Two

He was married. Aidan couldn’t believe it.

Everything had gone off without a hitch, too, which surprised him no little bit. He’d held his breath the whole time, waiting for Sebastian to burst through the curtained doorway and call a halt to the entire ceremony.

His brother’s stance was that he was being foolish, rushing into something with a woman he’d known for only a month. But if anyone should understand that time was relative, it was Sebastian. They had been around for hundreds of years, been through things together that most mortal siblings couldn’t even fathom.

But Aidan knew his own heart, and his heart was telling him that Chloe was the woman for him. She was beautiful, and smart, and funny . . . and the fact that she looked freaking amazing both in her Lust costumes and out didn’t hurt, either.

Sebastian was too stern, too wrapped up in making money and keeping their identities as vampires a secret. He needed to loosen up a bit. Maybe find a woman of his own that he could open up to, snuggle down with, and not zap with his vampire mojo as soon as they were finished doing the nasty.

But who was he kidding? Sebastian was too set in his ways to lighten up enough to really get to know a woman. To fall in love.

Aidan, he was happy to say, was not. He loved love. Chloe was the first woman he’d really fallen for in the last couple decades, but before meeting her, he’d still sowed his fair share of wild oats and been open to getting to know as many lovelies as possible. And in a town like Las Vegas, there were almost too many to count.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Leggy, busty, bootylicious. He’d always been a very open-minded guy, and didn’t have a preference. He liked them all.

But Chloe . . . ah, his beautiful Chloe put them all to shame. It hadn’t been her tits, her ass, or her high kicks that had caught his attention that first night he’d watched her perform at Lust. It had been her smile and the youthful exuberance glittering in her violet eyes.

People—especially performers—aged fast in Sin City. Hard living just didn’t sit well with human beings. But from the moment he’d met her, it had been obvious to Aidan that Chloe loved her job and loved life.

For someone like him, who had been there, done that in just about every way possible for centuries, she was a breath of fresh air, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize he wanted to spend the rest of his life (such as it was) with her.

No, he hadn’t yet confessed to her that he was a vampire. He should have, he knew, but he was a little unsure of the dating protocol where something that monumental was concerned.

First date—kiss on the cheek. Second date, kiss on the lips. Third date, full French and a little over-the-shirt action. Fifth date, hot, sweaty monkey sex, if both parties were willing. Was it the eighth date when he was safe to say, “Hey, hon, I forgot to mention that I’m a vampire. I drink blood, can’t go out in the sun, and when we sixty-nine, it’s all I can do not to bite you in the femoral artery.”

Eighth, twelfth, two hundred and second . . . He just hadn’t worked up to it yet.

But it wouldn’t matter. She loved him, and now they were hitched.

He’d managed to keep his fangs hidden from her—even though simply being near her got him hard as a spike, which brought his fangs out even faster than desperate hunger—as well as his need for liquid sustenance and aversion to sunlight. Not terribly difficult when she worked nights and most of the time they were together was spent horizontally. Or vertically, but also bare-ass naked.

Other than going for drinks at Dante’s, the Inferno’s most popular on-site cocktail bar, after a show, he didn’t think he’d ever actually taken her out for a meal or to a movie.

Hmm, he should probably rectify that now that they were man and wife. Men did things with their wives other than boinking twenty-four/seven, didn’t they? He might even have to take her shopping and hold her purse while she tried stuff on.

Shifting a glance to where Chloe sat beside him, he reached across the Spider’s console to take her hand—her left hand, the one with his rings adorning her slim finger. She lifted her head and offered him a soft smile, and it was all he could do not to pull over, drag her onto his lap, and take her right then and there.

They were back on The Strip, headed in the opposite direction as to when he’d first picked her up. He zipped past his brother’s casino without a second glance.

He had a suite of rooms there, just like Sebastian, but had never taken Chloe to them. They were too close to his brother’s, too risky. The last thing he needed while in the middle of an intimate and X-rated seduction was to have his brother burst in, lecturing about what a mistake he was making spending time with a lowly showgirl—and a mortal one, to boot.

So instead, he was taking her to his other place. He didn’t think Sebastian knew about it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find out in the blink of an eye.

Still, Aidan thought it would be a safe enough spot for them to stay for a while.

A few minutes later, he steered his Ferrari into the underground parking garage of The Heights, his very own upscale apartment building. His brother might think he was capricious, needing to be taken care of and watched over like a green adolescent, but he wasn’t entirely dependent or without business acumen. He’d learned enough from Sebastian, at least, to put away a little money of his own and actually build this place from the ground up.

