Vampire, Interrupted

by Lynsay Sands

  “I wasn’t mean, because I love you,” he said solemnly. “And because without you, I have no soul, and life is just a trial to get through. But with you, it holds untold joy.”

  “I think I must have loved you back then,” she said quietly. “I look like a woman in love in the portrait and I want to be that woman again.”

  “It’s enough to start with,” he assured her and lowered his head to cover her mouth with his.

  Marguerite opened to him and unlike the mad, desperate passion that had claimed them before, this time the caress was tender and sweet, slowly deepening until she moaned and stretched her back, her body arching into his. When Julius broke the kiss, she blinked her eyes half open and he smiled.

  “You will never know how many mornings I lay awake remembering this look on your face and yearning to see it again,” Julius whispered, his hands undoing the zipper of the peach-colored dress she wore. “I’ve dreamt of your smell, your touch, your lips, and your breath soft against my cheek as I claimed you.”

  Marguerite lowered her arms from around him as he drew the dress forward off her shoulder and down her arms. It promptly slipped down to pool around her feet. Free of it, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, but Julius brushed her hands away.

  “No. I didn’t have the patience or ability to go slow in York. It had been too long. Let me do this as I’ve dreamed all these centuries.”

  Marguerite lowered her hands to her sides, meeting his gaze as he ran his hands slowly up and down her arms.

  “I recognized your scent the moment I entered your hotel room that first day and it smelled like heaven.”

  She shivered and closed her eyes as he leaned forward and inhaled by her neck, and then he kissed her there and Marguerite shivered again. Her hands came up to his waist as he unclasped her bra and then she was forced to lower her hands again as he removed it.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I recalled in my dreams.”

  Marguerite opened her eyes in surprise because this wasn’t the first time they’d been together, but then she realized they had been in such a rush in York, he’d never really taken the time to look at her. Julius was looking now, his eyes flaming silver as they slid over her skin. Her body responded as if it were a physical caress, her nipples hardening and reaching out eagerly, liquid pooling low in her stomach and sliding lower. And then he kissed her again, his hands and fingers roaming over the flesh he’d revealed, following the curve of her waist, the flat of her stomach and then mounting the slope of a breast.

  Marguerite groaned deep in her throat and slid her arms around his shoulders again, then groaned once more when her breasts lifted with the action, scraping across his chest. Julius caught her under the legs and carried her to the bed, only ending the kiss as he straightened from laying her down. She didn’t get a chance to complain at the loss. In the next moment his mouth was sliding over her neck and down her collarbone to her breast. Marguerite clasped his head and twisted her own on the pillow, her legs shifting restlessly as he drew on the sensitive bud before sliding lower.

  Her stomach muscles rippled as his mouth trailed over it, quivering under the caress and then Julius nibbled his way to the top of her panties. She gasped and writhed as he ran his tongue along the lace edge, and then reached for him desperately when he caught his fingers under the waist and drew them slowly down.

  Marguerite caught her fingers in his hair and tried to urge him back for another kiss, but he merely caught her fingers in his, and shifted between her legs. Her body arched of its own accord as his mouth trailed over her thigh, her breath coming in small breathless pants, and then wooshing out of her on a cry as he found the center of her. She bucked into the caress, her hips jerking without her consent. She caught her fingers in the comforter she lay on, clawing at it desperately as he pleasured her.

  Marguerite felt his fingers dig into her thighs as Julius lavished her with attention and knew in what little bit of her mind was still coherent that he was experiencing her pleasure with her and using the knowledge it gave him to direct him in what felt best, what would make her cry out, or shudder or writhe. He used it to drive them both to the edge repeatedly, always easing back before they could find release.

  When the sound of tearing cloth reached her ears and she realized she was rending the comforter, Marguerite released it and grabbed for his shirt, tugging it up around his head until he lifted his head and arms to allow her to pull it off. But then he simply dropped between her legs and continued his sweet torture until Marguerite was trembling and nearly sobbing with need. Only then did he finally rise up and shift over her, shedding his pants as he went before settling his hips between her thighs.

  Marguerite felt his erection bump against her and wrapped her legs around his hips as Julius drove into her. She cried out as he filled her, her body tense and quivering and then he kissed her and began to move and she clutched him close and rode the storm until it broke overhead.

  She woke some time later to find they were both under the covers and he was on his back in bed, holding her in his arms.

  “Have I mentioned that I think you’re fabulous?” he asked, his chest moving under her head.

  Marguerite smiled and pressed a kiss to his chest. She then raised her head to peer at him. “I think you’re pretty fabulous too.”

  “I guess we’re just a fabulous pair,” Julius said, lifting his head to press a kiss to her forehead.

  “Does Mr. Fabulous have any food in this house for Mrs. Fabulous?” she asked hopefully.

  “Mmm, I was just thinking of food too,” he admitted and then laughed. “We were like this the last time too. Make love, eat, make love, eat, make love.”

