Honeymoon Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) Page 6

  And on the thirtieth day from the imposition set by the directive, he stood in line behind Anne at Starbucks, hopeful he could now put an end to a bittersweet chapter in his life and open a new one. A chapter that would bring him joy and all the wishes his heart desired.

  He hoped.

  Chapter 7

  “Does your husband know about your appetites?” From behind Anne came a gravelly male voice that sent shivers down her spine. The screams of the Starbuck’s espresso machine made her wonder if she’d really heard the voice. But the male scent of him was impossible to miss. The hairs at her neck stood at attention, telegraphing urgency. The urgent sensation extended well beyond her waistline. Time stood still before she could bring herself to turn around and fall under the warm gaze from this tall dark male that covered her.

  Not man. Male.

  He held her gaze as she stood, transfixed, unable to move or to speak. That was the way it felt. Being held. “I’m sorry?” she blurted out finally.

  “Don’t be sorry, my dear. It’s a simple question.” The ends of his lips curled up at the corners. When he inhaled, his chest extended, and he appeared several inches taller. Then he exhaled and she was covered with the same musky scent, incapacitating her, wrapping around her like a warm shroud. It was familiar.

  She heard mournful viola music drip with slides and rifts that pulled on her heartstrings. She felt dizzy. Did she hear him murmur a groan? Or maybe it was a small earthquake? Probably an ordinary person wouldn’t hear or feel it. But she did.

  Anne was on alert; this male took liberties with her feelings.

  What a crazy thought. Ridiculous.

  He leaned forward, grazing just the edge of her forearm with his warm hand. An electric spark pricked her. He leaned against the counter and looked at the barista, not her. “I’ll pay for the lady’s drink.”

  She noticed the strong pulse at his neck. Healthy. Smells wonderful.

  “And what would you like, sir?” The young barista was pert. Anne didn’t like her perfect white teeth. That and the fact the girl’s shirt was made for a ten-year-old, showcasing her pierced bellybutton.

  “I have all I need.” The rumbling words sparked shivers again down Anne’s spine. He said it just next to her ear, barely touching the small of her back . . . He was facing the barista, but deep inside Anne knew the words were meant for her ears only.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Anne suddenly found the urge to speak.

  “My pleasure.” He removed his hand and gave a slight bow.

  A bow? No one had ever done that before. Anne had just fed. She wasn’t hungry enough to play the game this afternoon, having gorged herself on a salesman who liked to eat garlic fries. His blood was thick with fat globules she could almost see as well as taste. But it went down smooth.

  So maybe she would play along. This stranger might be a good candidate for a snack tomorrow. She had never fed twice in one day. She wondered what being too full would feel like in her current state. It would probably make her horny. Well then, maybe she should reconsider. She should do a wet feeding. That way she wouldn’t have to be too careful, could gorge herself on him. He’d be wonderful to look at in the shower, and his hands might do something unexpected to her. Something memorable in a string of unmemorable feedings.

  His hand gently touched the small of her back again, and she allowed herself to be ushered to a corner table, flanked by two purple velvet overstuffed chairs. They sat, facing at right angles to each other. The counter girl called out Anne’s drink. He was up and walking over to pick it up for her before she had a chance to react.

  She watched him cross the coffeehouse like a thirsty traveler eyeing a pitcher of water. He was probably six foot six. His dark hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. His black leather bomber jacket showed his nice ass and those long lanky legs that went all the way to Heaven. Even for his size, he appeared graceful. Unassuming. Confident. And the nicest looking male from behind that she had ever seen.

  And then he turned, holding the little white paper cup with two fingers, the other ones splayed out, large as antlers. She could see how long his fingers were, how substantial. She envisioned what those hands could do to her. But as sexy as he was, he also made her mouth water to feed.

