by Tina Folsom
When she looked at this stranger now, she wanted to do just that: arouse him, pleasure him. Her hand stroked over his manhood, exploring his soft skin. How she’d missed touching a man. How she longed for the invasion that stretched her channel to its capacity. And this man would stretch her. Even in its relaxed state, he was of a formidable size. Once aroused, she knew he would be magnificent.
Suddenly, he shifted under her touch, startling her. Isabella instantly reached for the thick blanket and pulled it over him, covering his gorgeous body.
***
Somebody had made a mistake. For all intents and purposes, he should be in hell. But from what Raphael could see, he’d made it into heaven. He’d never expected there to be a heaven for vampires. But he wasn’t going to complain—no, he would not voice his concerns, even though he knew he didn’t deserve this.
The woman was clearly an angel. Her raven hair was loose, not held up high on her head with hundreds of pins as was the current fashion. And her clothing was indecent at best. She wore a long red dressing gown of rich brocade embroidered with golden roses. It was pulled tight at her waist, but the top gaped open as she leaned over him. He noticed the soft white fabric beneath clinging to her generous breasts.
No, she could not be a mortal. No woman in Venice would dress this scandalously in the presence of a man who was not her husband. It was proof positive that he was in heaven. Why he lay on a divan in a very feminine boudoir, he couldn’t yet explain, but he would get to the bottom of it. Nor could he explain why he felt cold. In fact, he positively shivered.
“I’ll have Elisabetta put more coal on the fire in a moment,” the angel said.
Coals in heaven? Raphael had thought they would have invented something a little more advanced. When she reached out and stroked his face, he realized that her skin was almost as cold as his. He certainly could do something about that.
“You’re awake. Finally. We were worried.” Her voice was like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard.
Worried that he wouldn’t make it to heaven? “My angel, you won’t have to worry any longer. I am here now.” He reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her palm. The floral bouquet of her skin barely masked the heavy, rich scent of the blood in her veins. Despite the fact that he’d fed just before his death, he felt his fangs itch and his stomach clench with thirst for the angel’s blood.
The beauty pulled her hand from his grip. “Signore, there is no need for such familiarity.”
Raphael dropped his gaze to her neckline. “Familiarity? Maybe you mean formality?” He gave her a charming smile, the same kind of smile he used to lure his female victims to him. As he locked eyes with her and gazed into her green orbs, his hand went to her face. That was when he noticed the absence of clothes on his person. Why was he naked?
Surely, if he was without any clothes beneath the blanket and with the most gorgeous angel bending over him, there could only be one reason for it: he was here to make love to her. After all, this was heaven. “You’re right, my angel, why kiss your hand when your lips are so red and full?”
Raphael pulled her to him and brushed his lips against hers. A gasp was her answer. “Shh, my angel, let me love you.”
He captured the lovely creature’s mouth and snaked his free arm around her, pressing her against him. She seemed to want to protest, but he didn’t allow it. Instead, he greedily slipped his tongue between her parted lips and explored her.
Her tangy taste was enthralling, her lips soft and yielding. She tasted as enticing as her scent had hinted at. Yes, he would make love to her and take her intoxicating blood into him at the same time, gorge himself on her to celebrate his arrival in heaven.
His tongue coaxed her to respond to him, to dance with him in the intimate dance of two lovers. When he stroked against it for the first time, his cock pumped full with blood, readying itself for her. He pressed her body closer to make her aware of his urgent need.
When her hands pushed against his chest, he thought it was so she could free herself of her clothes, but she separated herself entirely from him instead and jumped up from the divan.
She took a few steps back, her body trembling, but he doubted that it was from fear. Her look was scolding as she glared at him. “Signore! Is that the thanks I get for taking care of you after you nearly drowned? Being attacked by you in my own home?”
End of Excerpt
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Excerpt of A Scent of Greek (Out of Olympus #2)
“You may kiss the bride!”
