“Giorgio ce li dice serv refreshments speciali per i vampires.”
Though her Italian was rusty, Julie was pretty sure Stefan said Giorgio had mentioned the place served special refreshments for vampires. Feeling very much out of place and more than a little afraid, she laid her hand on Stefan’s muscular forearm, concentrating on the conversation to translate as much as she could of the rapid Italian they spoke. From what she managed to decipher, she knew Stefan had introduced himself and identified his clan, and that Gus had shown great pleasure in meeting what he apparently considered an important guest.
Si. Segualo, i miei amici. Good. Gus had declared them friends and asked them to follow him somewhere. He lowered his voice, speaking now in unaccented English. “Come this way. I have a table for you among our very special guests.”
Gus escorted them through the public rooms, leading the way through a swinging door to what she assumed led to the establishment’s kitchen. It wasn’t that at all, but a second lounge, just as luxuriously appointed, similar to the public area. Soft blues music wafted through the room from ceiling-mounted speakers, sensual sounds that surrounded and encompassed them. Muted strobe lights bathed the room in tones of red, purple, blue and green. A few couples swayed on a raised hardwood dance floor while others sat at small round tables or in darkened corner booths, apparently intent on enjoying their drinks and engaging in quiet conversation.
“Vampires?” All of the occupants looked perfectly normal to Julie, rather like an assortment of prosperous businesspeople out for a night on the town. Not a single one had blood-red lips, white-white skin, long red talons or a widow’s peak. Not all of them even sported the raven-hued locks she’d associated with vampires, even since she’d accepted Stefan’s tale.
“Every one of them, except for a few mortal companions like you, miss.” Gus smiled broadly, revealing his own needle-sharp fangs as he shifted his gaze to Stefan. “It’s a real honor to have one of the d’Argent clan visiting with us. You just let us know if you or the pretty lady need anything.”
“I imagine Julie would like a more conventional drink than what you serve back here.” Stefan squeezed her hand. “Julie?”
This was too much. Not at all the dark, scary place she’d imagined. Her gaze traveled over the patrons again, men in custom-tailored business suits or casual attire, well-heeled women in their Donna Karan and Valentino creations. Except for an occasional flash of fangs and the universally dark red color of the drinks they sipped with the same polite restraint as Julie had been taught to consume her own libations, the patrons looked much like those who’d been enjoying the cocktail hour in the main room she and Stefan had just passed through.
The past few hours had broadened her mind on the subject of vampires far more than she would have imagined. Every minute she was finding it easier to accept what Stefan had explained—that there were good and bad vampires, the same as there were good and bad mortals. It made her proud and happy to realize she was standing next to one of the good ones.
“Julie?” Stefan repeated her name, giving her hand a small squeeze.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll have a glass of red burgundy if it’s not too much trouble.” At least her drink would fit in, color-wise, with what seemed to be the other patrons’ drink of choice.
Gus nodded. “We just got in a shipment of some fine vintages from the Côte de Nuits region. Fine, full-bodied reds. Perfectly matured to provide a silky-smooth taste. An exceptional quality wine, or so I’m told.”
“The Côte de Nuits produces some of the most exceptional wines in Burgundy. Julie?” When she nodded, Stefan turned to Gus. “That will be fine. I’ll have a large draft of O negative.” Stefan rested his hand along the upper curve of Julie’s buttock then glanced around the lounge. “You haven’t seen any members of the Reynard clan lately, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m not likely to either. The Reynards aren’t welcome in my club. Vicious, the lot of them, throwbacks to times no rational vampire would want to relive. They give law-abiding folks of our kind a bad name, every last one of them. You two relax, enjoy the music. I’ll have a waiter bring your drinks.”
Folks of our kind. Stefan’s kind, but not Julie’s. A frisson of fear—no, not fear but definitely unease—niggled at Julie’s mind. She’d gotten caught up in the magic of Stefan’s smile, the heady pleasure of his embrace. The carnal touch of some strange breed of creature, human yet not human, immortal. And she didn’t really know the man—the vampire—to whom she’d offered her body, her trust. Though he’d told her where he lived, he’d omitted many of the most basic details of his existence. Now that she was getting over the initial shock of learning what he was, she wanted more. More knowledge and more of him. “How old are you?” she blurted, meeting his glittering emerald gaze.
