“My sister Celeste, her husband, Vittore,” Elena introduced. “And my nieces and nephew, Lia, Alessa, and Beppe.”
“Nice to meet you, Fin.” The brother-in-law offered a firm, pleasant handshake.
“And you.” Fin nodded to the children. The boy ignored him. The older girl offered a half-smile but then looked down at her sandals, obviously shy.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” the younger daughter said.
“Stiamo andando?” Vittore gestured dramatically to his family.
“We’re going, we’re going!” Celeste passed Fin, headed for the steps. “My apologies for our rudeness, but we’re going to be late for the movie. Enjoy your evening. Il mio amore a voi, sorella.” She threw her sister a kiss.
Elena stood beside Fin at the railing and watched as the family hurried down the street. “I’m sorry. I thought they’d be gone by now.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed one of his cheeks and then the other.
He caught her chin with his fingertips and kissed her mouth before she could draw back. “Not a problem,” he murmured against her lips.
“A glass of vino?” She crossed the porch, leaving him no choice but to follow. She was still wearing the same flowered dress she had been wearing when she’d met him earlier, but she was now barefoot and her hair was windblown, as if she’d been on the beach. When he’d kissed her, he could smell the salt air on her skin.
“Sure.”
“A Malbec?”
“Argentine?” He entered the kitchen area behind her. It had been years since he’d been in the cottage. The entire kitchen had been remodeled: stainless steel appliances, tile floor, granite countertops. It was a beautiful home with an open floor plan, giant windows, and a porch on the ocean side that ran the length of the house.
“You prefer Italian wine?” She took two wine tumblers from a cabinet. “I can see what else we have.”
“No, no, Malbec is great. I just expected”—he chuckled—“Italian wine, I suppose.”
“I get tired of Italian wine. Last winter Celeste and I went to Argentina and toured many vineyards. I returned home with an unquenchable thirst for the blood-red nectar of the Malbec grape. A French grape originally.”
Fin liked the way she thought. Interesting that they both had blood on their minds…
She pushed a wine bottle and corkscrew into his hands and swept up the glasses. “The beach is beautiful at night. It’s my favorite time. Let’s sit on the porch.”
The porch was dark and she flipped off the house lights behind them before stepping outside.
“Wow, what a view.”
They stood side by side at the rail and looked out on the dark beach. In the distance, Fin could just make out the white froth of the waves that washed onto the sand.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” She sat down on a chaise lounge and set the glasses on a small table.
He opened the bottle and poured each of them a healthy portion. She patted the space beside her on the cushioned chaise and he joined her there.
“Chin chin.” She clinked her glass against his and raised it in a toast. “Squisito,” she said, taking a sip and sitting back against the lounge chair, nestled in beside him.
He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. It was actually chilly out and she felt good against him. “You’re what’s squisita,” he told her, kissing her. And she was delicious. He tasted the cherry and oak of the wine on her lips, and the sweetness of her passion. Not just for him, but for life. It was there everywhere he looked, in the way she dressed, the way she moved, the way her eyes sparkled. “Squisita e bella.”
She covered his lips with her fingertips. “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.
“Do what?” Holding out his hand so as not to spill the wine on her, he nuzzled her neck.
She took another sip of wine and set down the glass. “You know.” She looked into his eyes. “Say things. Flatter me. I’ve already invited you to make love to me.” She shook her head, her voice a husky whisper. “I don’t need to be wooed.”
“But everyone deserves to be wooed, Elena.” He took another drink and put the glass on the deck beside the chair.
“Not me.”
Again, he heard a hint of tragedy in her voice that he had suspected before. He sensed she did not have an easy life. There was something about the pain in her voice that made him want to hold her. Protect her.
“Come here,” he whispered, pulling her closer.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she closed her eyes and kissed him. At first, their kisses were tentative. Exploring, but it didn’t take long for things to heat up.
“Make love to me, Fin,” she whispered passionately. “Make them stop, make them stop in my head.” She kissed him again and again, hard, her kisses punctuated with words. “Just for a few minutes.”
He pushed her hair off her face, trying to get her to look at him, but she wouldn’t. “Make what stop?” he panted between kisses.
“Their screams.”
Chapter 9
Elena raised the filmy skirt of her dress and threw one leg over his. Hands around her waist, Fin lifted her up and then settled her on his lap. As a curtain of her dark hair fell around him, he wondered if he’d found yet another woman who was not quite mentally stable. There had been others over the centuries. His family teased that he attracted them. But Elena didn’t seem crazy; the others, he had known from the beginning.
She plunged her tongue into his mouth and he questioned if it really mattered if she was a little nutty. After all, didn’t crazy people have as much right to sex as sane people? And that was what this was all about. Sex. They’d both agreed to that.
But something felt different here. Again, he felt an overwhelming sense that he knew Elena. Knew of her. But he couldn’t put his finger on the memory. Actually, it was hard to think about anything right now, other than getting his rocks off.
