by Lynsay Sands
“Do you want half?”
Raffaele glanced to Jess at her question, and saw that she had shifted the plate between them so that he could share. He smiled, but knew it was probably a little wry. As much as he liked the chicken fingers, and would be happy to partake of them, he’d quite enjoyed her feeding it to him as well. However, it appeared he would have to forego that pleasure now. A good thing, Raffaele assured himself. He’d barely refrained from licking or nipping her fingers the last time she’d held the food out. He didn’t trust himself not to do it the next time if the log was shorter and her fingers closer.
“Eat up,” Jess suggested, nudging the plate a little closer to him.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up one of the chicken fingers and dipping it himself.
“Did you get any gravy for the fries?”
Raffaele glanced to Jess when she asked that question and noted the way she was peering over the items on the table. There were so many small bowls on the table he thought there must be gravy, but Zanipolo shook his head.
“No, I wasn’t sure if it would be any good,” he admitted.
“It is,” she assured him. “It’s real gravy, not the packaged stuff.” Reaching for a red bottle, she shrugged and added, “But ketchup will do.”
“Not if they have real gravy,” Zanipolo said at once. “Most places have the packaged stuff that tastes like . . .”
“Packaged stuff,” Jess suggested with amusement when he seemed at a loss as to how to describe the fake stuff.
Chuckling, Zanipolo nodded and stood up. “I’ll go ask the waitress to—Oh.” He dropped back into his seat. “No need. She’s coming with our drinks already.”
Raffaele glanced around to see that Zanipolo was right; the waitress was returning with three drinks.
Zanipolo thanked the waitress when she set them down by each of them and then asked for three orders of gravy.
“We thought we heard a band playing as we approached,” Jess commented, glancing around as the waitress left.
“There was a band when we were here earlier,” he assured her, glancing toward the slightly raised stage where the band had been situated.
“They were still playing when we got here,” Zanipolo said. “They stopped to take a break, literally, just before you two came in.”
“Ah. That explains it,” Raffaele said, nodding.
“They sounded pretty good,” Jess commented.
“They are,” Zanipolo said. “Not as good as the NCs, of course. But good.”
“Who are the NCs?” Jess asked with curiosity before taking a drink of her wine.
“Our band,” Zanipolo told her with a grin.
Jess stilled, her eyes widening. “Band? You guys are in a band?”
Raffaele narrowed his eyes on her. She didn’t seem pleased at the news. In fact, she appeared disappointed.
“Yes. You don’t like music?” Zanipolo asked, obviously noting her reaction too.
“Oh. Yes. I like music,” she said quickly.
“So why the attitude about our being in a band?” Zanipolo asked, and Raffaele knew it was purely for his benefit. His cousin would already know the answer. He could read her thoughts.
“Oh, no!” she said with dismay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You obviously don’t think much of musicians,” Santo interrupted gently.
Jess met the bald man’s gaze, hesitated briefly, and then sighed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s not musicians per se. It’s just you guys seemed so nice, and . . . I guess it’s stereotyping, but I tend to think of guys in bands as being interested only in the whole sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll thing.” She grimaced. “You know, groupies and partying and stuff.”
Raffaele smiled. Her words told him that Jess was definitely not a groupie type. One of those women who chased band members, just because they were a band member. And he liked that. Raffaele had experienced enough of that to last a lifetime. As had the others. It was rather annoying actually, because the women weren’t really seeing them at all, just an ideal in their head, and it was that ideal they were chasing.
Of course, if he were young and still interested in sex, he’d probably love it, Raffaele acknowledged. Women throwing themselves at him, willing to sleep with him at the drop of a hat . . . What young horny guy wouldn’t love that? However, Raffaele had lost his interest in sex centuries ago, as had Santo. And Christian and Gia, the other members of their band, were already mated. That left Zanipolo to enjoy whatever groupies their band attracted, something he didn’t seem to mind at all.
“We don’t party,” Santo said, the words a rumble of sound. “We have day jobs.”
“And we don’t do drugs,” Raffaele assured her. That wasn’t even a possibility for them. Their bodies would remove the drugs, as well as any alcohol, before the substances had a chance to work on them. It was why he’d ordered water rather than wine like Jess.
“We do have sex, though,” Zanipolo said cheerfully, and then added, “Well, at least I do. Christian and Gia—the other members of our band,” he explained to Jess, “they’re both mated and not interested in groupies. And Santo and Raff are just plain not interested. In fact, Raff finds them pathetic. He says those women would sleep with anyone with a guitar given half the chance.”
“He’s probably right,” Jess said, turning to give Raffaele a small smile as she picked up her glass again for another sip. She was obviously glad he wasn’t into groupies.
Zanipolo shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not like I want to marry the women. I’m a healthy, young, unmated im—man,” he finished, catching his slip before he said immortal. “Who am I to refuse if a pretty woman wants to sleep with me? Besides, with the rest of the band all shunning the girls, I make out like a bandit,” Zanipolo admitted, flashing Jess a toothy grin when his words drew her gaze back to him.
