Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) (3 page)

She shook her head and waved him away from across the dance floor. Paolo
heard her say, “No problem. You have fun,” but doubted Johnny had heard a
thing.

A glittery faerie dancer came up behind Johnny and slid under his knees,
pressing into his backside that drew a whoop from him. The young man was
instantly distracted by the way the little one rubbed herself all over his trousers.

Paolo’s new friend leaned back and laughed, her neck and shoulders sparkling
with glitter. He could smell how good she would taste. He saw as well as felt
what she liked sexually and knew he could satisfy her—do things, make her
feel things, she had never dreamed possible. He stole glances while she was
distracted by the bodies writhing on the dance floor and the sparkle of the
costumes.

Then she turned. Paolo and his mortal beauty and her red lips faced each
other fully at last. Her reddish-brown curls called to his fingers as his mouth
anticipated kissing her, tasting her, making her shudder in his arms.

The woman was waiting for him to lead the way. Paolo held his breath. He
wanted to be sure she was coming of her own accord. He refrained from glamoring
her.

Does it matter?

He decided that tonight it did.

Paolo tucked his arm under hers and led her to the open bar, and away
from the loud music. There was a fireplace and a deserted table nearby.

“I’ll get us something to drink. Why don’t you claim that table over
there?”

“Claim?” she asked. Her green eyes reflected tiny fires from the twinkle
lights in a canopy of stars overhead. She bit her lower lip, but obviously couldn’t
keep the ends from upturning into a smile. Her fluttering eyelids danced,
flashing fireballs at his heart, allowing himself to be seduced by her mortal
charms.

“I figured we’d start on some port. Something deep and red.” He waggled his
eyebrows, and she giggled, leaning against him. He could feel the firmness of
her breasts against his upper torso. He swung his arm around her waist and
pulled her even closer with a gentle tug. She arched back and examined his face,
while he brushed the laces at the back of her dress, fingering every eyelet and
silken strand.

He couldn’t resist touching her, and spoke, releasing his dark power as
he covered her with glam.

“I’m entranced by
 
your scent.
Do you taste as good?”

She was still for a second while she considered his question. Could she
feel the threshold they were stepping through like he did? Caught in each
other’s gaze, he heard a throat being cleared behind him and turned to face the
red-haired bartender.

“Something to drink?” the man asked. The bartender’s bulbous, deep purple
nose seemed to fill his entire face. He held a wet towel in his chubby right
hand while he tapped fingers on the bar countertop with his left.

“Two ports. The oldest and rarest you have.” Paolo turned and whispered
as he stroked the length of his Renaissance angel’s cheek and let his finger
trail over her red lips, “Rare as the lady at my side.” Her eyelids fluttered
under the weight of his control. He loved how she was so susceptible to his
power, seemed to crave it.

He almost leaned in to kiss her, but couldn’t bring himself to take
advantage of her vulnerability. He cursed himself for his lack of manners. He
held onto her with both hands at her waist, righted her firmly on her feet,
separating her warm body from his and waited for her to regain sense of herself.

She shook her head. “Whew, don’t know what came over me. I got dizzy
there for a second.”

“Why don’t you sit down, then, and I’ll come along with our drinks? Maybe
the fire will warm you.” He pointed to the corner again.

“Yes. That’s a good idea.” She shuffled with tiny steps, holding her palm
to her forehead and mumbled to herself.

He watched her body move under the silken gown, her hips, her small waist,
and the small of her back outlined by a row of lacings that stretched all the
way up to her shoulders. He wanted to see her naked. Wanted to rub his hands
all over her flesh and kiss every inch of it.

If she’ll let me of her own free
will.

And if that didn’t work—well, he could always use his vampire
powers of charm and confusion. He could make her see him for the first time all
night long. He could conquer her over and over again.

And no one would be the wiser.

He suddenly didn’t want the evening to end.