  His prominent jaw line sported blue-black stubble. His strong pulse would be no problem at all, but she would have to bite a little harder to crack the skin. Maybe he would let her take him slowly. Then she could kiss other parts of him in between while his heart pumped more of the blood she craved. His lips were bright red and full. She would enjoy sucking them, licking them. Perhaps biting them.

  His eyes found their way to hers, and when she met his gaze, she became self-conscious of her thoughts, as if somehow he could read her mind. Anne told herself it was her craving for blood that caused the almost sexual attraction for this male. After she fed, surely she wouldn’t feel this way, she thought.

  He delicately deposited the white cup in her hands. One finger touched and almost rubbed against hers. She thought she was imagining the touch, of course. Between her legs, a warm pool had formed. It was a curious place to feel hunger, a hunger of another kind. She blushed at her erotic thoughts.

  “You like cappuccino?” He seemed intrigued by the idea. Dancing eyes, all over her upper torso, his breathing steady but deepening.

  “Yes. I need the caffeine in the afternoon.”

  That little hitch in his throat, almost like a moan of surprise. “And here I thought your cheeks were flushed and ripe from a good meal.” Those black eyes peered right to her soul. Almost as an afterthought, he smiled, and the dark became brown, ringed with a coppery color that drew her in.

  I’ll play your game.

  “Yes. After a big meal, I get tired sometimes.”

  He nodded. “I remember that.”

  Anne looked out the window. This was beginning to feel dangerous. She grabbed her drink and stood. He stopped her by placing one hand on her wrist. His action was soft, but deliberate. This male won’t be denied.

  “Please, sit just a little longer. Then I’ll let you go home to your husband.”

  “Go? You’ll let me go? What kind of talk is that? I think . . .” She began to rise again, but his firm grip on her forearm stopped her.

  “Hear me out just a bit.” He did appear to be begging. Could it be she saw a flash of pain there? No way.

  “How do you know I’m married?” she snapped out, letting her impatience show.

  “You wear a wedding ring.” He fingered her ring slowly, sensually. She let him touch her, perhaps a bit too long. She was going to correct his misconception but decided to leave him thinking she was protected by another man. Safer that way.

  But was she looking for safe?

  There was an obvious physical attraction between them. She had not felt this before, not since before she was made.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, ignoring the comment about her marriage.

  “No. Ask it another way.” The huskiness of his voice made her ears buzz, like he was brushing his lips across them, like they were in bed whispering unmentionable things to each other.

  “Do you know me?” Her eyebrows rose at the ridiculous suggestion that seemed to be planted in her brain from somewhere else.

  He very lightly nodded, his obsidian eyes flashing. “Oh, yes. I have waited a long, long time for you.”

  “Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here.” Anne jumped up, her coffee in her hand. She slung her purse over her right shoulder and stormed off. He followed her outside, keeping pace like they were walking in unison. She stopped suddenly.

  “Look. Whoever you are, I will call the police if you don’t leave me alone.”

  “And tell them what?”

  “Tell them there is a very strange male following me, bothering me.”

  He groaned again. The ground beneath her feet rumbled when he did that. “I like that you say male.”

  She backed up, raising her palms up and o
ut in his direction. “Please, please leave me alone.”

  “Agree to meet me here tomorrow at this time and I won’t follow you.” He smiled. “I promise.” He held his hand over his heart. Anne felt a small tug at her own, as well as an ache down below.

  “Alright,” she said, willing herself to say no when her body wanted to say yes. She’d wrestle with her decision if she could just get away from him right now. This coffee house would have to be forever off her list. “Tomorrow at four. But I will call the cops if you don’t stop this, this, way you are being—”

  He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her close his chest. She struggled, but he held her tighter the more she wiggled, and yet she enjoyed the physical play between them. No matter how hard she fought, he would win. She softened and heard his sharp inhale. The spice on his cheeks was a familiar scent to her and, relaxed her just enough so she wouldn’t collapse entirely being so close to him. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Go for now, little one. But as for leaving you alone, there isn’t a chance in Hell that will ever happen. See you tomorrow.”

