Immortal Desire Page 7

  Her limbs moved with a fluid otherworldliness.

  “No. No, no, no.” Hauling her into his arms, he laid her out on the floor and reached for the phone. “She’s coded,” he shouted when Seth answered. “Help me.” He tossed the receiver. “Think.” But he couldn’t. Panic flooded his mind with infinite, fast-moving snapshots of her over the past three years—the kid she’d been when she applied, the woman she’d become, the stubborn jut of her chin when angered, the sultry way she moved, her lopsided smile, the way she’d looked at him in the shower. Thousands of things he might have said choked him. “Don’t you fucking die.” The hoarse command was the best he could do.

  Seth materialized at Griff’s side. “How long?”

  “A couple minutes at the most.”

  “Shit.” He tossed the bag away. “Compressions or breaths?”

  Griff just looked at him.

  “Compression or breaths!”

  “Breaths.”

  “Then do it.”

  Griff tilted her head back and hesitated.

  “Do it,” Seth snarled.

  The cold from her lips was a shock. A riot of emotion threatened to drown Griff as he tilted her head back and checked her airway. Sealed his mouth over hers. Pinched her nose and exhaled. He counted the rise and fall of each breath by rote. Then he broke away and hovered, ready to begin again.

  Seth took up swift chest compressions.

  Air brushed Griff’s lips, a result of Seth’s efforts. Nothing more. His fingers drifted down her throat to rest over her carotid artery. Each compression resulted in a faint bump against his fingertips. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t happening. Not really. Couldn’t be.

  “Get ready to breathe,” Seth ordered. “Now.”

  Griff silently willed everything he had into each exhale. Come back to me. Counting down to the last breath, he broke the connection.

  Seth numbered every hand-to-heart compression he made. “Go.”

  Again, Griff breathed. He stroked her pulse point and ignored the invisible vice tightening around his chest. It had been more than three minutes. They were running out of time.

  A small, telltale beat thrummed beneath her skin, faint and sporadic but undeniably there.

  Griff jerked back, eyes wide. “I’ve got a pulse.”

  Seth’s shoulders sagged. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

  “She’ll die.” He couldn’t look away from her.

  “Man, she just di—”

  “She hasn’t fed.”

  Seth whistled low. “How long’s she got?”

  “Not long.” Demons he knew he couldn’t quell lurked in his eyes. “Her best chance is here.”

  “Do what you can, brother.” Seth stood, brushing at his pants. “Call me and, uh, let me know if...”

  “Yeah.”

  Seth disappeared. No theatrics, no flames, no Disney dance moves. Just a wisp of smoke where the genie had been standing.

  Griff gathered Bailey in his arms, focused solely on the pulse that beat in her throat. He nearly dropped her when she spoke.

  “Hey.” She looked up at him through slit lids, eyes not quite tracking.

  “Hey, yourself,” he said on little more than a whisper.

  She raised a shaky hand to her chest, her brow wrinkling. “I think I feel worse.”

  “You should. Seth just spent the last few minutes coaxing your heart back online.” He looked away, jaw clenched.

  “I died.” A statement, not a question.

  Griff didn’t respond, instead settling her on the bed and kneeling at her side. He would have had better luck changing Earth’s polarity than preventing himself from running his hands over her. Proof she’s right there.

  Stretching out beside her, he rested a hand between her breasts and openly stared. Her heart beat slow and steady. Sentiment he’d learned to mercilessly suppress crept in. But here he laid, staring at the only woman ever to make him falter, hesitate, wonder. He closed his eyes on a heavy sigh. This had crossed the line into way too complicated.

  The faint touch made his eyes flash wide.

  Hand over his, Bailey watched him with the most curious expression. Then he recognized it. She was looking through the bullshit walls he put up and seeing him.

  The urge to hide, to cover himself, to make excuses for what she might see, made him crazed. He said the only thing he could think of in the face of that brutal awareness. “You’ll feed, Bailey. Understand me?” In direct opposition to his tone, Griff tenderly stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Understand?” While softer this time, the command was no less intense.

  She nodded and opened her arms.

  Drowning in a sea of long-forsaken sensations, he sank into her embrace.

  * * *

  Bailey languidly ran her hands over Griff’s body, shifting as he settled between her thighs. Warm sunlight tipped over the windowsills. She turned and watched as it spilled across the room, gilding the man in her arms. Morning. For better or worse, her Change was almost over.

  Griff’s large hand turned her face back to his. “You look at me, Bailey. Only me.” She tried to rest her cheek in his palm, but he gently grasped her chin and forced her gaze back to his. “Only me. Understand?”

  “Yeah.” It would cost her, though whether she would pay out in the currency of joy or tears wasn’t clear. It didn’t matter. The things that mattered most came with the highest costs and, consequently, the highest risks. This mattered most. “Love me, Griff.”

  “I...” He looked away. “Find a way to let go, Bailey. If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” He snorted, the look on his face nearly panicked. “Again.”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. “If this doesn’t work—”

  He jerked his chin away. “Don’t.” What should have been an authoritative command came out broken.

  “Hey.” The first wave of nausea rolled through her. “I need you, Griff.”

