Tearing her mouth from the heat of his, she looked down at the arm he was still fondling. Sure enough, the cuts had all healed.

Sarah glared at him, feeling absurdly hurt as she struggled to catch her breath. It had been a ploy? “You tricked me.”

Roland returned her stare blankly, his eyes all aglow.

That made her feel a little better. He had said they only did that when he was experiencing strong emotions.

Or sometimes pain. Maybe it wasn’t desire. Maybe it was a result of the pain healing her cuts had caused him.

“You tricked me!” she repeated, clinging tenaciously to her anger. “You knew I didn’t want you to heal me, so you kissed me to distract me, then healed me anyway.”

“I did?” He glanced down at her arm and slid his fingers across her newly mended skin, making it tingle.

“Don’t even bother trying to deny it.”

“I’m not denying it. I’m surprised it worked.” Then, in more of a mutter, he added, “Never in my life have I had such a hard time concentrating. I can’t believe I even remembered to heal you.”

Her anger evaporated.

He stilled … as though realizing he had said too much.

Satisfaction sifted through her. He had been as swept away by the kiss as she had.

His beautiful, iridescent eyes met hers.

A slow smile curled her lips. “Caught in your own web?”

“Very much so.”

She liked that he didn’t deny it. And her ego liked that he was attracted to her.

Unfortunately, he showed no such elation.

“You have that look about you again,” she told him.

“What look?”

“The same one you had earlier, like you’re waiting for me to scream or freak out or something.”

“Probably because I am.”

It was a little heartbreaking to see that spark of vulnerability fused with resignation in his eyes.

Sarah captured one of his hands in hers. “If I didn’t scream earlier, why would I scream now?”

He studied their clasped hands and said simply, “It’s what most women do when they realize they’ve just been kissed by a monster.”

“A monster?” she repeated derisively. “What kind of crackpots have you been dating?”

His lips twitched as he met her gaze. “I would not be so quick to judge. Did you or did you not run from me in fear earlier?”

Busted. He would have to remember that. “I wasn’t running from you. I was running from the vampires.”

Knowing better, Roland raised one eyebrow.

“Okay, I was running from all of you. But I thought you were like them. Give me a break. I didn’t even know you weren’t human until … what … an hour ago? I’m still trying to catch up and think I’ve done fairly well under the circumstances.”

“Remarkably well,” he agreed. “I suppose that’s why I keep waiting for the axe to fall. It’s so contrary to what I’ve dealt with in the past.”

“That really sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

She looked down at their hands, turning his palms up. “Are you okay?”

Roland stared at her, perplexed. “Okay?”

“You healed my hand and arm. I’m sure it must have hurt.”

“I’m fine.” His perpetual arousal in her presence pained him more than healing her minor cuts and scratches had.

“Good. No more tricks then?”

“Not as long as you allow me to heal you whenever I deem it necessary.”

She raised her head, eyes narrowed in mock anger. “You left out stubbornness when you were listing the characteristics of an immortal.”

He grinned, feeling unusually light at heart. “I was stubborn as a human.”

“I can believe that.”

“Perhaps because it is a trait you’re personally familiar with?” he teased.

“I plead the Fifth.” She brushed her hair back from her forehead, making a face when she felt the blood and dirt that matted the tangled strands. “I know you very sweetly assured me that I don’t stink, but I would love to wash all of this off me.”

“Of course.” Rising, he unsuccessfully tried to banish an image of her standing naked beneath a steaming spray of water.

That one was going to linger.

He eased around her knees, then pulled her up to stand beside him.

She winced.

“What is it?” He did a quick visual inspection of her body and found no obvious injuries. There could be bruises, though.

Her face went blank. “Nothing.”

“You winced.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I was looking right at you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a wince. Maybe I was trying not to sneeze. There was a lot of pollen in that field, you know.”

“No more than there was in the meadow behind your house and you didn’t sneeze once all day.”

She tapped her chin with one finger. “Dust?”

“Try again. I’m what you humans call a neat freak. My home is immaculate.”

She looked around, taking in the modern living room and what could be seen of the dining room. “You’re right. It is. And beautifully decorated.”

