Elder Races 08 - Midnight's Kiss by Thea Harrison

Author:Thea Harrison [Harrison, Thea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780425274385
Amazon: 0425274381
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2015-05-05T05:00:00+00:00

As his lips pressed against her skin, Melly closed her eyes and thought, I’ll never understand him. Never in a million years.

He has been so bitter and cold to me for so long. How can he show me such warmth and gentleness now? What happened to change his attitude – and when might it change back again?

When I open my eyes again, who will I be looking at – the bastard Julian, or the nice Julian?

But she already knew the answer to that. She could not look at one without the other, because they were both the same man. It was just that the bastard Julian was so much easier to live with when he wasn’t so furious with her.

She felt exposed, euphoric. She felt disturbed at how easily she had given in to her desire for him, when just a short while ago, she had been so determined to never let him near her again.

And circumstances and surroundings be damned. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him down to her and make love to him all over again. She wanted to tear off the rest of her clothes just to feel his calloused hands running over her bare skin.

When he lifted his mouth from her forehead, she said, “We shouldn’t take any more time. We need to go.”

A softer, more modern man might have frowned at her for being so abrupt, but Julian had spent his formative years owning nothing but his wits and his ability to kill, and he had lived too many centuries as a fighter.

“You’re right,” he said. Pulling away, he rolled off her and came to his feet. Matter-of-factly tucking himself inside of his boxers, he held out a broad, scarred hand to her.

She put her hand in his, and he lifted her effortlessly to her feet. While she found another rag from his shredded T-shirt and cleaned her inner thighs, he buttoned and zipped his jeans and collected her trousers and underwear.

She watched as he frowned down at the wadded-up feminine clothing in his hands, puzzling how to turn it right side out again for her. The slanted light from the heavy flashlight made flecks of silver in his salt-and-pepper hair shine.

He had an undeniably Roman profile with a nose that had been broken more than once, blunt, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw that more often than not revealed the determination of the man. Somehow he never managed to look quite civilized when he dressed in formal black tie. Now, standing shirtless in his battered jeans, he was the epitome of raw, lethal masculinity.

If his sire Carling hadn’t seen his potential and turned him, he would have died almost two thousand years ago. Melly was under three hundred years old, and she would never have met him.

If she would have heard anything about him – highly doubtful – anything she might have learned would have been from human history books. And while she was well versed in the history of all the Elder Races, she hadn’t studied much human history.

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