Home

Vampire Books

All Books

A Candidate for the Kiss

As she stared up at Archer, Dana suddenly realized his expression had softened, becoming less ruthless, almost seductive. His lids lowered, pupils expanding into dark pools set in his crystalline blue irises. The tight line of his mouth relaxed, taking on a sensual curve, and his nostrils flared as if scenting her. He took one step closer, then another, until he was so close his big body seemed to surround hers.

Her mouth went dry as she remembered the way he'd looked with his shirt off, the intensely male contours gleaming in the firelight. She took a step back.

"Are you afraid of me, Dana?" Archer murmured, closing the distance between them again.

God, his chest was broad. It seemed to fill her vision. And the T-shirt fabric clung, so she could see all that fascinating masculine topography. Like the way the black material tented over the tiny nub of his left nipple. She wet her lips and resisted the impulse to look down, see if something else might be protruding beneath his jeans.

"You shouldn't be afraid," he said, his velvet and whiskey voice curling around her senses. Archer lowered his head toward hers, his hair falling forward. Dana watched, hypnotized, as strand slipped over dark, gleaming strand, tumbling in slow motion against the stern rise of his cheek. She wanted to touch his hair, feel its silken length slip through her fingers.

"I have no desire to hurt you," he said softly. "There are so many better things to do." His breath gusted over her lips, warm and smelling faintly yeasty.

"Beer," Dana blurted, groping for a way to resist the lush spell he was spinning around her. "I didn't think vampires drank anything but blood."

"Don't believe everything you hear." Gently, Archer reached up and smoothed her own tumbled hair back from her forehead. His fingers felt warm, almost feverish. Wasn't a vampire's skin supposed to be cold? Another myth shot to hell, she thought, fighting dizziness.

"Don't be afraid of me, Dana," he said, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. "I'm one of the good guys." His eyelashes cast long shadows against his elegant cheekbones as he lowered his head. "Very, very good."