Cara sat in the corner and thought about how the evening was progressing.
Her heart was pounding, a tympanic rhythm she felt all the way to her
fingertips. She wasn’t here to meet someone. She already had a date—Johnny,
the sexy research assistant all her professor girlfriends lusted after. That’s
why she’d asked him. She wanted to be the talk of the department. What she was
doing right now? She was waiting for a handsome, very tall, masculine creature
to bring her some refreshment and indulge her senses. It wasn’t something she
wanted her girlfriends to find out about.

I’ll worry about my coworkers and
all the rumors tomorrow.
Tonight she felt soft, compliant.
Sexy.

Her friends used to speculate that Johnny must be gay, he was so good
looking. When she asked him to accompany her to the ball, he enthusiastically agreed,
and then had enticingly curled a strand of her hair around his tanned finger,
letting her know non-verbally that he was definitely interested in more. In the
past they’d shared dinners, and accompanied each other to University functions,
but never to a costume ball.
 

And then, as soon as he’d accepted her invitation, he blew his bubblegum
into a huge, pink bubble, and then grinned mischievously. Johnny was like that.
Still a kid at twenty-five.

Cara hadn’t been looking for a sexual liaison. At least, not with Johnny.
He was five years her junior. Tall and athletic.
 
Well-defined abs she’d seen beneath t-shirts while they
studied together at the library. Earlier, she’d watched him show off his dance
moves. He was attracting great attention under the strobing lights and heavy
beat. Ordinarily, she’d be right there, by his side. They’d have been backup
for each other.

But not this time. Cara was being led to a dimly lit corner by a dark
gentleman with a whole set of mysterious intentions. Johnny was daytime to this
man’s night. And right now, she was lingering in his shadowed influence, in a
lustful, confused state.

I love the way he makes me feel.

How could that be? She was focused on her career and hadn’t found time
for a lovelife. Was something else looming on the horizon? A new adventure,
perhaps?

God, yes!

She asked herself for permission to follow her hormones several times and
came up with the same answer every time: Johnny could take care of himself, and
she needed to learn more about this man she’d just—met?
Is that the right word for it?
She felt
herself melting into his sphere, somehow being enveloped into his sexy,
Continental aura. She felt starved for his affection for some strange reason.

The gentleman was coming back to the corner table she had
claimed.
He made a perfect vampire, tall
and brooding, with a devilish smile that made her knees wobble even while
sitting. She smiled, enjoying the play-along.

His body had seemed muscular and firm when he drew her close at the bar.
He smelled of spice, and something else, an exotic mixture of lemon, nutmeg and
cinnamon, like an incense from an ancient land. She remembered reading about exotic
fragrances and their pheromone-like effect on the human body.

His breath had been cold, but his lips warm as they’d nibbled on fingers
she couldn’t help offering up to him, as though she wanted him to taste her. Had
she felt the slight touch of his tongue on the knuckle of her third finger? Had
he tasted the flesh between her third and fourth fingers? He’d studied her
afterward, the clear black eyes searching her face, seeming to search for
traces of a reaction, as if he was asking permission. His slow, sexy smile and
fluttering of his long lashes, seemed to request approval to advance. To walk
through her doorway.

Yes,
she felt her heart
whisper.

She decided to allow herself to be explored. Her soul tingled with each
gentle nod of his head as he looked at her hair, her earlobes, and the soft
tissue beneath her jaw, his eyes wandering down to her throat when she couldn’t
help swallowing. His almost old world charm encouraged her to trust him. A door
she usually kept closed and locked had opened.

Normally, she’d be afraid.
But not
tonight.

Tonight she felt positively immortal

He leaned forward, his shadow falling over her face and shoulders. Their
fingers touched as he handed her the little blood-red short-stemmed glass of
glittering port.

“To us,” he said as he clinked their glasses together and bowed to her.

Please sit with me,
she said to
herself.

