“Then trust me, you’ll be happier waiting here.”
“Why?”
“There are . . . activities I doubt you would approve of.”
“Oh.” Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s the only reason you want me to stay here?”
His face hardened to a grim mask, as he abruptly realized that it wasn’t just her virtue he was trying to protect. It was his peace of mind.
The mere thought of parading her through a crowd of amped-up vampires was enough to make his inner demon snap and snarl.
“No, I don’t want other males to see you.”
She looked offended. “Are you ashamed to be seen with a witch?”
“No, I’m damned well not ashamed,” he growled. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that one accidental touch and they would be dead.”
“Oh.” She blinked, her mouth parting at his brutal honesty. “That’s . . . crazy.”
His gaze lowered to the sensuous curve of her lips. Lips that had driven him to paradise only hours ago.
And that swiftly he was hard and aching.
“You’re mine,” he rasped.
“Don’t say things like that.”
He gave a humorless laugh as he shoved up the sleeve of his jacket to expose his mating mark.
“You claimed me as yours, my love. Now you can deal with the consequences.”
Without giving her time to respond, he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.
For a long minute he hesitated, caught by the scent of peaches that filled the air.
Had the fragrance grown richer? More provocative?
His fangs extended, his body aching to return to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and shatter the barrier that he’d placed between them.
Instead, he gestured toward the hovering vampires who’d obviously been sent by Bliss to stand guard.
“Nothing gets past you,” he growled in warning, waiting for their nods before he headed toward the back of the long building.
Eventually the marble floor was replaced by beautiful ceramic tiles and the air filled with a damp heat.
Toga-clad servants lined the walls, offering a smorgasbord of food and drinks and nubile young bodies.
At Pandora’s Box, everything was on the menu.
He stepped through a double set of columns to enter the formal baths, bypassing the public orgy that was currently occupying the main bath, which was the size of an Olympic pool, and heading toward the more private rooms.
He at last located Cyn in a corner room that offered a view of the moon-kissed waves that swirled around the island and the star-spangled sky.
In the middle of the orange and black mosaic tiled floor was a shallow pool. At the moment it was surrounded by a hundred candles flickering in the cool breeze that swept through the open windows.
And in the center of the pool was a large vampire surrounded by two buxom nymphs.
Roke halted at the edge of the pool, giving a shake of his head.
Cyn, clan chief of Ireland, was an impressive sight.
Six-foot-three with a powerful chest and the thick muscles of an ancient berserker, Cyn had a thick mane of dark blond hair that flowed halfway down his back except for the front strands that had been woven into tight braids that framed his face.
His features were blunt with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brow was wide and his jade green eyes heavily lashed. Some might consider his mouth too lush for a warrior and his nose carved in an arrogant line, but few would mistake him for anything but a ruthless killer.
His skin was a perfect alabaster with a series of ancient Tuatha Dé Danann tattoos that curled and swirled in a narrow green pattern around his upper arms.
Leaning against the edge of the bath with his naked body sprawled beneath the blue water, Cyn had his arms around the two equally naked nymphs who pressed their impressive breasts against his chest.
Both females were blond, but one had the usual blue eyes of a nymph while the other had gray eyes.
Never let it be said that Cyn wasn’t an equal opportunity hedonist.
The Irish vampire smiled, displaying a set of pearly white fangs.
“Roke, welcome.”
“Cyn.” Roke shifted his gaze toward the gray-eyed nymph who was batting her lashes in open invitation. “Am I interrupting?”
“Join us,” Cyn murmured, his voice deep and laced with an accent that hadn’t been heard in Ireland in over a thousand years. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“A generous offer, but we need to talk.” Roke folded his arms over his chest, his expression stoic. “In private.”
Cyn rolled his eyes. “You always were a party pooper.”
Roke arched a brow. “Party pooper?”
“Stick in the mud. Killjoy. Sourpuss.”
“Not all of us enjoy drunken orgies that include glimpses of your hairy white ass.”
“I have a fine ass,” the vampire protested, smiling toward the blue-eyed nymph. “Fiona here can’t keep her hands off it.”
Roke shrugged. “I prefer my pleasures be enjoyed with less water and fewer spectators.”
Cyn gave a sharp laugh. “Fair enough.” Rising to his feet he gestured to bimbo one and bimbo two. “Take a break, lassies.” Waiting for the females to reluctantly straighten, he laid a smacking kiss on Fiona’s pouting lips. “Don’t go far.”
With shrill giggles the nymphs hurried from the room, not bothering with clothes.
Roke grimaced. “How do you stand the noise?”
Cyn reached for a heated towel, wiping the water from his massive body.
“Didn’t you see those titties? Who the hell cares about giggles when you can have those as your personal plush toys?”
Roke was briefly assaulted by the memory of Sally’s slender body and breasts that fit in his hands with delicate perfection. Who wanted plush toys when you could have masterpieces?
He shivered, trying to ignore the hunger stirring deep inside.
“You never change,” he muttered.
Cyn narrowed his gaze, his amusement fading. “You have.”
Yeah. No shit.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you to the box.”
“What’s the point in putting on clothes?” Cyn shrugged. “I doubt I’ll shock anyone in this place and I intend to return to finish what I began with the nymphs once we’re done.”
Roke stiffened, the ground giving a tiny quake. “The point is you’re not getting anywhere close to Sally until you’re fully clothed.”