Venice Vampyr - The Beginning (Novellas 1 - 3)

by Tina Folsom

  “I’ll have Elisabetta put more coal on the fire in a moment,” the angel said.

  Coals in heaven? Frankly, he’d 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?”

  Chapter Three

  Isabella pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart beat frantically. He’d kissed her! The stranger had kissed her and made her feel things she’d never experienced. But she couldn’t allow this, couldn’t receive the pleasure he offered when she knew nothing about him. He was a complete stranger, a scoundrel for all she knew—considering his behavior. If she gave into his advances, she would turn into a common whore. She’d already gone too far by touching him. She should have never brought him here. He was a danger to her body and her heart.

  “My life was saved?” His voice was full of disbelief. He sat up, dropping the blanket to his stomach, exposing his muscled chest.

  Isabella averted her gaze. “Yes, you were one of the lucky ones.”

  “So this is not heaven?”

  “Heaven?” Was that what he’d thought? “No, this is Venice. Do you remember anything about what happened?” Her pulse settled a little. Had this all been a misunderstanding? He’d called her Angel—several times in fact. Had he truly believed himself to be in heaven and thought she was an angel? Was that why he’d kissed her?

  “Signora, my sincerest apologies,” he mumbled and attempted to rise, then seemed to realize he was unclothed. “I would get up and bow in order to ask for your forgiveness, but it appears I find myself without the proper attire to do so.”

  Despite his sincere words, there was a smirk on his face, bringing out dimples in his cheeks. He looked young, younger than she thought he was. She followed his gaze to the heap of wet clothes that lay on the floor.

  “It appears my garments are unusable at present.” Then he looked at her, one side of his mouth tilting up in a smile. “Did you help me out of them?”

  Isabella felt herself blush down to the roots of her hair. He knew! Had he been awake when she’d undressed him? Had he felt it when she’d caressed his naked body, washed him, dried him? She sucked in a much needed breath of air, afraid she would faint from the acute embarrassment that swept through her. She’d been a fool. Her reputation would be destroyed forever, and she would have to leave Venice because decent society would shun her.

  A soft chuckle came from him. “Ah, I see. Well, Signora, then it appears I have nothing to hide.” She heard the blanket being tossed to the floor and instantly turned her back to him.

  He rose, and a second later, she could sense him a step behind her. “Signore, I will have my servants bring you some of my husband’s clothes,” she rushed to say.

  “Husband?” he asked, sucking in a sharp breath.

  “My late husband’s, yes.” She walked toward the door, trying to leave temptation behind her, but he followed her. When his hands grasped her shoulders, her breath caught.

  Relief seemed to color his voice when he spoke again. “I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me. Very grateful,” he emphasized.

  Then he spun her around to face him. “Raphael di Santori, at your service.”

  She turned her head to the side, making sure her gaze didn’t drift lower, because she knew what she would see: his very tempting naked body. And if she allowed herself to feast her eyes on him once more, she would succumb to the temptation of touching him.

  “Signore, this is hardly the time for an introduction.” She tried to pull from his grip, but his hands cupped her shoulders firmly.

  “When then, if not now? Or would you rather I ravished you before I found out your name?”

  His arrogant suggestion made her snap her head back to him. “There will be no ravishing, Signore di Santori. I’m a respectable widow. Once you’re dressed, you may come down to the parlor so we can talk.”

  Isabella pulled free of his grip and turned to the door. He didn’t follow.

  “Your name, Signora.” When she hesitated, he added, “Please.”

  The softness in his voice made her relent. “Isabella Tenderini.” Then she swept out of the room, holding her head high, trying to hold onto her dignity. When she closed the door behind her, his laughter followed her. Insolent, arrogant rake!

  ***

  Raphael couldn’t stop laughing. Oh, this woman had fire in her belly. She made him feel alive. Hell, he was alive! And he had hundreds of questions. Had one of her servants pulled him out of the water? But, more importantly, who was this alluring woman who had clearly undressed him?

  And not only that, now that her intoxicating scent wasn’t flooding his nostrils any longer, he noticed that his own skin didn’t smell of the murky waters of the canal like he would have expected. Somebody had bathed him. His eyes scanned the lavishly decorated room, his gaze instantly honing in on the four poster bed and the endless possibilities it suggested. Down, boy, he cautioned himself and continued his perusal of the chamber. Clearly, her chamber.

