejoin her.

The clicking of the daytime shutters echoed through the hotel suite as Malcolm turned the water off. The sun rose in the desert beyond the Arcana Royale, flooding the arid landscape with its deadly rays. He would not be leaving the casino today.

His heart trembled with what tasted suspiciously of delight. His impatience with the task that brought him to the casino was drowned out utterly in his discovery of Jeannie. Toweling off, he strode out of the bathroom, eager to end the few-minute separation.

“Jeannie, darling. Shall I order us some food?” He pitched his voice low, not wanting to disturb her if she had finally found sleep, but aching nonetheless for her to turn those dewy green eyes upon him once more, to see her lips spread in a simple smile or to hear the sigh of his name on her lips.

I’m done. Gone. Lost. Hopeless for her.

Not in five centuries had he ever craved a woman so. Not in five centuries had he gorged himself on pleasure and hungered for more. Not in five centuries had he wanted like this.

He paused at the edge of the bed, the shadows of the room—
their
room
—
snuggled around her, as though guarding the pale luminescence lest it be snuffed out. She was on her side, the pale curve of her shoulders to him. The dark blue of the sheet draped over her hips, leaving her chest invitingly bare.

Malcolm drank in the sight of her. The line of her back dipped toward her tight, rounded bottom. Just above her bottom was a small circular tattoo. This one formed of sinuous lines, twining in on each other to form a triangle within a circle within a star.

“Darling?” Malcolm gave into temptation, trailing a finger down the line of her bare—cold—arm. Her chest didn’t move. Her heart was silent.

Apprehension clenched his chest.

“Jeannie?” Malcolm closed his hand on her shoulder and turned her. Horror shanked him.

Wide green eyes stared at him from a frozen, porcelain face. The features were Jeannie’s, but they were still, as though paused. The flush of her skin faded. The golden warmth evaporated. The living woman lay like a doll, exquisitely formed in pale imitation of the desirable creature that’d ravished his soul.

Chapter Eight

“Pandora, you’ve been requested. Again.”

Jeannie glanced up to meet Heidi’s gaze in the mirror. The blank expression betrayed no emotions. Even her eyes were reserved. Minion danced a jig on Heidi’s shoulder, but the woman paid no attention to the imp’s antics.

“Is it him?” A fist closed around her heart, squeezing.

“I would imagine. Four nights in a row, I would say you made quite the impression. Do you wish me to decline for you?”

She hesitated, looking away from the painful evenness of Heidi’s expression. The manager wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss Malcolm if Jeannie asked. The girls were all Heidi concerned herself with, their care and keeping. The vampire would be hard pressed to get past her Keeper should she put her mind to stopping him.

But the thought of not seeing Malcolm again—that thought curdled inside her stomach, leaving a dry ache where emotion heaved.

“No. Don’t.” Jeannie exhaled a hard, long breath. “I’ll see him. Will you tell Stan?”

“Of course.” Heidi turned as though to go but then paused. She studied Jeannie’s expression in the mirror. Jeannie fought to maintain a semblance of calm. In more than fifty years, she’d only seen the rare patron when the request came. Tonight, she was doing the unthinkable.

She was seeing one for the fourth time.

“Pandora.” Heidi’s voice was soft, softer than a whisper and Jeannie frowned. Heidi’s lips hadn’t moved in the mirror.
Be careful…

Heidi vanished between one eye blink and the next. Jeannie twisted in the chair, but the manager was nowhere to be seen. Her hands shook as she looked back to the mirror and began stripping off the stage makeup.

The quaking in her muscles made walking up the stairs ten minutes later a shaky proposition. Stan walked behind her, saying nothing when she paused. Hands slick with sweat fought for purchase on the metal railing.

Does Malcolm hate me?

Is he repulsed?

Will he demand an explanation?

She’d woken at sundown, in her rooms below the pit. Cognition, awareness and movement flooded back all at once. Her body still ached from having been so well used. The taste of him clung to her lips. She need only close her eyes to imagine the feel of him moving against her, over her, inside her.

Jeannie’s stomach fluttered. But he had to have seen the transformation. Stan fetched her home. She knew without asking what course of events took place. What she didn’t know—no, what she dreaded—was Malcolm’s reaction. Would he see her as the woman he’d desired or an abomination?

At the top of the stairs, Jeannie paused again. Her heart wobbled. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

“Yes, you can.” Stan’s words floated around her like an unexpected life raft from the heavens. Jeannie twisted to look at him. His silent gaze regarded her with kindness. “He wasn’t angry. Terrified, upset, on the verge of violence, but he was not angry. Not with you.”

Jeannie’s words choked on the lump road blocking her throat. “Was he upset with you?”

“Very.”

Fear for herself evaporated under an assault of terror for Malcolm. “The Overseers…”

“Are not involved.” Stan smiled. “His concern for you was genuine. He just didn’t want to give up custody of your body. I imagine he’ll have many questions for you, but I would not be surprised if the first one isn’t ‘are you all right?’”

Trepidation tangoed with anticipation, soothing and bruising her heart. “Thank you, Stan.”

