Gambler's Folly (Bookstrand Publishing Romance)

by Mellie E. Miller

  “Come, cara. It’s time to move on,” he said, as his arm went around her shoulders, and he turned toward the door to an area of the casino she’d never entered before. She saw him nod to Marco on the way, and he fell in behind them.

  They entered a hallway which led to his business office, outside the gaming area. “Marco,” he said, “guard the door and let no one in, no matter what happens. Capisce?”

  “Yes, Signor. I’ll watch.”

  He locked the door after they passed through into his office, and then turned back to her, his gaze seductive, yet threatening. She had crossed quickly to the other side of the desk once they’d entered, to keep out of reach.

  “Now, Damiano, this is not fair,” she complained. “You made me wait until we were all the way back upstairs, and then some. Don’t think I’m going to cave in to you now.”

  “Cara, you are the one who started this, and it is a dangerous game you are playing, one in which you don’t even understand the rules. I think maybe it’s time I taught you a lesson.”

  He removed his jacket and tie and carefully placed them on the back of the chair. Loosening the top button on his shirt, his look became predatory as he came over the top of the desk. She could have sworn she heard him growl.

  Jumping back, she was just out of his reach as he grabbed for her. She ducked and ran back around the desk.

  “Damiano, this is ridiculous. Can’t you take a joke?”

  His only response was to move toward her, stalking her like a great cat from the darkest jungle, his eyes never leaving hers. Once again his scent became overpowering, the scent which drove her wild with desire at the tamest of times.

  Tonight was not one of those times. Now, this new, enhanced scent compelled her to go to him, give herself to him, while something equally strong compelled her to make him prove he could take her.

  All the effort she had spent to arouse Damiano had affected her as well. Though determined to make him wait until they were back in the suite, his scent called to her, heady and intoxicating, a temptation to which she was destined to yield. She cleared her head and dodged another attempt.

  Watching Damiano, she could clearly see that his eyes had changed. They were now a dark green-gold, and the pupils were slits about halfway open. His canines, as he smiled at her, seemed more prominent. Oddly, her mouth felt strange, too, but she had no time to figure it out. He was once again on the move.

  Once caught, she tried to fight him off, on the principal of the matter, as her dress was torn from her body. He seemed to think he had to dominate every situation. It was time he learned a new tune. Of course, fighting him was like a Chihuahua fighting a wolf and destined to failure. One of his arms circled her body and crushed her against him. The fingers of his other hand seized her hair, forcing her face toward his.

  She felt his mouth on hers and attempted to resist, but inevitably he won the struggle, kissing her deeply, hungrily, as if he’d gone without for far too long. The taste of his mouth was like the ambrosia of the gods. Her defenses had been weakened by his scent and now his taste was the most exquisite and intoxicating wine she’d ever tasted. In seconds she was as eager as he was.

  He began to lower her to the floor, and she suddenly realized this wasn’t going as planned. Struggling with him once again, she looked into those green-gold eyes and heard a growl from deep in his chest. From some primitive part of her being, she bared her teeth at him and hissed like an angry tabby facing a German Shepherd. His eyes dilated, nostrils flared, as he forcefully pressed her into the thick carpet.

  Continuing his assault on her mouth, he was not prepared for the quick shove and roll she performed. Scrambling to her feet, she raced to the other side of the room. At some point, it had become a game of keep-away. While she wanted him worse than she’d ever wanted him before, he would have to win her over or take her by force. There would be no easy victory.

  His eyes dilated, he kept his gaze on her as he undressed. Frustrated, he tore the shirt off in a shower of buttons, while the trousers fell in a heap on the floor. He began to stalk toward her, slowly and carefully. Step by step he came up to her, his left shoulder to hers, and, still holding her gaze, growled softly. Growling back softly, she stood still as a statue, another change in his scent urging her to stillness.

  How long they stood there she could never say, but after a time, he slowly pivoted to stand behind her. With his hands on her shoulders, he inhaled her scent deeply, as his nose nuzzled the hair at the nape of her neck.

  Suddenly his teeth were on her throat, over her jugular, and he was once again forcing her to the floor, facedown. Lying beneath him, his teeth in her throat, she heard a sound reminiscent of a wild cat scream, finally recognizing the voice as her own. Releasing her throat, Damiano flipped her onto her back, his body on hers, waiting.

  Without knowing why, Karianna arched her back, exposing her throat to him. His teeth closed over her throat again, but gently, holding her there for a moment, before he began nipping her throat and neck playfully, and she his.

  Their lovemaking was wild, very nearly violent at first, and then slowed to painfully sensuous, and ended in fireworks. He was determined to wring from her every response she could give, every pleasure she could yield, each motion designed to tease from her even the faintest nuances of pleasure. And each time she reached her peak his tactics changed, bringing her again and again to her threshold of fulfilled desire.

  Finally, completely drained, she had given everything she had. Lying limply beneath him, desire sated, she said, “Dam, no more. I have no more to give.”