Which was how he’d managed to design an extra-large living space under the underground garage. It was just as luxurious as any of the other apartments the building had to offer—maybe even more so, since he was the one holding the purse strings—but with zero risk of sunlight entering, and special key cards and fingerprint authorization required to get inside.

Easing into his reserved space, he let go of Chloe’s hand so he could turn off the engine and pocket the keys. Then he went around the rear of the car to open her door and help her out. The wind had blown her long, chestnut hair in all directions, making her look as though she’d just been thoroughly tumbled. It made him want to tumble her, right here in the parking garage.

He could do it, too. There was no one around. The place was completely deserted, and if anyone did show up, he’d know it long before they got close enough to see anything.

Moving in, grinning like an idiot, he crowded her, backing her up against the Spider’s front side panel. She leaned away at first, almost nervously, as though trying to avoid him. Then she shook her head and smiled, lifting her hands to his shoulders.

Bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, he brushed her nose with his, and then settled in for a long, hot, wet kiss. This was the kiss he’d wanted to give her back at the Little Blue Chapel, right after the preacher had told him he could kiss his bride. He’d wanted to sweep her back over his arm and taste her, eat her, devour her. Only their audience of Grampa Elvis and Grandma Priscilla had precluded the consummation of their marriage right then and there.

But they didn’t have an audience now. They were all alone, with nothing to stop him from taking her the way he wanted.

Deepening the kiss, he bent her backwards, tugging the hem of her snug black T-shirt from the waistband of her jeans so he could feel the warm, smooth skin of her abdomen. Running his palms up her ribcage, he cupped her breasts through the lacy material of her bra.

She moaned, and for the first time began to actively kiss him back. Her own hands went to his belt, unbuckling the thin length of expensive leather, but not pulling it free of its loops. Instead, she undid the top of his slacks, her knuckles brushing the tip of his straining erection.

His hips arched toward her touch, but before he could make contact a second time, she took her hands away, going to work on the buttons of his shirt. She had it open in a matter of seconds, pushing the sides apart to stroke his bare chest.

It was all he could do not to whimper. Grasping her waist, he lifted her onto the car’s hood, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them. He pressed his hard-on into the notch of her thighs. Even through the layers of their clothing, he could feel her heat, the pulse of her longing.

In seconds, he’d pushed her shirt up and over her breasts, dragging the cups of the bra with it, leaving her gloriously bare to his gaze and his hands and his mouth. Her nipples were dark raspberries, tightened with pleasure, and he wasted no time rolling them between his fingertips, snagging them with the pads of his thumbs.

Her own hands were busy at his crotch, one sliding inside his pants to cup his cock, the other lowering his zipper. She toyed with him through his cotton briefs, squeezing, stroking, running her thumb across the sensitive tip. He sucked in a breath, pressing himself more firmly into her hold.

He was about to go to work on her pants, pull them down just enough to get inside her, when he heard the hum of an engine, the squeak of tires. They were still far off in the distance, just entering the garage at the other end of the building, but it still wasn’t safe to be here. The last thing he needed was for headlights to whip around and spotlight their carnal activities.

With a muttered curse, he broke their kiss and reluctantly—so damn reluctantly—pulled Chloe’s hand from his pants. Blinking in confusion, she merely stared at him.

“Car,” he said by way of apology. “Come on.”

Not bothering to straighten his own clothes, he tugged her shirt back down to cover her—groan—gorgeous breasts, then took her hand and led her a short distance to his private elevator. Instead of going up to the lobby or other levels of the building where apartments were located, this one went down and led to only one destination—his place.

Using his personal key card to call the elevator, the doors opened and he guided her inside. His key card got the doors open, but the only way to get the car to move was with a thumbprint. His thumbprint.

He pressed it to the I.D. panel, making a mental note to update the system with Chloe’s print, as well. After all, she was his wife now, and would be living here with him. He wanted her to be able to come and go as she pleased.

It took just a few seconds for the car to glide down to the sub-basement level and the doors to open on his private living quarters. Much like Sebastian’s top-floor penthouse, Aidan’s apartment took up the entire lower floor of the building and contained everything he could ever need or want. Gourmet kitchen, large living room area, a handful of bedrooms and bathrooms, an office, home theatre, even a workout room and sauna, though he didn’t use them nearly as often as a human male might.

