"Your neck? I am staring at your breasts," Ian corrected devilishly, his eyes devouring how her cloak draped open and revealed the pale expanse of the upper slopes of her generous bosom. Lush was the right word indeed for what he could see of her figure. He licked his lips. He did so delight in large-chested women; there was so much more to nip and suck.
Clair gasped, closing her cloak. "You, my lord, are a bounder. I heard you were a rake beyond reason. I see the rumors are correct."
"I thought you heard I was a vampire?" Ian reminded her, grinning and enjoying her chagrin.
"Are they mutually exclusive?"
"Probably not," he retorted. "But, more to the point, who is spreading such rumors, compromising my good name?" Ian asked the question nonchalantly, but it was anything but casual. Whoever was telling such tales must be taken care of, and quickly. All Huntsleys demanded loyalty first and foremost; lives depended upon it. Betrayal was not a laughing matter, and certainly not one Ian took lightly.
Gracing Clair with a look that had scared grown men, he waited impatiently. The stubborn wench remained silent. Ian knew she was afraid—he could smell the fear on her—yet she held her ground like a Spartan.
"Come, who has been telling tales about me?" Ian questioned.
"Who would dare?"
"You are being evasive."
"You are being elusive."
"You are prevaricating," Ian growled, arms crossed tightly against his chest.
"You are posturing." Clair grinned.
Ian snorted. "Possibly, but then you are staking your life on it, aren't you? Creeping down my basement stairs, all alone…" He narrowed his gaze, studying her again, fresh anger spurting though his veins and pounding through his body. He had been betrayed, slandered, his sanctuary had been invaded, and worst of all, this beautiful woman had placed herself at risk.
"Staked my life on it? Well, that's better than being staked," she hedged. She didn't like the gleam in his eyes. He looked hungry for something other than her blood. She fanned herself.
He took a step closer. She took a step back. She was no fool. She recognized danger when she saw it; it didn't have to jump up and bite her on the neck.
"You are a dangerous man," she admitted, more to herself than to Ian.
"Let me show you just how dangerous…" He trailed off suggestively.
Her mind was a mass of swirling convictions, warnings, and yearnings as she peered up at him from beneath thick brown lashes. Suddenly, she slapped her head with her palm. "You are doing it again!"
"What?"
"Trying to draw my attention away from your coffin."
"My great-great-grandfather's coffin," he corrected.
Clair scanned his body quickly, then glanced over at the coffin. "It looks as if it would fit you perfectly."
"That's ridiculous. One size fits all in coffins," he snapped, wondering what it would be like to taste her. Probably heaven—or, more likely, hell. Getting involved with a Frankenstein would be like standing up to an avalanche: downhill all the way.
"In a pig's eye, they do." The way she said it caused the baron to break into laughter again.
Without thought Clair took two steps forward and kicked him in the shin, her eyes flashing fire. "I don't like being laughed at."
Realizing what she had done, Clair bit back a groan. She had bearded the lion in his den and then attacked him. Her aunt Mary was right. Her temper was going to get her into serious trouble. And it looked as though tonight was the night, for an enraged vampire could only spell trouble with a big, fat capital T.
Ian noted the variety of expressions crossing Clair's face. First there was anger, then chagrin, then fear, then remorse, and finally terror. Although Ian generally preferred people to maintain a healthy fear of him, he didn't like it from this small powder keg. So, before she could run screaming into the night, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She tasted like the first snow of winter—soft, wet, and invigorating. She tasted special, creating in him an addiction that would not soon be satisfied. He felt the blood rushing to his groin, making him as stiff as a poker. This Clair Frankenstein felt just right in his arms, neither too tall nor too short. She made him hunger. She tasted so good that he had to taste her again.
Clair felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as the soft heat of Baron Huntsley's lips pressed against her and his arms enclosed her tightly. How dare he be so forward? How dare he try and seduce her with his vampire tricks? Her mind screamed these things, but a small voice was whispering how delicious and decadent it all was.
Wanting to push him away, her arms instead ended up wrapping around his neck. She could feel the luxuriant thickness of his hair where it lay over his collar. It was as soft as silk.
And his body felt wonderful. In the back of her mind, Clair decided to put the inertia principal into practice, to take the path of least resistance and just stay in his arms for a bit longer.
A lick of fire shot like a comet from her stomach to her lips, tingles spurting from her toes to other regions. The sensation was astounding. She had never felt the like before. No wonder vampires were the lovers of choice in those gothic stories if they could kiss like this, she mused. Why, it made her blood rush to her head! Her heart beat giddily faster, pumping more of her hot red blood…
Blood! That was the key word, her mind inserted loudly. Her blood was hot and she was hot and he was a vampire hungering for her life's fluid, wanting to steal it from her! While she on the other hand was rather fond of it and definitely wanted to keep every last drop.
Regaining her somewhat bemused wits, Clair shoved against his chest. Reluctantly Ian released her.
Clair hastily and rather belatedly grabbed her cross, shoving it into his face. Inching away, she warned, "Stay back! I am not afraid to use this."
Ian merely yawned.
"So much for the cross," she muttered. Undaunted, she quickly groped beneath her large black cape. "Aha," she added triumphantly as she pulled out a stick.
Ian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. She held a small stick not much bigger than his index finger, about four inches long with no sharpened end.
"I take it that is a stake?" he said.
Clair looked at what she held in her hand. "Well, actually no. It's what I used to pry your window open upstairs." She dropped the stick and fished around inside her cape again, coming up with a garlic clove.
He sniffed, then shook his head. "Try again."
Frustrated, she dropped the garlic.
Ian shook his head. If she wasn't so deliciously scary, she would be dangerous. She gave him a haughty look.
Arms crossed on his chest, he watched her fumble around inside her cloak again and wished it was his hands roaming her body. "I could help." He smiled, a rakish smile that had lifted a thousand skirts. The effect it had on Clair, however, was somewhat different from what Ian anticipated.
"You have awfully big teeth," she said suspiciously.
He couldn't help himself. "The better to eat you with, my dear." His grin was pure wolf.
"My lord, this is no joking matter! I am human and you are…" She paused. "Well, you aren't. Control yourself, sir."
If you only knew, Ian mused. His control was perfect, all he wanted to do right now was lay Clair Frankenstein across that coffin and ravish her thoroughly until she screamed with pleasure again and again and again.
"I would say I am exhibiting remarkable control," he told her. "After all, I haven't had you arrested for breaking and entering. What would society say? What would your uncles say?"
"Nothing, for neither rain nor snow nor sleet," Clair began, then ad-libbed ingeniously, "nor vampires can stop a Frankenstein's quest for truth. Besides, my lord, no one will ever know I was here."
"And why is that?"