Chapter 5
Damn. He must have left already.
Clare tried to stifle the roil of disappointment in her gut.
She’d escaped that stupid conga line as soon as she could.
Every single person, even lovely Harriet, had drunk way too much and all Clare could think as the line shimmied up and down the room was how silly she felt, and how much she wanted to be back out on the balcony, continuing the conversation with her boss.
You wanted so much more than a conversation.
And now, she’d searched the whole venue, run back to the balcony, only to find it empty.
She looked around the bar, but there were only a handful of her hardened drinking colleagues, guffawing at the bar.
She even went and lurked outside the cloakrooms for a while in the hope he was in there.
Finally, she went and peeped in the dining room, but it was empty except for waiters clearing away the dishes.
Dejectedly, she walked back toward the busy events room, where everyone was still dancing to the band of cheery goblins singing bad covers of popular monster songs.
Tomas, a centaur who she knew had a crush on her, came galloping over with a lascivious look on his face, and she spun on her heels and practically sprinted out of the room. Sighing, she went to grab her coat from the cloakroom.
All the time, she second guessed herself.
How had she read it all so wrong? No, she couldn’t have mistaken the chemistry between them, it had been sizzling hot, and yet… it was like he closed down, and suddenly lost interest in her as soon as Harriet appeared.
She felt like a kid whose party had gone badly wrong.
Grabbing her jacket and purse, she went out the front of the hotel to call a cab. At least she could relive the evening at home in her bed, dream of what could have been.
Just forget it.
Tightening her lips, she decided to walk home to ameliorate the pent-up sexual tension bubbling inside her.
But as she walked, she sensed a presence, an energy that made her senses spike and all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was being watched. But it wasn’t fear that quickened her pulse, it was excitement.
Glancing to her left, she saw a tall figure standing in a doorway.
He stepped forward, and her heart rejoiced. It was Oliver. Gaunt and achingly beautiful, his dark eyes gleaming in the arc of light from the streetlamp.
“Sir.” She heard herself giggle like an infatuated schoolgirl. “I can’t get used to calling you anything else, can I?”
“Clearly not,” he said drily. “It appears my cab is unlikely to arrive. I have been waiting here a while. But maybe you will have better luck.”
She sensed he had not been waiting for a cab.
She slid her phone back into her purse.
She had no desire to call a cab, and every desire to linger in his presence.
“Actually, I think I shall walk home. I don’t live far away, just a short walk through the cemetery.
“Perhaps not the best route to take at this time of night.”
Her lips quirked. “I am a pretty seasoned cop.”
“But you are in civilian dress. A very fetching dress, I may add, but not great for running or karate moves.”
“I have my wits about me always, sir.”
“Commendable.” He huffed a sigh, like she was slightly burdensome. “My home is west of the cemetery, I may as well walk with you.” When she didn’t answer, simply because her heart was pounding too hard, he added, “If you are not averse to my company?”
The thought of his body so close to hers in the balmy night air was intoxicating. But she tried to sound casual as she said, “Not averse at all. I can keep a watch out for both of our safety.”
He laughed, a deep baritone chuckle that belied his tall sinewy frame, his refined features.
As they set off, it occurred to her that he almost glided, his footsteps barely making a sound on the path. And yet, his energy, conversely, was heavy and sensual, dark and full of latent power.
Like he could envelop her, possess her and yet leave no mark of his presence.
Right now, it was so tempting to just sink into the moment, forget there would be a tomorrow when Oliver Hale would once again be her boss.
Not this man who she hungered for.
He’s not a man, remember.
Glancing up, she saw there was no moon in the sky, and once through the gates of the cemetery and away from the streetlamps, it was as if they’d been swallowed into a womb of darkness.
The feel of the graveyard was almost cloying.
The scent of damp dead leaves and creepers, the soil enriched by ancient bones, assailed her nostrils.
It slightly unnerved her. Ridiculous—graveyards had never bothered her before, but now it was almost like the pressure of dead souls were heaving inside those graves, begging for release.
Gingerly, Clare placed one foot in front of the other.
She’d heard somewhere that vampires could see perfectly in the dark and damn it, after her cockiness, she wasn’t going to admit she couldn’t see an inch in front of her nose.
