Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [69]
His hand slid around my shoulders. I pushed away from him, and his hands locked behind my back. “Phillip, stop it.”
I had my hands flat on his chest to keep our bodies from pressing together. His shirt was wet and cold. His heart was hammering in his chest. I swallowed hard and said, “Your shirt’s wet.”
He released me so suddenly, I stumbled back from him. He drew the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Of course, he had a lot of practice in undressing himself. It would have been such a nice chest without the scars.
He took one step towards me. “Stop, right where you are,” I said. “What is this sudden change of mood?”
“I like you; isn’t that enough?”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.”
He dropped the shirt to the floor. I watched it fall like it was important. Two steps and he was beside me. Bathrooms are so small. I did the only thing I could think of—I stepped into the bathtub. Not very dignified in high heels, but I wasn’t pressed up against Phillip’s chest. Anything was an improvement.
“Somebody is watching us,” he said.
I turned, slowly, like a bad horror movie. Twilight hung against the sheer drapes, and a face peered out of the coming dark. It was Harvey, Mr. Leather. The windows were too high for him to be standing on the ground. Was he standing on a box? Or maybe they had little platforms at all the windows, so you could watch the show.
I let Phillip help me out of the bathtub. I whispered, “Could he hear us?”
Phillip shook his head. His arms slid around my back again. “We are supposed to be lovers. Do you want Harvey to stop believing that?”
“This is blackmail.”
He smiled, dazzling, hold it in your hand and stroke it, sexy. My stomach tightened. He bent down, and I didn’t stop him. The kiss was everything advertised, full soft lips, a press of skin, a heated weight. His hands tightened across my bare back, fingers kneading the muscles along the spine until I relaxed against him.
He kissed the lobe of my ear, breath warm. Tongue flicked along the edge of my jaw. His mouth found the pulse in my throat, his tongue searching for it, as if he were melting through the skin. Teeth scraped over the beating of my neck. Teeth clamped down, tight, hurting.
I shoved him back, away. “Shit! You bit me.”
His eyes were unfocused, dazed. A crimson drop stained his lower lip.
I touched a hand to my neck and came away with blood. “Damn you!”
He licked my blood off his mouth. “I think Harvey believes the performance. Now you’re marked. You’ve got the proof of what you are and why you came.” He took a deep, shaking breath. “I won’t have to touch you again tonight. I’ll see that no one else does either. I swear.”
My neck was throbbing; a bite, a freaking bite! “Do you know how many germs are in the human mouth?”
He smiled at me, still a little unfocused. “No,” he said.
I shoved him out of the way and dabbed water on the cut. It looked like what it was, human teeth. It wasn’t a perfect set of bite marks, but it was close. “Damn you.”
“We need to go out so you can hunt for clues.” He had picked his shirt up from the floor and stood there, holding it at his side. Bare tanned chest, leather pants, lips full like he’d been sucking on something. Me. “You look like an ad for Rent A Gigolo,” I said.
He shrugged. “Ready to go out?”
I was still touching the wound. I tried to be angry and couldn’t. I was scared. Scared of Phillip and what he was, or wasn’t. I hadn’t expected it. Was he right? Would I be safe for the rest of the night? Or had he just wanted to see what I tasted like?
He opened the door and waited for me. I went out. As we walked back to the living room, I realized Phillip had distracted me from my question. Who was he working for? I still didn’t know.
It was damn embarrassing that every time he took his shirt off, my brain went out to lunch. But no more; I had had my