His heart pounded as he slid his hand over her calf, brushing the back of her knee before moving under the skirt of her dress. Then higher. Her skin was silky smooth, her legs muscular and well shaped. For an older woman, she had an amazing body. She had an amazing body for a woman ten years her junior.
Elena knew the dance of lovemaking and orchestrated it well. She molded her body to his, pressing her breasts into his chest, moaning softly as his fingertips found the silk edge of her panties.
Fin had been chilly when he stepped out onto the porch, but he was pretty sure his body temperature had gone up ten degrees. He cupped the curve of her buttocks and she pushed her groin into his. He crushed her mouth with his mouth, unable to satisfy his desire to taste her. To possess her.
“Would you like to go inside?” he whispered when they came up for air.
She shook her head. “Take it off.” She sat back and grabbed the hem of his T-shirt. “Everything.” She pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on the deck.
He heard his wineglass tip over, but as his fingers found the waistband of his shorts, thoughts of spilt wine flew out of his head. She slid back and tugged on his shorts.
“Not so fast.” He pushed her hands away. “I want to see you.”
She shook her head. “No romance, Fin. Please.” She slid off him and stood beside the chaise. “Take them off,” she instructed.
As he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, she reached under her dress. His heart was in his throat as he watched her lift her hands up, then pull them down. She stepped out of the silk lace panties.
He had just enough time to shed his shorts and boxers before she was climbing onto the chair with him. “Elena,” he breathed, taking her into his arms and shifting her onto her back. “We have a little time.”
She laughed, her voice throaty with building need. “Time,” she repeated. “If only you knew.”
“They won’t be back for hours,” he told her. But as the words came out of his mouth, he got the impression that they weren’t talking about the same thing.
Crazy women.
He always said he liked all kinds of women: skinny, fat, blond, brunette. So he liked them sane or crazy. So what?
He pushed her down into the soft cushions and straddled her, taking care to distribute his weight carefully so he didn’t hurt her. She tried to pull her dress up, but he pushed it down. Elena was so hot. So soft in the right places. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself.
She slid her hands over his bare shoulders, arching her neck, beckoning him.
He kissed her mouth, then her cheek, cupping a small, firm breast. It was all going so well, so humanly. Then, one second he was thinking about her dark nipple beneath his thumb, the next, her blood.
But how could he resist the desire, the way she arched her back and lengthened her neck? It was almost as if she understood his true need.
He pressed his mouth to the pulse of her throat and she lifted her hips to his, effectively stroking him with her mons veneris. His tongue flicked out of his mouth and he tasted her hot, salty skin.
Perspiration beaded above his upper lip.
He slid his mouth downward over the curve of her breasts where they rose and fell at the neckline of her dress. Cupping one with his hand, he closed his mouth over the fabric, feeling her hard nipple in his mouth.
But he was still thinking about her neck. About her blood pulsing just beneath the surface of her skin.
Elena ran her hands over his bare buttocks, squeezing. Kneading.
Fin’s heart was pounding. His pulse racing. He couldn’t catch his breath. He was utterly intoxicated by the scent of her skin, the sound of her panting breath in his ear. Behind him, he heard the waves crashing and he thought about all the times over all the centuries that he’d made love to a woman beside the ocean.
But there had never been anyone like this woman in his arms right now.
He rose up and buried his face in her silky hair, breathing in the scent of her, trying to give himself a moment.
“Enough foreplay,” Elena groaned in his ear.
Beneath him, he felt her tug up the hem of her dress until they were bare skin against bare skin.
Fin wanted to make it last longer. For her. For himself. For all the lonely nights when he lay in bed wishing he could be like her. Wishing he could be human.
But when she clasped her warm fingers around his sensitive flesh, he knew delay was no longer an option. His hand on hers, she guided him inside her and she cried out when he sank deep.
Elena lay against the angled back of the chaise lounge and raised her hands over her head as if to surrender to him. He pushed hard into her but then, feeling a strange swell of tenderness, he threaded his fingers into hers. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, studying her in the darkness. “Look at me.”
She shook her head, biting her love-bruised lips, and turned her face away from him.
“Elena—” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek.
“Please, don’t do this.”
He stopped, suddenly fearing he had made a mistake. Never once in all these centuries had he ever taken a woman against her will and he wasn’t about to start now. She’d made it plain she wanted sex, but had she changed her mind? He gritted his teeth. “Don’t do what?” he whispered.
“Don’t make me cry,” she managed, her lower lip now quivering. “Because I’ll never be able to stop.”
Suddenly, his heart ached for her. For whatever her misfortune had been. And he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for having even let the thought of taking her blood cross his mind.
“Just take me there,” she begged, eyes still closed. “You know where. You know how. I know you do.”
Fin slipped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder for a moment. He breathed in the sweet smell of her sweaty skin, her silky hair, and the ocean breeze until all the scents seemed to mingle and become one. Then he began to move inside her. If a woman asked for an orgasm, he was going to do his best to provide it.
At first, Elena just lay there, half reclining, half sitting, her arms at her sides, her face turned away from him.
He moved slowly, giving her the time she needed.