As if he heard her thoughts, he sat, not across the table, but next to
her on the burgundy plush cushion, then leaned against her. When he lifted the
glass to his lips, she felt compelled to do the same. His eyes drew her to hm.
The dark brown edges were tinged with a ring of golden fire at the outsides.
His lips tasted the sweet liquid as hers did. He licked his lower lip and she
did the same, from right to left. Just as he was doing. If he leaned into her,
she knew she would let him…

“Do you like the port?” he asked. Did she see a tiny effort, as though he
tried to bridle himself? Tiny creases at the sides of his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. I do.” She was rewarded with his smile. She saw the tips of his…
fangs
? Her eyes fluttered again as her
pulse quickened. “Your costume is quite realistic.”

“Yes?” He raised his eyebrows and hid the fangs.

“Those. Do they come off easily?” She pointed to his mouth.

He smiled, and there were no fangs. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You can make them go up and down like that? I’ve never seen fangs that
can do that.”

“Indeed.” He smiled again and they were back.

“You must show me how they work.”

He leaned into her. The lemon spice flooded her head with erotic images
of bonfires and soft music. His lips were close, but not touching. Her flesh
craved a caress, and, as if on cue, his fingers wandered to her cheek and
stroked her there. “I can show you many things, my dear.”

Yes, I want you to—whatever
am I doing?

Abruptly, she sat up and pulled away from him.
What is going on?

She found her glass and took a sip, not wanting to stare into his eyes.
An alarm was going off somewhere in the back of her mind. It had broken the
moment.

He crossed his legs and moved slightly away from her. The left side of
her body noticed the lack of warmth immediately. When she ventured a look back
up to his face, he was smiling, his obsidian eyes twinkling in the shadows, as
he stared not at her, but into the fire just over her shoulder.

“I’m Carabella Sampson,” she said as she extended her hand.

“Paolo Monteleone,” he said. His fingers slid into hers, entangling her,
making her heart sputter. The touch was intimate.

She withdrew her fingers from his and took another sip of the delicious
red port. “I like this. I don’t usually drink sweet drinks.”

“But you should. Contrary to popular fiction, sweet wine is good for your
blood.”

She had to chuckle at that one, working not to burst out in a full belly
laugh. “You are a method actor. You play the part of a vamp very well.”

“Ah. And you are experienced with vamps, no doubt?”

“Very,” she said.

At this he started, and his dark sparkly eyes widened. The edges of his
full red lips curled up like a thin moustache. “Do tell. I want to hear all
about it.”

Her face warmed as she looked down at her port. She could tell he was
smiling as he watched her. She toyed with him. She wanted to make him wait. She
heard something deep and low in his throat. Was there a rumble, a small
earthquake?

One of his fingers touched the top of her shoulder and drew a line down
her upper arm. “Has another vampire touched your flesh before?”

She shivered, loving the game Her body scooted away from him, yet craved
to be chased. He waited. She experienced the distance between them he must have
also felt, and she could tell he was having difficulty with that. She was
suddenly aware of his heavy breathing.

“I’m an expert on vampire mythology.” Cara spoke to her nearly empty
glass. “I teach legends and mythology at Sonoma State.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She looked back up at him. “Vampire mythology dates back to
pre-biblical times. We’ve had vampires as long as we’ve had angels. Did you
know that?”

“How very interesting.” He blinked and she thought he made an effort to
keep his smile
 
pasted to his face.

“They are a symbol of something that can never be. Of people’s desire to
delve into the unknown, the dangerous. Does that make sense?”

“Entirely.”

“We want to believe in things that we can’t see. Religion is all about
believing in things we can’t prove, either.”

“Like angels, for instance.”

“Oh, yes, people have seen angels and lived to tell about it.

“As opposed to vampires.”

“Good point. So there you have it. Because they aren’t real. Just myth.”
She threw her head back, downing the rest of her port. Cara loved being in the
presence of this man, a man who didn’t run away, or scoff, when she told him of
her interest in the vampire myths. “I think that’s why you find pictures of
angels in churches, but not vampires.”

