Getting What You Want (2 page)

Now would be the time to regret not getting a landline turned on. She glanced toward the windows. She could go to Maggie and Ren’s and use their phone. She debated the idea of leaving the security of her apartment, then decided she really had no choice.

“It’s dumber to stay in here, listening to someone robbing the place,” she told the cat. He blinked, but she wasn’t sure if that was in agreement or not.

She rifled through her purse again, looking for her voodoo-doll keychain, which held Maggie and Ren’s spare key. Then she tiptoed to the door.

“Wish me luck.”

Boris had already curled back into an indifferent black ball of fur. She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been a stray dog that showed up at my door, could it? At least a dog would care if I was going out to greet my imminent death.”

She took a deep breath, then unlocked and eased open the door. Everything was quiet, but she didn’t take the time to survey the murky corners. Instead she stepped out and rushed to the porch door, which led into the better-lit courtyard.

“Hey.”

Erika’s already tensed muscles reacted on instinct as soon as she heard the male voice close behind her.

She spun toward the faceless voice and hurled the object in her right hand. Without waiting to see if she made contact, she shoved open the porch door and propelled herself out into the courtyard, her legs pumping under her as she raced toward Maggie and Ren’s carriage house. She fumbled with the keys, even as she ran. Thank God those weren’t what she threw.

“Wait! Erika!”

The words, called out from behind her, took a moment to register in her panicked brain. But gradually she realized that the disembodied voice had just used her name. She stopped, the key poised to open the lock of the carriage house door.

Slowly she turned.

At first she couldn’t locate the speaker in the shadows and greenery of the courtyard. Then a figure stepped forward into the glow of the courtyard’s dim garden lights.

Erika squinted.
“Vittorio?”

H
e strolled closer, giving her a better glimpse of his lean frame, languid movements, and the sheen of golden hair.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, answering her question.

Not that there had really been any question there. She’d have recognized Ren’s younger brother anywhere. She’d thought of this man innumerable times over the past several months. Yet now she could think of nothing comprehensible to say to him. Not even,
hello.
Not even,
you scared the crap out of me.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” he was saying, his words almost unintelligible through the still-thundering beat of her heart echoing in her ears. Although that wasn’t just fear now.

She could only gape at him.
What was he doing here?

“Do you have a towel?” he asked.

Erika frowned, not following that line of questioning at all. Then she realized his hand was pressed to his brow.

“Are you okay?” she managed, still feeling like she’d just stepped off the world’s most frightening roller coaster only to discover her heart’s desire at the bottom of the exit ramp.

Her heart’s desire?
She was more shaken than she realized.

“Aside from the blow to the head?” he asked, dryly. “Sure, I’m good.”

She squinted at him. “Blow to the head?”

He held up an object. Erika blinked.

“That’s my cell,” she murmured, staring at the scratched black phone with its dead battery. Then she realized that was what she’d flung in her utter terror.

“Yes, I gathered that it was yours when you threw it at me.”

Erika cringed. “You scared me. I didn’t expect anyone to be in the upstairs apartment.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in the downstairs apartment.”

“I’ve been renting it for about two months now,” she said automatically, then she realized that she sounded apologetic. Which she had no reason to be.

“So a towel? Do you have one?”

Erika immediately started. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

She stepped down from the carriage-house steps and headed back toward her place, making sure not to get too close to Vittorio. Something about him still made her feel wary—even as her body reacted to him. How was that even possible?

She was aware of him right behind her. She could feel him there, as if he were pressed against her, rather than a couple of feet away. The sensation surprised and unnerved her, although she wasn’t sure why.

Vittorio had made the same impression when they’d met nearly eight months ago. Her body had never reacted to a man like it had when he’d touched her. A mere shake of hands when Ren had introduced them. But the electricity from the brief contact had been knee-weakening and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. Well, at least for her. She had no idea if Vittorio had felt the same axis-tipping chemistry.

She pushed open her door and entered her apartment, letting him follow. She didn’t look back as she headed to the small kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels.

“Here you go,” she said, managing a small smile, despite her body’s current reaction to him. Her heart still pounded. She felt breathless.

He snatched the paper towels from her grasp, before she could even hold them out to him. He removed his hand from his forehead to pull one of the paper squares off the roll.

Erika gasped as she saw the gash on his temple, and realized he was bleeding, a lot, just above his left brow—the blood a deep red, vivid and horrible looking.

