Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4) by Tamara Hogan

Author:Tamara Hogan [Hogan, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: vampire, vampires, paranormal, Minneapolis, aliens, journalism, nightclub, journalist, eldercare, snarky, spunky, celibate hero, May/December
Published: 2017-10-09T04:00:00+00:00

“Wow.” Tia stepped into Wyland’s decadent shower enclosure and closed the tempered glass door behind her. Water fell in a soft rainforest patter from multiple shower heads, and down at the far end, a wide fixture spilled a tumbling foot-wide waterfall. “This isn’t a shower, it’s a water park.” Choosing the rainforest, she stood in the center of the stall, lifted her arms, and hummed as the water streamed down her body.

This sinful playground of a shower? The high thread count bedsheets? Wyland’s shiver of reaction as her hair brushed his bare abdomen, and how she’d found him luxuriating in a sunbeam, like a very satisfied cat? Wyland was a closet sensualist.

And his mental shields dropped, utterly and completely, when he had an orgasm.

Did he realize it? Deirdre d’Amour likely had, no doubt taking full advantage, the perilous, blood-sucking bitch. Tia didn’t know the full story yet, but she’d gotten the gist: Deirdre had cheated on him. Wyland’s sexual confidence, and his ability to trust, had taken cataclysmic hits. It was going to be her distinct pleasure to help build both back up again—not that his reaction to her wasn’t a damn healthy ego boost.

Watching his eyelashes flutter as he’d fed from her was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

Her previous lovers had almost all been creative types—musicians, chefs, novelists. It was one thing to watch Chadden putter around the kitchen nude as he whipped up a decadent dessert, or to hear a song a former lover had written played on the radio, but lust slithered through her just watching Wyland read. Those rectangular-framed reading glasses? Utterly modern, and absurdly hot.

Now that she and Wyland had been pulled into each other’s orbit, the attraction, like gravity, was undeniable. She’d explored every inch of the long, lean body he kept covered with his severely tailored clothes. She knew the salty tang of his skin. Knew the resilient give of his shoulder muscles as her fingernails dug in. She’d found a dozen places on that long, lean body that, when touched or stroked, made him squirm with pleasure.

Made him beg for more.

The water slid over her still-sensitive neck, where he’d pierced her skin with his long, sharp teeth. She’d known full well Wyland’s decision to drink from her was logical and self-serving. She was a risk he needed to manage, for himself and for the species he governed, and having even superficial access to her thoughts and emotions helped. Sure, she’d yearned—burned—for his bite, but she’d also wanted to ease his mind.

Cold air suddenly gusted. “Gah!”

“Hello.” Wyland stepped into the shower enclosure, surprising her. She would have bet serious cash money against him accepting the invitation to join her.

“Tia.”

“Yes?”

“Your singing voice is…”

She let the silence hang for a couple of beats, then burst into laughter. “It’s horrible, I know. I have the ability to assess a song for craft, and describe its merits to others, but I can’t carry a tune to save my life.” Reaching for the clever wall-mounted container holding body-cleaning products, she pumped shower gel into her hand.

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