  “Yeah.” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Stick with me.”

  She reached between them, stroking his semi-hard erection with strong fingers. He gently rocked into her touch.

  His eyes grew languid.

  Sex hung heavy on the air.

  Heavy and turgid, his cock kicked in her hand. She rubbed her thumb through the bead of moisture that slicked the broad head. Dragging her fingers down to the root, she reached low to cup his balls. They drew up tight at her caress. His abs clenched when she gripped his shaft again, thrilling her. Thick cords of muscle stood out in arms that trembled beneath her touch.

  He looked down at her, eyes wide, pupils dilated. “I want you.”

  Bailey leaned forward and gently took his nipple between her teeth, flicking her tongue over the hard point. His hiss of pleasure snaked around her.

  Pain lanced through her middle. She fell back and fought not to fold in on herself. The empty ache in her womb burned. Her sex throbbed.

  Griff kissed the tiny divot beneath her ear. “Let me in, Bailey.”

  Her sob was saturated with everything she couldn’t say. Take me. Stop the pain. Help me. Don’t let me die. Love me.

  He answered wordlessly, guiding his thick erection to her opening.

  She pushed her hips toward him as he worked his way in. Arousal spread from her center. Her nipples pearled. Sensual hunger masked the pain.

  He bent low and bit the soft area between neck and shoulder.

  Her throaty, wordless approval was interrupted by pain’s renewed assault.

  Cupping the back of her head, he buried his face in her neck when she arched off the bed and cried out.

  Agony. This was what it felt like to be courted by Death. She wanted Griff to push her, to break down the walls that held her back, force h
er to totally let go and give him all of her. Hell, she needed him to make this happen.

  He undulated his hips in a way that started somewhere below the knees and ended around his shoulders.

  She gasped and dug her nails into his back.

  He did it again. Then he rose up and looked at her.

  The unfiltered depth in his gaze drew her in, pulled her under, held her there until she couldn’t breathe.

  Griff dipped his chin and looked away.

  She cradled his face in her hands.

  Slipping a hand between them, he stroked her clit with his thumb.

  The heavy veil of pleasure didn’t lessen the sting of his withdrawal. “Griff.” Still cradling his face, she watched him. The way the light played across his body. His unrepentant joy in giving and receiving pleasure. How he closed his eyes to try and rein in the fundamental truths in his stare. That, no matter how hard he had tried to hide, she’d seen him.

  Something huge rose in her.

  Griff’s eyes widened.

  A near-brutal storm of base desire crashed into them. He pounded into her, driving her into the mattress with every down stroke, slave to a sybaritic response neither of them could control.

  She clung to him, met his every thrust with violence of her own. Her nails scored his arms.

  He pulled out and flipped her over, hauling her hips off the bed before she could protest. “Let me hear you, baby.” Teeth sank into her shoulder when he covered her.

  She shouted, rocked forward when he buried his cock to the hilt in one hard move. Heat roared through her, intense and primal. Her sheath clamped down on Griff’s cock as she charged toward release. All she could think was that she was going to come apart if she couldn’t find an anchor. She blindly reached for him.

  He met her halfway, grasping her hand and twining their fingers together.

  That simple connection blew the walls off whatever prison had trapped her instinct. It rushed out, seeking what she needed to survive. The impact with Griff’s essence was so violent it should have, in her estimation, set off regional seismographs.

  His grip tightened with bone-crushing force. He faltered. Then he buried his shaft to the hilt and cried out.

  She’d been on the cusp of coming apart at the seams. His orgasm sent her careening over the edge. It was what he’d shouted out that sent her heart into the most unbelievable free-fall, though.

  Lost in the moment, Griff had called her name.

  Chapter Nine

  The way Griff’s heart hammered he had to wonder if a heart attack could kill him, immortal or not. He knew he was smothering her but couldn’t bring himself to move. Maybe in a minute. Or ninety. The exchange of life forces had been a total surprise. He’d come away from the experience absolutely energized. At least he would be energized—once his heart got off the short track and he could tone it down.

  “Geroff.” The two words ran together thanks to the way her face was smashed into a pillow.

  He flopped over, one arm flung above his head and his legs sprawled out. “You okay?”

  She whuffed and blew the hair off her forehead. “Think so.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  A catlike stretch preceded her answer. “Pretty much gone.”

  “Pretty much?” Amusement colored his tone.

  “Let it go, lover boy.” She rolled onto her side and curled an arm under her head. “Thanks.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the crown and giving a couple of sharp yanks. That increasingly familiar discomfort settled in his chest. “Yeah. Okay.” Her indelicate snort made him glance over. “What?”

  “Yeah? Okay?” She shook her head. “Never mind.” Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something?”

  His stomach cramped. “I guess.”

  She absently ran her fingernail along the seam of the sheet, shooting him a brief look. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you? When I fed off you, I mean.”

  Griff closed his eyes. “I didn’t.”

  “I can’t believe you would—”

  “Leave it alone, Bailey,” he bit out. It didn’t stop her from drawing in a breath that heralded an argument. He looked over and glared, stopping her before she got started. “I mean it.” He let his head roll back before dropping an arm over his face.

  Silence settled between them, awkward and charged.

