Polanski Brothers Read online

  His lips slid down her back, planting hot kisses along her spine, nipping her ass. “Your skin is so cool. It’s not hot like mine and it’s driving me fucking crazy,” he said against her flesh as he slipped his tongue between the cheeks of her ass and ran it along the crevice.

  Spencer reached behind her to clutch his hair, prickling her skin as he tongued her. Larkin’s mouth moved in slow, sensuous caresses, lingering in places she didn’t know existed, but longed for him to remain. As he slid down further between her legs, he turned over so that the heated flesh between her legs, smooth and shaven, was poised near his tongue.

  She wrapped her thighs around his neck when he breathed near the sensitive area. “But this,” he said as the tip of his tongue snaked out to lick her clit, “this is hot.”

  Spencer bucked at the contact, loving the rasp of his silken touch, loving when his hands found their way to her breasts and he toyed with her nipples, pulling at them until they beaded tightly and she gripped his wrists to keep from crying out.

  As his tongue slithered in and out of her aching core, Spencer came in an explosion of sharp threads of heat and lightning coursing through her. She rode his tongue until her back arched and her fingers hurt from clutching desperately at him.

  Larkin moved up her body, ready to slip between her thighs, but Spencer stopped him by placing her hand between them to cradle his cock, hot and thick.

  She wanted to explore him—discover what turned him on.

  He thrust into her cool hands as she caressed the thick length of him, cupping his balls, kneading them.

  “Jesus, Spencer,” she heard him say tightly. “You need to stop now because I’ll come all over your hands if you don’t.”

  “But—”

  Larkin cut her off with a kiss and she forgot all about exploring him, tasting him. Though she’d never done it before, her tongue burned to. Pulling away momentarily, he whispered, “Another time, vampire. If I don’t fuck you now, I’ll explode.”

  Spencer rolled to her back as Larkin sat between her thighs, opening them high and wide. His gaze was dark and filled with something Spencer didn’t understand, but it burned her it was so intense. He gripped her knees as though he were trying to gain control. “I want to ram into you, Spencer. I want to fuck you until you scream, but I don’t want to hurt you, yet I can’t seem to control myself.”

  His words made Spencer squirm, so she grabbed hold of his cock and pulled him to her, raising her hips. “You can’t hurt me, Larkin. I dare you to make me scream.”

  And she did.

  Scream, that is.

  Long and loud as he drove into her with a forceful thrust, powerful and hot, embedding himself balls deep in her slick recesses.

  Larkin grunted and from beneath heavy-lidded eyes she watched him shudder, his powerful body rippling and tensing, driving Spencer to push harder against him, to make him come as he had her.

  His thrusts were rapid and her muscles clung to each one as thunder roared in her ears and the throb between her legs made her thrash beneath him.

  Harder, faster, he pushed until he reared up, his frame rigid and tense as he came, hauling her close to him, his lips at her ear.

  She couldn’t think as Larkin’s body relaxed against hers and they clung to one another, her hands roaming his broad back, soothing the tense muscles.

  God, this man is fabulous.

  Larkin lifted his head and smiled at her. “Not bad for a human, huh?”

  Oy.

  * * * *

  Spencer left Larkin to go do cop things after her father called to tell her he needed her right away at the parlor. She’d given him what she imagined was a “thanks for the good time” goodbye—or at least that’s what Spencer tried to mimic as she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at him on her way out the door.

  Very Sex and the City, very casual, very let’s do this again sometime, and she didn’t mention a single word about her threat from the night before. For the moment, she needed to process, and she didn’t want to poke the caged tiger while she did it.

  She needed to think about the past day or so. She couldn’t do that with Larkin always running around in her head.

  As she rushed into the funeral parlor’s back entrance she heard her mother Patrice whispering fiercely to her father in the outer hallway. Spencer almost laughed out loud. She didn’t know why they bothered, there wasn’t a soul in the building who couldn’t “hear” them, but they were obviously too engrossed to care.

  “Edgar, I will not have this. I don’t like him!”

  “You don’t know him, Patrice. How can we tell if it’s true or not anyway? Spencer can’t, that’s for sure,” her father whispered back just as fiercely.