  When his eyes fell onto a bowl with water and a sponge, he smiled to himself. Isabella had been the one who’d washed him, taken the sponge into her elegant hands and laved his body with it. Had she cradled his balls? Had she taken his cock into her hand as she’d performed this intimate task?

  No wonder she’d blushed like a debutante. Now he understood. She’d touched his body intimately, more intimately than anyone had in a long
time, and now she felt embarrassed about it. Had she liked what she’d seen? Had she maybe even stroked him, caressed him? Had her lips followed where her hands had explored first?

  By God, he was hard just thinking of all the things she might have done to him while he was unconscious. He didn’t feel violated in the slightest by the knowledge that she’d exploited his vulnerability. No—all it served was getting him aroused. All he could think of was whether she would do it again.

  Clearly, as a widow she was familiar with the pleasures of the flesh. She was no shy virgin, but a grown woman who must recognize her own carnal needs. He’d felt them boil under her skin, those passions she kept locked away. Finding the key to unlocking those desires and ensuring she unleashed them on him would be his greatest challenge. Yes, that’s what he would do: seduce her into his bed (or hers, as the case might be) and make her surrender to him.

  He hadn’t had a challenge like this one in a while. Most women fell into his arms and his bed without much ado, without much more than a smile and a wink from his part. Despite the kiss she had allowed him to steal, she wouldn’t fall easily. Her stern reprimand had hinted at that. She’d brought herself under control again. And he’d do anything to snap that control from right under her nose like a mere twig a hunter crushed with his feet. All because he could. And because she was the choicest morsel he’d tasted in a long while.

  Chapter Four

  Raphael found the elegant parlor in which Isabella was waiting for him after he’d gotten dressed. The clothes of her late husband fit him perfectly, and the fellow had had taste too. And just as perfectly as he’d slipped into the man’s breeches, shirt and coat, Raphael wanted to slide into his widow. He was sure she’d fit him just as perfectly.

  Isabella stood near the fireplace with her back to him as he entered. Her hair was now tied in a tight bun low at the back of her neck. And she was dressed in a gown that was fit for any noble in Venice. If she wanted to pretend that she was all prim and proper, he’d let her, and then he’d expose what lay beneath her respectable exterior: a passionate woman.

  “Signora Tenderini,” he greeted her.

  A visible shudder went through her body. Had she not heard him come in? Perhaps he was so used to being silent when approaching humans that it had become such a habit he barely noticed. He made a mental note to try not to startle her again.

  Isabella turned and looked at him. Her features were tense as if she’d been thinking long and hard about something. A frown disturbed her pretty face. Her pursed lips were evidence that she contemplated her next words.

  “I’m glad to see that your near drowning seems to have produced no lasting injuries.” While she spoke, her spine remained stiff, as if she was forcing herself to remain formal.

  Raphael nodded and gave a slight bow. “I’m grateful to your servants and would like to bestow the man who pulled me out of the canal with a little monetary gift if you allow me.” Whoever had been so brave as to jump into the icy waters and had the strength to pull his heavy body out of it should be rewarded.

  “My gondolier has already been rewarded by me. No further reward is necessary.”

  He would still give the fellow a handsome sum of money. His life was worth it. But to Isabella, he only nodded, not wanting to alienate her. “I thank you for your generosity. And if I may, I profusely apologize again for my inappropriate behavior toward you. Let me assure you that—”

  “No assurances are necessary,” she interrupted him. “The traumatic circumstances explain your behavior. I’m a respectable widow and have a standing in Venetian society I care not to jeopardize. I trust in your discretion.”

  Raphael bowed and grinned to himself, wiping the grin off his face as soon as he straightened. She’d asked for his discretion? It could only mean one thing.

  She wanted him for a lover.

  He hadn’t expected her to make an offer like this. Maybe he had underestimated her. Maybe she was a widow who took lovers frequently. The thought disturbed him—why, he didn’t know. “My discretion precedes me, Signora.”

  “Good. Then I bid you farewell. My gondolier will take you home.”

  She’d dismissed him? But hadn’t he just assured her that he would be discrete? That nothing of their affair would reach Venetian society’s ears?

  “Signora? I don’t understand. As I’ve just assured you, my discretion is unparalleled. Nothing of our affair will seep—”

  “Affair?” she shrieked and took a step back. “You thought I was proposing an affair?” Her bosom heaved, and her cheeks colored that beautiful shade of red again. And not only that. He could see the vein at her neck throb. It was a sight that made him want to sling her over his shoulder, throw her onto the nearest flat surface and toss up her skirts before he fucked her and sank his fangs—

  “I advise you to leave my house immediately. I’m a respectable woman, not a trollop.”

