Carrick sat back on the stone bench and let hi eyes wander over the gardens for a moment. "I'd like to hear you play," he said equably. "I didn't buy you to keep you cooped up in a bedroom. You're a rare flower, Grace, and I don't want to hide you away."
The vampire drew his new slave closer, fingers now cupping her chin lightly but with unmistakeably authority. He covered her mouth with his own, drawing her lower lips between his, savouring her. Carrick's other hand moved between their bodies and slid down Grace's chest, cupping one breast, thumb stroking her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.
Very nice indeed," he murmured. "But perhaps we should try a comparison. " Looking into her eyes, he reached behind him and picked up one of the roses he had cut. It was a variety grown by vampire horticulturalist, noted for its long, thin and wickedly sharp thorns. "You remind me of a rose," he remarked. "Soft. Elegant. A classic beauty. But there's something behind that softness, isn't there?" Eyes never leaving hers, Carrick lifted the rose and stroked the soft petals against Grace's cheek and down over her jaw and throat.