“So, you do go in for groupies,” she said dryly, setting her glass back.
“Definitely,” he assured her without shame. “But I’m still a nice guy. I don’t break hearts or make promises I don’t intend to keep, and I do not get into drugs or partying. Like Santo said, we all have day jobs.”
“Hmm.” Jess considered that briefly and then asked, “So what are your day jobs?”
“We work for Notte Construction,” Raffaele answered for all of them. “It’s a family business.”
“So you’re construction workers?” she asked with interest, and then smiled crookedly and said, “I should have guessed.”
Her gaze was sliding over his shoulders and chest with appreciation as she said that and Raffaele felt his body tighten in response.
“Why should you have guessed that?” Santo asked with interest.
Much to Raffaele’s relief, Jess tore her gaze away and turned to the other man to shrug and say, “Because you’re all in great shape.”
“Ah.” Santo nodded as if that made sense, when really none of them were actual laborers who slung hammers and such.
Jess opened her mouth, as if she was going to ask another question, but then frowned slightly as she noted that Santo hadn’t pulled a plate in front of him. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
Santo shook his head. “Indigestion.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sincerely. “I have some Tums in my room. After we finish eating I’ll go get a replacement key and fetch them for you.”
Santo looked startled at the offer and then shook his head. “Thank you, no. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s no problem,” she assured him. “In fact, you can keep the whole bottle. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway, so I won’t need them.”
“You are leaving?” Santo asked with surprise.
“Yes,” Jess said. “I would have left tonight, but I guess there wouldn’t be any flights out this late. Or at least none I’d be likely to get to in time.”
“No. There would not be,” Santo agreed and, apparently having read that Raffaele was fine with her leaving, turned to
“You’ll have to give us your address in Montana in case we are able to get your waist belt back.”
Raffaele glanced to Zanipolo with surprise at that comment, but his cousin was biting into his burger and not looking his way. It didn’t matter; a quick glimpse of his thoughts told him that the younger immortal was trying to get her to give them her address verbally so he wouldn’t have to explain how he found her when he followed her to Montana.
“Get my waist belt back?” Jess asked with surprise, finally turning from the beach.
Zanipolo nodded, and then swallowed and said, “I’m quite sure we’ll be going to the Seaquarium after you leave. We can check out the shark feeding tour afterward and see if your waist belt is in their lost and found.”
Raffaele noted the way Jess stiffened, and felt himself tense up in response as her eyes narrowed on Zanipolo. Her voice was suspicious as she asked, “How did you know I left it on the shark boat?”
Zanipolo had been about to bite into his burger again, but paused and lowered it to eye Jess briefly, before saying, “You said earlier that you left it on the pirate ship. The people in the lobby were talking about the pirates who took them to feed the sharks after the Seaquarium. I just assumed it was the same ship. Was it not?”
“Oh.” Jess relaxed and smiled crookedly. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
Raffaele felt his body relax at the save, and then concern claimed Jess’s expression and she said, “But I don’t recommend the shark feeding tour. You should avoid that at all costs. In fact, I think you should skip the Seaquarium too.” Becoming agitated, she added, “Just stay away from that area altogether. All right?”
Raffaele nodded solemnly. It wasn’t a hard promise to make. They had been told to leave the rogues to the local hunters anyway.
“Promise,” she insisted. “Promise you’ll stay away from any pirates and pirate ships you see.”
“Oh, look, the band’s coming back,” Santo said, and Raffaele glanced to him, noting the way he was looking at Jess. He had the concentrated look that suggested he was doing something to her thoughts. He wasn’t sure what, however, until Jess suddenly relaxed beside him and turned to peer at the band members returning to the stage at the end of the deck.
“How nice. Dinner music,” she said, sounding completely relaxed. Santo must have slipped in and soothed her mind, Raffaele realized, and wasn’t sure if he was glad or not. He didn’t want Jess upset, but he was starting to dislike the other men slipping in and out of her head as he knew they were doing. She was his woman, his life mate, and they had no business messing about in her thoughts.
“Humph, that’s gratitude for you,” Zanipolo muttered, and Raffaele looked at him just as he turned a concentrated gaze toward the stage. Zani focused on the band members briefly, and they began to play a slow ballad for their first song.
“Zani,” Raffaele growled in warning as his cousin then turned his attention to Jess. He gave up scowling at him to glance at her in question, though, when she placed a hand on his arm.
“I think you owe me a dance,” she said chirpily when he met her gaze.
Raffaele stared at her blankly. Zanipolo hadn’t had enough time to take control of her mind and make her say that. The request was all Jess, he realized, and supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. She’d made him promise her a dance in exchange for her silence on appreciating Zani’s choice of the resort for their vacation as they’d approached the restaurant. He just hadn’t expected to have to carry through on the promise. He’d thought the whole exchange just teasing banter. But it seemed she was going to make him keep his promise.