  “Cara,” he said quietly. “I demand everything. All or nothing. There is more for you to surrender, and I will have it.”

  He began again, slowly and masterfully, sensing exactly what would bring her once more to the fullness of her pleasure. As her senses awakened, her desire grew and blossomed under his insistent attentions. And at last, his release came with hers, producing a white-hot explosion of energy within her. The cat in him roared its triumph, as the cat in her screamed its defiance, before they both collapsed in exhaustion, right there on the floor.

  When they finally woke, it was very late, past closing time for the casino. Their mingled scents lingered, along with the scent of their lovemaking, while the room looked like it had been struck by a bomb. Looking over at Damiano, she saw him watching her, eyes gray, teeth perfectly matched and human. He smiled, leaned close to her, and snapped his teeth at her. Uncannily, she returned the greeting, understanding its intimacy at some level she’d never before known.

  “What are you?” she asked bluntly.

  “The same as you,” he answered.

  “I think we need to talk.” There was a lot here she didn’t understand.

  “First, something to eat I think,” he said, and then looked around the office. “No, first some clothes. Let me call Marco.”

  Chapter 20

  Though it was three o’clock in the morning, Marco still stood watch outside the door. Damiano had showered first, and as Karianna entered the bathroom, she heard him talking to Marco.

  “Marco, thank you,” he began. “Could you send someone for fresh clothing for both of us? And after we leave, we’ll need housekeeping and probably maintenance in here.”

  “Damiano,” Marco said, “your scent. Am I mistaken or…?”

  “No, you are not mistaken. I had not intended this, but tell me, how could I stop it once it began?”

  “Damiano, is this wise?”

  “Wise? Probably not, but what could I do? I’m only human.”

  Flexing his shoulders, he added, “We’ll need some of that herbal salve also. The term ‘hellcat’ comes to mind.”

  Marco chuckled deeply. “It seems you’ve met your match, amico mio. Does she understand?”

  “Not yet. I would like it if you and Paolo came up when we talk. You know how it affects some people.”

  “Bene, amico. I’ll talk to him after I send some clothes down for you. An
d the salve.”

  What was it she didn’t understand, she wondered. As she peeked around the door, she could see the reason for salve. Bright red scratches covered his back, some seeping, others beginning to scab over. Really? She’d done that? How did one apologize for something like that? No matter, she thought. She had to get clean.

  The hot water felt wonderful until she turned to let it spray onto her back. The cascade of water stung viciously. She turned down both the temperature and the pressure to let the water fall onto her shoulders and run down instead. As she washed her hair, the shampoo tingled and stung her back, even after she’d rinsed it off.

  Having learned her lesson, she did not dry her back as she normally would. Instead, she dried off the front of her torso, her legs and feet, and then wrapped the towel around her body, wincing. The mirror was completely fogged from the hot shower, so she wiped it with another towel.

  The person looking back at her must have had a busy night. Love bites cascaded down her throat, and as she turned sideways to look at her back, she saw scratches to match Damiano’s. She’d realized the previous evening had been intense, but it must have been much more energetic than she remembered. There were a few things about which she was still confused. Some of them must have been sheer imagination. A light tap at the door drew her attention away.

  “Cara, may I come in?” Damiano asked.

  She opened the door, looked at him, and laughed out loud. “Don’t you think, after our adventures last night, that the question is absurd?”

  He thought it over for a few seconds, shrugged his oh-so-marvelous shoulders—down girl, not now—and answered, “You could be right. How are your scratches, cara?”

  “A lot like yours, I believe. I hope whatever clothes Marco is bringing up are very loosely fitting.”

  “He understands our situation, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “And then can we eat? I’m starving!”

  * * * *

  Dressed in a flowing caftan, Karianna devoured her breakfast as if she’d been fasting for a week. She didn’t feel bad about it, as she watched Damiano wolf down enough to feed a full company of men. Finally slowing down a bit, she had a sip of her coffee and watched Damiano, bemused.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she answered. “Whatever is in that salve Marco brought us is marvelous, though. I can barely feel any of the scratches from last night.”

  “I know. It’s wonderful stuff. I bring it back from Earth, whenever I get the chance to visit my family there.”

  “An old family recipe?” she teased.

  “Something like that, yes,” he agreed, smiling slyly at her.

  They finished breakfast at a more leisurely pace and then took coffee into the living room to relax.

  “Okay, Damiano. I have a few questions about last night. And I want the truth, alright?”

  “Cara mia, I will answer your questions, but first let’s just rest for a while and enjoy the morning. I want Marco and Paolo to come up when we have our talk. They might be able to explain things a little better for you, or maybe I just need their support.”

  “You? Need support? Since when do you have trouble talking, Damiano?”

  “There are certain subjects which are hard to explain, and can be more difficult to understand and accept. This would be one of those subjects. I know of no way to make it any easier than to just come out with it. But later, when I’ve had a chance to put it into words. I can’t think properly just yet. Cara mia, you are hard on a man!”