“My God, that looks terrible.” She moved closer to inspect the wound. She gently pressed her fingers to his cheek, rising up on her tiptoes to see the cut better. “You should go to the doctor. I’ll take you.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, jerking back from her and pressing the wadded-up towel to the cut.

“It doesn’t look fine,” she told him, sinking back on her heels and dropping the hand that she’d pressed to his cool cheek. A wave of rejection filled her. Ridiculous given that he was hurt. And by her, no less. He certainly had every right to be distrustful of her, and irritated too. “That looks like it needs stitches.”

“It’s fine. A bandage will take care of it.”

“I have a Band-Aid in the bathroom. I think. And maybe some hydrogen peroxide.” She turned to go search, but his deep voice stopped her.

“I’m fine.” He sounded almost irritated now.

She ignored it. “It’s no bother.” She headed down a hallway which led to her bedroom and the bath.

Vittorio watched Erika disappear down the hallway. He gritted his teeth at the fact that even for just the briefest moment, his eyes had dropped down to look at the fit of the pastel plaid pajama bottoms she wore against her rounded derriere.

He wasn’t here to be checking out Maggie’s friend’s rear end. He’d do well to remember that.

Lifting the paper towel from his wound, he inspected it to see if the bleeding had lessened. Damn, head wounds bled a lot—even for vampires. But the bleeding was already stopping. And he certainly didn’t need a Band-Aid. The cut would be healed by tomorrow night. Something vampires didn’t share with humans.

He jammed the towel back to the wound, irritated with himself. Of course, being a vampire, he shouldn’t have even been hit. His reflexes were usually impeccable. Hell, he could literally dodge a bullet. Yet he’d gotten beamed in the head with a frantically flung cell phone.

But the truth was he’d been stunned to see Erika dashing through the darkness. Stunned and unreasonably thrilled.

He’d not allowed himself to think about Maggie’s friend since meeting her at the small jazz bar and restaurant where Ren had introduced them months earlier.

Oh, she’d popped into his mind at random and inappropriate times, but he’d shoved all images of her aside. He had no room in his life for her.

He’d returned to New Orleans with only one task in mind, and Erika with her pretty smile and intelligent blue eyes and totally perfect rear end….

He groaned.
Do not let your thoughts head in that direction
.
Don’t.
He’d be a fool to go there—even in fantasy.

“I have one Band-Aid,” Erika said, materializing out of the dark hallway. “And I couldn’t find any hydrogen peroxide. But I do have antibiotic ointment.”

Vittorio, despite his little mental pep talk, drank in the sight of her. Her dark, almost black hair was piled onto her head in an untidy knot, escaped tendrils looking like swirls of ink against the pale skin of her long neck.

She walked straight up to him, her fingers capturing his, easing the paper towel away from the cut. Again she rose up on her tiptoes, and as before the position brought her close to him, her breasts almost brushing his chest.

He fought back a groan.

Her heat and her energy did touch him, spreading over his body as if her long limbs were curled around him. For the briefest moment, he absorbed it, letting himself take that energy into himself.

Her fingers stilled against his, and she made a small noise in the back of her throat. Not a noise of distress, but one of pleasure.

Abruptly he stepped back, jerking his hand from her.

What was he doing? He didn’t take a person’s energy. Not like that. Not just a single person’s. Damn, he had to create some space between them. Real space, not just the fluctuating expanse of physical distance.

“Erika,” he said, then added, “It is Erika, right?”

Erika’s face changed, a small show of disappointment, the slight pulling down of her beautifully shaped lips.

“Yes,” she murmured, glancing down at the towel that had slipped from his hands to hers when he’d pulled away.

“I appreciate your offer to help,” he said, keeping his voice cool. Pretending he wasn’t aware of everything about her.

“It’s the least I could do. I did hit you.”

“True,” he said, amazed at how condescending he could make the one word sound. But he did come from royalty—even if that was long, long ago and even if his father was only the fifth son of an earl. “Which is why I think you have done more than enough for me tonight.”

Instead of looking cowed, which was what he’d expected from her, she frowned at his dismissive tone.

“Did Ren know you were coming?”

Vittorio raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by her coolly asked question. “No, but I am his brother. I hardly think I need a formal invitation.”

“True,” Erika nodded. “But if you had told him, he probably would have told me. And thus, I wouldn’t have been scared out of my wits, and I wouldn’t have pitched my cell phone at your head.”

“You could have asked before you pitched.”

Erika laughed at that, the sound derisive, but it still managed to stroke over his skin. A shiver steeped with longing threatened him, but he suppressed it.