“Chronologically, a little over four hundred fifty years. The equivalent of around thirty in mortal years. Over the years, the older males of our clan have been destroyed, so I’m among the oldest hunters of my clan—yet a mere youngster compared with Reynard and many like him.” He picked up the frosted mug a waiter had set before him and took a tentative sip of the dark red fluid it held. “Not quite the quality I’ve come to expect in Paris, but it’s good. Refreshing.”
Julie couldn’t help shuddering. Not so much at the sight of Stefan sipping blood from a mug, or even by the fact he’d just told her he’d lived for over four centuries, but at a woman on the dance floor who’d just sunk her teeth—fangs—into the neck of her partner. The look on the man’s face hinted not at agony but more like ecstasy. He looked almost as though he were experiencing a sexual climax right there on the floor. When he lowered his hands and cupped his partner’s buttocks, Julie squirmed.
The woman’s skirt swirled about his pale fingers, the burgundy chiffon dark—bloodlike—against his slacks. Soft, sensual, it moved with the breeze from their motion, kissing his dark gray suit pants and then retreating. They swayed to the escalating rhythm of muted drums and mellow woodwinds that spoke of smoke-filled rooms, a time live with action . . . untold forbidden pleasures.
I’m not a voyeur. I’m not. Yet Julie couldn’t take her gaze away from the couple. She imagined the man dragging his partner to the floor, spreading her legs, returning her love-bite with many of his own. Not just on the pale column of her throat but on her nipples. Her belly. The insides of her quivering thighs. When he’d worked her into a frenzy of wanting, he’d tear away her panties, free himself and take her right on the dance floor, oblivious to the stares—the yearnings—of their fellow customers.
Julie trembled with fear—and yearning too. What was it about this scene—highly erotic yet anything but pornographic—that made her yearn to drag Stefan onto the dance floor? To beg him to claim her here and now? She met his gaze, saw raw hunger in his expression.
“That’s the sort of a mating dance that made vampires enjoy. The males are unable to have conventional sex,” Stefan explained, as though he’d read her mind.
Damn. She’d forgotten he was a telepath. He probably had been reading her every thought. She couldn’t help remembering how he’d taken her last night. How he’d fit himself inside her and taken her until she exploded in a blaze of sensation. Until he’d come. Twice. “I remember now. You said you were—”
“A born vampire.” He smiled, his fangs a flash of white made brighter by the colored lights. “Born vampires can mate as humans do. Occasionally we even produce a baby vampire to proliferate our clans.
“And yes, it would heighten your orgasm if I did to you what she’s doing to him, at the moment I began to spill my seed. But I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I’d risk turning you . . . or even killing you if I couldn’t control my bloodlust.”
“Turning me?”
“Making you like them. Consigning you to an eternity in my world.”
Julie sipped her wine, savoring the rich, slightly fruity flavor of the fine vintage. Questions tumbled around in her mind, demanding to be set free, explored.
The otherworldly lovers’ searing passion encompassed Julie like a soft, sensual cloak of fire, red, orange and electric blue. Erotic echoes of the mellow music caressed her ears, her soul. Her nipples tingled, and she grew damp between her legs. The dry, fruity essence of the fine red wine heated her throat, curled lovingly in her belly.
What was happening to her? She didn’t get swept away by colors—by passion. The masters who’d tried to unleash her inhibitions and encourage her to express her feelings unabashedly in her art had given up, certain she lacked the emotional depth necessary for greatness.
Here in a den of vampires, though, the haze of convention that had dulled her emotions fled. She felt raw terror, not for her life but for her very being. Fear that was deep and real yet eclipsed by an insatiable desire to become part of the milieu, to immerse herself completely in her vampire lover. Excitement crackled all around her, and when she reached over and took Stefan’s hand she experienced a jolt of carnal need, yet something more. A forever kind of feeling, a need for him to take her to that plane of ecstasy she sensed lay just beyond her grasp. “Dance with me,” she whispered, every cell in her body aching for . . .