“If you owe her a dance, you should really give it to her,” Zanipolo said earnestly. But Raffaele didn’t miss the emphasis on “give it.” The bastard knew exactly how dancing with Jess would affect him, and that it was why he’d hoped the promise was a joke of sorts.
Opening his eyes, he glared at his cousin briefly, and then glanced to the side with a start when Jess stood up and took his hand, sending a shock wave of sensation through him. “Come on. Before the song ends.”
Casting one last scowl at his cousin, Raffaele reluctantly stood and followed Jess to the small empty space that made up the dance floor.
Seven
When Jess led Raffaele to the center of the dance floor and turned to face him, he didn’t pull her close as she expected. Instead, he held her in a proper dance stance, with his left hand at her right hip, and his right hand lifting her left until their entwined fingers were at about shoulder level. He also left a good eight inches or so of space between their bodies as he started to move, leading her with the hand at her hip and his hold on her hand.
Jess followed his lead wide-eyed, rather amazed that she could follow. She had never danced “properly.” Most of her experience came from high school dances when she was younger, and dancing at bars or nightclubs once she was in university, and most of that was fast dancing. When it came to slow dancing in those environments, it had always come down to the guy just putting his arms around her waist, and her resting her arms across his shoulders while the pair of them leaned into each other as they shuffled around, or at least swayed back and forth until the music ended.
Jess had seen older couples dance like this, though. With this proper hold and the distance between them. Still, it felt odd and even awkward doing it. Not that Raffaele wasn’t a good dancer; he was. He was leading her with his hands, a little pressure on her hip, or by pulling her hand one way or the other. She found following him easy. But Jess didn’t know where to look. He was taller than her, his chest directly in front of her face, but she didn’t want to tip her head and look at his face; she was afraid she’d just blush and feel foolish. In the end, she turned her head to the side and stared at the other couples on the dance floor, and then out at the dark beach when they slowly turned and it came into view.
The night was shades of black out there beyond the deck lights, a world of shadows. Most were stationary—the huts and lounge chairs and beach umbrellas that were all still out. But some of the shadows were moving as couples drifted down to the beach for privacy, she noted. And then her eyes landed on one dark shape among all the others and Jess felt fear leap in her chest. It was a man, which was no surprise; there were a dozen or so of them on the beach, most with a partner, but some alone. This one, though, cut a rather distinctive figure, and then a second figure joined him.
“Jess?”
Turning her head reluctantly, she peered up at Raffaele in question.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You stopped moving . . . and you’ve gone pale,” he added with a frown.
Jess hesitated, and then turned to peer out at the beach again, searching for the two men she’d thought she’d seen the first time, but they were gone. Did that mean Vasco and Cristo had never been there? Or that they had been there and had slipped away? Because that was who she thought she’d spotted down there on the beach. There was just no way to mistake Vasco’s hat, and she was quite sure the second figure had been Cristo.
“What did you see?”
Jess turned to find him searching the beach now, his narrowed eyes scanning the dark shadows and people. When he turned back to her, there was grim concern on his face.
“What did you see?” he repeated, his voice hard this time.
Jess opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d seen. Frowning with confusion, she looked out toward the beach again and then shook her head. “It was nothing.” Sighing, she turned back to him and forced a smile. “I think I’d like to sit down now.”
“Of course.” Maintaining his hold on her hand, Raffaele wrapped his arm around her and ushered her back through the dancing couples to the table. Jess didn’t miss the irony in the fact that he held her closer to walk her to their table than he had while they were dancing. She also didn’t miss her body’s response to being so close. But then they were at the table and he was releasing her and pulling out her chair.
“Is everything all right?” Santo asked, eyeing the two of them.
Jess forced a smile. “Of course. I’m just hungry,” she assured him, and then reached for her wine, surprised to find the glass empty. She hadn’t realized she’d drank it all.
“I’ll order you another,” Raffaele murmured, turning to search for their waitress.
Jess opened her mouth to ask him to order her an iced tea instead, but he’d already caught the waitress’s attention and was gesturing to her glass. Shrugging, she let the order stand. Two glasses wouldn’t hurt her, she thought as she glanced over the food on the table. There was still a lot of it there. Oddly enough, though, her appetite was gone. But the gravy was there now, she noted, and since Zanipolo had only ordered it because of her, she felt she had to eat at least some of it, and so pulled one of the bowls closer to dip the fries in.
“So,” Zanipolo said after a moment, “you know we work for our family’s construction company. What do you do?”
“Oh.” Jess smiled faintly, and then paused to thank their waitress as she arrived and set a glass of wine next to her. Once the woman had left, she said, “I have two part-time jobs.”
“Two?” Raffaele asked with interest as she dipped a fry in the gravy and popped it into her mouth.
Jess nodded as she chewed and swallowed, and then took a drink of her wine before explaining, “I’m still a student, which kind of messes with the hours I can work, but my employers work around my classes.”
“What do you study?” Raffaele asked as she picked up another fry and repeated the dipping and eating.
-->