Do not react.
He’d spent years practicing his lack of reaction. But despite his warning, his muscles tightened as he struggled with his body’s response to her laugh, her voice, her lovely eyes. Her lips.

“Spoken like a true man.”

Until she continued, he was at a loss as to what she was referring to. Although she was right, other parts, aside from his mouth apparently, were indeed acting like a true man.

“If I had taken the time to inquire who you were, lurking in the shadows, and you had intended me harm, you would have had the time to do so. The cell phone reaction still seems far more sensible to me—despite your injury. Of which I am sorry.” She no longer sounded sorry, however. She sounded annoyed.

Good,
Vittorio told himself. The sooner she realized how unlikeable he was, the sooner she would leave him alone to do what he needed to do here in New Orleans.

Then he realized she was staring at him as if she expected a response.

“Well, most people would have stayed inside their house and used the cell to call for help—rather than using it as a projectile.”

Her soft pink lips firmed into a straight line. “Right.” She shoved the Band-Aid and the tube of ointment at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sure you’d like to be going. The company of a woman who is so stupid that she’s unclear as to the proper usage of a cell phone must be intolerable to you.”

He didn’t move for a moment, even though he’d achieved the effect he wanted from her, as well as the out he needed. He certainly wouldn’t be getting any friendly visits from his downstairs neighbor.

Yet he was oddly tempted to take her offering of first aid supplies, both of which she still held out to him. He wanted to soothe that injured look in her blue-gray, stormy eyes. Accepting her offering seemed like an appeasement.

Instead, he just muttered, “I’ll be fine.”

In fact, by tomorrow night the gash would be gone. Good thing she wouldn’t be around to ask him about that.

He studied her for a moment longer. She stared at a point over his left shoulder, her lips and jaw still firmly set.

Still suppressing the need to mollify her, he turned on his heels and headed to the door. As he closed it behind him, reentering the darkness he both needed and despised, he briefly allowed himself to wish for a different scenario for the night. One where he could stay there in Erika’s eclectically, colorfully decorated world—that suited her to a tee. Where he could touch her smooth, pale skin and lose himself in her warmth, in the color she would add to his gray, nighttime world.

But he couldn’t. And if he was right about the reason why he was back here, he had to stay away from her. If there was any merit to his suspicions, no one was safe in his presence.

“H
e is here.”

Orabella met Maksim’s eyes in the reflection of her vanity mirror. She continued to brush her long hair, suppressing the giddiness that rose up in her chest.

Maksim strolled into the room, his long limbs loose and graceful, his muscles rolling under the fine material of his tailored shirt. He was a stunningly handsome man with thick dark hair and mesmerizing pale green eyes. But Orabella wasn’t considering that at the moment, nor had that been her real interest in him anyway. Though it didn’t hurt.

But what held her attention now was what he’d said. Those three words were far more thrilling to her than his pretty face and powerfully built body.

“You’re sure?”

Maksim came up to stand behind her, regarding her in the mirror, his unusual eyes glittering as he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Of course I’m sure, my pet.”

He leaned down to press his lips to the side of her neck. She leaned into the kiss, but her mind was focused on his revelation. Vittorio was here. She’d found him finally.

She hadn’t truly believed he would be here. It seemed too easy. Too simple. Especially since he’d disappeared so totally for almost four months. But she’d banked on the fact he wouldn’t be able to stay away from his brother for long. Vittorio had such an odd affinity for his half-brother. Personally, Orabella had little use for Renaldo. So like his damned father.

But Vittorio. He was here. A swell of giddiness filled her bosom.

She looked at herself in the mirror, watching Maksim as he pushed aside the collar of her robe. She always had deliciously beautiful men as her lovers, and Maksim was no different.

But in truth, she preferred blond hair, in the same shade as her own. Long, thick—again like hers, cascading over his shoulders. And dark eyes, midnight eyes.

She tilted her head to afford Maksim better access to her neck, but also to admire the way her long lashes, dark in comparison to her hair, made her eyes glitter nearly black.

She bit her bottom lip as Maksim nipped her, watching how the soft pink flesh pillowed around her white teeth.

Blond hair, dark eyes, full lips.

Her Vittorio.

“Why again must we watch this vampire?” Maksim murmured against her bared shoulder.

Orabella sighed, hating to be interrupted from her images of her perfect love. A creature who was an offshoot of herself. Perfect. Lovely. And hers.

“I’ve told you, darling,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended, “he is obsessed with me.”

Maksim lifted his head to regard her in the mirror. “If he is so obsessed, then why are you the one searching for him?”