Dionysus watched as his best friend, Triton, the god of seafarers and sailors, drew the lovely Sophia into his embrace and kissed her for longer than was decent at a wedding, particularly one at which half of Olympus was assembled. If he held her any tighter, her white flowing gown of pure silk would wrinkle beyond repair and be ruined forever, but neither of the two newlyweds seemed to care or even notice.
Even Dio was taken in by the picture: Triton’s blond hair and sun-kissed skin contrasted against Sophia’s long, dark hair, and while the two lovers looked like opposites, Dio knew they complemented each other perfectly.
More than one throat cleared before Triton—rather reluctantly—removed his lips from his wife’s and winked at Dio. It appeared that despite the fact that his once-philandering friend was now one hundred percent monogamous, he hadn’t lost his sense of humor and his passion.
At least Dionysus could be sure that his friend would be happy, despite the golden cage he’d just allowed the mortal priest to lock him into. By the looks of it, Triton didn’t mind one bit. Dio shook his head and glanced at the guests, who now filed past the couple one by one to express their well-wishes. As Best Man, he remained standing next to Triton, in equal parts happy and sad—happy to know that his friend had found true love, yet sad for himself to have lost his position as best friend. Sophia was Triton’s best friend now.
Sophia’s mansion had been decked out for the wedding; no expense had been spared. Not even on Olympus, could the event have been any more extravagant. The opulent house she’d inherited from her aunt and turned into a B&B to pay the inheritance taxes lent itself to affairs like this. The dining room, with its fourteen foot ceiling, had been cleared to accommodate the many guests present for the ceremony. The adjoining living area, which was as large as a ballroom, stood waiting with a most sumptuous buffet of the finest delicacies, and some even more enticing waitresses. Flowers adorned the entire house, inside and out, and the scent of roses and jasmine permeated throughout the building.
Dio watched patiently as Poseidon and Amphitrite, Triton’s parents, hugged their son and new daughter-in-law, both of them fairly beaming with pride. Even Orion, Triton’s half-brother behaved in a civil way, shaking hands rather amicably. It appeared that now that Triton didn’t represent competition for female attention anymore, Orion felt no animosity toward his sibling.
When Zeus approached, Dionysus stiffened in concert with Triton. In his designer tuxedo, diamond-studded cufflinks, and Italian dress shoes, Zeus looked like a playboy ripped from the pages of GQ Magazine: smoldering hot, powerful, and looking not a day over thirty-five. His five o’clock shadow added an air of danger, one every woman of the wedding party should heed, but wouldn’t, because of his overwhelming charm.
The god of gods congratulated the young couple and kissed Sophia on the cheek. Triton’s tension radiated outward like an ocean wave, making Dio physically aware of his friend’s possessiveness. It could be endearing at times, but at this moment, it wouldn’t be prudent to act upon. Dio put a hand on his friend’s arm, cautioning him not to do anything rash, even though he understood him only too well: Dio’s no-good father was well known for his love of beautiful women, and not even the presence of Hera, his head-strong wife, assured that Zeus kept his paws to himself
. But Dio hoped Zeus had enough sense not to make a pass at a new bride.
However, just to make sure, Dio felt the need to steer Zeus’ attention in another direction. “Zeus.” He nodded curtly when he caught his father’s eye. “I see you brought your wife. How nice of you.”
The narrowing of Zeus’ eyes confirmed that he didn’t like to be reminded of Hera. “Your stepmother has a way of wringing invitations out of unsuspecting people.” He shot a glance at Sophia, who had the good sense to smile, a charming, sweet smile not even Zeus seemed to have any defense against.
“I thought it only appropriate to invite her. She seems such a nice woman. And after all, we’re all related,” Sophia chirped good-naturedly.
Dio refrained from rolling his eyes and noticed that the cords in his father’s neck bulged, attesting to the restraint it took him not to blow up and unleash his vile temper.
“Indeed, my dear Sophia,” Zeus ground out instead.
