“I never had the chance to ask you, Jerry,” he said, drawing the other vampire’s attention. “How did you know who I was? I mean, obviously I’m a vampire, but you knew me specifically. How? I’ve never met you.”
Jerry responded with the same sincerity and respect he always showed Vincent. “Lord Enrique. We were in Mexico City for a meeting, and you walked in as we were leaving. We were across the room, but Enrique made a point of stopping Camarillo and telling him to avoid you, because you were very powerful. I don’t think he knew I was listening, or maybe he didn’t care. But I think Camarillo decided right then that he wanted you for his own, because Enrique feared you.”
Vincent seemed to think for a moment. “I remember that meeting. He’d created a problem with some vampires in Cabo and wanted me to clean up his mess. I was only in Mexico City that one night.” He looked up and found Lana’s gaze upon him, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was, how a chance meeting had changed so many lives. If he’d arrived a few minutes later that night, if Camarillo had never received Enrique’s warning, Jerry and the others would still be enslaved, and Vincent might not now be set on destroying Enrique sooner rather than later.
Vincent clapped Jerry on the shoulder. “You’d better get Carolyn onto the plane. They’ll be leaving soon.”
Jerry gave a little bow, then easily lifted the sleeping Carolyn and carried her up the stairs. Finally, only Michael was left, but he clearly didn’t want to leave at all.
“You’ve made enemies with all of this. If Enrique hasn’t already heard of it, he will soon. And he won’t want word of what he’s done getting out, not even to his own vamps. And especially not to the other lords. I don’t like you being out here alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Lana.”
“No disrespect intended,” Michael said, giving her an apologetic glance, “but Ms. Arnold isn’t . . .” He let out a long breath, clearly searching for a word that wouldn’t offend her.
“You mean she isn’t a vampire,” Vincent supplied, seeming more bemused than anything else.
“Exactly.”
“We’ll be fine, Michael. I think we both know Enrique has more pressing matters on his plate right now. We have a few days before he can realistically act, and that’s all we’ll need. We’ll finish this mission of Raphael’s and see what comes next.”
Michael gave him a somber look. “Mexico City is next.”
Vincent nodded. “The only question is the timing. And I have a strong suspicion that what Xuan Ignacio has to tell us will bear on that decision.”
Michael didn’t look happy, but he nodded his agreement. “Remember your promise, Sire.”
“Yeah, yeah, no Mexico City without you. You’re like a nagging child.”
Michael laughed, then glanced back at the jet as the engines increased in pitch. “That’s the pilot telling me to get my ass on board. Take care, jefe. And keep me informed.”
Vincent pulled Michael in for a hug, then pushed him toward the stairs. “Go, before we humiliate ourselves by weeping in front of Lana.”
Michael grinned and loped up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Lana envied his energy. The way she was feeling, she’d have been clinging to the handrail and dragging herself up one step at a time.
Vincent pulled her away from the jet as someone retracted the stairs and swung the hatch closed. By the time the plane was taxiing slowly from the hangar, the two of them were already in the SUV. And before it turned onto the runway, they were speeding back through the airport, heading for the main highway.
Lana checked her seatbelt, then settled into the front passenger seat with a relieved sigh, feeling oddly at home, as if she was back in her seat, and she could relax now that the SUV was restored to its proper order. And that meant it was once again just she and Vincent racing through the night.
“How far to the hotel?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“Fifty miles give or take.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Fifty miles? Wasn’t there anything closer?”
“Of course there was, but not the kind of place I wanted. You’ll be glad once we get there.”
“I’ll be dead once we get there. I’m tired and I’m hungry. I need to eat, you know. Real food.” She was beginning to sound like a whiny child, but she didn’t care. She was starving and she wanted a shower.
“Close your eyes, querida. I’ll wake you before we arrive,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Or that it didn’t matter. Probably the latter, since he was so used to calling the shots.
Lana could have argued, but it would have been only for argument’s sake, because the stubborn ass wasn’t going to change his mind. He’d just smile and do whatever he wanted anyway. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, not really believing she’d sleep, but not in the mood to argue, either.
The last thing she heard was Vincent speaking to someone on the phone, arranging in rapid-fire Spanish for a meal to be waiting when they arrived.
Lana woke with a start when Vincent stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. She stared around with the dazed perceptions of someone who’d fallen asleep in one place and awakened somewhere else. Somewhere she’d never been before.
She looked over and found Vincent watching her. “You ready?” he asked.
She blinked in confusion, then studied the busy city around them. It could have been almost any big city, anywhere in the world. Anywhere in the Spanish-speaking world, anyway. Ducking her head, she looked out Vincent’s window at the hotel. She had no idea where they were, but discovered she didn’t really care. As long as there was a bed and a shower, and at least a candy bar in the minibar, she’d survive.
“Ready,” she told him. She went to open her door, but found an eager young man had beaten her to it.
“Bienvenida, señora,” he said with an eager politeness that fit the elegant façade of the hotel before them.
