by Jackie Ivie
“I’m trying to understand. What kind of ship are we talking?” Cannonballs?
“A Spanish Galleon…uh…taken from the Spanish Main. It required a crew of fifty. We were but eighteen.”
A Spanish Galleon…from the Spanish Main. What the heck was that? He was still talking. She had to focus.
“…and more than my share of the chores. Much more.”
“Okay. That explains the muscle. But you take in a lot of calories. Do you lean more toward protein or carbs? Have you tried the Paleo?”
“Paleo?”
“It’s based on the Hunter/Gatherer philosophy. Meats. Unaltered grains. Some vegetables. That sort of thing.”
“You are speaking of food?”
Dumb it down, Lenna. “Right. Food. What do you eat? And how much? Portion size?”
“I ate whatever got cooked, as did everyone. And portion size? I do not know what measurement you want. I got the lion’s share. Does that help?”
This was going nowhere fast. Lenna pulled in a breath. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
“Move on?”
“How solid are you on this goal?”
“Goal?”
“You listed that you want to ‘lean out’. Lose weight and gain definition. As I see it, you’re perfection already. We’ll do the fat evaluation test next, but I wouldn’t lose more than five pounds if I were you.”
“Did you say perfection?”
Oh brother. Narcissism might be this guy’s creed. Not without reason, either. She had to remember that. Mister Rafaele Something-or-Other from Spain was a chick magnet of the highest level. He had to know it. He had mirrors. And probably legions of females to assist him with remembering it.
“Don’t move, okay?”
He gave her that smile again. Perfect teeth, too. But maybe they just looked that bright because of his swarthy skin tone. Lenna walked slowly around him, visually inspecting lower legs, thighs, glutes, lats, deltoids, biceps, triceps… The guy was perfect. He had major earning potential. He could make her reputation, guaranteeing her a client list with major financial clout.
Things were certainly looking up. First the diabetes and now this: a champion body builder with model looks. She’d have to brush up on posing routines: vascular, muscular, general. She’d hoped he handled repetition well. She’d have to practice with him a lot. And wow. That sounded good enough to create goose bumps all over her skin.
He’s narcissistic, Lenna…and not very bright.
The thoughts helped mute some of his impact, even if it did feel like electricity was humming in the space between his skin and hers. Lenna finished, reached the front of him again, looked up. He was watching. Her heart faltered the moment their gazes locked. She had to look away, or lose herself in really dark depths that pulled her up and into them. Dangerous territory. She had to keep this impersonal. Professional. Businesslike.
“Miss Hendershott? It is Miss Hendershott, isn’t it?”
Lenna swiveled to face a woman in her mid-forties, who needed to spend more time at the gym. She looked vaguely familiar, but not enough to trade names. She might have been addressing Lenna, but she had her eyes solidly on Rafaele behind her.
“Can I help you?”
“I just want…an introduction.”
“You already know me.”
“I’m speaking of the absolute god behind you. Where on earth did he come from?”
“He’s my newest client. We’re handling a consultation. If you’ll excuse us?”
“You’ve got to let me get a photo first. And call my girlfriends over. Girls!” The woman started jogging toward the foyer where quite a few women were congregated.
“Rafaele? Quick!”
Lenna grabbed up her bag and walked to the hall, trying to look like she wasn’t escaping. Rafaele was keeping pace easily, as if guarding her back. She could feel him. The hall was deserted, as was the waiting area. Deserted, and rather clinical, with its plaid-covered chairs, slate topped tables, large potted plants, and coin-operated foot massagers.
“What are we doing?” he asked.
“We’re hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“Didn’t you hear her? She’s going for reinforcements. You’ll be mobbed. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
“Mobbed? Me?”
“You’re probably used to being chased. But, I—. Let’s just say it’s a new experience. And I don’t like it.”
“Where can we go?”
The tanning rooms. Where the doors lock. Lenna walked briskly down the hall, rounded the corner, opened the first door she came to, waited for him to enter, shut and then locked the door behind them. This was a pure mistake, but her mind wasn’t in control at the moment.