And then she stumbled, and immediately Oliver’s hand was on her elbow, catching her before she pitched forward onto the gravel.
“Okay, there?” he purred, close to her ear.
A delicious shiver passed through her body. And when he didn’t let go of her arm, she allowed herself to lean into him, just enough to herald that she was open to more.
As if reading her mind, he took her hand, looped it through his and sandwiched it tight to his side. She barely breathed, feeling the warmth of his torso through his jacket.
Sparks ignited inside her, heat pooled between her legs.
“Are you afraid?” he asked softly, close to her ear.
“No.” Okay, that was a small lie, but it was a fear she welcomed.
“Being in graveyards at midnight doesn’t bother you?” She detected amusement in his voice.
“I practically grew up in a graveyard. Our funeral parlor and home are located a stone’s throw from Tween Graveyard. The graveyard was my garden. I used to play there when I was a kid.”
“And what games did you play in among the dead, Clare?”
"You’ll laugh,” she demurred.
“I promise I won’t.”
“Okay, then. I used to imagine I could bring the dead back to life. And that they’d sit up and smile and thank me.”
“Were you a neglected child that you needed such fantasies?”
Ouch. That was close to the bone.
“Not by my parents. But…” She barely hesitated, trusting him somehow. “I was bullied a lot at school.”
She heard him let out a low expletive. “What little shits kids can be.”
“Yeah, well, I was shy and studious, and not quick to form friendships.”
“Studious? How were your grades?”
“Excellent.”
“So why the police force? Why not a career in academia?”
“I wanted to help people.”
“Like bringing them back from the dead?”
“Or at least investigating why they’d died. I’ve always wanted to bring justice to situations that left others unable to seek it themselves.”
He huffed another laugh. “Ah, yes, justice. Very good. But so much harder than our noble ideals would have us believe.”
“I never thought it would be easy,” she replied, slightly vexed. “I never had it easy myself.”
“Then you have the right attitude.” They fell silent and Clare measured their footsteps as they walked side by side, her arm snug in his.
“So why did you join the police force, Oliver?” she asked finally.
“To make amends.”
“For what?”
“Past sins.” He laughed, but she detected no humor.
“Is that the part of your life you choose to forget?” she asked lightly.
“Maybe.”
He drew to a halt suddenly and she realized that the western park gates were just ahead of them, the lamps from the street illuminating the headstones around them like silent sentinels. She shivered with a sense of anticipation.
She found herself hoping that he would not say farewell. That he would choose to stay with her until the dawn.
He turned toward her, slid her hand out from under his arm and let it go. The loss of his touch was a physical wrench.
“So, this is where we part ways, Clare. I go up that tree-lined street to the top of Motham Hill, and you go…”
“Just across the road.” She pointed to the building opposite. “My apartment is on the first floor.”
His mouth quirked to one side. “You still choose to live close to a graveyard, then.”
“I guess it makes me feel safe. You know how it is with habits from childhood.”
“Yes, habits can make us feel safe. Even when we are not.”
“Is something lurking in these graves to get me, Oliver? Is that what you’re saying?” She laughed, trying to waylay him, make him stay a while longer.
“Maybe not in the graves.” She felt his gaze on her, intent, hungry. “I will bid you adieu.”
She swallowed caustic disappointment.
At least don’t show it.
With a bright smile, she stuck out her hand to shake his. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Oliver, and for walking me home.”
For long moments, he stared at her hand, and suddenly, so swiftly that she didn’t even see his arm move, he’d grasped it tightly in his own.
Electric energy pulsed up her arm, down her spine, swirled in the dark place between her thighs.
He stared down into her face, holding her gaze in thrall. With her hand sandwiched between them, she couldn’t tell if it was the staccato beat of her own heart she was feeling, or his.
Or both.
“Surely you must know I am not indifferent to you,” he growled. “You must have sensed it over the past months.”
Her heart leaped at the rawness of his tone. He was admitting his feelings, so how could she deny her own? She let out a little mewl of acquiescence.
“Yes,” she whispered, unable to find any more words. “Yes.” Emboldened, she stepped closer, tilted her head, let her lips part softly.
“Yes, what? Yes, you know, or yes you feel it too?”