“So there’s a vampire religion, too?”

Now he
was
toying with her.
“Somehow I think not.” She smiled at her empty glass.

“You would like more?”

“Yes…no. I—I’m not sure what I want at the present time,” she said.

He took her glass in his long fingers and stood. “I know exactly what you
want,” he said. He was at the bar in seconds.

She sat back and relaxed into the velvet seat cushions, feeling the
warmth of the fire on her face, her upper arms and her thighs under the
tapestry fabric of her dress. As he stepped onto the brass boot rail of the bar
with one long leg, she noticed the shape of his ass and the straightness of his
spine. His long, elegant neck and broad shoulders made him a giant specimen of devastating
masculinity she’d have noticed anywhere. The fact that he was now coming right
towards her, with that crooked smile revealing one fang, thrilled her.
Something about their play was natural.

But it defied logic.

He slid in to sit close, one long thigh against hers. He extended his arm
over her shoulder in a possessive gesture she didn’t fight.

“Let’s drink again to us,” he said.

“Why not?” She took the first sip, but he did not, seemingly caught in
watching her swallow. He looked mesmerized.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Not at all.” He sipped and then set his glass down on the black
tabletop. “So, tell me about your vampires.”

“Really?”

“I’m completely serious” he replied.

Cara slipped comfortably into professorial mode. “Vampires throughout
history have been used to describe pure evil. To describe things too horrible
to consider any other way. Like missing children. Vampires were said to steal
them from their beds.”

He nodded. “But you don’t think they ate children, do you?”

“Of course not.” She looked at him. “Vampires aren’t real, you know.”

“Of course not.” His answer triggered a flood of visions of her lying in
a huge bed by a raging fireplace as he looked down on her body, with exactly
the same expression as now.

She cleared her throat.

“Children were much more likely to become prey to wild animals, or evil
members of their own population. But this was a way to blame horrible things on
despicable creatures, not members of one’s family.”

“Despicable?”

“Totally. It’s really been in the past few decades that vampires have
been thought of as sexy or even desirable, in a crude, repulsive way.” She
looked at his blank face. His eyes had gone somewhere else.

Had he lost interest?
She
continued anyway. “Who would want to fall in love with one of the undead? A
cold corpse who sucks the life blood from your body? When you think of it,
someone who entertains those kinds of thoughts is probably filled with
self-loathing. A truly flawed person. Someone whole and sane would never desire
it.”

“I see.” His flat monotone concerned her.

“But we
can
pretend. That’s
what’s so fun about dressing up. For one night of the year we can be anything
we want. Halloween is when we dare to be what we would otherwise be repulsed
by.”

He had truly gone away, mentally. Well, he was probably tired of the
subject. She’d done it again. Bored yet another handsome man to distraction.
The charming fellow at her side was suddenly interested in anything or anyone
but her.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, you seem so, well—so different. Have I said something that
offended you?”

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about—I guess I had a tiny bit of
regret at having chosen this costume, now I know how you feel about vampires.”

“But we’re just play acting. You don’t repulse me like the vamps I study
do.”

It wasn’t working. Something was off kilter. His eyes were still dull,
like he was forcing himself to smile but didn’t want to. She decided perhaps
she had picked a scab and didn’t want to wait around for the blood and gore.
Her common sense returned as she realized she shouldn’t have been so trusting.

“You know, I’m sorry—what was your name again?”

“Monteleone. Paolo Monteleone.”

“Mr. Monteleone then. I should be returning to my date. I feel like I’ve
ignored him, been impolite.” What had she been thinking? She wrinkled up her
nose and patted his hand. She felt a faint jolt of electricity at the touch of
his flesh. And she heard him hitch his breath.

They both stood. She wasn’t sure what was happening, except that she
suddenly needed to create distance between them. She needed to think. “Thank
you for the port. It was delicious,” she said.