“No,” Phoebe said shortly. She eyed the top of the wardrobe.
“If you call him, it will make everything worse.” Fran?oise sighed.
“Call him?” Phoebe tried to look innocent.
“Yes. With one of the telephones in the bag on top of the armoire.” Fran?oise’s expression held disdain, understanding, and a touch of humor. She clapped her hands briskly. “Milady Freyja is dining out tonight, so I suggest you be quick about it.”
“I don’t think I’m in the mood.” Phoebe had no intention of whispering sweet nothings to Marcus （which always turned into very sweet somethings） on someone else’s timetable.
“Give it a few minutes,” Fran?oise said as she departed. “You’ll be in the mood again in no time.”
Fran?oise was right. Her footsteps had barely faded before the throbbing between Phoebe’s legs returned. Before she was consciously aware of formulating a plan, Phoebe had gone to the armoire, leaped for the phone （a surprisingly easy feat, she discovered）， and dialed Marcus’s number.
“Phoebe?”
The effect of Marcus’s voice on Phoebe’s raw nerves was electrifying. She pressed her legs tightly together.
“You didn’t tell me everything.” Phoebe’s voice was breathy and rough.
“Just a minute.” There was a conversation, muffled and indistinct, and then footsteps. Then Marcus’s voice came clearly through the speaker once more. “I take it your vampire hormones have kicked in.”
“You should have warned me,” Phoebe said, irritation mounting along with her desire.
“I told you, quite explicitly, about the pleasures and problems associated with a vampire’s sexual awakening,” Marcus said, lowering his voice.
Phoebe racked her brains for the details of this conversation. Dimly, she recalled a few particulars. “You told me it was dangerous—not that I was going to feel an insatiable need to . . . you know . . .”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.” Pillow talk was not her department.
“Sure you can. What is it you want, Phoebe?” Marcus was teasing—but only in part. Most of him was deadly serious.
“I need . . . want . . . to . . .” Phoebe’s words drifted into silence, replaced by startlingly clear images of just what she would do to Marcus if he were to walk through the door. One encounter took place in the shower, where Marcus slipped inside her while the water flowed over their bodies. Another involved pinning him to the wall, dropping to her knees, and taking him in her mouth. And then there was the stunning image of Marcus taking her from behind, fully clothed, while she was splayed, facedown, across the end of his dining room table, which had been set for a romantic meal complete with flowers and a Georgian silver candlestick.
“I want you in every way imaginable,” Phoebe whispered, her cheeks red with honesty. There was nothing tender in her first wave of vampire fantasies—just pure, raw hunger.
“And then what?” Marcus’s voice turned to gravel.
“Then I want to make love, slowly, for hours, in a bed with white sheets, and curtains that blow in the breeze from the open windows.” Phoebe’s imagination was now captured by an altogether different image of their coupling, one driven not so much by lust as by longing. “Then I want to swim together, and make love in the ocean. And again, in a garden, under the stars with no moon.”
“Summer or winter?” Marcus asked.
She was pleased by his request for further details. It showed he was paying attention.
“Winter,” Phoebe said promptly. “The snow melting underneath us as we move.”
“I’ve never made love in the snow,” Marcus said, thoughtful.
“Have you made love in the ocean?” Phoebe’s erotic dreams were carried away in an undertow of jealousy.
“Yes. It’s fun. You’ll like it,” Marcus said.
“I hate your previous lovers—all of them. And I hate you,” Phoebe hissed.
“No, you don’t,” Marcus said. “Not really.”
“Tell me their names,” she demanded.
“Why? They’re all dead,” Marcus said.
“Not Veronique!” Phoebe retorted.
“You already know Veronique’s name, and her phone number, and her address,” Marcus said mildly.
“I hate that you’re more experienced than I am,” Phoebe said. “You keep talking about our equality, but in this . . .”
“I sure as hell hope you aren’t intending to level the playing field.” Marcus’s voice held a sharp edge.