  After their coffee, Damiano excused himself and went into his office, perhaps to think about whatever it was he needed to tell her. Karianna stretched out on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. She woke to Damiano’s voice and his kiss on her cheek.

  “Cara, are you rested?” he asked. “If you’re ready, Marco and Paolo are here. I thought maybe we could have some wine and cheese while we talk.” She saw he’d already brought in the cheese plate and glasses for the wine. Marco was coming through from the kitchen, a bottle of wine in his hand.

  After everyone sat down with snacks and drinks, Damiano took a deep breath and asked her, “Karianna, what do you know about your ancestors, those in Europe several centuries ago? Anything at all? Are there any old family tales that seem just a little outrageous?”

  Karianna thought for a moment. Of course, everyone had strange family tales, but they didn’t really mean anything, did they?

  “I don’t know. I mean, there was one of my aunts who always went walking during a full moon. Rain or shine, she was outside walking. And there is the really old story about one of my great-great-however many-grandmothers. She was, supposedly, some sort of priestess way back, when people worshipped the moon or something.”

  “Did the men in your family spend a lot of time away from home, especially around the time of the full moon?” Damiano seemed intense, or maybe just tense.

  “Well, the people of my family have always been wanderers. They were among the first to go to America from Europe. Later, they helped settle the western states, following the Oregon Trail. A bunch of the guys were avid hunters. They’d go out every season, for a couple weeks at a time. I don’t think it had anything to do with the moon, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

  “Did you ever hear anything about times for hunting?”

  “Maybe. I know they always went fishing early in the morning, usually when it was a foggy day. Hunting, I think, was supposed to be easier in the light of the moon. I guess because they could see better and the deer would be out grazing. Why does it matter?”

  “Your great-whatever-grandmother was, I believe, a priestess of the Changing Moon.”

  “That’s it! I always thought it was something to do with the changing month or something.”

  “No, cara. It was not the moon which was changing. And your aunt who went walking during the full moon was probably looking for someone who’d gone out the previous night, who might need help when they returned.”

  “Well, that would be my cousin, Brad. He was always out partying or getting into some sort of trouble.”

  “A lot of the wanderers travel for a reason. They travel to avoid people with too much curiosity. Many of them are hunters, because it’s in the blood.”

  “What’s in the blood, Damiano? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m getting there, cara. Let me take my time. Bene?”

  “I guess, so. I just don’t understand…”

  “I know. But you need some background first. A long time ago, our kind was nearly killed out by those who feared people who were different. So we learned to hide, to control the changes that came upon us, and find a way to fit in with the others.”

  “How are you different? You look just like everyone else to me,” Karianna countered.

  “Even last night, cara?”

  “Trick of the light…”

  “No, amore, no trick. Let me continue. For some reason, most women cannot complete the transformation, though they carry the same genes. Many of them have eyes which change, or canines which elongate during certain times, but they don’t change completely.”

  “What do you mean, change?”

  “Please, cara, I’m trying. It is difficult.”

  “I’m sorry, Dam. Please, go on.” She noticed Marco and Paolo were getting restless as he spoke.

  “Those women who carried the genes of their kind organized, so they could use the other talents they possessed to help their men. They were nature’s healers, using the abilities God gave them, channeling the divine energy, for the good of others. They were called Priestesses of the Changing Moon, because in the early days, those who could change used the power of the full moon to facilitate it.”

  “You mean like werewolves and things? Aren’t those just old stories to scare little children?”

  “The way the stories are told, yes, but they were invented by those who could not change, who hated anything different. They saw us a
s a threat and tried to destroy us.”

  His tale continued, and later, Marco and Paolo added to her knowledge with their experiences. The were-people were real. Her grandmother had been one of them, but as a woman couldn’t become one of the great cats, those hunters in the dark. She waited for their men to return, in whatever form they carried, and helped them back to human form or healed their wounds if needed. Those genes had been carried down all the way to Karianna’s time, from her ancestors the travelers, the hunters in the family, and her crazy aunt who walked in the moonlight.

  “But how does all of this affect me?” she demanded. “I don’t have any special talents or anything. I’m just me, just human.”

  Sadly shaking his head, Damiano said, “No, cara, you are not. You’re were-folk, one of us, just as surely as I am, and Marco and Paolo.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, confused.

  “I suspected right after I won you in a game of cards,” he began. “You knew my name and my reputation, yet you did not fear.”

  “Well you’re not that scary, you know,” she countered.

  “Maybe not to you. But everyone else I meet shows fear, in one way or another. Not you. So I asked myself, why?”

  “And that’s the first thing that popped into your mind?”

  “No, but as our time together went on, it was the little things. Things like the way your eyes take on a golden color when you’re angry or aroused. Or that your canine teeth become just a little bit more prominent when we make love.”

  “Now you’re being silly,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Maybe, but there was your obvious attraction to me very early in our relationship. Within days of moving into my home, you came into my bed, as my wife. No fear, no hesitation.”

  “Well, we were married, Damiano. I thought to make the best of the situation.”