“Of course, Miss Jeannie.” The kindness erased, leaving only the blank, patient stare Stan wore when he worked. Jeannie wiped her hands against the soft chiffon of her red drape. She’d chosen the Greek dress for both the deep scarlet color and the unique folds that allowed her to feel both sexy and empowered at the same time.

Where her cream dress the night before hinted at demureness, tonight’s dress screamed seduction. Gold bangles decorated her wrists while golden threads climbed from her heels to her calves. A band of gold twined around her upper right arm, twisting into another symbol for eternity while the wheel of fortune decorated her costume's choker, disguising the treasured bite mark.

Stan opened the door and they passed into the tiered dining area of the Midnight Mystery Lounge. Malcolm waited on the second step to the dining tables. Worry etched deep grooves into his face. He stepped up to her, arms closing around her and lifting her from the ground. He buried his face in the crook of her throat, inhaling deeply.

The sigh of his breath against her skin turned her muscles to liquid. Her hands snaked up to sink into his hair, holding him tight.

“You’re all right.” His muffled voice tingled against her skin. He smelled of sandalwood, leather and sunshine. “He swore to me you would awaken again, but until I saw you take to the stage, I was terrified.”

“I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out. “I wish you’d never seen me like that.”

His arms squeezed her, trapping her against the rock hard breadth of his chest. “I’m sorry it happened to you.” Malcolm lifted his head and studied her, his blue eyes kindling with flame. “What does that to you, my darling Jeannie? What does it so that I can make it never happen again?”

“Malcolm.” Jeannie sighed. She’d asked him for help that first night, an impulsive move. “You can’t and I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I can and you should have.” The worry in his expression hardened to determination. He looked past her to Stan. “We’re going up to my suite.” He didn’t wait for her agreement or Stan’s, for that matter, carrying her out of the lounge and across the lobby to the private elevators.

Embarrassment flooded Jeannie, and she hid her burning face against his chest. She could only imagine what they looked like, her body wrapped so firmly against his. But the fluttering in her heart tripped over anticipation and desire, not fear or shame. Thankfully, the elevator carried them straight to his floor, and Malcolm didn’t release her until they were inside with Stan shut out once more.

Three steps into the foyer, Malcolm fused his mouth with hers. Her pulse thrilled at the deep taste as his tongue probed her lips. She sampled whiskey, a hint of iron and butterscotch mingling with the flavor that was distinctly Malcolm’s own. His ragged breaths echoed her passion when he finally lifted his head. Despite the promise of sex in Malcolm’s gaze, his mouth thinned into a hard line.

“Are you alive, Jeannie?” The words jarred her from the pleasured lethargy, awakening the shakes once more.

“Yes. Right now, I am alive.”

“And the other—in the morning, when the sun kisses the sky—are you dead?”

“No.” Jeannie swallowed, fingers toying with his hair. She didn’t want to say it aloud. Giving voice to the truth reminded her of the harsh reality of her existence, an existence that Malcolm helped her forget. Her body rumbled with a drowsy pleasure stirring back to life.

All she wanted to do was lose herself in the decadent stupor of it until thought and feeling were indistinguishable from each other.

Malcolm carried her down the steps to the fountain and past the lounge where they’d fused bodies the night before, directly into an office with ancient oak paneling and a desk large enough for three. A fire burned in the man-sized hearth. A wine bottle, two glasses and a silver covered plate rested on the table between two great Edwardian chairs. Malcolm carried her over and settled her in one of the chairs, falling to one knee before her.

“Tell me everything.”

“Everything?” Trepidation flared its ugly head again. Malcolm’s hands rested on her thighs, the heat of him poured into her, easing the chill nipping at heart.

“Everything. You asked for my help. Tell me what you need.”

Jeannie wrestled with herself. She’d spent hours in his arms. She’d let him feed from her. She’d lost herself in the intimacy. So why did she hesitate?

“Malcolm…” Jeannie pressed two fingers to his lips in a gesture of silence, but the caress of his lips kissing each finger gently tugged at her insides. “Malcolm, I should never have asked you…”

“Should have. Would have. Could have. You did. You did, and I want to help. So you can tell me or I’ll tear this casino apart until I find out the answers.”

“No.” Her heart pumped panic through her veins. “You mustn’t. It could be dangerous.”

“So can I.” His eyes narrowed, and his fangs flashed. “Jeannie, make no mistake. I will have those answers. I want them from you. But I’ll take them where I can get them.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Malcolm snorted. “Darling, tell me what happened.”

Jeannie gazed at the determination in his gaze. She could drown in those blue depths. Her fingers stroked his lower lip before tracing the length of his jaw. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

The urge to protect him scattered under the swell of need to answer the beckoning in his voice.

“I came to Las Vegas in 1955. I wanted to be the next Marilyn Monroe. The next Jayne Mansfield. Vegas—Vegas was just a stop on the road to Hollywood, you know?”

Malcolm nodded slowly, rubbing her thighs. The caresses soothed her soul and strengthened her resolve.

“Anyway, I came through town and my money ran out. I’d come all the way from Ohio. Somewhere between Nebraska and Nevada, my purse was stolen, and then our bus broke down. By the time the new bus arrived and the passengers reloaded, they forgot to transfer the luggage, and I arrived here with the clothes on my back and fifty cents in my shoes.”