A taste of the rich, red fluid from his lips. Confirmation he was indeed of another time, another place, another world where he might take her, keep her cocooned in his desire so her own might flourish. A place where he would keep her safe from harm. Safe from the monster that was Louis Reynard.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” Setting down his mug, Stefan rose as though resigned to honor her plea, as tall and commanding a presence among his own kind as he was among Julie’s. He held her chair then took her hand. A familiar song from Chicago’s gangster era blared through the speakers, its heavy percussion and wailing woodwinds beating out a rhythm that brought to mind crowded dance halls, gun-toting molls, and steamy sex. When they stepped onto the hardwood dance floor, the strobe lights reflected brilliant shards of red and gold off his raven hair, forming a macabre halo that encompassed him and her in a kaleidoscope of sensation.
When he pulled her into the circle of his embrace, Julie knew. She wanted him. But did she want to say good-bye to her mortal existence, live for centuries by his side in a shadow world instead of decades as a mortal in the only world she knew? Watch generation after generation of her friends and loved ones age and die while she lived on? Could she bear living for centuries with her father no longer there to give her advice and love?
You’d have centuries with Stefan. Forever in the safe haven of his embrace. Forever seeing all the shapes and colors in vivid hues, experiencing all the sensual, sexual pleasures of belonging to your vampire lover . . . Seduced by this place, the music, the seething sexuality he wrapped around her even as they swayed together fully clothed, Julie had her answer. She might regret it later, but she couldn’t resist. It felt right. So right . . .
“I want it all. Bite me, Stefan. Transport me to a plane beyond anywhere I’ve ever been. Invade my heart and body and mind and make them yours.”
He growled, a deep, anguished rumble that seemed to have come straight from his soul, but he grasped her hips, drew her close enough to feel the strength of his erection. Closer. The heat of his big hands molding the curve of her buttocks, the gentle motion of his breath on her hair, the brush of his chest against her nipples as he led her in the dance all stoked her desire to a fever pitch.
Then he took her mouth, wiped away any doubt that it was blood he’d drunk from that chilled stein. The slightly metallic taste was unmistakable, like the taste of her own blood when she’d sucked away the pain from a minor paper cut. Arousing, though, not revolting as she’d thought it might be. Hungry, she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, blatantly inviting him to plunge inside. His groan of acquiescence tickled her lips, and she opened them to his tongue’s insistent, rhythmic invasion.
God, but she wanted it all. Wanted it right here and now. Wanted him to raise her skirt, rip away her flimsy panties and impale her. She laid her head back, bared her throat as she’d seen the vampires do. “Bite me, now.”
“You’re just experiencing a dose of vampire sexual attraction,” he said, a touch of desperation in his voice. “Vampires have a strong seductive effect on mortals. I used it that first night to get you to let me into your home.”
“Are you using it now?”
“No, but—”
“Did you use it to seduce me?”
“Julie,” he said, his voice ragged. “No. Of course not. But—”
“Then my feelings are my own. Nothing you’ve planted in my mind. They’re only for you, no one else in this room.” She paused then looked into his eyes. “Did you want me, or was it all a trick?”
“I wanted you.”
“Then want me now.”
Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the influence of the otherworldly people around them, because Julie almost didn’t care that he’d influenced her that first night to save her life, and maybe other times he hadn’t told her about. She didn’t even care if he’d used his vampire powers to get her into bed. She knew he wanted her, as a woman always knew. That was all that mattered.
Though her masters had despaired of her artistic abilities, Stefan had somehow unleashed the depths of her emotions by his compelling presence. She recalled Giorgio once having insisted she was a true artist, and as such she had the ability to see beyond the surface. Perhaps she did, for now her inhibitions fled. She saw truth, uncolored by doubt or fear. Stefan was trying to protect her, but her true protection lay here, as close to him as she could get. “I want it all,” she whispered again.
