Anita Blake 14 - Danse macabre by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B
Authors: Laurell K. Hamilton
Tags: Fantasy
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that joyous laugh that seemed so sincere. "You should see your face, so suspicious. I just thought that this way you have your choice of wrist or neck.
With me standing, you can't reach my neck."
It made sense, so why didn't I like it? No answer other than the one I'd had since I saw him. Being close to him reacted with that primitive part of the brain that keeps you alive if you don't argue with it. Touching him was dangerous in some way, but in what way? The trouble with the primitive brain is that it doesn't reason, or explain, it just feels. I could just touch him, then turn him down. He'd be on his way back to Chicago, no harm, no foul.
I reached for his hand, and he gave it. I wondered if I'd get that jolt of energy like I had from Pierce, but his hand was simply warm. His hand was very passive in mine, but when I pushed back the sleeve of his jacket, he had on a French-cuffed shirt, with real cuff links. "Shit."
"You don't like French cuffs?"
I frowned down at him. "It'll take a while to unhook your wrists."
He gave me that smile again, but the blue eyes weren't quite as neutrally cheerful. I got to glimpse the coldness under that smile. For some reason it made me feel better. I liked truth, most of the time.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, and his voice held just a hint of uncertainty. Good.
I shook my head. "Nothing." I smoothed my hand up the side of his face, turned him so the line of his neck stretched above the collar of his dress shirt. I bent over him, one hand on his shoulder for balance, the other cradling the side of his face. The neck was always so much more intimate than the wrist.
I meant to simply lay my lips against his neck. But when I was close enough to smell his skin, all my good intentions vanished. He smelled so warm, so incredibly warm. I wanted to put my mouth against that warmth, but not to kiss. I put my face so close to the warm, smooth line of his neck that a hard thought would have made my lips touch his skin. But I kept just above his neck, and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, a faint hint of some powdery sweet cologne, barely there, soap, and underneath just the scent of his body. Human, and deeper still, where my breath blew back hot from his skin, the musky hint of cat. Cleaner, less sharp than leopard. But definitely cat, not wolf, not dog. I breathed in the scent of lion as it rose from his skin, as if my breath called it forth.
My arms slid down his back, across his shoulders, folding my body around his. He'd behaved himself until then, hands at his sides, but now he reached for me, wrapped me in the strength of his arms, the force of his fingers, kneading at my body through my clothes.
I heard him whisper, "Oh, God."
I laid the gentlest of kisses against that hot, smooth skin, a feather's touch of a kiss, and it wasn't enough. I could smell what I wanted just below the surface. I could smell his blood like something sweet and metallic. I licked along his neck, licked over the warm, jumping life of his pulse. He shuddered in my arms.
I heard a voice. "Anita, Anita, don't do this." I didn't know who it was, and didn't understand what they were talking about. I needed to taste his pulse, feel it quiver between my teeth until it burst hot and scalding in my mouth.
A wrist appeared near my face. I smelled leopard. Micah called me back from that quivering edge. "Anita, what are you doing?"
I didn't unwind from Haven's body. I raised my face only enough to see Micah. "Tasting him," and my voice sounded hoarse and not mine.
"Let him go, Anita."
I shook my head, and felt Haven's fingers hard and firm, as if he had claws to sink into my body, and I wanted him to do it.
Graham came next, putting his wrist between me and that pulsing candy. But the musk of wolf was not what I wanted.
Nathaniel was next, putting the sweetness of his wrist between me and Haven's neck. He still smelled of vanilla, but that wasn't the scent I was after tonight. I shook my head.
With me standing, you can't reach my neck."
It made sense, so why didn't I like it? No answer other than the one I'd had since I saw him. Being close to him reacted with that primitive part of the brain that keeps you alive if you don't argue with it. Touching him was dangerous in some way, but in what way? The trouble with the primitive brain is that it doesn't reason, or explain, it just feels. I could just touch him, then turn him down. He'd be on his way back to Chicago, no harm, no foul.
I reached for his hand, and he gave it. I wondered if I'd get that jolt of energy like I had from Pierce, but his hand was simply warm. His hand was very passive in mine, but when I pushed back the sleeve of his jacket, he had on a French-cuffed shirt, with real cuff links. "Shit."
"You don't like French cuffs?"
I frowned down at him. "It'll take a while to unhook your wrists."
He gave me that smile again, but the blue eyes weren't quite as neutrally cheerful. I got to glimpse the coldness under that smile. For some reason it made me feel better. I liked truth, most of the time.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, and his voice held just a hint of uncertainty. Good.
I shook my head. "Nothing." I smoothed my hand up the side of his face, turned him so the line of his neck stretched above the collar of his dress shirt. I bent over him, one hand on his shoulder for balance, the other cradling the side of his face. The neck was always so much more intimate than the wrist.
I meant to simply lay my lips against his neck. But when I was close enough to smell his skin, all my good intentions vanished. He smelled so warm, so incredibly warm. I wanted to put my mouth against that warmth, but not to kiss. I put my face so close to the warm, smooth line of his neck that a hard thought would have made my lips touch his skin. But I kept just above his neck, and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, a faint hint of some powdery sweet cologne, barely there, soap, and underneath just the scent of his body. Human, and deeper still, where my breath blew back hot from his skin, the musky hint of cat. Cleaner, less sharp than leopard. But definitely cat, not wolf, not dog. I breathed in the scent of lion as it rose from his skin, as if my breath called it forth.
My arms slid down his back, across his shoulders, folding my body around his. He'd behaved himself until then, hands at his sides, but now he reached for me, wrapped me in the strength of his arms, the force of his fingers, kneading at my body through my clothes.
I heard him whisper, "Oh, God."
I laid the gentlest of kisses against that hot, smooth skin, a feather's touch of a kiss, and it wasn't enough. I could smell what I wanted just below the surface. I could smell his blood like something sweet and metallic. I licked along his neck, licked over the warm, jumping life of his pulse. He shuddered in my arms.
I heard a voice. "Anita, Anita, don't do this." I didn't know who it was, and didn't understand what they were talking about. I needed to taste his pulse, feel it quiver between my teeth until it burst hot and scalding in my mouth.
A wrist appeared near my face. I smelled leopard. Micah called me back from that quivering edge. "Anita, what are you doing?"
I didn't unwind from Haven's body. I raised my face only enough to see Micah. "Tasting him," and my voice sounded hoarse and not mine.
"Let him go, Anita."
I shook my head, and felt Haven's fingers hard and firm, as if he had claws to sink into my body, and I wanted him to do it.
Graham came next, putting his wrist between me and that pulsing candy. But the musk of wolf was not what I wanted.
Nathaniel was next, putting the sweetness of his wrist between me and Haven's neck. He still smelled of vanilla, but that wasn't the scent I was after tonight. I shook my head.
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