  She heard the rustle of feet. Uh-oh. Her mother was pacing. She only did that if she was really upset or angry. Patrice’s sigh was exasperated. “Were you reading my mind in there, Edgar?”

  “Well, how could I help it, honey? If you’d written it on a flyer and passed it out it couldn’t have been any more clear.”

  “Well, good, because I’d like to think I know who can handle my baby and that sharp tongue of hers and that in there is a pasty, skinny pretty-boy and I won’t have him for my Spencer. I won’t, Edgar!”

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. Have whom for her Spencer? And who was skinny and white? Spencer pressed a hand to her temple and tried to stop the thread of fear that crept up her spine.

  “Spencer?” her father called from the hallway. All knowing and all smelling.

  Shit, she forgot they could smell her. Spencer ran a hand down her jeans and peeked around the corner. “Hi, Daddy. What’s up?”

  Her mother’s pale, unlined face looked even paler as she held out her hand to Spencer. “Give your mother a hug.”

  Spencer hugged her mother, and wished just once she could smell the scent that her siblings said brought to mind their mom. But Patrice trembled as Spencer stood at arm’s length with her. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  Patrice Polanski bit her lip. “You tell her, Edgar. I absolutely refuse.”

  Edgar placed his hands on Spencer’s shoulders and squeezed them. “We have someone here that claims he knows you.”

  Oh! If Larkin had shown up here making trouble she was going to kick his big ass from here to Gordonville! “Who, Dad?”

  “Me,” a familiar voice said as it pulled up behind her, close enough for Spencer to recognize it. Once more, that ominous chill skittered up her spine like it had just last night.

  As Spencer turned to face the voice, her parents stood beside her.

  “Hello, Spencer. Remember me? Joffrey? I told you we’d meet again, didn’t I?”

  Spencer nodded as her eyes narrowed and her mother hissed her disapproval.

  Her father had that look on his face—the look that said she wasn’t getting the pony she’d asked for one Christmas.

  “Honey,” Edgar said as he grabbed Spencer’s hand, squeezing it tight as though he were trying to convey some sort of message to her. “This is Joffrey Krachowsky.”

  Spencer’s nod was slow. “Right. We’ve met.”

  Edgar fought a scowl. Spencer knew he was fighting one from the way he rolled his shoulders and clamped his lips together. It was the frown of disapproval. “Joffrey’s here because he had something to tell us.”

  Her eyes skirted Joffrey’s pale, chiseled face and the way he lifted his square chin in a strangely defiant tilt upward. Another prickle of alarm shot up her spine. “What did he tell you?”

  Her mother reached for her neck in a “clutch her pearls” gesture.

  Spencer stood, waiting, anxiety pricking her nerves. “What did he tell you, Dad?” she pressed with impatience. She had bodies to embalm, paperwork to fill out, a wayward detective to keep in line, and a possible murderer to find.

  Edgar’s looked directly into her eyes, his next words tight due to the clench of his jaw. “Mr. Krachowsky claims he’s your life mate.”

  Holy pale, pretty b
oy…

  Chapter 7

  No muthaeffin’ way! Not even if I have to rip his nose off of his face to prove it—will I ever believe that pansy-assed, blue-lipped, hair-better-than-mine freak of a vampire is my shit for brains life mate! And shit, shit, shit. I forgot to clean the damn toilet before I left.

  Spencer’s thoughts slammed into Larkin’s head like a screaming freight train.

  Son of a bitch, ass kissing, techno music loving bastard! I’ll be damned if I’ll spend a nanosecond with him, let alone an eternity. I’d rather roll in fresh garlic, drink a gallon of holy water, nail together my own cross and hang myself on it at sunrise, than have him for a life mate. Crap. Did I remember to water the fern?

  Whoa. She was pissed. As Larkin drove nearer to the Polanskis’ funeral parlor, her thoughts became less muffled and more like he’d tuned in a radio station, losing the static.