He drew her closer, so close the pulsating heat of him seared her belly. His ragged breathing beat a staccato path along her temple . . . her jaw . . . her throat. She held her breath, waiting, but he came no closer. Instead he looked down into her eyes, his expression tortured. “I cannot. Cease tempting me, Julie, for I must not do this.”
She tried to talk, to persuade him he must, but the only sound that escaped her was a pitiful whimper . . . and a sob.
“Trust me, it’s for the best. Come, I’ll get some carryout and take you home.”
Chapter Eight
Stefan had never been so hard, so ready. Instead of beating slowly as it usually did, his heart pounded in his chest, pumping blood furiously through his tortured body. His fangs ached. Julie trembled beside him, her arousal obvious by the desperate way she clasped his thigh, the unmistakable scent of female arousal that filled his nostrils. If the distance to her town house had been even a kilometer longer, he’d have been unbearably tempted to lift her onto his lap, tear away the flimsy barrier of her panties and take her then and there.
When they arrived, she handed him her key, her hand shaking. “You do it. I can’t.”
He shifted one of the rice cartons that contained his meals for the next few days to the other hand, took the key, and opened the door. “Do you have somewhere I can keep this cold?”
“This way.” Her motion jerky, as if she was in a hurry, she led the way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “In here,” she said before turning to let Noodles in from the patio. “Hey, girl. It’s your bedtime.”
The refrigerator lit the otherwise darkened room, showcasing its contents—milk, eggs, some dainty-looking plastic cups of yogurt with pictures of fat black cherries and ruby-colored raspberries. A ripe peach and a slice of strawberry cheesecake. The neatly arranged food underscored the fact they were from different worlds. Stefan set the cartons on an empty shelf then closed the door with a hard thud.
The wall between them shouldn’t be breached. She’d lose too much. The tastes of Earth’s bounty. The warmth of the noonday sun. Sounds and smells and touches so familiar to mortals, so alien to those of his kind, who thrived in darkness. That barrier must not be breached, no matter how much they might both wish it otherwise.
He could not change for her. She must not change for him. The passion that sizzled between them could
not, must not last other than in his memories. With the room now in total darkness, he took her hand and led her, for she had not his ability to see in the dark, to the room where they’d first made love.
Yes, they’d made love. Not merely fucked to slake their mutual lust. Because he loved her, he’d meet her needs once more . . . take her to the heights of passion and beyond. But he wouldn’t change her. He’d save her from himself even if doing so destroyed him, and then he’d walk away. Even though he sensed that leaving her would do more to harm him than Louis Reynard ever could.
Maybe . . . Stefan considered how easily Claude had turned his mortal mate just weeks ago. How happy Marisa seemed to be, living in their vampire world. No. The centuries-old memory of Tina lying dead, victim of his love, flooded Stefan’s mind, steeled his resolve.
Beside her bed, he gently removed Julie’s clothes and his own. Her little whimpers when he stroked her fed his need. He concentrated on bringing her desire slowly back to fever pitch while holding his own desperate need ruthlessly in check.
Her pale hair felt like silk between his fingers, looked like spun gold in the dim light of the moon. He tunneled his fingers among the strands, indulging his need to taste her by claiming her mouth. With heart-wrenching trust he swore would not be misplaced, she opened to him, welcomed his tongue’s thrusts and met them eagerly. Her tongue tangled with his, brushed against the tips of his fangs, tempting him almost beyond his ability to resist. The heat of her hands on his bare back and ass felt so good. So right. As though fate had meant this to be. Meant her to be his mate.
Stefan deepened the kiss, anticipating . . . She’d taste sweet, so much sweeter than his sustenance. Like nectar, not necessity. He’d pierce her lightly, take just a sip.
You must not.
Giving heed to his inner voice, he broke the kiss, foiled temptation for now. Groaning audibly, he swept both hands down her body, cupping her beautiful breasts, rubbing his fingers gently over already engorged nipples and kneading the warm, pale flesh. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked when she moaned with apparent pleasure.
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