  And then he was gone. Just gone. Nowhere to be found. She turned around and around and there was no trace of him. No car leaving the parking lot. No door being opened. Just the normal day all around her.

  She was hungry and scared. She liked feeling both emotions equally.

  She knew it was going to be forever until four o’clock tomorrow.

  A feeding would take up the next hour. Only twenty-three more to go.

  Chapter 8

  In Robert’s 1948 Oldsmobile, and with an hour to kill, Anne cruised through the parking lot. Driving the Olds was like gliding on an overstuffed horsehair couch on wheels. She loved the green bomber and how positively ageless and invincible she was. She counted all the cars on her first pass, then did another pass and separated out the sedans and SUVs. On her third run, she counted all the red cars, then 4-wheel drive vehicles. She had a list in her mind of the other things she could count, like the number of whitewall tires, cars with sunroofs, dirty cars, top ten cleanest cars. But then she saw the man she’d met the day before drive in. He was a full five minutes and thirty-seven seconds early.

  It was hard to miss his black Ferrari as it roared into the parking lot. She memorized the sleek vehicle’s very detail. She noticed things more than ever before, ever since the turning. The change her body created a compulsive need to count things, just for fun, but especially when she was hungry.

  And she’d come hungry.

  The man parked the low-lying vehicle and somehow extricated himself from the driver’s side. Anne thought he must have been almost supine while driving the beast. A nice, classy beast, though. Like the driver. Dark-haired men with nice cars were becoming a lethal combination, usually for the man. She wet her lips as her pelvic muscles tensed.

  Anne was weighing how it would feel to feed on him when he spun around and pointed to a parking space beside his and smiled.

  Let the games begin.

  She aimed her old green bomber three spaces away and parked. He was there by her door as soon as she had collected her keys and her purse. He opened the door for her. That was kind of a nice touch. There were so few men who knew how to be polite these days. Too bad.

  He held her left hand, helping her slide off the light brown fabric of the front seat. The old tank was so high, Anne’s small frame had to drop the remaining six inches or so until her feet settled on the ground, barely touching his. Her right knee nudged his left thigh as she slid, initiating a buzz that traveled up her spine. She balanced on his hand like a bird perched on a golden bar. His firm grip kept her steady while he looked over her shoulder and scanned the sleek lines of the vintage car.

  “I like your vehicle,” he said, still holding her fingers.

  “My . . . husb—soon to be ex-husband’s, actually. A ‘48 Olds fastback.”

  The man released her, stroked the backside of the forest green metal like he was caressing a lover.

  You’re in trouble if you don’t stop this. Everything he did reminded her of some sexual play.

  “Gets terrible gas mileage and it smokes,” she added.

  “Ah, but makes quite a statement, doesn’t it?”

  Anne shrugged, but she had to admit, that’s one of the reasons she liked driving the Olds.

  He was still admiring her Olds. “I like old things. And I love cars.” His eyes sparkled as he looked down to her. He completely blocked the sun.

  Anne peered around his massive frame and nodded to his black Ferrari. “You like fast cars. How many vintage cars do you have?” she asked, sure he didn’t own one like the Olds.

  “Fifty-nine.” He smirked and added, “but not a single Oldsmobile. You must take me for a ride in it sometime.”

  She wasn’t sure where this was heading, so she shrugged again. It was Robert’s legendary car, the one he nailed all his girlfriends in on their first date. Unfortunately, she learned this after she’d been conquest number one hundred and something. But for now, it was hers, since Robert had given the Olds to her as an engagement present. And though Anne knew her relationship with Robert was at an end, she felt she deserved it after what he had put her through. She could understand why a guy would love the roomy back seat. She did too.