  “I hope there was the occasional bath thrown in there,” Marguerite said with amusement.

  “Many of them,” he assured her. “Some of them we even took separately.”

  She laughed again and his expression softened.

  “I love it when you laugh.”

  “I love it when you look at me like that,” she answered promptly.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and then he kissed her quickly and he jumped out of bed.

  “Food,” Julius announced when she peered at him with surprise. “We won’t have any here. Christian hasn’t eaten for centuries, and Vita and I for longer than that.”

  “Vita?” she asked with surprise.

  “She stays here often,” he explained striding naked and unselfconscious to his dressing room. His voice floated out, distracted and easy. “It’s closer to work than her own home so when she’s going to be spending a lot of time at the office, as she has this last week while I was in England, she usually just stays here. She’ll probably head back to her own place in the next day or two.”

  “Does Christian live here with you?” Marguerite asked curiously. He’d mentioned taking his things to his room when they’d arrived, and she wondered if he still lived with his father after five hundred years.

  “No. He has an apartment in town, but he keeps a room here and stays on occasion.” Julius reappeared wearing a dark burgundy robe, and carrying a fluffy white one he held open for her.

  Marguerite slid out of the bed and slipped into a robe.

  “We’ll have to hurry,” he said heading for the door as she tied it. “If we want food we’ll have to order in and it’s getting late.”

  Pausing at the door, Julius glanced back as she crossed the room to join him and smiled. “I’ve always been intrigued by those commercials on television. Now I’ll get to order in.”

  “We should check with Tiny. He’s probably starved by now.”

  Julius nodded and grinned as they moved out into the hall. “You think like a mother.”

  “I am a mother,” she pointed out with amusement. “Four times over.”

  “Five,” he corrected gently.

  Marguerite froze midstep, her eyes widening with alarm. “Yes, of course. I—” She paused helplessly, feeling just horrible that she had
neglected to include Christian, but it was all still so new.

  “It’s all right, Marguerite. It will take some time,” Julius said gently, rubbing her back through the fluffy terry cloth robe.

  Marguerite nodded, but she wasn’t really feeling any better. Christian Notte was her son, but a veritable stranger.

  “Marcus told me on the train back to London that you were feeling awkward and unsure of how to act with Christian.”

  She grimaced as she recalled the man reading her mind in her room. It was a bad habit she would have to start putting up guards against, Marguerite decided.

  “It will get easier once you get to know each other and spend some time together,” Julius continued, urging her to start walking again.

  “Time together,” Marguerite said softly, grabbing at the idea. “Yes, I should spend time with him. Get to know him.”

  “I’m sure he’d enjoy that,” Julius said with a nod.

  “What kind of things does he enjoy?” she asked.

  “Hmm.” He considered the question as they started down the stairs. “Archery, downhill skiing, swo-”

  “Downhill skiing?” Marguerite asked with amazement. “At night?”

  Julius grimaced but nodded. “He says it adds to the challenge and the enjoyment.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said with a laugh. “How about something less physical?”

  “He loves music,” Julius said and then told her proudly, “He plays several instruments and used to play with an orchestra.”

  “Really?” she asked with interest.

  Julius nodded, but his smile was replaced with a grimace as he added, “He has recently switched to more modern music. Hard metal or alternative something.” He shrugged, obviously not sure what it was called, and then added, “He plays with a band in town most weekends.”

  Marguerite bit her lip to keep from laughing at his obvious distaste for the music in question.

  “The three of us could go to a concert and—” Julius paused when she stopped at the foot of the stairs and placed her hand on his chest. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “What?”

  “I—It might be better if I could spend some time alone with him, Julius. Just the two of us,” Marguerite said seriously, and then quickly explained, “I’m afraid if the three of us go out, I would just be distracted by your presence and that would defeat the whole purpose.”

  Marguerite waited anxiously for his reaction, afraid she’d offended him, but he considered the suggestion briefly and then, much to her relief, nodded solemnly. “You’re right, of course.”

  Relaxing, she smiled and slid her arm around him as he steered her up the hall.

  “I’ll check with Dante and Tommaso for you and find out what he would enjoy and arrange tickets if you like.”

  “I would appreciate that, thank you,” Marguerite said. “And perhaps he could tell you the name of a good coffee house or something too. I know Christian doesn’t eat or drink anymore, but it would be nice to stop in somewhere quieter afterward so we could talk.”

  “Good thinking.” Julius hugged her to his side. “You’ll get to know him in no time.”

  Sixteen

  “What did you think?”

  Marguerite smiled at Christian as he threw himself into the chair next to her at the table. It was their night out to get to know each other, but rather than getting tickets to a concert, she’d decided she’d rather hear him perform, so Marguerite had asked him about his band and if she might attend the next time they performed. Christian had seemed a little uncomfortable when she’d first suggested it, but had agreed and told her they were playing at a local spot in a couple of nights and she was welcome to come.