  This, this was why he didn’t do relationships. Ever. It always came down to moments like this. One party ended up wounded and the other was caught backpedaling. There was no parity, no real partnership. It was just an emotional seesaw in perpetual motion. Thinking he could direct the outcome of this little encounter, however brief, had been the ultimate act of hubris. Bailey wasn’t—hadn’t ever been—controllable. So stupid.

  The bed moved.

  He didn’t open his eyes. She’d get up and leave on her own, or she’d force his hand. His stomach bottomed out. Bile burned the back of his throat, and he swallowed convulsively.

  The truth of who he was or what he’d become hadn’t changed because of this encounter. It only meant it was time to shore up his defenses. He didn’t want to think about how many cracks there were or he’d be tempted to find a mason who could repair his emotions. Instead, he closed his eyes and forced himself to center, slowed his respirations and relaxed one body part at a time, all while pretending she didn’t exist. Rolling over, he put her at his back.

  Sleep slipped in, weighing him down so that, when the abyss opened, he fell into it willingly.

  * * *

  Griff lunged forward, fully awake. He propped his forearms over bent knees. His head hung low. Confusion saturated his thoughts, casting them in a vague, watery light. Sweat dotted his temples. His chest heaved. Adrenaline screamed through him. His muscles twitched. Just a dream. He rubbed his forehead, trying to remember details. Something had been chasing him across a plowed field that seemed endless. He’d fought for distance, desperate to get away. Knew that if he turned and faced what pursued him, he’d lose himself. Had to keep it at his back. Soft dirt closed over his ankles and pulled him deeper with every step.

  Rubbing his bare feet against the sheets, he swore he could still feel the grit. What the hell had that been about?

  The mattress moved.

  He hadn’t.

  Hazy thoughts that bled together only moments before now separated like spilled mercury, each scattered sphere a well-formed memory. He held his breath and shifted his gaze.

  A slender foot, pale and feminine, peeked out of the covers near the end of the bed. He tried and failed to work up enough spit to swallow. He canted his head. A dark mass of hair came into view. Followed by long, pale limbs. Bailey. Oh, shit. He’d slept with Bailey. He didn’t sleep with women. Sure, he occasionally brought them here for sex, but sex wasn’t sleep. Actual sleep was never part of the deal. Sleep meant...sleep. Vulnerability. Exposure. Unnecessarily awkward “see you arounds.” It was bad enough he’d have to see her in the bar, but this? This was an open invitation only morons made. Which made him a capital moron.

  He turned around far enough to see the bedside clock. 2:58 p.m. Son of a bitch. She was working the first shift this week. If she didn’t get her ass downstairs in the next two hours, Friday bar prep wouldn’t get done. Not an option. He’d have to wake her up.

  The sudden urge to slip out of bed and disappear for a few days made him itch. It would be so easy. Seth could manage the bar while he caught a flight to the Caribbean. He’d check into a resort, do a little surfing, a little dancing and surround himself with a handful of anonymous, oiled bodies. The break would do him good. Things would be normal by the time he got back. It would be like nothing had—

  “Hey.” The sleepy purr of her voice wrapped around him, sensuous and inviting.

>   Instinct made his nostrils flare. Nothing. No sex on the air. Drawing his brows down, he chanced what should have been a quick look over his shoulder. Mistake. Epic mistake. He couldn’t look away.

  She’d propped herself on one elbow. The sheet pooled at the juncture of her thighs, trapped between toned legs. Sheet marks creased her skin. Her abs were drawn taught and created an impossibly long, lean torso. The way she lay exaggerated the dip of her waist and swell of her bare hip. That wild tangle of loose curls had been swept over one shoulder. Her breasts were exposed. Dusky nipples drew tight as he took her in.

  The Marker on her hip had come in, dark and well defined. She traced the circle with one finger. Her eyes never left his face.

  Griff cleared his throat. “How, uh, are you—” he cleared his throat “—feeling?”

  “Very alive.” She bit her bottom lip and grinned, impish yet seductive.

  High-def hedonistic thoughts fried his circuit boards. His body instantly became aroused, and he yanked the duvet over his lap. Chastity cotton. A new personal low.

  Bailey’s lip slid from between her teeth and her brow creased. “Griff?”

  He turned away. The well of emotion he’d long thought dry began to fill. He couldn’t survive this, couldn’t live with the overwhelming crush that would leave him bleeding out with every new encounter.

  The mattress wiggled. Air moved around him carrying the clean scent that was all her own. “Hey.” She settled her hand on his bare shoulder. “Did something happen?”

  Yeah. You woke up in my bed. He shrugged her off and stood, kicking free of the bedding. This would go easier if he told her...what? That he’d been weak? That he’d made a monumental mistake? That he’d known her Change was coming and had waited her out, using it to get her out of his system? That she deserved better than him? That this emotional bullshit maliciously violated one of the two rules he insisted his bed partners respect—a rule she had agreed to just last night? That he’d been an asshole for so long, now it had become a lifestyle choice he didn’t want to give up? That it was safer for him this way? That he meant it? All of it? That he was sorry? So. Damn. Sorry. He rubbed his chest.