Page 49 of Craved

“You’re welcome.” I nuzzled her throat, inhaling her spicy green scent.

Now that I’d fed, the blood-craving wasn’t riding me anymore. I could focus on other things like her soft, cool skin and the needy moan she made when I scraped my teeth over the sensitive spot beneath her jaw.

Not yours, I reminded myself. But damn, it felt good having my dick pressed up against her thigh, even if it was through her jeans.

She rubbed her eyes. “We’re in Toronto?”

I nodded. “We’re at a hotel just outside the city, about twenty minutes from the airport. Which reminds me, I need to book a flight for us.”

Because if I didn’t, I was going to start something I wasn’t sure either of us wanted.

“Wait.” She grabbed my arm.

“What is it?”

She propped herself up on her forearms and glanced at my very hard, very ready erection. Her eyes widened. “Oh.” It came out somewhere between a sigh and a mewl of appreciation, which my dick loved.

It swelled even more.

I sat up and shrugged. “Hey, I’m a guy.”

“I can see that.” She sat up as well, her gaze still on my lap.

“Zoe?”

“Mm?”

“Is there some reason you don’t want me to book a flight?”

She flushed and lifted her eyes to mine. “Victorine will be watching Toronto, too.”

“No problem. I fed this morning. I can power a glamour long enough to get us to Paris without being recognized.”

“What about me? I can’t hold a glamour longer than a few minutes. And what I can do is pretty lame.”

“How lame?”

She shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “It’s not one of my skills, okay? About all I can do is take the sheen from my skin so I look human instead of vampire.”

“I see.” I should’ve asked sooner—the ability to produce a glamour varied greatly among our kind. “But you’re a vampire spawn.”

Her shoulders hunched. “Yeah, well, I’m a disappointment to my mother, too.”

I silently cursed myself for putting her on the defensive. “No offense, but your mom’s an idiot.”

She shook her head, but an uncertain look flashed across her face, like she was absorbing what I’d said. Turning it around in that smart, strategic brain of hers that was nevertheless blind when it came to her mother.

Victorine had really done a number on her daughter.

“I mean it.” I ran my thumb over her cheekbone. “You’re a special woman. Intelligent, beautiful, hard-working. If she can’t see that, it’s her problem, not yours.”

Our gazes snagged. My heart thumped, hard and slow.

“We should book a flight.” I nibbled her plump lower lip. “Don’t worry about your appearance. A blond wig should do it.”

“Mm-hm,” she said against my mouth. “Which US airport is closest?”

I traced a finger over the delicate wings of her collarbones. First the left side, then the right. “Buffalo, I guess.”

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