A Discovery of Witches(192)

It was he who needed fresh air, not I, but the prospect of going outdoors was enticing. A search in the mudroom closet revealed an old pair of my running shoes. They were worn, but they fit better than Sarah’s boots.

We made it as far as the first apple trees before Matthew swung me around and pressed me between his body and one of the old, gnarled trunks. The low canopy of branches shielded us from the house’s sight.

Despite my being trapped, there was no answering rush of witchwind. There were plenty of other feelings, though.

“Christ, that house is crowded,” Matthew said, pausing just long enough to get the words out before refastening his lips on mine.

We’d had too little time alone since he’d returned from Oxford. It seemed a lifetime ago, but it was only days. One of his hands slid into the waistband of my jeans, his fingers cool against my bare flesh. I shivered with pleasure, and he drew me closer, his other hand locating the rounded curves of my breast. We pressed the length of our bodies against each other, but he kept looking for new ways to connect.

Finally there was only one possibility left. For a moment it seemed Matthew intended to consummate our marriage the old-fashioned way—standing up, outdoors, in a blinding rush of physical need. His control returned, however, and he pulled away.

“Not like this,” he rasped, his eyes black.

“I don’t care.” I pulled him back against me.

“I do.” There was a soft, ragged expulsion of air as Matthew breathed a vampire’s sigh. “When we make love for the first time, I want you to myself—not surrounded by other people. And I’ll want you for more than the few snatched moments we’d have now, believe me.”

“I want you, too,” I said, “and I’m not known for my patience.”

His lips drew up into a smile, and he made a soft sound of agreement.

Matthew’s thumb stroked the hollow in my throat, and my blood leaped. He put his lips where his thumb had been, pressing them softly against the outward sign of the vitality that pulsed beneath the surface. He traced a vein up the side of my neck toward my ear.

“I’m enjoying learning where you like to be touched. Like here.” Matthew kissed behind my ear. “And here.” His lips moved to my eyelids, and I made a soft sound of pleasure. “And here.” He ran his thumb over my lower lip.

“Matthew,” I whispered, my eyes pleading.

“What, mon coeur?” He watched, fascinated, as his touch drew fresh blood to the surface.

I didn’t answer but pulled him to me, unconcerned with the cold, the growing darkness, and the rough bark beneath my sore back. We remained there until Sarah called from the porch.

“You didn’t get very far, did you?” Her snort carried clear across the field. “That hardly qualifies as exercise.”

Feeling like a schoolgirl caught necking in the driveway, I pulled my sweatshirt into the proper position and headed back to the house. Matthew chuckled and followed.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Sarah said when he stepped into the kitchen. Standing under the bright lights, he was every inch a vampire—and a self-satisfied one, at that. But his eyes were no longer restless, and for that I was grateful.

“Leave him alone.” Em’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. She handed me the salad and pointed me to the table in the family room where we usually ate. “We saw a fair amount of that apple tree ourselves while Diana was growing up.”

“Hmph,” Sarah said. She picked up three wineglasses and waved them in Matthew’s direction. “Got any more of that wine, Casanova?”

“I’m French, Sarah, not Italian. And I’m a vampire. I always have wine,” Matthew said with a wicked smile. “There’s no danger of running out either. Marcus will bring more. He’s not French—or Italian either, alas—but his education compensated for it.”

We sat around the table, and the three witches proceeded to demolish Em’s roast chicken and potatoes. Tabitha sat next to Matthew, her tail swishing flirtatiously across his feet every few minutes. He kept the wine flowing into Sarah’s glass, and I sipped at my own. Em asked repeatedly if he wanted to taste anything, but Matthew declined.

“I’m not hungry, Emily, but thank you.”

“Is there anything at all that you would eat?” Em wasn’t used to people refusing her food.

“Nuts,” I said firmly. “If you have to buy him food, get him nuts.”

Em hesitated. “What about raw meat?”

Matthew grabbed my hand and squeezed it before I could reply. “If you want to feed me, uncooked meat would be just fine. I like broth, too—plain, no vegetables.”

“Is that what your son and colleague eat, too, or are these just your favorite foods?”

Matthew’s impatience with my earlier questions about his lifestyle and dining habits made sense to me now.

“It’s pretty standard vampire fare when we’re among warmbloods.” Matthew released my hand and poured himself more wine.

“You must hang out at bars a lot, what with the wine and nuts,” Sarah observed.

Em put her fork down and stared at her.

“What?” Sarah demanded.

“Sarah Bishop, if you embarrass us in front of Matthew’s son, I’ll never forgive you.”