Haunted by Jeanne C. Stein Page A

it. He doesn’t look any worse for the two weeks he’s been gone—a little thinner maybe, but that only accentuates the square cut of his jaw, the razor-sharp cheekbones that look so good on camera. His hair is mussed, longer than I’ve seen it, golden blond touched on the temples with silver. It gives him an air of quiet confidence, of maturity that in spite of his young thirty-some years, attracts viewers and makes his evening news show one of the most watched in Southern California.
    I brush a lock of that hair gently off his forehead. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? God, you must be. We’ve been at it for hours.”
    He opens his eyes and grins up at me. “Have we? You make me lose track of time.” He glances toward the slider. “When did it get dark?”
    I laugh and sit up. “I have some bread and cheese downstairs. Not much. But I figured you’d want to go to dinner at some point.”
    He pulls me back down against his chest. “Not yet.” His voice is gruff. “We have two weeks to make up for.”
    I slide my hand down between his legs. “You’re hard.”
    His hand travels down my stomach, fingers stroke, probe. “You’re wet.” He brushes his lips against mine. “Can you go again?”
    “Chosen One, remember? Stamina woman.”
    He lifts his chin. “What about you? Are you thirsty?”
    An offering. I realize I am. I nuzzle close, touch the spot with the tip of my tongue. I listen for his heartbeat, for the pulse of his blood. His excitement builds. I feel it, not only in the hardness of his erection, but in the quickening of his blood.
    I straddle him, pin his shoulders to the bed with my hands, his hips with my knees. I lower my own hips, advancing, retreating, until I have him completely inside me and he’s groaning with impatience. He wants to thrust up, but I don’t let him.
    Until the moment I break the skin. His back arches, he gasps and moans. But he doesn’t fight. He surrenders. To the pleasure, to the rhythm, to the vampire.
    His blood tastes of cold desert air and snow. Simple food. A bit of fear. Longing. I’m there in his sleepless nights.
    The realization that I’ve become a part of him fills me with sudden alarm. Then, confusion. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted?
    He’s nearing climax. His body tenses, his hands grip my hips and he forces me down, deep. I’m swept up, too. I stop drinking and meet his movements with my own—frenzied, turbulent, using the overpowering physical sensation of a mind-numbing climax to shatter the uncertainty.

CHAPTER 11
    S TEPHEN AND I FINALLY COME UP FOR AIR. WE’RE downstairs at the kitchen table. Stephen wolfs down a cheese sandwich like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. Makes me wish I could share that simple pleasure with him.
    Nothing different here. Frey eats, too, you know.
    The voice unwanted, unbidden whispers in my ear.
    So what now? I’m comparing Stephen with Frey?
    “Something wrong?” Stephen’s eyes are on me. “You look upset.”
    I shake away the specter with a shake of my head. “No. Just wishing I could share that sandwich. It looks good.”
    “It is. Got to rebuild my strength. You took a lot out of me, you know.”
    He leans toward me and I meet him. Our lips brush. He whispers, “I can’t believe how amazing sex is with you. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I think you may be ruining me for anyone else.”
    Anyone else? I pull back a little.
    He catches it. Takes my hand. “That may not have come out right.”
    “Is there something I should know?”
    “God, no. In fact, I have something to ask you. I’m hoping it’s something you’ll like.”
    Excitement shines from his eyes. I hope panic isn’t shining from mine. “What is it?”
    He pushes his chair back and takes my hand to pull me up with him as he stands. At least he isn’t getting down on one knee.
    “I’ve had a job offer. A great job offer.”
    “What kind of job?” An automatic response to hide the confusion rattling around in my head. I