Quinn followed her gaze before looking back at her. “I’m not going to force you to do anything this time. Whatever happens here will be because we both want it. You can walk away anytime, you can say no to anything.”

“ . . . or I can say yes to anything.”

The suggestive look she graced him with shot through his body like a bullet. It was how he remembered her: playful and receptive.

“Will I have to wait much longer for a kiss, or would it be too forward for a lady to steal one?”

Her coquettish smile melted his heart.

“I would never make a lady wait.” No sooner had the words left his lips, than he pulled her into his arms. “But I always make a lady come.”

Crushing his mouth to hers, he unleashed the passion he’d kept bottled up for two centuries.

With one arm around her waist, he pulled her into the hard planes of his body, as he buried the other hand in her golden tresses, angling her head for a closer connection. Her lips were inviting, her tongue tantalizing him with gentle strokes, urging him to delve deeper into her delicious mouth.

The soft press of her breasts against his chest shot a thrill through his groin, the knowledge that she was here out of her own free will and not because he was forcing her, only intensifying the feeling. Rose wanted him. Everything she did attested to it: her hands that caressed his nape, making him shiver, her pelvis grinding against him, letting him sense her heat, her fangs that had lowered fractionally and now presented an altogether different temptation.

Unable to resist, he stroked his tongue over the tip of one of her fangs, making her jolt instantly. The unexpected movement made her fang pierce his tongue, just deep enough to draw blood, which seeped from it instantly.

Rose yanked her head back, interrupting their kiss, a horrified expression on her face.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Despite the apologetic words, her eyes were transfixed on his mouth, her nostrils flaring in the process.

Pulling her back to him, he parted his lips, letting her see the drops of blood he could taste on his tongue. “I’m not. Sorry, that is.”

His lips hovered over hers as he allowed her to inhale the scent of his blood. Too soon, the tiny wound would heal by itself, shutting off the flow of blood, but before that happened, he wanted one thing from her.

“Taste me.”

Her eyes widened, interest and horror colliding within them in a battle of equally matched opponents. It was unclear which side would win. But Quinn had never been one to play by the rules when it came to women. He knew how to press his advantage, how to turn the tables in his favor.

Sliding his hand down to the round curves of her backside, he gently urged her closer to him, wanting to make her aware of the effect she had on him.

“Do you feel that, Rose? Just the thought of you tasting my blood makes me harder than granite.”

Her next intake of breath brought with it a moan that reverberated deep inside his chest. A moment later, her lips were on him, her tongue forging ahead, swiping over his to collect the blood that was waiting there for her. When she swallowed, his heart beat into his throat, waiting anxiously for her reaction.

All of a sudden, her heart beat against his in an excited rhythm, as deep and melodic as a drum, yet as rapid as a jackhammer.

“Quinn,” she whimpered, releasing his mouth for a split-second.

Had he not been so busy recapturing her lips, he would have smiled. Knowing that she loved his taste, that she’d taken a small drop of his blood gave him hope: they would work things out between them, remove whatever obstacles remained. This time, they would make it work.

His need for her spiraling, he let his hands wander over her body. As he palmed one breast through the fabric of her top, her sounds of pleasure vibrated against his lips, making them tingle pleasantly.

He growled, impatient now to touch her naked skin. As if she knew what he wanted, she dropped her hands to the seam of her shirt, pulling it upwards.

“No, please,” he whispered. “Let me do that.”

He couldn’t think of a greater joy than to unwrap her, to lay her bare like a present on Christmas Day.

Obediently, she let go of her shirt, placing her hands on his chest. Her nimble fingers instantly went to the buttons of his shirt, popping one after the other open.

“Tit for tat,” she said.

Chuckling, he tugged at her top, pulling it up and making her interrupt her own activity as he pulled it over her head. While he tossed it on the floor, his eyes were already drinking in what he’d laid bare. Her lace bra was practically see-through, leaving nothing to his imagination.