For the Bite of It (6 page)

Vince shut down his feelings, locking a mental shield over them. Angelo was too good at sensing them.

Too late. “I see hope burgeons eternal.” Angelo grinned, his engaging countenance bringing an answering smile to Vince’s face. “And what about those mint toothpicks?”

“We don’t know if he’s out or even admits to himself that he’s gay,” Vince warned. Although a man didn’t go to the Las Vegas club for just a drink. It was a high-class bar with high-class men for hire.

“Please.” Angelo held his hand up in the universal stop sign. “Who cares what he calls himself? You got an itch. Get him to scratch it.”

“Anyone ever tell you how crass you are?”

“My lovers like crass,” Angelo pointed out. “Besides, this is about you not me. Ask him out. Screw him.”

Vince drummed his fingers on the table. “Sure, I’ll just walk up and ask him out on a date,” he said, sarcastically. “I’m still a suspect, officially.”

“Nothing ventured.” Angelo rose and paced the perimeter of the compact office. Vince had never understood how his friend could be so elegant yet there was nothing effeminate about him.

“Nothing gained. Go, have fun, have sex, and voila, you’ve scratched your itch. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring. I’ll bet you a hundred green ones your detective’s in the closet.”

Angelo continued his pacing. Something in his posture skittered a warning tingle across Vince’s nape. “Something you’re not telling me?”

The amused glint in Angelo’s eyes faded. He ran a finger under the collar of his turtleneck. The tingle escalated to a shiver. Something was up.

He strode over to Angelo and grabbed his shoulder. “Will you stop walking and tell me what is going on?” The serious look on the normally fun-loving vampire’s face caused Vince’s stomach to drop. “
Mio fratello
?”

“No, nothing’s happened to your brother. He lives happily enjoying the fruits of your sacrifice.”

He didn’t want to argue over this battle. “Enough. I made my choice. Your opinion is clear. But he is my family and his mate was pregnant. I couldn’t let him be executed for a stupid mistake.”

His half-brother, Carlo, would have been put to death for killing another vampire. They had different mothers and their lineage was established through the maternal line. Vince’s mother had been royalty. As the chosen heir,
he
was merely expelled from the clan. Carlo didn’t have the advantage of royal blood.

“If it’s not Carlo, then why do you look worried?”

Angelo paused, pursed his lips and nodded at some internal decision. “They don’t want me to tell you just yet, but to hell with them. The
Jurisdictio
has ruled that a Council member should visit you.”

Dio, why now?

His people should forget his existence. By law, the
J
had even changed his last name to Esposito as part of his punishment.
Esposito
meaning the orphan. A man with no kin, no country. The
Jurisdictio
liked a bit of B-grade drama when handing down a judgment.

“Why?” His hands curled into fists. “They exiled me. I accepted it. I live among humans. I’m an innocuous baker. What more do they want?”

“Vin, you’re no ordinary vampire. You’re the heir the Council Lords selected.”

“Not anymore. The Lords never said boo when the
J
passed their judgment.” He licked his lips trying to erase the bitterness that coated his words.

“The Lords had no choice. You owned the crime.”

“They should have known better.” That Vince, despite his confession, would never commit the crime he had claimed responsibility for—he wasn’t capable of murdering one of his race in cold blood. But that was the idealistic side of him wishing that the clan leadership had been able to see past his admission and dig deeper for the truth. His own sister, a member of the ruling Council, had accepted his guilt. Not the truth that Carlo had killed a clan mate, but his reason for attacking the other creature. The beast had preyed on female vampires, and when he’d attacked Carlo’s mate, his brother had no choice. But the evidence had been washed away in a winter storm. Vince hadn’t been able to prove Carlo did it in defense of his family. Without evidence, Carlo’s head was on the guillotine. Vincent had taken the blame. And the rest was now history.

“Vinny, think. You said you did it. What the hell was the
J
supposed to think? I verified your testimony and said you did the crime. How were they supposed to know—?”