The only thing it lacked was windows. There wasn’t a single one in the entire place. Instead, he’d used a number of paintings and pieces of artwork to decorate the walls, and bright colors for the walls to give the illusion of daylight and access to the outdoors.

“Wow.”

As he’d hoped, Chloe seemed impressed by what she saw. She was tucked up against him, his arm wrapped snugly around her waist, their clothes still tellingly askew.

“You like?” he asked, smiling proudly.

“It’s . . . great,” she offered slowly, her gaze still taking in the unique construction and expensive décor. “But where are we?”

“My place. The secret one no one knows about.” Leaning in, he nuzzled her hair and pressed his lips to the side of her throat.

“Like the Bat Cave.”

He chuckled. She didn’t know how right she was. And he was inordinately proud that she’d picked up on the fact that they’d come down instead of going up, and that there was no view other than the ones a handful of local art galleries had provided.

“Something like that.”

Turning her toward him, he hugged her close, opening his mouth over the pulse of her neck. “Mind if I give you the grand tour later? Right now, I have a few more important things on my mind.”

Rather than answer, she wound her arms around his neck, driving her fingers into the hair at his nape. Then she pressed herself fully against him from pelvis to breastbone and lifted a leg to hitch over his left hip.

With a groan, he cupped her ass with both hands and scooped her up, taking her mouth as he turned for the master bedroom. He didn’t need lights or even open eyes to navigate his apartment. If his vampire super-senses hadn’t been enough to guide him, his familiarity with the floor plan and every stick of furniture would be.

Tongues tangled and sparred as he carried her to his bed. The crux of her thighs rode him the same way he hoped she would ride him when he had her naked and writhing above him.

His bed was king size and low to the ground, covered in a plain beige coverlet. He dropped her to the center of it, following her down, sending the mattress bouncing.

Picking up where they’d left off on the hood of his car, he began stripping her of her clothes. Too many of them. Too many arm holes, neck holes, leg holes, buttons, and zippers, all working against him to keep her dressed when he desperately wanted her undressed. He yanked her shirt up and over her head, and she lifted her arms to help him, dark hair spilling out around her as she fell back against the bed.

Next he dealt with her bra, unsnapping the hooks at the back and drawing the straps down her arms. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bare breasts; not by a long shot. But still the sight of them had his diaphragm clenching, his gums throbbing around his already rapidly descending fangs.

Careful not to let her see his razor-sharp incisors, he said, “Have I ever told you how much I love your tits?”

Her nose wrinkled. She hated that word, which was why he enjoyed teasing her with it. And she knew he meant it in the most reverent of ways.

“You, and every guy who’s ever walked into Lust during one of my shows.”

“Yes, but I’m the only one who gets to see them in all their naked glory,” he told her, cupping them in his hands and pressing them together. “Or feel them. Or taste them. Ever again.”

With that, he lowered his head and took one of the plump, ripe points into his mouth. She had beautiful breasts, big enough to fill a man’s hands, but not so big that she looked like she was about to topple over. They were also full and pert, sitting high on her chest in a way that usually required plastic surgery.

He suckled one nipple, tracing the tight flesh of her areola and rolling the gumdrop tip with the flat of his tongue. When she arched beneath him, her breath growing choppy, he moved to the other and gave it equal treatment.

“Aidan,” she panted, tugging at his hair. But he didn’t stop, so she decided to fight dirty.

Releasing his head, she put her hands at his waist and started tugging at his slacks. This time, as she pushed them down, the briefs went with them. She released his cock and balls, left his ass bare, and then used her feet to wiggle the pants lower so her hands would be left free. She used them to grip him, tug him, drive him crazy.

With a gasp, he abandoned her breast and glanced between their bodies to see her long, nimble fingers playing him like a flute. He would have called foul, but it felt too damn good. Besides, he intended to play foul soon enough, too.

Kicking off his shoes, he shrugged out of his already unbuttoned shirt, then his pants and underwear before going to work on hers. He flipped open the front snap of her jeans and lowered the zipper, hooking his fingers into the waistband to drag them off.

Her shoes took some time to deal with. Normally, she wore heels, the strappier and sexier, the better. The kind that slipped right off. But since she’d dressed like her sister tonight, not only were her clothes less revealing, her shoes were of the pedestrian variety. Plain white tennis shoes that took a bit of hard-won dexterity to untie.

Once they were gone, it was easier to peel away the denim and scrap of material that made up her thong underwear.

And then she was naked.

They were both naked.