Samson's Lovely Mortal
Page 43
Samson tried to convince himself that the reason he felt like this was because he was so starved for sex. It would just be tonight until he had stilled his hunger for sex. After that she wouldn’t mean anything to him, he was sure. For certain there was no good reason why he would want her any longer than that. After all, he was just following doctor’s orders. And who in their right mind would continue taking medicine once the illness was cured? Who indeed?
SEVEN
Delilah stopped in front of the painting over the fireplace in Samson’s bedroom. The scene of a stately home surrounded by expansive grounds and a small pond drew her in. There was something oddly familiar about it, almost as if she knew the place.
She felt Samson stop behind her.
“When did you paint this?” she asked him without thinking.
“How did you know I painted this?” His voice sounded as surprised as she was herself. For some inexplicable reason she knew he’d painted it. She could see Samson standing in front of an easel, paint brush in hand, shirt and pants dirtied by various colors of oil paint.
“I don’t know. But when I look at it, I know you painted it.” She astounded herself by the certainty with which she said the words.
“I did. It’s my ancestral home. My family came from England.”
“It’s beautiful. Is the home still in your family’s hands?” It was more a castle than a home, but the warmth Delilah felt when she looked at it made her realize it had been a true family home with love and laughter.
She turned to him and saw the pain in his eyes for one second, before he planted a smile on his lips.
“No, not anymore. They lost everything after some unwise investments. The family became penniless, and everything was sold off. That’s what brought me, uh, my ancestors to the United States. Their only son came to this country in the late eighteenth century to make a name for himself.”
“And did he? Make a name for himself?” Delilah asked with interest. She loved history, especially when it was connected to somebody she knew personally.
“Yes and no. He was successful in business in the end, but he never saw his parents again. It was the biggest regret of his life, having to leave them behind. Never to hug his mother again, never to converse with his father about the things that mattered to a young man.”
There was pain in his voice. She felt a sense of loss slam into her chest.
“You say it as if you knew him. It was over two hundred years ago.”
Samson blinked then gave her another smile. “I’d like to think that I know him. It’s what I would have felt in his situation. Losing family is the hardest thing to get over.”
She understood all too well. “When did you lose yours?”
“Too long ago.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. She felt his need for tenderness and molded into him, wrapping her arms around his back.
“Come, join me in my favorite spot.”
Samson pulled her down onto the large floor pillows in front of the fireplace. Delilah rolled onto her stomach and gazed into the flames. Shadows created by the fire danced on her bare skin. Her long dark hair was sprawled over her shoulders. Some of the strands were wet from the shower.
His body was turned toward her, and his head rested on his hand as he admired her beauty while he played with her hair. He enjoyed running his hand over her bare ass, caressing her more tenderly than he’d ever caressed a woman before. Her skin was deliciously soft and flawless.
“You said you’re on a business trip. How long will you stay in San Francisco?”
Samson dipped his head to kiss the delightful indentation at the base of her back.
“Till Wednesday. I’m taking the red-eye back to New York.”
He felt a sharp stab in his chest. Indigestion? Not likely—vampires didn’t get indigestion.
“New York? I used to live in New York. Tell me what you do there.” He wanted to get her talking so he could get his mind off what he really wanted to do—bury himself in her again, and again, and again. Maybe nibbling his way over the swells of her ass would take the edge off. He did just that, letting his lips graze over her delicate skin.
An appreciative moan was her response before she spoke again. “I work as an independent consultant. I travel a lot for my job.”
“What kind of consultant?” He wasn’t really interested, but he still hadn’t heard Carl come back and knew he had to kill the time somehow. As much as he wanted to go down on her again, he didn’t think he’d have enough self-control left to stop himself from plunging into her this time. There was no way he wanted to piss her off by sleeping with her without a condom, since he figured she was the kind of woman who’d just ditch him if he did something against her will.
SEVEN
Delilah stopped in front of the painting over the fireplace in Samson’s bedroom. The scene of a stately home surrounded by expansive grounds and a small pond drew her in. There was something oddly familiar about it, almost as if she knew the place.
She felt Samson stop behind her.
“When did you paint this?” she asked him without thinking.
“How did you know I painted this?” His voice sounded as surprised as she was herself. For some inexplicable reason she knew he’d painted it. She could see Samson standing in front of an easel, paint brush in hand, shirt and pants dirtied by various colors of oil paint.
“I don’t know. But when I look at it, I know you painted it.” She astounded herself by the certainty with which she said the words.
“I did. It’s my ancestral home. My family came from England.”
“It’s beautiful. Is the home still in your family’s hands?” It was more a castle than a home, but the warmth Delilah felt when she looked at it made her realize it had been a true family home with love and laughter.
She turned to him and saw the pain in his eyes for one second, before he planted a smile on his lips.
“No, not anymore. They lost everything after some unwise investments. The family became penniless, and everything was sold off. That’s what brought me, uh, my ancestors to the United States. Their only son came to this country in the late eighteenth century to make a name for himself.”
“And did he? Make a name for himself?” Delilah asked with interest. She loved history, especially when it was connected to somebody she knew personally.
“Yes and no. He was successful in business in the end, but he never saw his parents again. It was the biggest regret of his life, having to leave them behind. Never to hug his mother again, never to converse with his father about the things that mattered to a young man.”
There was pain in his voice. She felt a sense of loss slam into her chest.
“You say it as if you knew him. It was over two hundred years ago.”
Samson blinked then gave her another smile. “I’d like to think that I know him. It’s what I would have felt in his situation. Losing family is the hardest thing to get over.”
She understood all too well. “When did you lose yours?”
“Too long ago.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. She felt his need for tenderness and molded into him, wrapping her arms around his back.
“Come, join me in my favorite spot.”
Samson pulled her down onto the large floor pillows in front of the fireplace. Delilah rolled onto her stomach and gazed into the flames. Shadows created by the fire danced on her bare skin. Her long dark hair was sprawled over her shoulders. Some of the strands were wet from the shower.
His body was turned toward her, and his head rested on his hand as he admired her beauty while he played with her hair. He enjoyed running his hand over her bare ass, caressing her more tenderly than he’d ever caressed a woman before. Her skin was deliciously soft and flawless.
“You said you’re on a business trip. How long will you stay in San Francisco?”
Samson dipped his head to kiss the delightful indentation at the base of her back.
“Till Wednesday. I’m taking the red-eye back to New York.”
He felt a sharp stab in his chest. Indigestion? Not likely—vampires didn’t get indigestion.
“New York? I used to live in New York. Tell me what you do there.” He wanted to get her talking so he could get his mind off what he really wanted to do—bury himself in her again, and again, and again. Maybe nibbling his way over the swells of her ass would take the edge off. He did just that, letting his lips graze over her delicate skin.
An appreciative moan was her response before she spoke again. “I work as an independent consultant. I travel a lot for my job.”
“What kind of consultant?” He wasn’t really interested, but he still hadn’t heard Carl come back and knew he had to kill the time somehow. As much as he wanted to go down on her again, he didn’t think he’d have enough self-control left to stop himself from plunging into her this time. There was no way he wanted to piss her off by sleeping with her without a condom, since he figured she was the kind of woman who’d just ditch him if he did something against her will.