  His white long-sleeved collared shirt gaped open at his throat. Hard to miss the thick pulsing vein so large she could almost smell it. It was the size of her little finger. He was making it easy for her, showcasing all the highlights of his body. He seemed to enjoy the luscious look she gave his neck. She would have to be careful. Not a good idea to give this guy too many clues as to what turned her on. And she was hungry. Famished. But Anne sensed an exotic, sensual danger lurking between them. She wasn’t sure if this was dinner or a date.

  After he closed her door, he stood back and gave her the once over. Apparently she’d passed the test, since his gaze fluttered slowly, lingering on parts he liked best, traveling down her whole body and back up again without missing a single detail. He smiled.

  “I can buy you coffee, or we can take a drive.” Although she doubted he could hurt her in her now powerful state, she thought it unwise to go off with this strange male. And her curiosity about this meeting was taking a close second to her desire to feed.

  “Coffee is fine. Just remember what I said yesterday.” Her voice didn’t sound convincing.

  “Oh, yes.” He put his massive palm at her lower back again like he had yesterday, and the lead her to the café front doors. “You were telling me you would call the police if I didn’t stop . . . being this way.” The last part he had said as he leaned over, brushing her ear with his lips.

  Damn but it was hard to pull away from him. Everything inside Anne wanted to lean in so she could have a proper kiss. On her ear. Anywhere.

  “You invade my space before I give you permission.”

  “And you don’t like it?”

  Oh, God. It was hard to lie to him as well.

  “No . . . n-no. I don’t.” Anne could tell he knew what she was thinking.

  He held the door open and smiled. “I know what you like,” he said as she grazed his chest with her shoulder. “Go find us a seat, okay?” His voice followed behind her.

  Anne found the corner with the purple velvet chairs available. She already thought of it as their spot. This was not a good sign. To vary the routine, she sat in the other chair this time. Her throat was parched but her pulse quickened with the anticipation of their conversation. Being in the proximity of this man made her feel as if she’d just fed. Her heartbeat so loud she thought anyone in the room would be able to hear it.

  He walked across the floor with confidence, the object of everyone’s attention. He appeared oblivious he was attractive to both sexes. Anne wondered if he liked both men and women. But when his dark eyes flashed up to meet hers, all was answered. She was convinced he wasn’t interested in any other man or woman. He was interested in one woman only.

  Me.

  B
eing the object of his attraction was just as exciting as it was scary. She accepted the cardboard cup with its plastic hat, which was dwarfed by his enormous hands. He sat, crossed his long legs, propped his on the arm of the chair, and rested his cheek against the third and forefinger of his right hand.

  With difficulty, Anne tore her eyes away. She sipped her cappuccino and looked around the room. She caught furtive glances from other women who tried to look away before they were detected snooping. But his gaze was locked onto her face. At least, when he wasn’t looking at her neck.

  He leaned forward and put the tips of his fingers and his palms together, elbows resting on his knees. “So, here we are at last.”

  “Yes. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I find it funny I am at a loss for words. There is so much I want to say.”

  “Oh, come on. You don’t look like the type who usually gets scared. You look like the one who does the scaring.”

  He threw back his head and laughed to the ceiling. She smiled in spite of herself. Watching his lips curl, the dimple at the left side of his mouth and the dark sparkle in his eyes as he focused his attention on her mouth, warmed her whole body.

  “True,” he said in a soft rumble she could feel deep in her chest. “Very perceptive.”

  Anne’s heart did flip-flops. He was so gorgeous to look at when he smiled. But her need for blood was rising. Now she wished she had fed beforehand so she could concentrate. She was about to count his eyelashes but removed her gaze from his face and instead counted the tufts of carpeting at her feet. It would be impossible to savor him like she’d planned. Her need for his blood was making her ravenous.

  And horny as hell.

  He held out his hand, palm up.

  “Excuse me?” Anne scowled at his impropriety. “I’m not going to sit here and hold your hand. I am still a married woman.” She was beginning to convince herself some of what she said was true. There was safety in having him think she was married.