  The indignation in her voice gave him pause. It appeared his challenge wouldn’t be as easy to win as he had assumed.

  He bowed again as he retreated. For now. He would figure out a way to win her—sooner rather than later.

  The gondolier was awaiting him at the dock. “Signore, where to?”

  Raphael stepped into the boat and took a seat before he gave the man an address close to his house. He was careful never to disclose his actual location to anybody. His life depended on it.

  “Very well, Signore.”

  Raphael leaned back and let his thoughts drift back to Isabella. Why he’d suddenly thought she was making him an offer to start an intimate affair, he could only blame on what had happened in her bedchamber. Why take him there, undress him, most likely fondle him while he was unconscious, when she had no intention of going through with it?

  And why had she dressed that provocatively when she’d taken care of him? Why not remain in her prim and proper dress? Because all her scandalous attire had done was provoke him into kissing her. Damn that kiss. He couldn’t forget it, no matter how brief it had been. He could still taste her on his tongue.

  “We’re here, Signore.” The gondolier pulled up alongside a dock.

  Raphael looked up at the man. “If you’d wait here for a few minutes for me to retrieve some coin, I would like to reward you for saving my life.”

  The gondolier gave him a startled look. “But, Signore, I wasn’t the one who jumped into the water to pull you out.”

  “Then who was?” He stared at the man, but the gondolier hesitated.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve misspoken,” the man claimed.

  Raphael could see a lie when it hit him in the face. Suspicion crept up his spine. He raised his voice. “Who jumped into the canal to rescue me?”

  The gondolier lowered his gaze. “The Signora.”

  Shock coursed through Raphael’s body. Isabella had braved the cold waters of the canal to save him? “Signora Tenderini?”

  “Yes, Signore. She was the one who saved your life.”

  ***

  Isabella sighed deeply. She hadn’t been able to go through with it. More than anything, she’d wanted to ask him to conduct an affair with her, a very discrete, very short affair, just so she was reminded of what it was like to sleep with a man’s arms around her body. But the thought that they would be discovered at some point had made her hold back.

  Her late husband’s cousin Massimo was keeping close watch on her, always trying to find a way to take from her what her husband had left her: his merchant business. As a male relative, he’d expected to inherit after his death. Yet, her beloved Giovanni had had other designs. He’d always seen her for what she was: a strong and intelligent woman more than capable of running a business by herself. His will had said as much.

  After being left out in the cold, Massimo had taken it upon himself to pry into her personal life and dig up any dirt there was to find. There was none. She’d been virtuous before her marriage and remained virtuous after Giovanni’s death. If she slipped only once, Massimo would be ther
e to take advantage. He’d spread the gossip amongst Venetian society and make certain not only she but also her business was shunned. She knew it was his plan. Once she was down and cast out of polite society, he would take the business off her hands for a pittance.

  No, she could never let herself slip and give into the desires that had started boiling up in her. Only another marriage would do. However, she’d not met any man since Giovanni’s death who she even remotely wanted as a husband.

  And the scoundrel who’d just left her house? He was not the kind of man who’d make an offer for a decent woman like her. She had seen it in his eyes: the lust, the passion, the heat. All he wanted was to satisfy his carnal urges, to tumble her. And even if she hadn’t seen it in his eyes, his words had made it clear. He’d expected an affair.

  Her own body had almost betrayed her when he’d stood there in front of her. She’d wanted to run into his arms, ask him, beg him to make love to her, to pin her under his beautiful naked body and drive her wild. To feel his hard shaft in her, filling her, satisfying her. It had taken all her strength not to give in. Her life as she knew it would be over if she did.

  Already, by bringing Raphael—oh, what a wonderful name—into her home and tending to him personally, she’d risked too much. She could only hope that Elisabetta would heed her threat. Adolfo she trusted one hundred percent. He was her ally, the only one of her servants who was completely loyal to her. Elisabetta was new in her employ and, Isabella hoped, too intimidated by her to go against her strict orders. She’d researched her background thoroughly before employing her, making sure she had no connections to Massimo. Massimo kept enough spies in her household.

  Now she could only hope that no word of what had transpired in her home tonight would reach the outside world.