“No.”
“Who are you protecting?”
“Nobody!”
She felt his warm breath on her face and shivered again. “Give me back my letters, or I’m gonna make a hell of a lot of trouble for you.”
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
He lifted his hand and reached for a strand of her hair that had escaped the old-fashioned hairdo she was still sporting. “No, you’re not the quitting type, are you?” He looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “I should warn you. I’m dangerous. And if you think you can fight me, you’re wrong. You’re not strong enough compared to me. So give up. Go home.”
Katie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m a witch. I’m stronger than you. So you’d better be careful.”
She noticed the surprise on his face. He didn’t believe her. And rightly so: even though she’d been born a witch, she had no powers to speak of. While Wes had regained his powers through hard work and practice, and now smelled like a witch again, she knew from other vampires around her that the smell of witch on her was so faint that most vampires dismissed it. She could only hope that Luther believed her. It would protect her, because no vampire took on a witch. And Katie knew she needed that protection.
“A witch. Interesting. Just like that other witch. The one who kissed you.”
His comment seemed strange to her. Why emphasize the fact that Wesley had kissed her?
“Well, at least you don’t smell as intensely of witch as he does. Who is he? Your lover?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?”
Before she could comprehend the meaning of his words, his lips were on hers, robbing her of her next breath and the ability to speak.
Instinctively, she raised her hands, slamming her fists against his chest. But an ant barreling into an elephant would have been more successful at making the massive beast budge. The vampire who was currently keeping her captive with his mouth didn’t move an inch—at least not away from her. He pressed her against the car, leaving no space between them.
The heat from his chest scorched her, making her even more aware of the fact that his shirt was open. Her fingers were drawn to that heat, to the comfort it provided to ward off the chill of the night. Her fists unfurled, not wanting to beat against the hard flesh any longer. Instead, her palms searched for the contact of skin-on-skin.
Maybe it was his drugging scent that made her touch him. Or maybe the imploring press of his lips against hers and the unrelenting strokes of his tongue. When had she parted her lips to allow him to explore her? When had she slanted her head to give him better access to her mouth?
He tasted of real man, of power and domination. And of danger. She could taste that, too. Yet it didn’t stop her from responding to him. Arousal spread through her body. Lust and need collided. Desire flared. Passion surged. Not even in the make-believe world of the movies had any of the characters she’d ever played been allowed to feel like this.
Luther’s kiss was a demand as well as a challenge. If she backed down from it, she would lose. He would think her weak. How she knew that, she had no idea. But kneeing him in the nuts, like she would any other man in this situation, wasn’t an option. Besides, he was no ordinary man. He was a vampire. The most dangerous one she’d ever encountered. And if she knew one thing about vampires, it was never to run, or they would hunt you as their prey.
She tried to remind herself of the many things her brother had taught her about vampires, but only one thing came to mind at present: a vampire’s lust for sex and blood were intimately connected. If he couldn’t satisfy one, he needed to satisfy the other. And once engaged in one activity, the other would follow suit. Simple as that. Whatever she did, she was doomed.
Though at present, that doom seemed rather exciting. Luther’s hands were roaming her body, touching, exploring where nobody had in years. She hadn’t yearned for the touch of a man in a long time. But Luther’s kiss ignited that long-buried need to feel a man’s hands on her, to taste his lips and tongue, to feel his sex grind against her.
Just like Luther did now. The hard outline of his erection pressed firmly against her center, making her knees weak and her mind foggy. His hungry mouth prevented her from forming any protest, even if her brain had been capable of doing so—which it was not. All it seemed to do was send messages to her hands to continue exploring his chest. To caress the marred skin, stroke the angry scars and find the beauty beneath them. To feel his heart beating into her hand.