“Thank you. You aren’t going to tell me why you winced, are you?”

She gave him a bright smile he found impossible not to return. “No. Now, how about that shower?”

He shook his head, vowing to discover whatever bruises, aches, or pains troubled her later. “As you wish.”

Perhaps when she was resting. She was a pretty sound sleeper. He wouldn’t be doing anything to her that she hadn’t done to him if he were to sneak in, examine her while she slumbered, and rid her of any lingering bruises and scrapes.

Women were funny, though. And she was again looking at him as she would a normal man. The last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize that and once more become a monster in her eyes.

Turning her hand in his, he laced his fingers through hers and led her out of the living room, down the hallway, and into the master bedroom. All the while, he waited for an objection or a casual withdrawing that didn’t come.

How sad was it that he had been without human contact for so long that simply holding a woman’s hand set his heart to racing?

Well, not holding any woman’s hand. Holding Sarah’s hand set his heart to racing.

He flicked on the overhead light.

Sarah stopped short.

Unwilling to relinquish the warm contact, he stood at her side and entertained himself by stroking the back of her hand with his thumb while she perused the large bedroom.

“This is beautiful, Roland.” Sarah took in the forest-green walls, the beautiful hardwood floors, the postmodern paintings, and the ebony-stained armoire, four-poster king-size bed, and matching bedside tables.

“You like it?” he asked tentatively.

“I love it. Green is my favorite color.”

His face lit with a gorgeous smile that made the butterflies return to her belly. “Mine, too. The shower is right through here.”

Her hand still in his, she followed him to an open door on the far wall. Roland leaned in, flicked on the light, then stepped aside so she could join him in the doorway.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed as she peered inside. “This is totally my dream bathroom.” Wanting to hold his hand a little longer, she drew him in after her as she moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle.

“Believe it or not, the house had no bathroom when I bought it. There was only what the locals called a johnny house out back.”

“How long have you had this place?” she asked, unable to imagine it.

“A century or so. There were originally five bedrooms. I kept two, made one a library, one a home gym, and converted the fifth into a small bath for the guest room and this larger master bath.”

“You did all this yourself?” she asked incredulously.

“There wasn’t much else for me to do during the long days.”

“I am beyond impressed.”

All earth tones, it was like something out of an interior design magazine. Lovely stone tiles in complementary shades. A shower large enough to hold half a dozen people. A whirlpool bathtub so long Roland could stretch out completely in it (with room left over for her to join him, not that she should be thinking that). Rich mahogany cabinetry. Brushed nickel hardware. Plants galore and candles in wall sconces and scattered around the tub.

She stared at Roland, unable to turn her mind away from images of him soaking in a warm bubble bath with candlelight glinting off his damp, golden skin.

“You do realize you’re going to have to pry me out of here with a crowbar, right?”

He laughed. “Take as long as you want. Shower. Soak in a nice hot bath.” He opened the cabinet beneath the sink to show her several bottles containing bubble bath in varying scents.

Oh jeeze. He does take bubble baths.

Now she would never get those drool-inspiring images out of her head.

“I think I saw your tote in the backseat when we arrived,” he went on. “I’ll go look and, if Marcus brought it, will leave it outside the door for you. Otherwise, you’re welcome to borrow some of my clothes. Take anything you need from the closet.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then released it and crossed to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Like his large hands smoothing over her slick, soapy body?

“Will do.”

With one last smile, Roland exited and closed the bathroom door behind him.

In the blood-soaked front yard of Sarah’s small frame house, a silhouette emerged from the trees. A light breeze toyed with the hem of his long black coat as he strode forward, limping heavily. The sweet scent of late spring blossoms was tainted by the pungent odors of blood, sweat, and decaying corpses.

Bastien stared at the remains of the men he had led into battle. His battle.

The vampiric virus was hard at work. In a frantic bid to live despite the cessation of flowing blood, it would feast upon the dead flesh of its host until there was nothing left. Not even bones. Minutes hence, the only evidence of the violence that had taken place here would be the crimson-stained grass and ragged pieces of clothing that no longer housed bodies.