Her Vampire Husband. Michele Hauf
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flipped to her stomach and propped her chin on her forearm. The backside of the bikini bottom was but a string.
Creed suppressed an appreciative moan. A man could bounce a quarter on that ass. And look at that tattoo. It was a tribal design, but delicate, flourishing up her spine in a gorgeous arabesque.
“Look all you like,” she said.
“Don’t mind if I do. You don’t normally sunbathe wearing a swimsuit. Why today?”
“So you’ve been looking for tan lines. Naughty vampire. You think I’m going to give you a peep show? Now you’re starting to sound like the wolves in the pack.”
“Don’t ever compare me to a wolf.”
She smirked. “Dude, don’t worry. That would be too flattering.”
The chair creaked when he leaned abruptly forward. “Do you purposely mean to offend, or is it your nature?”
“I think it’s a little of both. Hey, you don’t have to talk to me. There’s a whole big yard—oh, right. Pale boy needs to stay under the protective covering. My bad.”
She was right; he didn’t have to suffer this abuse. But to reach over and admonish her with a swat to that sexy ass might convince her he wanted to touch her.
He did want to touch. What man could resist such a tantalizing display? But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d won this round.
“You like to swim?” he tried.
“Nope.”
The violet hair splayed across her face and the dark sunglasses. Surely she could still see him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look away from that incredible ass. Softly rounded, so firm, and taunting him to stroke his fingers over the sun-heated skin.
Damn, was he getting hard looking at a werewolf? Of all the absurd—
“Penny for your thoughts,” she cooed. The tip of a pink tongue lashed out to stroke the underside of her upper lip. “But I bet they’re worth a mint.”
“You’ve a great ass,” he conceded. “Nice tits, too.” Leaning back and stretching an arm behind his head, he tilted up his sunglasses. “You’re the complete package, Blu. Why on earth did you agree to this marriage when you could have been married off to a fine werewolf, most likely a pack leader?”
“I was promised to the scion of the Northern pack.” She tucked her head into her creased elbow, away from him. “Tattoo is from him.”
Interesting. What little Creed did know of pack politics was that a scion either had to kill the current principal or wait for his death. In this case, Amandus Masterson’s death. So how would the principal putting his daughter forth for this marriage screw with the scion’s plans?
“You loved him,” he guessed. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t love him. I loved having sex with him and being his girl. He was my lover. But I’ll never fall in love. It’s not in my nature to give my heart over to a man. Remember that, vampire. It’s all an act. That’s all it can ever be between us.”
Creed closed his eyes behind the sunglasses.
Indeed, an act. He wasn’t stupid. He’d entered this marriage with eyes wide open and his brain working all the angles. But there were so many variables he hadn’t anticipated.
Like being attracted to his wife. Physically, that was. So far their exchanges had only reinforced to him that she was spoiled and most likely unwilling to put forth as much effort in this marriage as he would.
What he did know for sure was this conversation didn’t need to happen. They were only required to play their parts before observers.
Though he couldn’t be sure the vamps and weres camped outside the perimeter of his estate weren’t using telephoto lenses to take pictures. They could have the damned yard bugged, as well.
But they wouldn’t get past his security. Should a werewolf breach the fence by means other than the front gates, silver darts were set to find the target all around the perimeter.
As for vampires, he didn’t fear challenge from any.
So why was he sitting here trying to converse with the obstinate one? Logic determined they would need to get to know one another, to make it look good. She seemed amenable to that.
Or was it that the view was so spectacular? Before last night he’d thought it impossible to consider kissing a werewolf, let alone get a hard-on from looking at her body. Yet right now he sported some serious wood from the visuals she broadcast.
What was wrong with him?
Mon Dieu, he needed to take blood. It must be nearing the end of a fortnight since he’d last taken a donor. He could go as long as a month without sustenance, but two weeks was best. If he considered stroking the heat-softened flesh of a woman who should be his greatest enemy he wasn’t at the top of his game.
“Besides,” she added, “love wasn’t a requirement.”
“No, it was not. Quite a relief, eh?”
“Tell me about it.”
He caught her gaze for a nanosecond before she looked away. Caught. He could smell the longing on her. He was sure of it. Or, at the very least, interest.
“Do you swim?” she suddenly asked.
“Every day.”
A dip in the cool waters would serve to chill his insubordinate lust. But he usually dove in wearing nothing. He wasn’t sure he owned swim trunks, though he could dive in wearing his skivvies.
Why the hell not? If she was going to flaunt her sexy curves before him, he shouldn’t be prudish about stripping before her.
“That’s what I came out here for, as a matter of fact.”
He stood and felt her gaze upon him as he strode over to the pool. A woman’s regard was a fine thing, but more so when she wished to deny that interest.
Peeling off his shirt, Creed tossed it aside onto another chaise. A stretch of his torso flexed his tight abs. He retained the physique of a warrior even though his battle days were long behind him. And though sword, ax, bullet and fangs had entered this ancient body, he retained no scars.
“Stare much?” he volleyed at her.
She turned her head into her arm. “Nothing to see, pale vampire dude. I prefer my men hairy anyway.”
He may be pale, but he was nothing to sneeze at.
Stepping from his pants, Creed snapped the band of his black boxer briefs. She was looking again. He could feel her curiosity as a tangible wave through the air. Felt great. Felt…different.
Closing his eyes, he whispered too softly for even paranormal ears, “You do prefer me.”
Out his peripheral vision he saw Blu lift onto her elbows, as if she’d heard something. A whisper only he could make audible through air magic.
Take that, snotty werewolf princess.
Diving, he hit the water with a sharp cut and swam the entire pool length before surfacing on the other side. When he flipped back his hair and swiped the water from his eyes, the violet-haired goddess knelt at the pool’s edge.
“Thought you said you didn’t swim?” he asked.
“I don’t. I just…Did you hear something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A whisper?”
“Did they wed me to a mad princess?”
She snapped her fingers, dispersing droplets of water. “Whatever. Hey, you know what cold water does to a guy’s dick?”
“The