Also, my body had betrayed me in my sleep by slithering across the bed—unwrapping the robe in the process—and gluing itself to the vampire. To his credit, Malcolm didn’t say anything. Not right away. Probably he was savoring my discomfort because his energy was tap dancing against me with an insistent, almost electric heat. And I’d always thought vampires felt cold. I blinked, eyelashes brushing against his chest. My hand rested on his hip. Not the hip closest to me, which would have been marginally acceptable. No. My arm, looking small inside of gaping blue terry cloth, was stretched diagonally over his bare torso and my hand rested on his equally bare far hip. Claiming the continent of his body. I stretched my pinkie below the covers, subtly scouting for underwear or—better yet—a chastity belt. He jerked, the muscles of his stomach contracting. “Mary, I did as you asked.” His voice was low. “I did not touch, despite you wrapping your hot little body all around me.
What do You think about Don’t Bite The Messenger (2012)?