“Sir—I—”
“If you keep staring at me like that, I swear you will regret it.” He raised his thumb and rubbed it over her lower lip.
The pulse of lust in her belly grew so strong her breath caught.
Finally, she found her voice. “I could never regret tonight.”
His energy surged toward her, but then he appeared to rein himself in.
“Clare,” he said softly, “we’ve had a very pleasant evening.
We’ve talked about our lives, we’ve called each other by our given names, and your eyes told me you would be willing to take this further.
But it is you who must draw the line, because I do not have the restraint to curb my unholy desire for you. It must be you who says no.”
“I—I won’t say no.”
The silence crackled in the night air between them.
“That is a yes, then?”
“Yes, it is a yes.”
He bent his head closer, his lips moving a silken path around the shell of her ear, sending goosebumps ricocheting across her skin. “Foolish, beautiful human,” he muttered harshly, then he took her face in his long fingers, angled her head and claimed her mouth.
This kiss. Oh, sweet fucking goddess, this kiss took no prisoners.
Her bones melted, her blood ran like fire through her veins.
Heat pooled between her legs as his tongue plundered her mouth.
She pressed against him, felt the ridge of his cock hard against her belly beneath those perfectly styled pants.
She clung to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swirling with hers in a dizzying dance of pleasure. She heard her own mewls and sighs, as if she was one possessed.
The fact that he made no sound as he dragged such desperate sounds from her was even more arousing than if he’d groaned and cursed. As if everything he did, every pinpoint of Oliver Hale’s focus, was on pleasuring her.
She realized he’d backed her up against a large tombstone, and already his hand was moving up her thigh. Shamelessly, Clare braced her feet and opened her legs to allow him access. Spurred on by his exploration, she wiggled her hand down and cupped his erection.
He removed her hand, took it to his lips and kissed it, imprisoning it while his other hand flipped the tiny scrap of material covering her pussy to one side.
Firm fingers found their mark, and she moaned as the back of her head met hard stone and her thighs braced, widening her stance to give him full access.
Those expert fingers smoothed a path along her cleft now, and she could smell the pungent sweetness of her own need.
She clawed at his shoulders as his fingers found her clit and stroked it, before sliding through her swollen wet flesh until, as if he knew what she needed more than she did herself, he thrust one digit into her and stroked it against her G-spot.
“Oh gods, yes—yessss,” she whined, jerking like a puppet, grinding against his hand until another finger thrust deep inside her, stretching her wide, stroking her deep. She let out a ragged cry, which he silenced with his mouth.
“There you go, there you go,” he soothed against her lips. “Good girl. Good girl.”
It was dirty and forbidden, and beautiful beyond her wildest dreams.
There could barely have been a minute of his touch on her, but already she was climbing the peak of her orgasm.
“Come for me,” he demanded, his thrusting fingers picking up pace, while his thumb rubbed her clit to the same rhythm.
“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…” she heard herself chant as she chased release, teetered, then fell, the breath stolen from her lungs by the intensity of her orgasm.
He held her, slowing his touch, until her shuddering and her whimpering and her gasping breaths calmed.
Finally, he removed his fingers, licked each one, then growled, “By all the gods, I could fuck you right here in among the dead.”
She almost came again at his words. But somehow, she managed to stand and tug down her dress, her voice quivering as she said, “I have a bed across the street.” Groping for his hand, she led him out of the graveyard and across the silent street.
Outside the shabby door to her apartment, he swung her round. “Are you sure, Clare? Because once we walk inside that door, I will cross a line.”
She couldn’t help a little smile at that. “Haven’t we crossed it already, sir?”
“Ah, sweet, na?ve human,” he sighed. “You have experienced nothing yet. Will it be yay or nay?”
“I am walking through that door and taking you with me,” she said with a bravado she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of a mere ten minutes ago.
Because out there in the darkness, she had given herself to him. Allowed him to possess her.
And yet… truthfully, had he not possessed her since the moment she first set eyes on him?
She held Oliver’s gaze steadily as she backed inside, splaying her fingers between his as she took him with her.
Beneath his beard, a muscle ticked. His eyes gleamed deep burgundy, then he slammed the door with his foot and pounced on her.