“What is this place, please?”
She turned on the switch, putting muted lighting into the room. Good. She’d selected one of the doubles. Lenna walked around one tanning bed, shut the far one, and then dropped her bag onto the top window where it was flat. Her folder followed it. What the hell was she thinking? The situation wasn’t just a mistake. It was solid danger. Nonsense, Lenna. She straightened and took a deep breath, before easing it out. She was a professional trainer. Certified. Bonded and insured. Regardless of the surroundings, she’d keep it impersonal. Stick to her regimen. Do the pinch test. Follow up with bone density rating. Calculate his fitness based on the formula: [(4.95/Bone Density)-4.5]100=Body Fat. She’d guess him at 10.7. An easy 10.7. By the time she’d finished, the woman and her friends might have given up the hunt.
Lenna cleared her throat. “It’s a tanning room.”
“Tanning?” His voice was at least an octave higher.
“Yes, Rafaele. Tanning. As in, ultra-violet light. I don’t think you’ll need it except in spots. It’s not that bad. I only do short sessions. No reason to flirt with skin cancer and premature aging.”
If a guy with a bass-toned voice screamed, that’s what he did. He followed it up by slamming his back into the wall beside the door, his eyes wide and frightened-looking. His action sent a shelf crashing to the floor, spilling little sample bottles of tanning oils and candles and assorted other goodies. Lenna almost giggled.
“I have to leave. I must leave! Now!”
“You have a problem with tanning beds?”
“I can’t be around sunlight. You don’t understand. I have to go now!”
“You’re allergic to sunlight? No problem. Calm down. We’ll do a spray tan.”
“It’s not that! It’s—. Ah! I must leave!”
He slammed both hands into the walls next, putting fist-sized holes into sheetrock while another shelf toppled.
“Wait! Look.” Lenna went to the wall, bent, and pulled both plugs out. “They’re off. Everything’s unplugged. It’s okay? See? You’re safe.”
He sagged slightly, and then looked really unsure and embarrassed and that made him even more handsome to her. And that just wasn’t possible.
Lenna lowered her voice to her businesslike tone. “I’ve never met anyone terrified of tanning beds before. I’d better put a little note on your chart.”
“This is not a good idea.”
“I know. But I had to get you away from the attention. We were about to be bombarded with women. Crazy older women. Potential cougars, if you know what I mean.”
“I will take your word for it.”
“It probably happens to you all the time. You’re a walking, talking, breathing, chick magnet.”
“I do not understand. It doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“Come on, Rafaele, give it a rest. Every guy likes being chased by women. It’s probably number one on their fantasy meter.”
“Not mine, I assure you.”
Lenna opened her bag and pulled out her fat caliper. “You ready yet?”
“For what?”
“We’re moving on to the next phase of your consultation. The fat evaluation. I use the pinch test. A BMI reading isn’t accurate for someone your size. If I use it,
you’ll register as morbidly obese. I can see for myself, that’s untrue.”
“What should I do?”
“Come away from the door, and stand nicely. And don’t interrupt me.”
“And what will you do?”
Lenna started toward where he’d moved one step from the door. “To be perfectly accurate I should take a reading in fourteen areas. Some trainers utilize readings in twenty-one spots. I find that a bit much. Tonight, with you…I’m thinking I’ll just take three. I’m going to pinch the flesh behind your right tricep, midway between your armpit and nipple, and the front of your right thigh.”
“You will touch me…in these places?”
“That’s why I brought you in here, Rafaele. It’s part of the job.”
“Now?”
“My other choice is out there with your new fan club.”
“But…a-a-alone?”
He stuttered. Lenna stopped mid-step to absorb the lurch of her heart at that little vulnerable sound. Something warm and encompassing flooded her breast, moving outward until it reached the ends of her fingers, the tips of her toes. She’d never felt such a thing.
Man! Was this a bad idea. He had that right.
CHAPTER SIX
She was going to touch him?
