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  “Oh, that,” I said, remembering the cream-colored gown he was talking about. It had clung to me in long, silky waves, emphasizing my curves. I hadn’t known why Corbin had ordered me to wear it until I entered his office and found out I was supposed to be married to a complete stranger.

  Not so much of a stranger anymore, I heard Victor rumble inside my head.

  With a little shock I realized I had done it—I was in. Inside his head. Or he was in mine. Whatever—this was my first successful glam-session. Or it would be if I could manage to project the images he was asking for.

  I concentrated hard for a moment and then Victor and I were standing in the small back room at Under the Fang where we had been blood-bonded almost two weeks before. I was wearing the cream-colored silky gown and the white rosebuds in my hair and Victor was dressed as he had been also—in the too-tight black jacket Corbin had loaned him for the occasion.

  Hey, come on, I heard him say. At least put me in a tux.

  Oh, okay. I concentrated again and there he was, looking surprisingly suave in a tailored black tux and bow tie. Better? I asked.

  Victor growled approvingly. More like it.

  Now what? I looked around the room, wondering what else he would ask me to show him.

  We didn’t have a very long ceremony, he pointed out.

  No. And no reception, either, I said, wondering where he was going with this. Want me to conjure a wedding cake? If I can make it real enough you should be able to feel and taste everything. I can even make a buffet table filled with nothing but bacon. For that matter, I can make you a buffet table out of bacon. I was trying to joke, trying to defuse some of the tension of being inside each other’s minds but it didn’t seem to be working.

  Not interested in any of that. Victor’s mental voice was rough. But there is one thing we skipped—the part after Corbin pronounced us bonded.

  What do you mean? I looked up at him quizzically.

  I mean this. Victor stepped forward and took me in his arms. The part about kissing the bride.

  Suddenly his mouth was on mine, hot and sweet— incredibly gentle but urgent at the same time. For a moment I let myself melt against him, giving in to the kiss, to his strong arms around me, pulling me close to his big, hard body. And then I realized what I was doing.

  “Oh!” I gasped aloud, losing my concentration. I pulled back from him, breaking our connection both mentally and physically. The scene we had created together vanished, leaving me sitting in only a t-shirt on the brown leather couch, staring into his eyes.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  I blinked, trying to clear the glam-vision from my head but it didn’t want to go somehow.

  “Why…why did you do that?” I asked at last.

  He shrugged. “I was kind of sorry I didn’t get a chance to do it the day we got bonded. Did it bother you?”

  “I…wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.” I stood up from the couch abruptly. “Look, I should really go do something with my clothes. I can’t, uh, run around in just your t-shirt the whole time I’m here.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” His warm brown eyes traveled up and down my body slowly, making me blush and cross my arms over my breasts. I was starting to get those feelings again—just as I had after I had fed on him the night before. What the hell was going on? I pressed my thighs together tightly where I was suddenly achy and hot.

  “Victor…” I frowned at him and he shrugged.

  “Hey, sorry. Can’t a guy admire his own wife?”

  “I’m not your wife—not really,” I reminded him. “This is just an arrangement and after the three months are up we’ll go our separate ways—just like you said.”

  He frowned and sighed. “Yeah, I guess I did say that.”

  “You said it because it’s true,” I said and cleared my throat. Okay, it was time to put our little glam-session behind us and get practical here. “So where are your washer and dryer?” I asked.

  “Out in the garage but you’ll have to let me do your laundry—there are too many windows out there.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t know I’d be having a vampire wife—uh, houseguest when I designed this damn place.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him, shifting from foot to foot. The glam-kiss we had so briefly shared kept replaying itself in my head and I was really starting to feel an urgent need to get away and have some time on my own. “You couldn’t have known that Corbin would force you to marry some crazy second-rate vampire girl.”

  “Hey, don’t talk that way about yourself.” He reached up and caught my hand, his touch sending a warm, electrical current through my entire body. It intensified my other problem, making my nipples hard and my pussy wet.

  “Victor…” I said, looking at him uncertainly. Could he see what was happening to me? Could he sense it somehow? I kept my other arm self consciously across my breasts, hoping he couldn’t see the pink points of my nipples pressing against the thin white cotton.

  Victor shifted on the couch and his nostrils flared, as though he was scenting something.

  “Goddamn, you smell good,” he murmured, pulling me closer until I was standing right between his knees. “Didn’t know a vamp could smell like that.”

  Suddenly all I could think about was leaning down to kiss him—for real this time. I wouldn’t have to lean very far—he was so big that even with him sitting down and me standing up, we were nearly eye to eye. Standing between his knees I could smell his warm scent and feel his heat. I wanted to step into that heat, to melt into his arms and let him warm me up completely.

  God, was I going crazy here? I can’t do that, I reminded myself. I don’t want to do that—not ever again. Besides, I’m a vampire and he’s a were—we’re natural enemies.

  I pulled my hand out of his and took a step back.

  “Uh, thanks. I need to—I should go get my clothes.”

  “You do that. Just leave them outside the door and I’ll take care of them.” He gave me a slow smile that made my insides feel like they were melting. “Be sure you go around the other way, away from the kitchen.”

  “Of course.” I nodded at him with as much dignity as I could muster and then walked quickly away.

  It wasn’t until I was locked safely in the master bathroom that I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally alone, and I knew what I had to do. My hand crept under the hem of the t-shirt. Cupping my swollen pussy, I rubbed gently but firmly against my aching clit.

  I came almost at once, biting my lip to keep back the moan that wanted to escape me. It felt good—incredible—but it wasn’t enough. Sliding down so that I was sitting with my back to the bathroom door, I did it again. And then again and again until I was coming almost continuously. It was like my clit was on a hair-trigger—every time I touched myself I had another orgasm.

  But it didn’t help. No matter how many times I made myself come—and believe me, I lost count after seventeen—it didn’t help. I just kept wanting more and more but more of what? Why wasn’t my desire fading away? Why was it growing every time I touched myself? And why couldn’t I stop thinking about Victor, about letting him touch me, take me in ways I swore I would never want again? I kept thinking I could smell him, that his warm leather and fur scent was just on the other side of the door, making me even more sensitive, more needy. But that was crazy, wasn’t it?

  I wasn’t so sure any more.

  God, what was happening to me and how could I make it stop?

  Chapter Seven—Victor

  What the hell do women do in the bathroom for hours and hours on end? I paced silently in front of the bathroom door, wondering if I should knock or say something. After the glam-kiss we’d shared and feeling her pressed against me in that thin t-shirt with nothing else on, my cock was rock hard. I really needed to get in for a minute and take care of business.

  But it didn’t look like I was going to get to do that any time soon. Taylor had disappeared into the one finished and function