Vincent was waiting for her on the other side of the SUV. He held out his hand and she took it, bemused at how completely natural it felt. Only a few days ago . . . she was sure if she counted back, she could figure out exactly how long they’d been traveling together, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was how completely things had changed. They’d gone from being distrustful strangers to reluctant partners, and now? Now, they held hands as they walked into the elegant hotel Vincent had chosen, looking for all the world like a real couple.
A doorman pulled open the heavy glass door precisely as they arrived, echoing the valet’s welcoming sentiments, seeming not to notice that the new guests were dusty and dirty and that their clothes bore some rather mysterious stains that one didn’t want to examine too closely. Lana ran a self-conscious hand over her hair, knowing even as she did it that there was nothing she could do to repair the wreckage before they reached the reception desk.
Vincent, of course, strolled into the sweet, cool air of the lobby like he owned the place, as confident in his filthy and blood-encrusted clothing as he’d have been in a tailored tuxedo. Lana caught one well-toned female patron giving Vincent a bold and admiring gaze as she headed out for an early morning jog. Or at least her clothes made it look like she wanted everyone to believe that’s where she was going. Lana wasn’t convinced any serious jogger would wear that much makeup. But then she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable on the subject. She glared at the female barracuda and tightened her grip on Vincent’s hand, pulling herself closer to his side.
He glanced down and gave her a knowing wink. Lana rolled her eyes, but the damage was done. He knew what she’d done and why.
There was a short line at the reception desk, but Vincent didn’t stop. Instead, he walked right up to the other end of the counter where a serious-looking man stood, concentrating on something on the screen in front of him.
He glanced up when Vincent arrived, and his eyes went wide.
“Señor Kuxim, bienvenido,” he said, seeming pleased as punch that Vincent had deigned to drop in at the last moment.
“Felipe,” Vincent greeted him, continuing in English, “Is our suite ready?”
“But, of course. I shall inform the kitchen of your arrival.” Felipe switched languages smoothly as he pulled an already-prepared folio and keys out of a drawer and handed them over. “Your usual.”
“Efficient as always. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And Felipe beamed so brightly in saying it that Lana believed him.
They had the elevator to themselves, which was good, because in the confined space Lana could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant. The perfect Vincent wasn’t exactly an ad for men’s cologne, either, which she actually found rather reassuring.
He slid his key card into the slot reserved for certain floors and the elevator sped upward without stopping. The hallway stretched out to either side when the doors opened. It was perfectly silent, partly, Lana was certain because of the early hour, but the thick carpet and wallpapered walls were designed to absorb sound, and the rooms were probably well-insulated. There’d be no banging headboards in this hotel.
Their room, or suite according to Felipe, was almost all the way down at the end, and Lana was sure that if she’d had the energy to turn around, she’d have found little deposits of dirt and mud from where her feet were dragging along the rich carpet.
Vincent inserted the key and pushed open the heavy door, entering ahead of her and checking out the room before walking back and pulling her all the way inside. Then he closed and locked the door.
Lana was more than tired, but that didn’t stop her from admiring the room. It was spacious and elegant, with subdued lighting, a big flat screen TV, and huge fucking bed that looked like heaven.
“I need a shower,” she said.
“Go ahead,” Vincent told her. “The luggage should be here by the time you’re finished.”
She considered waiting. After all, Vincent probably wanted a shower as badly as she did, but since he offered, she decided to be selfish and take it.
The hotel bathroom was all gleaming pink marble and golden faucets, and it was bigger than her bedroom back home. Through a door on the left was a dressing area with enough closet space to house her entire wardrobe and still look empty. A basket of organic bath supplies sat on the counter, so, rather than wait for her duffel bag, she plucked out the bottles of shampoo and conditioner, along with an unscented soap and placed them all in the shower. Turning on the hot water, she let it run to steam up the room. There was a rainfall shower head, but she left that one off. Tonight, or rather this morning, she wanted a hard, pounding massage. Besides, she needed to wash her hair. The images of what Carolyn had done to Albert Serrana kept running through her head, like a video on replay. But it wasn’t the brutality of it that bothered her, because the bastard deserved everything he got. No, what made Lana shudder was the conviction that bits and pieces of him were still clinging to her hair and skin and clothes.
In minutes, she’d left her boots and clothing in a pile on the floor and was standing under the pounding water, letting the heat soak into sore muscles. The door opened and she recognized Vincent despite the fogged-up shower glass. There was no mistaking his height and breadth, or the graceful way he moved. She thought at first that he meant to join her and wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She had no doubts left that they’d be having sex sooner rather than later, but at the same time, she didn’t know if she wanted her first time with him to be in the shower. Especially not when the water was still running pink with the blood she was trying to wash out of her hair. Ick.
Vincent must have had similar doubts, because he turned around and left the room. Or maybe it was simply too close to sunrise. That thought had her hurrying to finish up. It wouldn’t be fair if she got to shower and he didn’t.
She rinsed the conditioner from her hair and stepped into the relatively cooler air of the bathroom, wrapping a big fluffy towel around her hair. She’d noticed terry bathrobes in the closet, so rather than taking time to towel dry, she pulled on one of the robes and walked out in the main room.