Rafaele tensed to withstand it, every bit of him primed for, needful of, thirsting over that exact thing…and he’d been doing so well, thus far! He didn’t know how to act around a lady. The women he’d frequented back before this afterlife, well…those women weren’t ladylike at all. They’d been lustful and greedy, grabbing for him before he’d untied his crotch ties. He’d liked to believe their words that such haste was due to the man and not his full wallet, but he wasn’t that naive.
This Lenna wasn’t remotely like the women he’d frequented at Port Royal. No…his mate was different. Beautiful. Lithe. Graceful. Extremely well-formed and dressed to show it off. She was everything he’d dreamt for a mate. All those decades…and here she was. The one. Everything on him amplified what that meant, and yet nothing on her reacted. Every moment in her sphere altered him, touching parts of him he’d never known existed. She was bringing this undead creature back to full physical sensation. There wasn’t any doubt over that. Long dormant portions of his body were flaring to life, primed into weight and heft and irritation, regardless of how he worked for control. She made his frame taut, his loins heavy, and his heart react as if such a thing were possible.
The old Rafaele de Jesus y Santiago would’ve had her on her back in one of these half-shell bed-things the instant she locked the door. That man hadn’t learned self-control. He hadn’t needed it. Women were havens in an unforgiving world. Softness in an ocean of hard. Lushness in an existence of squalor. Purveyors of pleasure and fulfillment after months of hardship. Containers of delight ready to grip a man and milk the ecstasy from him. A woman offered hours of delight, took the edge off loneliness, the sting from useless existence. He’d never turned a woman down. Weeks at sea primed a man to leap without thought; jump without reason; dip without discretion.
Rafaele’s mind plagued him now with images, overwriting those he’d known. Lenna’s lips locked to his; her curvaceous legs entwined about his hips; long, slender fingers roaming his chest. His torso. His backside.
Madre de Dios!
Rafaele clenched his buttocks, earning more sensation he had to struggle with. He wasn’t going to be rash and quick, with regard for only his own pleasure. No. Not with Lenna. He wanted her fully. Completely. Sensually. Melding with her to become one. A joining worth over three hundred years of time. Every caress.
She pulled at the skin at the back of his right arm.
Rafaele jerked into statue-stiffness, holding onto physical need beyond scope. Beyond reason. Beyond leashing. She was playing with fire, and he was unable to stay her. Everything on him wanted it. To an unbearable degree. And worse. It was obvious in these sports shorts they’d procured for him.
She walked around to his front again, putting sweet-smelling hair right beneath his chin while she looked across at him, her eyes centered approximately mid-chest. And then she trembled.
Rafaele narrowed his eyes. Waited. And saw the slightest quiver score her again. Elation roared through him, creating an answering tremor through him. She moved then, tilting her head upwards, taking more time than necessary, before her eyes met his, and widened, putting bottomless blue depths within his reach. Rafaele felt his canines respond without the invite. And then he had to fight that, too.
“You may have to take your shirt off.”
The words came through a loud ringing, affecting his hearing. It took a moment to decipher what she said, and then he had to tamp the instant uptick of intent that went right to his groin, too.
“I can’t get a reading…through your shirt.”
The slightest waver, as well as the hesitation, with her words betrayed her. She could act remote and impersonal all she liked. It was an act, and he had to keep from reacting. Rafaele stepped back one step, almost reaching the wall he’d just left. He could sense the structure right behind him. He was failing ingloriously. He couldn’t believe The Vampire Assassin League had set this up. He’d acted the gentleman and sounded an idiot. He’d tried for control and become a buffoon. And now he looked like a frightened rabbit.
“I only have two…more readings.”
“Before what?” His voice sounded like he chewed on rocks. It was almost intelligible. He swallowed and sucked on the elongated canines that made speech difficult.
“We’re doing an evaluation, here. Nothing more. I promise.”
He’d been right. He looked and acted like a frightened rabbit. Not the epitome of masculinity he’d wanted. But it was her fault! She didn’t know the demons he fought. The urges he squelched. The physical need he barely leashed.
“You can have it right back.”