  I’ll stake him through the heart myself. I swear it on all things vampire. I’ll fucking embalm him. Yep, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Hey, Joffrey, how’d ya like an embalming fluid enema? Speaking of fluid, I didn’t pay the water bill…

  Joffrey? Wasn’t that the snotty prick he’d met the other night at the Hole? Larkin tapped his finger on the steering wheel as he listened.

  It just figures my life mate would frequent a place called the Hole. It’s what he crawled out of—the freak. And where the hell did I put the freakin’ latex gloves?

  Yep. That was him. What the hell was going on? Larkin parked his car in the back and sat to listen to what Spencer was thinking. He knew he shouldn’t, but it wasn’t like he could help it.

  Just because he can smell me and I can’t smell him means we have to call my girlfriends and ask them how they feel about the color lavender as a bridesmaid’s dress? I think not, motherfucker. I might not be able to smell, but if this shithead is my life mate I’ll drink embalming fluid. Damn…Soap. I forgot the flippin’ soap.

  He could just picture the cute sway of her ass as she stomped around, cursing this guy Joffrey. Her petite, tightly packed body was curvy. He had plenty to grab hold of while he drove himself into her with a mindless frenzy he’d never before experienced.

  If this is my life mate, then I’d rather be dead, which of course is impossible. He’s no Goddamned life mate of mine.

  Life mate? Who the fuck did this asshole think he was? He’d better stay the hell away from Spencer—or he’d kill Joffrey of the lily white skin.

  Shit. Now where had that very possessive thought come from?

  Yoo hoo. Down here.

  Larkin shifted in the seat and looked at his crotch. Yeah, yeah. His stiff cock was where that had come from. No one set him on fire like this woman did. No one and he’d be damned if he’d let some freak like Joffrey—vampire or not—have Spencer.

  A vampire.

  Spencer was a vampire. It was the most messed up crazy he’d ever heard. But he instinctively knew she wasn’t lying. A virgin vampire—freakier still. He’d felt like a pig last night until his ego had taken over and he thought about how she’d chosen him after a string of sexless centuries.

  She claimed it was different for vampires and he’d have to take her word for it because really, what the hell did he know about vampires but what he’d seen on TV?

  Larkin wanted to be freaked out by this information, but he wasn’t. Somehow it just made sense. It was almost ironic that he could read her mind and she couldn’t read his—or smell him. It gave him an advantage he wasn’t sure was good, but right now it wasn’t bad, because her thoughts of him were as carnal as his thoughts of her.

  Joffrey, what kind of a name is that anyway? Sissy name for a sissy vampire.

  Larkin chuckled. Yeah, it was kind of a sissy name.

  How could Alan have been friends with a man like Larkin and a man like Joffrey?

  He nodded his head. Yeah, how was that and why couldn’t he get any information about this guy Joffrey anywhere? It was like he didn’t exist, but he’d supposedly known Alan.

  Spencer’s thoughts became more frantic in his head, running at a rapid speed as she mumbled in her mind.

  Oh, God. Poor Alan being hacked up by those stupid coroners. I hope they don’t see those bites. Shit, shit, shit.

  Larkin suddenly sat at attention. Bites? Shit indeed.

  He grabbed the handle of his car door and shoved it open. His little mistress of the dark had some explaining to do.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Twilight. What up?” a voice whispered in Spencer’s ear, scaring the crap out of her and making her drop her tools.

  Whipping around, she fell into the very broad chest of her favorite pesky detective. How the hell did he get in here anyway?

  “I’m a cop. We have ways,” he assured her with a wink.

  Spencer rolled her eyes at him and fought for calm. His close proximity had a way of stealing it from her in huge helpings. “So, what’s on tap for tonight, Detective? Are we still hunting vampires? Or have we moved onto other more exciting things, like ghosts or witches?”

  Larkin tipped her chin up and pecked her nose lightly. “Nope, tonight I want to talk about vampire things. What’s it like to be a vampire, Spencer?”

  “Is this like the getting to know you chapter of our relationship? Because you’ve failed dismally at the wining and dining stage of things.”

  Larkin chuckled and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the outer entrance to the embalming room. He hooked his foot around a swivel chair and plopped down in it, taking her with him.

