Archangel's Blade (Guild Hunter #4)(68)

Swerving to miss a Town Car that was attempting to nose its way out into the manic traffic, he took his time replying.

“There was a particularly luscious blonde on offer last night. She called me after I left your apartment.”

Honor’s hand tightened on the door frame, her arm braced along the edge. She knew he was provoking her on purpose—he was in a mood, that much was clear—and yet she couldn’t fight the primal possessiveness of her response. “I’d have thought,” she said with manufactured calm, “that you’d have learned your lesson about blondes with Carmen.”

He turned, taking them toward the Lincoln Tunnel rather than the Tower. “Ah, but the sweet, hot taste of blood can mask the most unattractive qualities.” Displaying no impatience with the traffic backed up before the tunnel, he pulled off his sunglasses to place them in a compartment below the dash. “Honor.”

Anger a burn in her veins, she turned her head to find herself sucking in a breath at the intoxicating sensuality of him. The dawn sun, the traffic, none of it did anything to mute the intensity of those dark eyes, the harsh planes of that beautiful face.

“I,” he said in a tone that was pure rough silk, “am possessive, too, little rabbit. Lethally so.”

Her anger transformed into something far more visceral. “That doesn’t scare me,” she said, laying her hand on his thigh, the hard strength of muscle flexing under her palm. “But I’ve seen how vampires your age operate.”

“How is that?” A low purr of a question that might as well have been a stiletto slicing over her skin.

“Moody, aren’t you?” No answer, as he nudged the car forward. “I know,” she continued, “the sexual mores are much more . . . relaxed.” She’d once walked in on an orgy in progress during a hunt. Limbs tangled in sexual abandon, necks arched for a bite, and sighs whispering into air perfumed with the musk of sex, it had been erotic as hell, but she’d had not the slightest inclination to join in—even when propositioned by a pair of ripped Scandinavian-blond male twins, something straight out of a naughty fantasy.

“That’s not me,” she said, because while such fantasies were fun, in reality she fell very solidly into the fidelity camp. “This, between us, has crossed a line.” A line that gave her the right to demand what she was about to demand. “I’ll never accept that you might have other lovers—whether for blood or sex—and if you expect it, then we have to stop this right here, right now.”

Walking away from Dmitri would destroy something vital inside her, but worse would be to watch him bend that dark head over the neck of some other woman. “However long we’re together”—and she wasn’t na?ve enough to think she could hold a man like Dmitri forever—“it needs to be exclusive.”

When she would’ve withdrawn her hand from his thigh, he covered it with his own for a second, holding her to him. “Blondes, it seems, have lost their appeal,” he said, increasing speed as the snarl eased.

“Not good enough.”

“No one else for the duration, Honor.” An unambiguous promise . . . followed by a warning. “For either of us.”

Her chest hurt and only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath. Releasing it, she said, “I know it’s unfair, when I might not be able to allow you to feed from me.” A vampire had once told her blood from the vein was as different from stored blood as the most decadent chocolate cake was from a rice cracker.

But Dmitri shrugged those shoulders she wanted to see naked again. “Blood is easy enough to come by.” Clearing the tunnel, he took them out into the suburbs. “It’s the sex I might die without.”

She dug her nails into his thigh, choking on her laugh. When his lips curved in a slow smile that made her think dangerous thoughts, she decided to play him at his own game. Moving her hand, she danced her fingers up the zipper of his sedate black pants. He cursed, but managed not to swerve.

It did something to her that he’d hardened immediately under her touch, made her even bolder. “Try not to drive beside a semi or a pickup,” she said, closing her hand over him and squeezing just enough that his jaw turned to granite, “or they’ll get an eyeful.”

“Fuck that.” He punched something on the dash and the car’s roof unfolded over them with a smooth electronic hum, locking into place in under half a minute. A second press and the windows were up and opaqued.

Good God. “How much is this car worth?”

Putting his own hand on hers, he urged her to pick up the pace. “You can’t have it. Not for a hand job. Maybe if you use your mouth.”

Her toes curled, desire igniting liquid and hot in her abdomen. “You can’t come,” she warned, pumping him with her hand. “Or you’ll have to drive all the way back to change.”

Clenching his fingers on the steering wheel, he hissed out a breath. “I won’t forget this, Honor.” It was a threat.

One that made her nipples go tight, rubbing against the lace of the sexy bra she’d slipped on under the top. However, she didn’t even consider stopping this—she wanted to do it, to seize an experience the broken woman she’d been at the start of this hunt would have never contemplated. “There,” she said, “it’s the entrance to some kind of park.” Green grass, a few picnic tables.