Vince held out his hand. “Stop.” Weariness mantled him, making his shoulders sag. Angelo had also put his reputation and life on the line for him by lying in court. It’d taken Vince days to convince his friend to commit perjury. He had no desire to hear Angelo out. What was done was done. At least his brother was safe from suspicion. Sure, he wished he hadn’t had to make the choices he did. But at the end of the day, he’d do it again.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.” He rubbed brisk fingers through his hair, pumping his blood, casting aside his regret. “Why now? What’s happening
now
that the
J
wants me to take a job as their watch-dog?” Maybe they wanted to give him a second chance. Some members of the
Jurisdictio
had argued hard for his exile to have a term limit but they hadn’t succeeded.

“Times are changing. There’s talk of rebellion among the exiles. The
J
wants to know whose side you’re on.”

“The exiled don’t have powers with which to rebel.”

“This time they are more organized.”

Vince shook his head in denial. “Tell the
J
I’m into taking care of myself these days.” He had heard rumblings of insurrection before but it wasn’t his problem. “Now you’ve managed to depress me even more, I think I’ll head home.”

It was early but Greg could close up the shop. Vince didn’t think he could stand to see John Reeder now, not with his emotions so raw and vulnerable.

“You want company?” Angelo had stopped his pacing while texting on his phone.

“Molly Sunshine that you are? No thanks.”

Angelo gave an exasperated shake of his head. “Call your detective. Scratch the itch.”

“Would you stop with that theme?”

As much as he’d thought about John, Vince didn’t think he could end it with a quick fuck. He needed to plan a strategy and he wasn’t planning it with Angelo.

“I don’t have his number,” Vince shut down the computer. “Greg!” He stuck his head into the main area of the shop. “I’m leaving. Close-up is all yours.”

“Gee, thanks.” But Greg nodded as he boxed up cupcakes. “See you tomorrow.”

Vince’s phone beeped, indicating he had a text message.

“I just sent you his mobile number. Call. The. Detective.” With that Angelo shimmered out of sight, leaving Vince exasperated at how easy hooking-up seemed to be for Angelo.

One long, hot shower later, Vince lay on his cool sheets in a sleeveless tee and boxers, thinking about John. Alone, he was reckless enough to indulge in impossible dreams, and his eyes drifted closed.

He wasn’t alone. Someone stood by the side of the bed, not a threatening presence but someone warm and tall. Eyes fluttering open he took in John Reeder’s solid figure in much-worn khaki shorts and a faded green t-shirt. The mattress dipped as John sat on the edge of the bed, one thigh lying across the sheets, his knee nudging Vince’s ribs.

It was too real. Vince could smell him—the scent of sun and sweat and male excitement. He gritted his teeth.

That Angelo. It was the vampire’s doing, planting dreams in his mind. Vince had no way to counteract it, no choice but to let it play out.

He may as well enjoy it. This might be the closest he came to actually being with John.

Vince pushed himself up to a sitting position. John didn’t move. He said nothing, just looked at him, his eyes burning with intent. Vince reached out and stroked a finger down the side of John’s exposed neck, pressing lightly on the thrumming vein. What a temptation for a hungry vampire. He tamped down the dangerous thought. He trailed his finger down John’s chest testing the light springiness of hair through the soft cotton.

Skirting the nipple, Vince continued to drag his index finger down John’s washboard abs. Keeping his touch light, he navigated the bunched material of John’s shorts and slid his hand over the light hairs on John’s thigh. His stomach clenched as John’s muscles contracted.

He glanced up and saw John’s flash of hesitation, quickly replaced by a flare of excitement as Vince slid his hand under the opening of John’s shorts. Heat enveloped his hand. John’s cock surged up hard, tenting his shorts, and Vince’s balls tightened in anticipation.

He quirked a brow in silent query. John nodded, and Vince smoothed his fingers up the front of John’s shorts towards his goal. His knuckles brushed against straining cotton and John’s eyes fluttered closed. John’s throaty moan fueled Vince’s desire.

Vince clasped John’s shoulder, rocked him gently. He wanted a willing participant not someone just taking it.

“Open your eyes, John,” he murmured.

When he was drowning in the blue depths again, he leaned forward, his lips kissing the cleft in John’s chin. His breath feathered warm across Vince’s brow. Encouraged he skimmed his mouth across John’s square jaw. Vince licked the hollow of John’s neck trying not to let the throbbing veins bring out his bloodlust. With his right hand, he grasped John’s hip, tugged him closer.

