A sample from Vengeance
Chapter One
His soft, full lips press against mine, sweet from the chocolate he’s just eaten. I inhale his warm breathe and feel his heartbeat against my hand. The fast rhythm matches my own. One hand rests against my neck, fingertips brushing my hair. The other slides down my arm, caressing my wrist, before slipping to my waist and under the hem of my t-shirt. When his hand slides up my stomach, he deepens our kiss. My palm glows bright blue as I grip his broad shoulders. His teeth nip my bottom lip before his mouth slides across my jaw then down my neck. Rough fingertips caress my ribs.
“Vivian,” his voice whispers against my ear.
I jerk upright in the seat, still breathing heavily.
“What is it, Vivian? Did you have a vision?” Easton’s worried expression sends a wave of guilt crashing over me. He leans close and takes my face in his hands. “Hey, you okay? Say something, babe.”
I shake my head slightly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re shaking,” he says, running his hands up and down my arms.
“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream,” I try to smile, but it refuses to appear genuine. I glance across the darkened aisle of the bus where Wyck sits wadding the wrapper from a candy bar. He licks his fingertips then smiles roguishly. Even in the dim lights from passing cars and the streetlights along this section of interstate, I can still see the wink he tosses me before he turns stretches his legs across the seat beside him. Since the five of us are the only passengers, there is ample room on the bus, but Wyck, being his usual trouble-loving self, chose to sit directly across from Easton and me. He rests his head against the window behind him; the smile’s been replaced with a total alpha-male smirk.
Damn him! If he hadn’t saved my life a week ago, I would wipe that look right off his face. But I know I owe him, and I’ve promised him my help in finding his mother. So, for now anyway, all I can do is endure his little fantasies and try to keep Easton from killing him in the process. When I’m awake, keeping him out of my head is easy. Sleeping—that’s a different matter. He reminds me on a regular basis that I must enjoy his ‘rendezvous’ (his word, not mine) or else he couldn’t get into my head even then, and I keep trying to reassure Easton that’s not true, a complete fabrication of Wyck’s devious mind, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just trying to reassure myself. I have to admit if anyone is going to force dreams into my head, Wyck’s are not entirely . . . unpleasant.
I drop my gaze but not before Easton catches the direction of my glance.
“He did it again, didn’t he?” He breathes in deeply, his jaw clenching from the grinding of his teeth. . .
His soft, full lips press against mine, sweet from the chocolate he’s just eaten. I inhale his warm breathe and feel his heartbeat against my hand. The fast rhythm matches my own. One hand rests against my neck, fingertips brushing my hair. The other slides down my arm, caressing my wrist, before slipping to my waist and under the hem of my t-shirt. When his hand slides up my stomach, he deepens our kiss. My palm glows bright blue as I grip his broad shoulders. His teeth nip my bottom lip before his mouth slides across my jaw then down my neck. Rough fingertips caress my ribs.
“Vivian,” his voice whispers against my ear.
I jerk upright in the seat, still breathing heavily.
“What is it, Vivian? Did you have a vision?” Easton’s worried expression sends a wave of guilt crashing over me. He leans close and takes my face in his hands. “Hey, you okay? Say something, babe.”
I shake my head slightly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re shaking,” he says, running his hands up and down my arms.
“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream,” I try to smile, but it refuses to appear genuine. I glance across the darkened aisle of the bus where Wyck sits wadding the wrapper from a candy bar. He licks his fingertips then smiles roguishly. Even in the dim lights from passing cars and the streetlights along this section of interstate, I can still see the wink he tosses me before he turns stretches his legs across the seat beside him. Since the five of us are the only passengers, there is ample room on the bus, but Wyck, being his usual trouble-loving self, chose to sit directly across from Easton and me. He rests his head against the window behind him; the smile’s been replaced with a total alpha-male smirk.
Damn him! If he hadn’t saved my life a week ago, I would wipe that look right off his face. But I know I owe him, and I’ve promised him my help in finding his mother. So, for now anyway, all I can do is endure his little fantasies and try to keep Easton from killing him in the process. When I’m awake, keeping him out of my head is easy. Sleeping—that’s a different matter. He reminds me on a regular basis that I must enjoy his ‘rendezvous’ (his word, not mine) or else he couldn’t get into my head even then, and I keep trying to reassure Easton that’s not true, a complete fabrication of Wyck’s devious mind, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just trying to reassure myself. I have to admit if anyone is going to force dreams into my head, Wyck’s are not entirely . . . unpleasant.
I drop my gaze but not before Easton catches the direction of my glance.
“He did it again, didn’t he?” He breathes in deeply, his jaw clenching from the grinding of his teeth. . .
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