“What?”
“Your shirt.”
Rafaele swore beneath his breath, moved his gaze over her head at one of the tulip-shaped light receptacles, and pulled the bit of cotton over his head. He didn’t dare look at her. The slightest gasp she gave was sending torrents of want and desire and need to rifle his flesh.
“This is a really bad idea,” he told her.
“I’m…a professional, Rafaele. I do this…all the time. It’s part of the uh…regimen.”
She didn’t sound professional. She sounded young. Interested. Excited. He nearly groaned and his knees wavered.
“I’ve taken measurements on hundreds of other guys. You don’t need to be concerned. Honestly.”
Her voice softened to a caress of sound that matched the touch she put on his skin, right below his shoulder. Rafaele came off the floor the instant he felt it, and had to force his body back to terra firma before she noticed. She wasn’t lifting any skin in order to pinch it. What started as fingertips was now a solid palm, four fingers, and a thumb, all just sitting atop his skin, molding to him, stirring an instantaneous vibration that went through both of them. Rafaele clenched his chin, earning two spikes of pain into his lower lip and forced words through his lips.
“I am not ‘hundreds of other guys’,” he informed the room behind her, mimicking the way she’d said it, if not the octave.
“I can see that. You’re amazing, actually. Masculine beauty mixed with brawn. I sound stupid, but it’s your fault. It’s difficult to speak and look at you. It’s hard to believe you’re real.” She sighed, cursing him with a maelstrom of warm, perfectly heated breath. “You’re probably gay.”
“It is more than that, Mi Amor.”
“There’s something more than gay?”
“I’m your mate.”
Damn it! Rafaele sliced his tongue the moment the words formed in his mouth but it was too late. He’d said them. And she’d heard them. It was impossible to stiffen more, but he tried, gripping muscles to agony level as he prepared for her anger, shock, and then rebuttal. She might even call the authorities. He wouldn’t blame her
. Now, he’d moved onto potential predator. He should have stuck with rabbit.
“What…did you just say?”
He didn’t answer. His throat was convulsing. The only thing he felt capable of doing was seizing her, tossing her into one of those elongated beds, and burying himself, and to hell with anything approaching gentlemanly behavior.
“I don’t understand this, Rafaele. I’ve never…acted like this before.”
He grunted. He sounded like a wild thing, even to his own ears. Not good Rafaele. Back down. Calm. Hold.
“You should probably stop me.”
Stop her? He dared a glance down. She was looking at where her hand still rested on his chest. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t pulling from him. If anything, she’d stepped closer, her bare midriff taunting where his rod wasn’t being shy against the crotch weave of his sports shorts.
“Before you have to charge me with sexual harassment or something. I mean…I don’t normally come on to my clients. In fact, I never do. It’s against the rules.”
Charge her? He was afraid to move. Keep hold, Rafaele. Slowly. Non-threatening. Gentlemanly.
She tilted her head and looked up, catching his gaze, before dragging him right into complete communion with her. His mate was incomprehensibly perfect. Faultless. Flawless. Unspoiled. Wondrous. His body shuddered, his knees quavered, and he stepped back against the wall before he fell there. She followed, brushing against his rod with the move, and that just meshed everything about them into motion. The room began gyrating and moving, like a pendulum with her at the core, one hand affixed to him, as if a lifeline.
Sweet heaven! He could easily go mad with this!
“I mean…we just met…And yet, it feels like I’ve known you forever. You aren’t going to stop me?”
“No,” he choked out.
“You’re him. The man. My rescuer. From the elevator last night…aren’t you?”
He tipped his upper lip open, allowing the slightest glimpse of his fangs. He watched her note it, assimilate it, and then return to his eyes.
“I thought I’d dreamt it. You couldn’t be real.”
Her hand moved, sliding upward along his exposed flesh, drawing his attention. She moved so slowly! Inching her fingers upward, making an anchor of movement in a growing whorl of elements. Rafaele didn’t move. He didn’t dare. He felt taut as a pulled bow and nearly as lethal.
