The Killing Dance - Laurell K. Hamilton [156]
I collapsed on top of him, trailing my hands down his arms, feeling his heart pound against my chest. We lay quietly for a few moments, resting, holding each other, then I slid off him, curling beside him.
“You can’t hold me with your eyes anymore. Even if I let you, I can still break the hold at any time.”
“Yes, ma petite.”
“Does that bother you?”
He lifted a lock of my hair, running it between his fingers. “Let us say it does not bother me as much as it might have a few hours ago.”
I raised up on one elbow so I could see his face. “Meaning what? That now that I’ve had sex with you, I’m not dangerous?”
He stared up at me. I couldn’t read his eyes. “You will always be dangerous, ma petite.” He raised upward, bending at the waist, bringing his lips against mine in a gentle kiss. He moved back from me just enough to speak, propping himself on one arm. “There was a time when you would have taken my heart with stake or gun.” He took my hand in his and raised it towards his mouth. “Now you have taken it with these delicate hands and the scent of your body.” He kissed the back of my hand ever so gently. He lay back, drawing me with him. “Come, ma petite, enjoy your conquest.”
I held my face back, avoiding a kiss. “You aren’t conquered,” I said.
“Nor, ma petite, are you.” He ran his hands up my back. “I am beginning to realize that you will never be conquered, and that is the greatest aphrodisiac of all.”
“A challenge forever,” I said.
“For all eternity,” he whispered. I let him draw me down into a kiss, and part of me was still not sure if I’d done a good thing or a bad thing. But just for tonight, I didn’t care.
40
* * *
I WOKE surrounded by bloodred sheets, naked, and alone. Jean-Claude had kissed me good-bye and gone to his coffin. I didn’t argue. If I’d awakened to him cold and dead beside me . . . Let’s just say I’d had all the shock I could handle from my boyfriends for awhile.
Boyfriend. That was a word for someone who walked you to your class. It didn’t seem the right word after last night. I lay there, clutching the raw silk sheets to my chest. I could smell Jean-Claude’s cologne on the sheets, on my skin, but more than that, I could smell him. I cuddled that scent to me, rolled in it. He said he loved me and for a time last night, I believed him. In the light of day, I wasn’t so sure. How stupid was it to half-believe the vampire loved me? Not nearly as stupid as half-loving him. But I still loved Richard. One night of great sex didn’t change that. I think I had hoped it would. Lust may die that easily, but love doesn’t. True love is a much harder beast to kill.
There was a soft knock on the door. I had to reach under two red pillows before I came out with the Firestar. I held it at my side and said, “Come in.”
A man entered the room. He was tall, muscular, with hair shaved on either side, the back left in a long ponytail.
I pointed the gun at him and clutched the sheets to my chest. “I don’t know you.”
His eyes went wide; his voice shook, “I’m Ernie, I’m supposed to ask if you want breakfast.”
“No,” I said. “Now, get out.”
He nodded, eyes on the gun. He hesitated in the doorway, even staring down the barrel of a gun. I made a guess.
“What did Jean-Claude tell you to do?” It was amazing how many people were more afraid of Jean-Claude than of me. I pointed the gun at the ceiling.
“He said I was to be at your disposal, anything you want. He said I was to make that very clear to you.”
“It’s clear. Now, get out.”
He still hesitated.
I’d had enough. “Ernie, I am sitting here naked in a bed, and I don’t know you. Get out or I’m going shoot you on principle.” I aimed the gun at him for dramatic emphasis.
Ernie ran for it, leaving the door open. Great. Now I had the choice of walking