She met his gaze, widening her eyes slightly, noting the pretty innocence it gave her features. “Haven’t you heard of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?”

Maksim straightened and strolled toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. “In fact, I have,” his voice low and almost distant.

Orabella wondered briefly about the flat tone, but then dismissed it. Her mind was too filled with Vittorio to concern herself with her lover’s petty moods.

“Was he with anyone?” she couldn’t help asking. She needed to know—and the idea that he could prefer any other woman’s company to hers made her ill.

“What does it matter?” Maksim collapsed on the bed, his shirt falling open to reveal his perfectly muscled chest and stomach.

“I’d hate to think he could be stalking another,” she said, re-creating that wide-eyed, innocent look.

Maksim stretched, then raised a sardonic brow. “Is that because you are afraid he might have lost interest in you? Or because you actually fear for some other woman’s safety?”

Orabella didn’t have to feign her outrage—Maksim was far too smart. A flaw in a lover to be sure, but she still needed him. She couldn’t have him being too suspicious of her actions.

She slammed down her brush and turned on her vanity stool. “You know I live in fear.”

Maksim looked briefly as if he didn’t quite believe her, but then his eyes softened. After all, why wouldn’t he believe her? She did live with fear—she feared losing Vittorio. To lose him would be to lose half of herself.

“Well, I know where he is, and you are safe. In fact, why don’t we leave now? Get as far from him as we can.”

Again alarm pooled in her belly, cold and harsh. She shook her head. “No.”

Maksim sat up from his lounging position, regarding her again with those strange, almost catlike eyes.

“Why? Staying near a man you dread makes no sense.”

Orabella hated having to explain her decisions. So very irritating. Again, if Maksim didn’t have the special abilities he did—both in and out of bed—she’d have long ago broken off their relationship. But she did need him.

She turned down her lips and regarded him with an expression she knew would gain her anything she wanted. And she wanted to stay as close to Vittorio as she could. She rose, walking slowly toward the bed.

“I feel better knowing where he is. And you will watch him for me, won’t you? Protect me?”

Maksim’s eyes roamed down her body as she approached him. She untied the belt of her satin robe, letting it part to reveal glimpses of her ivory skin.

Again, he raised a wry eyebrow, but she could see the hungry glitter in his eyes.

“Of course, my Bella.”

She smiled, letting the robe drop to the floor, her own body reacting to his heated look. She crawled onto the bed and up his hard body.

After all, she did need the caress of a man’s touch, the feeling of his mouth on her flesh, the stretch of his cock filling her. She needed physical love. And she needed what Maksim’s loving could give her.

But her true love, her pure love was saved for Vittorio.

Her very heart.

Her darling son.

And he was so near.

Erika stumbled around her kitchen, her eyes feeling gritty and a dull ache at her temples. Sleep had evaded her most of the night, and this was the price. Feeling generally crappy.

She poured tea into a cup and sat down at her kitchen table, a round café-style table that she’d painted bright yellow. The color usually reminded her of sunshine and made her feel cheerful. Right now the color seemed glaringly bright and just made her head throb even more.

She glowered up at the ceiling, aiming her irritation toward the man up there somewhere, probably sleeping soundly and oblivious to the annoyance—and headache he’d caused.

“Not that he’d care anyway,” she muttered, then took a sip of her hot tea. The sweet liquid tasted wonderful and she waited for it to work its magic. Tea always calmed and relaxed her.

Not this morning, clearly. He had been so rude! She set her cup down with more force than necessary. But more than that, his cool attitude had goaded her into being rude back. And she wasn’t normally a rude person. In fact, she prided herself on being quite nice.

But that man!
She pulled in a calming breath, then reached for the tea. After several sips, she did unwind a little.

“Okay, so let’s be reasonable,” she said aloud to herself, and Boris, if he happened to be listening. “So you don’t get along with him. You can’t expect to like everyone. And have everyone like you.”

That was all very reasonable and true, but there was another fact that was still adding to the continuing pain in her head. She’d spent a majority of the night recalling all the things she did like about him.

Okay, they were mainly physical, but despite her aggravation with the man himself, her body did react to his body. Very intensely, in fact.

She sighed. Why would she be attracted to a man who was so distant, so repressed? Those traits went against all the things she looked for in a man. She liked her men fun and open and kind, definitely kind. Serious was a bore. Her dad was serious, and look at the relationship she had with him. It was strained at best.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about Vittorio? Why had she found herself thinking about him even from their first short meeting?

Groaning with frustration she rose and placed her cup in the sink. These were all thoughts and questions that had plagued her last night. Nothing new and still no answers.

