The Story of Son(27)

Mick showed them into a lovely bedroom that mercifully had only two windows and thick drapes. Hopefully that would be enough protection.

Mick was the one who pulled the lined curtains into place.

“You need anything, you know where I sleep,” he said. He hesitated at the door, then closed them in together.

Claire took a deep breath. “Michael—”

He cut her off. “You said you could do anything while you were with child, correct?”

When she nodded, he looked at the bed as if imagining them on it. “Even . . .”

She had to smile. “Yes, even that. But first, we need to talk—”

He was on her in a heartbeat, pressing her back against the door, his hands rough on either side of her waist.

“No talking,” he growled. “First, I take you.”

His mouth clamped onto hers, his tongue going deep, and then there was a tearing noise—her blouse being ripped open. Oh, God, yes . . . He kissed her until she was dizzy for a reason other than her pregnancy, and sometime in the middle of the rush, he picked her up and laid her out on the bed. With smooth coordination, like he’d been planning the moves, he pushed his pajama bottoms down, pulled her skirt up, bit through one side of her panties, and then—

He was inside.

Her body arched up against him and she held on hard as she gasped. She was extra tight because she was only partially ready for him, but the moment he drove into her, she caught up with him. He pumped heavy and strong, but with care as well, the antique bed groaning under the force of his body as he took her.

The glorious smell of him invaded her nose and she knew what this was about. This was him staking his claim to her in addition to loving her. This was a possession by something other than a human man and it was so totally fine by her.

Michael came with a great clenching of his body and a roar that broke through the silence in the house. Loud as it was, their host had to have heard it so it was a good thing she didn’t care enough to be embarrassed as her own orgasm swept through her.

After it was over, they stayed locked together, intertwined, their breathing hard for precious moments.

And then he said, “Forgive me . . . my love.” He pulled back and smoothed her cheek while gently kissing her lips. “I fear I am rather . . . territorial when it comes to you.”

She laughed. “You be as territorial as you want. Coming from you, I like it.”

“Claire . . . what do we do about the future?”

“I have it all planned out. I’m very good at strategy.” She put her fingers through his long, luxurious hair, the red and black strands curling around her wrist and arm. “I’m going to fix it so your mother leaves you everything.”

“How?”

“I redrafted her will every four months or so while she was alive and I’m going to do it one last time downstairs in Mick’s study tomorrow morning.”

Yes, she was violating the professional code of ethics she’d sworn to when she’d taken her oath as an attorney. Yes, she could be disbarred. Yes, she was compromising her personal standards. But a great wrong had been done seemingly without remorse and sometimes to right something, you had to get your hands dirty. There were no more Leedses left, so there were no heirs to contest the will. And the philanthropies would be left in, so there would still be millions upon millions going to them.

The wrong she would commit was the right thing to do.

And the fact that Fletcher was dead? Just made it all easier.

“She owes you,” Claire said. “Your mother . . . your mother needs to take care of her son and I’m going to make sure she does.”

“You are my hero.” The love shining in Michael’s eyes was a benediction unlike any she’d ever seen.

“And you are my sun,” she replied.

As they kissed again, she had the weirdest sense it was all going to work out, even though none of it made sense: a human woman who never thought she’d get married and have a family because she was too tough for that kind of thing. A male vampire who was both pliant and fierce—and who hadn’t been out of a dungeon in fifty years.

But it was right. They were right for each other.

Although God only knew what the future had in store for them.





EPILOGUE



Nine years later . . .





“Daddy! I’m coming for you!”

Claire looked over the moonlit lawns of the Leeds estate and watched her oldest child, Gabriella, go into full stealth mode. Her waist-length red and black hair was a shroud in the night, her coltish legs long for an eight-year-old. She moved quickly and silently to the stand of fruit trees in the back garden, going over the grass like her father did with fluidity and grace—as was the way with vampires.

Michael materialized behind his daughter and shouted, “Boo!”

Gabriella jumped about twelve feet into the air, but recovered quickly, landing on her feet and tearing after her father while giggling. She tackled him, and the two went down in the grass, fireflies hovering above the tickling fest as if they too were laughing.

“Mama, I’m finished,” came a quiet voice from the left.

Claire put her hand out and felt her son’s little palm slide into hers. “Thank you for cleaning your room.”

“I’m sorry it got so messy.”