Chapter Six
“Dorian?” Charley sat up in bed, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. “What… what time is it?”
Her vampire was sitting in a chair at the bedside, dressed in nothing but a pair of black silk pajama pants. Her gaze trailed up along the smooth, rigid planes of his abs and chest to his beautiful face, where she could just make out his features—the sharp lines of his jaw, the sweep of dark hair that fell over his forehead, the soulful eyes that glittered in the darkness.
Damn. Dorian Redthorne truly was a marvel. Day or night, Charley would never tire of looking at him.
But she could tell, even in the pitch black of the bedroom, something was wrong.
“After midnight,” he said softly, then came to sit on the edge of the bed, so invitingly close the heat from his bare ch
