When she nodded, he looked at the bed as if imagining them on it. "Even . . ."
She had to smile. "Yes, even that. But first, we need to talk—"
He was on her in a heartbeat, pressing her back against the door, his hands rough on either side of her waist.
"No talking," he growled. "First, I take you."
His mouth clamped onto hers, his tongue going deep, and then there was a tearing noise—her blouse being ripped open. Oh, God, yes . . . He kissed her until she was dizzy for a reason other than her pregnancy, and sometime in the middle of the rush, he picked her up and laid her out on the bed. With smooth coordination, like he'd been planning the moves, he pushed his pajama bottoms down, pulled her skirt up, bit through one side of her panties, and then—
He was inside.
Her body arched up against him and she held on hard as she gasped. She was extra tight because she was only par tially ready for him, but the moment he drove into her, she caught up with him. He pumped heavy and strong, but with care as well, the antique bed groaning under the force of his body as he took her.
The glorious smell of him invaded her nose and she knew what this was about. This was him staking his claim to her in addition to loving her. This was a possession by some thing other than a human man and it was so totally fine by her.
Michael came with a great clenching of his body and a roar that broke through the silence in the house. Loud as it was, their host had to have heard it so it was a good thing she didn't care enough to be embarrassed as her own orgasm swept through her.
After it was over, they stayed locked together, inter twined, their breathing hard for precious moments.
And then he said, "Forgive me . . . my love." He pulled back and smoothed her cheek while gently kissing her lips. "I fear I am rather . . . territorial when it comes to you."
She laughed. "You be as territorial as you want. Coming from you, I like it."
"Claire . . . what do we do about the future?"
"I have it all planned out. I'm very good at strategy." She put her fingers through his long, luxurious hair, the red and black strands curling around her wrist and arm. "I'm going to fix it so your mother leaves you everything."
"How?"
"I redrafted her will every four months or so while she was alive and I'm going to do it one last time downstairs in Mick's study tomorrow morning."
Yes, she was violating the professional code of ethics she'd sworn to when she'd taken her oath as an attorney. Yes, she could be disbarred. Yes, she was compromising her per sonal standards. But a great wrong had been done seemingly without remorse and sometimes to right something, you had to get your hands dirty. There were no more Leedses left, so there were no heirs to contest the will. And the philanthro pies would be left in, so there would still be millions upon millions going to them.
The wrong she would commit was the right thing to do.
And the fact that Fletcher was dead? Just made it all easier.
"She owes you," Claire said. "Your mother. . . your mother needs to take care of her son and I'm going to make sure she does."
"You are my hero." The love shining in Michael's eyes was a benediction unlike any she'd ever seen.
"And you are my sun," she replied.
As they kissed again, she had the weirdest sense it was all going to work out, even though none of it made sense: a human woman who never thought she'd get married and have a family because she was too tough for that kind of thing. A male vampire who was both pliant and fierce—and who hadn't been out of a dungeon in fifty years.
But it was right. They were right for each other.
Although God only knew what the future had in store for them.
EPILOGUE
Nine years later. . .
Daddy! I'm coming for you!" Claire looked over the moonlit lawns of the Leeds estate and watched her oldest child, Gabriella, go into full stealth mode. Her waist-length red and black hair was a shroud in the night, her coltish legs long for an eight-year-old. She moved quickly and silently to the stand of fruit trees in the back garden, going over the grass like her father did with fluidity and grace—as was the way with vampires.
Michael materialized behind his daughter and shouted, "Boo!"
Gabriella jumped about twelve feet into the air, but re covered quickly, landing on her feet and tearing after her father while giggling. She tackled him, and the two went down in the grass, fireflies hovering above the tickling fest as if they too were laughing.
"Mama, I'm finished," came a quiet voice from the left.
Claire put her hand out and felt her son's little palm slide into hers. "Thank you for cleaning your room."
"I'm sorry it got so messy."
She tugged Luke into her lap. At six years old, it was clear that he took after his father's side as well and not just on looks. Luke was going to grow up to be what Michael and Gabriella were. He had an aversion to the sun; he was a night owl; and his hearing and eyesight were abnormally acute. The real tip-off, though, were the adult-sized canines that had come in already. Well, that and the fact that Luke and Michael smelled exactly the same, like dark spices.
Claire kissed her son's forehead. "Have I told you I love you today?"
Luke hid his face in her neck, as was his nature. "Yes, Mama. At dinner when you told Daddy and Gabby, too."
"When else did I tell you?"
"At lunch." Her son's laughter was coming through in his voice, but he was trying to hide it.
"When else?" She gave his ribs a little squeeze to get him to loosen up.
Luke wriggled in her lap and gave up the fight. "At break fast!"
The two of them laughed and she hugged her shy, gentle son close as Michael and Gabriella came racing up the lawn.
Claire looked at her husband and felt a wave of respect and love come over her. He was so amazing, so steady and strong in his quiet way, taking care of her and the children with tender kindness. He was also a ferocious lover and vi cious protector—as a vandal had learned a couple of months ago.
She loved him even more than she had this morning, though less than she would tomorrow.
"Hi," she said to him, as Gabriella took Luke's hand and led him off to show him the fresh buds on the tea roses next to the gazebo.
"My love," Michael murmured, sitting down on the grass next to her and pulling her into his arms. "You are beautiful in this light."
"Thank you."
She had to smile, thinking that the beautiful stuff was because of him. As was the fact that she looked younger than she had when she'd met him and not just because she'd stopped working around the clock. The two of them had dis covered through some kinky moments that he liked to be used for drinking and that his blood had a curious effect on her. It seemed to have halted her aging process—or at the very least slowed it down to such a degree that she hadn't aged at all in the last nine years. Had even regressed a little.
There were a lot of unanswered questions. Michael still had no idea who his father was or whether there were any other vampires on the planet. They were both worried about their children's futures and the isolation at the estate and the fact that kids needed friends their own age. And health care was an issue because how could they take the children to a human doctor?
Generally, though, things were better than imaginable. Claire managed the huge Leeds fortune. Michael home-schooled the children. Luke and Gabriella were thriving and healthy.
It was a good life. An odd life, but a good life.
And there was some news to share.
"You're a very good father, you know that?" Claire said, brushing back her man's hip-length hair.
Michael kissed her neck. "You're a very good mother. And a perfect wife. And a brilliant businesswoman. I don't know how you do it all."
"Time management is a wonderful thing." Claire put her husband's hand on her belly. "And I'm going to need to do a little more managing."
Michael froze. "Claire?"
She laughed. "You were very busy with me last month and it seems as if. . ."
He hugged her tight and trembled a little. She knew there were moments when the abuse and imprisonment came back to him, and unfortunately it was typically when he got good news. All these years later, he still struggled with anything he viewed as lucky or miraculous. It made him feel, he said, as if he were in danger of waking up and having this new life of his be just a dream.
"Are you okay? Do you feel all right?" he asked, pulling back, eyes going over her.
"Fine. As always, I'm fine." The home births were not a walk in the park, but through Mick, who seemed to know someone who knew someone about all things, they'd found a midwife they could trust.
Michael rubbed her tummy. "You make me so happy. So proud."
"Right back at you."
He kissed her as he always did, lingering before he pulled away. Funny, after all their time together, he still hated to part their mouths.
"If it's a boy, I'd like to call him Matthew or Mark," she said.
"And a girl?"