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I tilt my chin up and laugh at him, a fake noise that makes him grimace before he breaks into a real smile of his own.
"They're watching, even now," he tells me.
"Oh," I say.
And emboldened by his nearness, by the sparking heat deep inside of me, and by the fact that I feel powerful and beautiful and cared for… I snake my hand up his back, feeling the powerful muscles between his shoulder blades before letting my palm rest lightly on the nape of his neck, scraping my fingers along the scalp at the bottom of his head.
"I think I can do that," I murmur.
I press up on my toes, watching his eyes widen in surprise as I press my mouth against his.
His scruffy beard and mustache tickle my skin, his lips slightly parted in that same surprise as I laugh lightly into his mouth, pleased to have caught the gruff man off balance.
And pleased to be kissing him, too. Deliciously, overwhelmingly pleased about that.
My laugh cuts off a half-second later, as his arm clamps around my waist, my body tight against the hard-muscled wall of his chest. I gasp, and he takes advantage of my open mouth, his tongue slipping against my lower lip. He tastes like honey-butter and wine, and I’ve never wanted to taste anything more.
His callous hand wraps around the back of my neck, possessive, brutal, setting me on fire as he squeezes lightly.
When he pulls away, finally, too soon and not soon enough, my knees are wobbling, my lips feeling bruised and ripe. An ache settles deep in my chest, a want for more that’s mirrored in the way his eyes are dilated.
Suddenly, nothing about the glowing tattoos on our wrists feels fake.
“Well, well, well what do we have here—”
We both turn at once, Lachlan pushing me behind him, another protective gesture that should make me annoyed but… just makes me stupidly giddy with delight.
The speaker is a tall, lean man. High cheekbones cut across the planes of his face, offset by two dark eyebrows slashing above deep-set eyes.
“I see that you’ve figured out how to bypass our rules, Miss…” He leaves the question hanging in the air, a Southern drawl as thick as the air around us, then smiles broadly at me. His canines are too long, too sharp.
Vampire. I almost bark, “say it, out loud,” at Lachlan, but stop myself at the last second. I don’t think he’d appreciate that attempt at humor, and there’s a strong chance he wouldn’t even catch the reference, on account of him being a gazillion years old.
And whew, did he learn how to kiss during that time.
Lachlan gives me an almost imperceptible nod, and I know he’s telling me it’s okay to use my name.
“Vivienne Estrella,” I force myself to tell him.
“Heir of the Midnight House,” Lachlan adds with an easy, dangerous smile. His fingernails dig into my hip, and I lean into him.
Not even because I want to sell the damned engagement, but because he makes me feel safe.
“And Lachlan… of Clan MacTavish.” The vampire flashes fang again, and it’s not a smile, not at all. “How high you’ve risen since finding… Miss Estrella.”
“Soon to be Mrs. MacTavish,” Lachlan says easily, though his chest rumbles with a growl that vibrates against my ribs. “We’ve said the words.” He leans down and kisses my neck, scraping his teeth along the column of my throat. “Show him, love. Show him your… knot.”
He says the word knot with a sort of violent exhalation that must mean something to the vampire, because he just looks disgusted.
Huh. I guess these Eternal Society assholes are just as bigoted as all the other secret societies I’ve studied.
I hold up my wrist, and the vampire nods slowly.
“It does appear you have secured your plus one this evening, then, cher Vivienne. But oh, I haven’t introduced myself. Julian St. George, at your service.” He gives a little bow. “Head of House Sanguine, of course. But come on now, it would be rude to keep you waiting when there’s a party inside, wouldn’t it?”
Reaching out a pale hand, he beckons us to join him, and Lachlan gives me an uneasy look as we follow the Head of House Sanguine into the lion’s den.
Twenty-Seven