And really, she didn’t want someone so emotionally cut off in her life anyway. For a friend or lover. No sooner had she finished telling herself that—
again
—when an image of Vittorio kissing her filled her head.

Growling, she shoved the image aside. She glanced over at the sculpture that had become the bane of her existence, and decided that with her headache and her irritation, she just could not face that too.

Instead she headed down the hall to get dressed. She needed to go out and remember why she loved this city. She needed to find her creativity. And she needed to think about something other than an unpleasant upstairs neighbor.

And maybe she knew where to go to get answers to the questions she’d had swirling through her mind since her run-in with said neighbor.

“Erika! Good to see you back, sweetheart!”

Erika smiled at the man standing in the doorway of the small room in the back of In Your Cups Tea Room. He was tall and a little thick in the middle, but he had sparkly eyes, highly arched eyebrows and a wide smile. Erika would classify him as cute—in a very camp way.

Philippe pushed aside the curtain that served as a makeshift door and sashayed into the room. “Where have you been?”

Erika smiled, deciding Philippe’s brand of warm attention was just what she needed.

“Working.”

He sat down across from her at a small table, then leaned in, his eyes filled with interest. “How is the show coming along? Henry and I cannot wait to go. I have a gorgeous vintage Bob Mackie pressed and ready.”

Erika laughed. “Friday, October thirty-first. At seven p.m.”

“Well, even I can remember that date.” He wiggled his immaculately groomed brows. “Halloween. A very auspicious date.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Have I been wrong yet?” He gave her a pointed look, and she laughed again. No. He hadn’t. Since the first time she’d met him on a vacation down here nearly eight months before, he’d gotten her life eerily accurate. Right down to the sudden interest in her art and to her moving to New Orleans. He’d only seemed to be wrong on one topic.

“Speaking of which, let’s see what your cards say today, shall we?”

Erika nodded as Philippe handed the deck of worn tarot cards to her. She shuffled them, concentrating on her question.
When would the prince that Philippe had predicted arrive?

He’d mentioned this prince the first time they’d done a reading—and continued to do so with other readings. But as of yet, no prince, no knight, not even a page. Or even a court jester. Nothing. Maybe Philippe had simply been wrong. He was an amazing psychic, but even the best could have an off day.

She handed the cards back to him, and he arranged them on the table into a Celtic Cross. The large topaz ring he wore on his left index finger flashed in the candlelight as he flipped the first card.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are still struggling with your love life, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Erika smiled, albeit a little feebly, but she was not surprised he’d gone right to the subject bothering her. Philippe
was
good.

He reached out and patted her hand. “Only in the cards, honey.”

She appreciated that. Knowing she looked outwardly desperate wouldn’t help her headache.

He turned another card. “Well, dear, it’s here. Finally. Lord, that prince of yours has been slow, hasn’t he?” He frowned at the card. “Yes, he’s definitely here now though.”

Erika’s heart jumped. “Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve seen any prospects.”

Philippe regarded her for a minute in the way he often did. She was sure he could read a person just as he did the cards. It could be a tad disconcerting—which it definitely was now.

“Oh, I think you have a prospect in mind.”

As he’d been doing all day, Vittorio popped into her mind. But it couldn’t be him. She hadn’t met a man who was less interested in her. Heck, his feelings went beyond disinterest straight to dislike.

Philippe didn’t wait for her to respond. He turned the card at the top of the cross. “Well, surprise, surprise. There he is.”

Erika peered down at the card that had appeared in every one of her readings over the past two months—and in the first reading all those months ago. The card depicted a regal-looking man with long blond hair riding a white horse and carrying a sword straight in the air. A prince headed into battle.

“Your blond-haired, dark-eyed prince.” Philippe sighed as if the beautiful man was real and standing right in front of them.

“Are you sure?” Erika still had doubts about the reality of this person. She certainly hadn’t met anyone who fit that description…well, except her new neighbor. And while he did fit the look, he didn’t fit anything else.

Philippe nodded, staring at the card. “This man is your soul mate. He’s right here in the layout, as clear as day. A dark-eyed prince. Right there above you.” He tapped the card below the knight, the card that represented her. But she didn’t see that card. She only heard Philippe’s words.

Right there above you.

Vittorio was literally above her apartment. But was she honestly supposed to be with Vittorio? And how the heck was she going to do that? He’d literally dismissed her last night. Dismissed her and then walked away without a backward glance. Not an auspicious start for soul mates, in her opinion.