She lifted her hips beneath him, first gently, then harder. Faster. She threw her arms around his neck and sank her manicured nails into the flesh of his back.
“Sì, sì, come quello. Like that,” she cried.
Fin kept his focus. He wanted to do this for her. He wanted to take away the screaming in her head, no matter whose it was. Even if it was her own.
She came hard, grinding her hips against him, gasping. Moaning. “Per favore, per favore,” she repeated again and again, clinging to him. Please.
Sometimes it was the way a woman touched him that pushed him over the edge. Other times it was just the thought of her blood. This time, it was Elena’s voice, begging him. For what, he didn’t know.
Elena was sitting in the dark on the steps that led from the cottage’s front porch onto the beach when she heard her sister call her name. Elena was half tempted not to answer. But Celeste would know where she was whether she responded or not. Celeste always knew.
“On the stairs,” Elena called, in English. Though Celeste preferred speaking Italian, Elena always tried to speak the native language when in a foreign country.
She felt her sister’s presence at the top of the steps, and glanced over her shoulder. “Did you enjoy the movie?”
“It was fine. I think Beppe and Vittore enjoyed it. A man movie. Lots of shooting and blowing up cars.” She looked out over the sand dunes for a moment as if she could see what Elena could see. But how could she possibly? “Brrr,” she murmured, drawing her pashmina tighter around her shoulders. “It’s chilly tonight.” She looked down at Elena. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Not so cold.” Elena wrapped her arms around her knees. She was cold, but she didn’t mind. The cool air made her feel alive.
Elena hoped her sister would go back into the house; she wanted to be alone, but the hope was short-lived. Behind her, she heard footfalls on the steps.
“He seems nice, the young man.” Celeste settled on the riser beside Elena.
“Mmm-hmm.” From where they sat, halfway down the staircase, they could see over the shadowed outline of the sand dunes, to the white beach that led to the water’s edge. The tide crashed rhythmically, its sound a comfort.
Celeste put her arm around Elena’s shoulders. “Not cold? You’re frozen.” She rubbed her hand up and down her sister’s arm.
Elena said nothing.
“How long did he stay?” Celeste asked.
Elena continued to watch the outgoing tide, imagining what it would be like to ride the waves out into the great Atlantic. To drift in the swells and let them carry her where they may. “Not long.”
“Does he know that you know?”
“He does not.”
Her sister was quiet for a moment. “Will you see him again?”
Elena closed her eyes, trying to shut out the vision that kept flashing in her head tonight. Bodies on the piazza, their blood slick on the stone. Why did she keep seeing it so vividly? Why now? What was it about this little town that was dredging up the memories? She opened her eyes. “Perhaps I will see him again. Perhaps I will not.”
“You are full of information.”
“What do you want to know, Celeste?” Elena’s voice was terse, but not because she was offended by the question. She was just annoyed that her sister was making too much out of her date with Fin. “Did I make love with him? I did. Will I again? Perhaps.”
“I do not have to tell you, it is not a good idea to become involved with him.”
“I’m not involved. I don’t get involved with men. I just have sex with them. You know that.” She ran her hands over her dress where it covered her knees, remembering she had left her panties on the deck. She would have to retrieve them or risk one of her nieces finding them in the morning while breakfasting. “I wish I had a cigarette,” she murmured. “I miss that. A
cigarette after sex. Especially the unfiltered French ones. The ones we used to buy in that little shop in Paris.”
“We gave them up, remember?” Celeste’s voice was gentle. Kind.
“So as not to set a bad example for the children. Yes. I remember.” Elena laughed, but without mirth. The thought was tragic, really, if one gave it much thought.
Celeste drew her pashmina around Elena’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “It is not that I do not want you to be happy. You know that. Of all women, you deserve a little happiness, Elena. After what you have been through—”
“Could we not talk about this?” She wanted to shrug Celeste off but stopped short of that. Her sister was only trying to be understanding. But Celeste didn’t understand Elena. She couldn’t. Celeste couldn’t possibly comprehend the profound loneliness, the regret so heavy in Elena’s heart that sometimes she feared she could not take another breath.
And yet she always did…
“I would never risk your family’s safety. I’ll be careful, Celeste. I promise. I always am.”
Celeste rested her cheek on Elena’s shoulder. “But this is different this time, this man. Yes?”
Elena was shocked by the moisture that welled up in her eyes. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. It had been different with Fin. She had tried to deny it then, was still trying to deny it now. She and Fin had made some sort of emotional connection Elena didn’t understand. A disturbing connection. “I’ll be careful,” she repeated.
Celeste hugged her. “This isn’t just about the safety of our family. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
As Elena wrapped one arm around her sister and returned the embrace, she watched a figure emerge from the sand dunes in front of the house and walk onto the beach. She recognized the silhouette and wondered where he was going. Celeste did not see him and Elena did not call her attention to him.
“You make too much of this. Fin is no different than any of the others, really,” Elena said, still watching the boy on the beach. “You worry too much, little sister.”
Immortal Page 9