The knowledge that Hera’s presence at the wedding cramped Zeus’ style made Dio feel almost giddy. Anything or anybody who pissed his father off was welcome. And that included his wicked stepmother.
“One big, happy family!” Dio grinned back at Sophia before he caught a movement in the corner of his eye and turned. “Ah, if that’s not the person we’re talking about.” Just because he was glad that Hera’s presence annoyed Zeus, however, didn’t mean that he wanted to spend any time with her. If anybody had a chance at ranking higher on Dio’s shit-o-meter than his father, Hera sure was in the running.
Dressed in a figure-hugging long, red dress, her long, dark hair draped high on her head, Hera arched an eyebrow before she nudged Zeus aside and hugged Sophia. She was beautiful. Dio had to grant his father that concession. But even he, who was no more interested in love and affection than a street vendor was in a thunderstorm raining down on his goods, liked beauty with a hint of warmth. Yet, Hera’s beauty was all ice: cold—with a chance of hail.
“Congratulations, my dear. You could have done much worse than Triton.” Hera made a pause, tossing Dio a sideways glance, a sure indication that a wicked remark was in the making. “Be glad you didn’t fall for Dionysus.”
Before Dio could muster a comeback, Triton took Hera’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m pleased you approve.” The twinkle in his eyes couldn’t be denied, proving that his friend was too deliriously happy to have noticed Hera’s backhanded stab at Dio.
“Of your bride, I approve,” she answered pointedly. “Your choice of Best Man leaves much to be desired. Defeats the purpose of best, doesn’t it? Best at philandering maybe, even though I believe that title belongs to his father.”
“Ouch, you wound me, Hera,” Dio countered, clutching his hand to his chest as if suffering a heart attack. Not that she was too far off the mark. He wasn’t any better when it came to relationships than Zeus. Cut from the same bone—thigh bone to be precise. But he needed no reminder of who or what he was. “Will you excuse me? It appears I need to practice, since my qualifications as the number-one philanderer are being put into question.”
He ignored Hera’s thinned lips and wasn’t even remotely interested in Zeus’ reaction. He simply shrugged when Triton shook his head.
Yet Sophia gave him a charming smile. “The bar is open,” she hinted.
Bless her for her understanding, because as sure as the sun rose every day, two minutes in the presence of his father and his stepmother dried out his throat like a sandstorm in the Sahara.
Dio headed for the living room, where a bar had been set up at one end, and ignored the buffet tables on which deliciously looking hors d’oeuvres played neighbor to lavish flower arrangements. Soon, the guests would descend on the food like locusts onto a field of corn, albeit with less grace and manners. He gestured to the bartender to pour him a glass of Zin. He wasn’t the god of wine for nothing. Because if Dio knew one thing, it was his wine.
He took the proffered glass and swallowed away the remnants of his conversation with Hera and his father.
“Who’s pissed into your wine?” Eros asked, slapping him on the back of his expensive three-piece Armani suit, most likely imprinting a permanent crease with his powerful hand.
Dionysus swiveled and glared at the god of love. Just the person he wanted to see right now—not! At least Eros had had the decency to leave his bow and quiver at home. He looked almost at ease in his elegant grey suit. Zeus had warned that whoever gave any indication to the assembled mortals that half the guests were gods and other immortal creatures, would be punished severely. And his father knew something about punishment.
“Piss off!”
Another slap on his shoulder announced the arrival of Hermes, the messenger god. “Envious?” he prompted, motioning his head in Triton’s direction.
Dio jerked his gaze toward Hermes. “Of a golden cage? Think again.”
“Triton doesn’t see it as a cage.” Eros had the audacity to exchange a smirk with Hermes.
“He looks positively happy,” Hermes added. “Whereas you look like you’re drinking vinegar.” He waved to the bartender. “A glass of red, just not the same as he’s having.”
“The wine is perfectly fine. It’s the company that stinks.”
Eros took a step closer. “You wouldn’t be talking about your two best friends here, would you now? Or are you in the mood for a fight?”