“Jesus.” A simple word from John breathed out in the throes of the same lust that enveloped Vince serving as a catalyst.

They moved into each other’s arms by tacit consent. Hands groped, eager for hot skin, rough with hair and the hard muscles of a male body. Vince nudged John off the bed with his knee, following him to a standing position, wanting to be plastered over every part of him. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and made quick work of ridding John of his own.

Vince’s cock sang in response as John’s hands skated over his chest, his fingers flicking the nipples to hard points.

“Ahh. Feels so good.” Vince heard his graveled tone as if from a great distance.

They still hadn’t kissed but Vince wasn’t going there unless John took the lead. Instead, he dipped his head, unable to resist temptation, and licked the salty skin of John’s throat again, as his hands tunneled under the shorts and briefs to grasp that firm ass. His fingers squeezed the tight globes pulling John closer. Their hips moved, and Vince groaned as their cocks throbbed, touched, parted.

He ground his hips into John, trying to ease the burning. The hard length of John’s dick pushing into his thigh almost sent him over the edge. He bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on the pain to stop his fangs from dropping. Absolutely the last thing he needed right now.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” John’s voice, harsh with the force of emotion raised goose-bumps on Vince’s skin. His lips twitched to latch onto John’s mouth but he resisted the urge.

“It gets even better, baby.”

Vince dragged his hands around to the front, tugging John’s zipper down, shoving his briefs and shorts down. John wiggled his hips to help, the movement catching Vince’s cock between his legs.

Vince bit down on John’s shoulder, his balls tight, aching for release. He warned himself to take it easy. While it was obvious that John was responding to him—no way could he fake it—even in his dream he didn’t want to scare him off.

A niggling doubt teased at the back of his mind. Had Angelo made them both have the same dream?

He gave up wondering as John’s hands fumbled at his waistband. Thank god for elastic. He held himself still as John’s fingers eased under the boxer’s band, hesitated, and then moved again, each stroke electrifying Vince.

Vince eased his hips back, willing John to touch, grab and fist him. Those searching fingers quested down—almost an eternity later—one hand covering Vince’s swollen cock.

Vince thrust into John’s hand, his cock throbbing, growing. Such perfect strokes, firm on the downslide, looser on the up, his thumb skimming the swollen head. He slid his hand between them, grasping at John like an eager teenager. Vince wrapped his fingers tighter around John’s dick, catching his rhythm, determined to give pleasure back.

Vince cradled John’s head with his other hand, their breath grunting hot over each other, chests heaving as they moved in-sync, balls slapping as they gained momentum.

Even in his dream Vince came with such force his body shook with tremors long after.

John tossed and turned in the cocoon of covers, his skin sweaty, body too hot.

Suddenly he found himself standing beside a king-sized bed, looking down at a sleeping Vincent, red sheets pooling around his knees. His breath caught in his throat. How the hell did he end up in this man’s bedroom?

He scanned the room noticing the stark framed photographs on the walls and the baby grand piano by the sliding glass doors.

This was such a vivid dream, none like he’d ever had before or remembered having. Damn this was more like a nightmare, his hard-on pressed against his khaki shorts. He ran his hand down the worn cotton of his t-shirt. At least he was dressed, but Vincent only sported black silk boxers and a white sleeveless tee.

The sight of a half-naked Vincent made John extremely uncomfortable, extremely confused and extremely horny.

The size of the bed engulfed Vincent. The lean supple body sprawled across the mattress, one leg dangled half off the edge. The man had muscles for being so lean. Vincent’s chest heaved in a relaxed manner, his skin glistening from his night sweat.

John let his attention wander downward, the thin silk outlining a good-sized dick making his mouth water. Oh sweet Jesus, he was staring at Vincent’s hard-on and getting all hot and bothered. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be.

He licked his lips and wondered why he was dreaming this? It was a dream, wasn’t it? It had to be.

Please, for fuck’s sakes, let it be a dream.

He gazed at Vincent unable to tear his eyes away. Vincent had beautiful thick hair now mussed around his smooth oval face, a face far sexier than any man he’d ever fucked. Yeah, definitely sexier.