Wednesday, September 24, 2014

BLOOD HUNGRY by Marie Treanor

BLOOD HUNGRY by Marie Treanor 

Blood Hunters, 6

A love doomed by time...

Tough young ex-soldier, John Ramsay is in Amsterdam with his posse of vampire hunters, investigating the bizarre nightly battles between local vampires and skinheads, when he finds himself transported from his hotel bed to a strange, sleazy nightclub. There, he encounters a dangerous, beautiful young woman who stakes and seduces with equal style. Although he knows nothing about her, she appears to know everything about him.

Eva's Amsterdam assignation has gone horribly wrong. The vampire lover who once drank her blood, is dead. Grieving, frustrated, full of hunger she can never assuage, she's looking for trouble when she finds John Ramsay, the reason she can never truly fall in love with anyone else. Now, at last, she wins his attention and his love - a happiness she's doomed to lose, for tangled with John's mystery of a spontaneous world-wide epidemic of skinhead fights, are events twenty years in the future that will threaten the fragile peace between vampires and humans.

John and Eva work together to prevent a disaster spanning two decades. But destiny seems determined to keep them tragically apart...



She seemed to hesitate, then set down her glass again. “There were too many of them. Without you, I’d have been in trouble.” The smile flickered once more, and he wanted very badly to kiss her lips. “You’re good, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Practice.”

“In the army? Or vampire hunting?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Drinking in Glasgow on a Friday night.” It was his standard response when he wanted to evade awkward questions, and it usually got a laugh. “Why do you want to dance with me?”

“I’ve always wanted to dance with you.” Her dark eyes were only half-mocking. Behind that, he caught again that tinge of fear and something very like a plea. It was the plea that won. Or perhaps his own desires.

He stood up, offering his hand. “Why?” he asked again.

She gazed at his fingers, another smile hovering on her lips before she took his hand and slid off her stool. She raised her eyes to his. “I can’t tell you that yet.”

“Well,” he murmured, leading her onto the dance floor. “What can you tell me?”

“What do you want to know?”

He slid his good arm around her waist, and this time there was no rigidity in her. She relaxed into his hold, draping her own arm around his neck.

“For starters,” he said, “where the hell are we?”

A hiss of laughter escaped her lips. “That’s why I like you, John Ramsay. You don’t say much, but when you do, it’s totally honest. We’re in a nightclub that doesn’t even have a name, in the middle of Amsterdam’s old red-light district. Why? Where are you supposed to be?”

So she got that much. She did know more than he did about the dreams.

“In Amsterdam,” he admitted. “In my hotel room across the city.” Waiting for another woman, he recalled. For the first time, he really hoped Sarah wouldn’t knock on his door. This woman, who wasn’t called Kate, laid her head against his shoulder, and he inhaled the exotic scent of her perfume, heady and yet light. Maybe it wasn’t even perfume. It could simply have been her skin. Whatever, it coiled around his senses, feeding his desire.

The music was awful, jerky and loud and almost entirely without melody. John didn’t care. He could ignore the music and just hold her soft, yielding body in his arms. Not so soft, he remembered, when she was knocking lumps out of men—and vampires—about twice her size. Nor would he be the first man seduced by a sexy body and a self-satisfied belief that a dangerous woman was “different” with him.

The hand not around his neck lay flat against his chest. Slowly, she began to move it upward to his shoulder and then down over the stump of his left arm and the prosthetic below.

This was the moment relationships tended to break, in his head, at least. For the first time ever, he didn’t want to see a girl’s reaction. He’d have closed his eyes to avoid this one. He didn’t need to, since all he could see was the top of her head. But there was no stiffening in his arms, no hasty removal of her exploring hand. Instead, she ran her fingers up and down his arm several times before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t bother you,” he murmured into her hair.

She shook her head. He had the unexpected notion she was smiling. “I find it—comforting.”

“That’s different,” he observed, tightening his arm around her. He brought up his other arm too, holding her in both, and she lifted her head to smile at him, a sensual, siren’s smile. Too confident in her own undoubted powers of seduction. Deliberately, he lowered his hands to reach the first swell of her bottom and pressed her closer into his straining erection.

He caught her gasp, saw the heat flood her face, and knew with fierce triumph that he wasn’t the only one being seduced. In fact, it was time, more than time, to change leaders. He moved his hips, swaying, rubbing, and lowered his head.

Her eyes melted. As her lips parted for him, they trembled, until he covered them with his and kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers closed on his neck almost painfully, and then clung. Her mouth opened at the first pressure of his, but oddly, hers was no siren’s kiss after all. It was almost…virginal. She tasted divine, her mouth soft and warm and yielding as she clung to his lips.

He released her lips slowly, reluctantly, and only to draw breath before he went back for more. He’d expected passion from this woman, but not that sweetness, and he was enchanted.

“So that’s how John Ramsay kisses,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Let me count the ways,” he said and sank his mouth back into hers. This time, she met his tongue with her own, sliding, caressing, and suddenly she kissed him back, not with that almost shy, wondering response but with fierce, demanding sensuality, and John was lost.

He caressed her hips, holding her firmly to him, drawing her up on tiptoe so that he could fit his straining erection between her thighs. She gasped, sliding her fingers into his hair, bunching the back of his shirt in her fist.

“You would make love with me,” he said against her lips.

Laughter trembled in her throat. “Of course I bloody would.”


No comments:


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...