Maybe that was what he needed, a good bar brawl to feel like himself again. The last few weeks, helping Triton and Sophia with the arrangements for their wedding, had taken their toll. But as Best Man, he’d felt obligated to chip in and take certain errands off Triton’s hands—such as handling the guest list for the immortals and smoothing over bruised egos. But not even he had been able to prevent Sophia’s invitation from reaching Hera.
As the mother goddess, Hera had a special connection to all women. She could hear their pleas even if they weren’t addressed at her personally.
“If I knew you’d be fighting fair, I’d love a quick hand-to-hand.”
Eros lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Moi? Not fighting fair?” Then he looked at Hermes. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Despite himself, Dio had to grin. Hermes joined in laughter a second later. And just like that, Dio’s bad mood was gone. His friends could do that to him. That’s why he loved them. It was just a shame that they’d see so much less of Triton now that he resided in the—admittedly very charming—city of Charleston. Even Dio had a little bachelor pad here that he used on occasion, that’s how much he liked the city and the many bars. It wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to visit Triton from time to time. So, maybe very little would change after all.
“Did you notice the lovely redhead in the crowd?” Hermes asked.
“Francesca? She’s Sophia’s best friend. But don’t bother.” Dio took a big gulp of his wine.
“You think I have no chance?”
“Depends on the competition.” Dio loved needling his half-brother.
Hermes grinned. “If you’re the competition, then I’m home free.”
Eros laughed. “I’m happy to play umpire.”
Dio waved his friends off. “I’m not interested in her, but you go right ahead and compete with Zeus.”
Hermes deflated as if somebody had stuck a pin into a balloon. “That’s just so unfair. Why does he always get first dibs?”
“He doesn’t always,” Dio interrupted and smiled to himself. The delectable morsel he’d chosen for himself hadn’t entered Zeus periphery yet, and if Dio could help it, his father would never set eyes on her, at least not until Dio was done with her.
“Which means exactly what?” Hermes challenged.
Eros graced him with a knowing glance. “It appears our dear friend has found a victim that has so far escaped Zeus’ eye.” Because a beauty like her would attract Zeus’ attention instantly.
Dio winked at the god of love. “And that’s all I’m saying.”
“Who is she? Is she here?�
�� Hermes asked, eagerly craning his neck to survey the crowd that had already poured into the living room and was now jostling for position in the buffet line.
“Do I look stupid enough to choose somebody from the wedding party when I know for certain Zeus will lay claim to her as soon as he sees her?”
“Ah, so maybe one of the waitresses?” Eros interjected.
“Same difference. Once Zeus lays eyes on her, not even Francesca’s beauty can keep him from going for my girl.” Not that she was his girl yet. The lovely Ariadne had so far resisted his advances and only allowed a few chaste kisses, claiming she wanted to get to know him first. Just like Dio wanted to know her—in a biblical kind of way.
“Your girl? Dio, you wouldn’t by any chance have given up your one-night-only rule?” Hermes gave him a you’re-shitting-me look.
Dio shook off the thought as if it was poisonous. “Don’t be ridiculous! Do you see me walking down the aisle anytime soon? As soon as I’ve had her, I’ll let her loose. My weeks of wining and dining her will pay off tonight.”
Eros laid his hand on Dio’s forearm. “Hold it. Are you telling me that you haven’t fucked her yet?”
Dio swallowed hard. Admitting to his friends that he hadn’t gotten a woman into his bed on the first try was like admitting to a monumental defeat. “I’m enjoying the chase.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. Seducing Ariadne slowly had its charm. In fact, the thrill of a slow seduction was growing on him. And for some strange reason, he enjoyed this unfamiliar feeling.
Hermes broke out in hearty laughter. “Finally a woman who doesn’t drop her panties the moment you crook your finger.”
Anger churned up in Dio. He felt compelled to defend his sexual prowess from Hermes’ attack. “Believe me, she will drop her panties tonight, or I’m through with her.”
“Sounds like a dare.” Eros lifted his glass in mock-toast.