  Spencer sat stiffly on his lap.

  “Okay, so I’ll make it up to you and take you out. Can we buy blood in a six-pack at the local Quickie Mart?”

  Spencer crossed her arms over her breasts and then she crossed her eyes at him. “The blood thing is freaking you out, isn’t it, manly man?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Um, yeah.”

  Spencer sighed and wondered how her cousin Cathy had dealt with her husband Joel and this whole blood explanation. “It’s not a big deal. Blood keeps us undead is all, like food keeps you in the land of the living and if you have a life mate you feed off of one another. We don’t kill people for it or animals or anything else. It kinda comes to us if you know what I mean.” Spencer pointed a thumb at the embalming room with a knowing look.

  “So, what happens if dead bodies don’t show up here needing embalming? No deaths for a week or so. Then what?”

  Spencer smiled. “We have a supply of it. I need it to live, but I can have other things too. I just can’t taste them because I can’t smell.” Spencer stuck her tongue out and ran her finger over it. “No taste buds.”

  “That totally sucks. You can’t enjoy a good steak or a beer?” he asked, frowning at her as his hands rubbed her back.

  “Well, I couldn’t anyway because I have no sense of smell. So I’m not missing much anyhow.”

  “But blood?” He sounded repulsed.

  Spencer shrugged her shoulders and arched into the motion of his hands against her back, which ached a bit from standing all night. “Yep, blood.”

  “So what’s the point of having those pearly white incisors?” Larkin asked as he eyeballed her mouth.

  Spencer grinned. “To protect myself from letches like you, of course.”

  Larkin’s gaze became more serious and his hands stopped caressing her back.

  “You wanna see ’em, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  She sighed. “Men. You’re all such children at heart. Okay, but no passing out, all right? I mean, it wasn’t very detective-like. I could have bitten you and then you’d be just like me.”

  “Show me.”

  Spencer opened her mouth and let her incisors lengthen.

  Larkin hissed out a breath before saying, “Friggin’ cool…”

  She snapped her mouth shut. “Yes, Larkin, way cool.”

  “So why did they pop out last night after—well, after—”

  “You snatched my virginity?”
r />   Now Larkin sighed. “I said I was sorry. I never would have suspected that a woman your age—”

  Putting her hand over his mouth, she smiled. “I’m kidding. Stop it already. During lovemaking it’s common for vampires to ‘feed’ from one another. It’s sort of like foreplay to you humans.”

  “Jesus. Does it hurt?”

  Poking him in the chest she scoffed, “I told you, I have no idea. I was a virgin.”

  “Right. Sorry. Okay, so if you don’t bite people do you wanna explain to me how Alan was bitten? Because you’re the only vampire I know who can help me.”

  Spencer froze—the shit had been listening to her thoughts again! “God dammit, Larkin, get the hell out of my head, would you?” she yelled into the silence of the parlor.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. “Don’t call me names—not even mentally, Polanski, and it’s not as if I can help this, you know. I didn’t ask to read your thoughts. It just happened and there isn’t any sense to it all, but it is. So adjust and gimme the skinny or I’ll stalk your pretty ass from here to kingdom come.”

  She snorted at him, staring down into his handsome face. “Like you haven’t already?”

  “I want to know what happened to Alan, Spencer. He was my best friend. You know something no one else does so spit it out.”

  “Or what?”

  “Spencer…”

  Spencer schmencer. She really didn’t have any other choice, did she? And he had been Alan’s best friend. He deserved to know the truth—even if it meant her clan was stewed. The truth was as important to her as keeping her clan safe, but they weren’t safe if one of her own was biting innocents.

  In a way, it might be a relief to just get this weight off her chest. Spencer let her head fall back on her shoulders as she prepared to share what she knew about Alan and even Brian.

  “Okay, so when Alan’s body was sent here he’d been on ice. I saw nothing unusual about it other than he’d killed himself and he was so damn young. It made me sad…Anyway, it was after the viewing—the next day. I knew the coroner’s office was going to take Alan’s body back and it pissed me off that he’d have to be—well—”

  “Cut again,” Larkin confirmed.