The first thing she noticed was the scent of food. Delicious, spicy food. Her stomach growled loudly enough that Vincent noticed. But then what didn’t he notice? He looked up and nodded at the room service cart that had shown up while she showered.
“As you requested,” he said.
Lana lifted the metal cover on the main dish and her stomach growled even more loudly. She didn’t know exactly the proper name for this meal, but she called it carne asada. There was a separate covered container with freshly-made flour tortillas, and she nearly swooned.
Vincent’s laugh made her glance up at him. “Just looking at you eyeing that food is making me hard, querida.”
Lana blushed. “Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry. You’ll be looking at me like that very soon.” Her whole body heated as he continued. “Unfortunately, sunrise is near and I need a shower.”
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
Vincent walked over and cupped her face in his hand. “Don’t be sorry. I like you sweet and clean.” He kissed her lips softly, just a quick brush of his mouth. “Eat your dinner, Lana.”
She waited until she heard the water go on, then sat down and tried not to groan with pleasure as she ate her first real meal in days. One thing about hanging with vamps, they tended to forget that humans needed food. The meals she’d managed to find over the last few days had all been grabbed on the run, and even she got tired of candy bars and chips.
Lana had finished eating and was pushing the cart over to the hallway door to put it outside, when she heard the bathroom door open.
“Don’t open that door,” Vincent said from behind her.
She turned to find him standing there completely naked, of course. Vincent had only two settings, naked or fully clothed. He was drying himself with a big towel, but didn’t even pretend to be trying to cover himself. She told herself to focus on his face, but it was difficult. Vincent clothed was gorgeous. Vincent naked was the kind of beauty you usually saw only in museums.
He caught her admiring look and gave her a wicked grin, teeth flashing white against his dark skin and even darker beard.
Lana sighed. “Should I call someone to retrieve the cart?” she asked him, trying to ease the sexual tension in the room. Or maybe she was the only who felt it, because he seemed relaxed enough.
“I’ll take it out,” he said and started across the room toward her.
“You don’t have any clothes on,” she said primly. “I’ll take it.”
“There’s no one out there to see,” he commented and grabbed hold of the cart.
“Then there’s no reason that I can’t do it.”
Vincent rolled his eyes, then grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, standing there in all his naked glory holding the door for her. “Are you going to be this stubborn when we fuck?”
Lana’s face heated as she pushed the cart past him. But she rallied, giving as good as she got. “Who says we’re going to fuck?”
She took more time than she needed to situate the cart against the hallway wall, stalling for time. Vincent hung the No Molestar sign on the doorknob, waited until she was back inside, then closed and locked the door and crowded her against the wall with his big body. His big, naked body.
“Your body tells me we’re going to fuck,” he murmured, his fingers making quick work of the knot on her robe. He pushed the plush fabric away, his hand gliding over the bare skin of her belly to rest on her hip. “And you know it, too. I see it on your face every time you look at me.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Not a teasing touch of his mouth, not a fast, hard smack,
but a lingering, luscious kiss that had her rising up on her toes to meet him, her lips opening in welcome, her tongue caressing his, warm and sensuous, tasting of heat and spice and maleness. His hand dropped to her butt and pulled her against him, letting her feel the length of his arousal.
She arched against him and he groaned. “Damn it.”
Lana pulled back and stared up at him, her brain so fogged with desire that it was a moment before she understood the problem. Sunrise.
“Oh, God, Vincent, I’m sor—”
“Stop apologizing, damn it.” His eyes closed suddenly and he seemed to slump where he stood. When he opened his eyes, it was slowly, as if the lids were too heavy. “I have to get to bed, querida. There’s no time.”
Lana didn’t hesitate. Putting her shoulder under his arm, she walked with him to the big bed, tossing the decorative pillows to the floor and pulling back the covers just in time for Vincent to fall onto the mattress.
“Tonight, Lana,” he whispered. Then he rolled onto his belly and he was out. Lana stroked her fingers over his back, feeling the firm bands of muscle beneath smooth golden skin, tracing along the length of his spine all the way down to his very fine ass. She was tempted to touch that, too. To squeeze the firm round muscles. But she didn’t. That was a little too pervy for her.
She sighed and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his waist. A jaw-cracking yawn reminded her that she’d been up all night, too. Hurrying back to the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and more or less dried her hair. It would take too long to dry it all the way, and she was too tired. Doffing the robe, she shuffled into the big closet. A tired smile crossed her face at the sight of the two dusty duffels sitting in the middle of the elegant dressing room. She dug through hers and found another tank top and the blue, satin shorts. She eyed the skimpy outfit doubtfully, then shook her head. It was pointless to pretend any longer. She’d been sleeping in the same bed with Vincent for days. If they’d arrived at the hotel even an hour earlier, he’d probably be buried inside her by now. She yanked the tank top over her head and stepped into the short shorts, thinking she probably should have saved time and gone to bed in the buff. But she wasn’t quite that certain of him yet. Maybe when he woke at sunset, he’d have changed his mind. Or maybe something would come up. Something other than the impressive erection she’d felt against her belly earlier.
Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8) Page 26