  She’d spent the time between then and this evening looking for any little signs of herself in Christian, and she’d actually found some. Where his father had black hair, Christian’s was a dark auburn like her own. He had his father’s eye color but her large almond-shaped eyes. He had his father’s jaw but her high cheekbones. It was nice to note these things, but hadn’t made her more comfortable around him, and, despite her desire to get to know him, Marguerite found herself feeling and behaving in a stiff and unnatural manner around the boy.

  Julius had reassured her over and over that everything would be all right and just to relax and be herself, but while Marguerite had a sincere desire to feel and act with Christian as she did around her other sons, he wasn’t her other sons. She had centuries of shared experience with them and virtually none with Christian. On top of that, Marguerite was suffering under a burden of guilt and regret for the time lost with him. She was struggling.

  Right this minute, however, some of her stress had lifted. Marguerite had always loved music and found it soothing, and had realized as she watched and listened to her son play that here was something they had in common besides hair color. Here was something they could discuss. Christian played violin in his rock band, and he played well.

  “You hated it,” Christian guessed when she remained silent so long.

  Marguerite shook her head quickly. “No. I didn’t. I quite liked it. This is the first time I’ve heard violin rock live, but I’ve always thought it added a fascinating sound to the mix, and you play very well. I enjoyed it.”

  When he looked doubtful, she insisted, “It’s the truth. Actually, I was just thinking that you must get your musical talent from me. Your father is tone deaf.”

  “Yes, he is,” Christian agreed with a grin, then said, “You play?”

  “Yes. Piano, violin, guitar, drums—”

  “Drums?” Christian interrupted with disbelief.

  Marguerite shrugged. “If it makes music, I’ve probably played it. I have always loved music and it filled up my time. Being a housewife is extremely boring, especially when you have servants to actually do the work,” she said wryly and then breathed out a little sigh and admitted. “I used to play all the time, but haven’t as much since Jean Claude died. I was finally free to come and go as I liked and I’ve been going a lot, but tonight has made me want to play again.”

  Christian glanced toward the stage as the next band began to warm up. “They’re going to start up. Would you like to go somewhere quieter for a coffee or something before we go home?”

  Marguerite nodded at the offer, knowing it was purely so they could continue to talk. Christian didn’t eat or drink. When she realized she was smiling and that it felt more natural than any of the other smiles she’d given him since finding out he may be her son, Marguerite felt herself unclench a little inside. Perhaps it would be all right after all.

  “There’s a coffee shop around the corner,” Christian said as they stepped out into the night. “I don’t know if it’s any good there, but it’s close enough we can walk.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said as they started along the street.

  “Hey, lady, you dropped something.”

  Marguerite and Christian paused and glanced back to see a man pointing to a small purse lying on the sidewalk.

  “I’ll get it,” Christian said, releasing her arm to hurry back along the street.

  “But I didn’t bring a—” Her confused words came to an abrupt halt as Marguerite became aware of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning sharply, she realized they’d stopped at the mouth of an alley and someone—two someones, she realized—in dark clothes and masks were rushing out at her.

  Marguerite instinctively turned to make a run for it, but didn’t have a chance. Before she’d taken two steps, they were on her.

  Cursing, she struggled briefly but they were immortals, and both larger and stronger than she, she soon found herself caught against one of the men, a long, wickedly sharp knife at her throat. For one moment, Marguerite thought he intended to cut her head off right there in the street, but he merely pressed it to her throat until he drew blood, forcing her to stop struggling.

  Breathing shallowly and trying not to move to prevent the knife from sinking any deeper into her flesh, Marguerite sa
w Christian stop halfway back to the purse and turn. He froze at the sight of her predicament. The man who had called out that she’d dropped something was scuttling away up the street. No doubt he’d been paid to distract them with the purse business, she thought on a sigh, then met Christian’s angry gaze.

  “Run,” Marguerite ordered, uncaring of the knife at her throat.

  When Christian stared at her silently, his expression unreadable, she knew he was going to be stubborn about this.

  “Christian, do as I say, dammit!” she snapped, stomping her foot furiously and ignoring the bite of the knife as it slid deeper. “I’m your mother!”

  “Yes, you are,” he said, a smile slowly curving his lips upward, and then he raised his arms in surrender and walked forward.

  “Turn around,” the fellow behind her ordered when Christian paused a few feet in front of them.

  Christian tossed her a reassuring glance and turned around, asking cheerfully, “So, where are we going?”

  Instead of answering, the second man stepped up behind him. Marguerite cried out in warning, but it was too late, the man had driven his knife into Christian’s back. As he twisted and jerked the knife upward, she began to struggle, uncaring of the damage she was doing herself, but paused when a shout sounded from the entrance of the restaurant.

  All three of them froze, only Christian continuing to move and that was only to collapse to his knees. Marguerite peered toward the restaurant to see Dante and Tommaso rushing forward, but the twins stopped abruptly at an order in Italian from the man holding her.

  Marguerite wasn’t surprised to see the pair. Julius had told her that he wanted the twins to follow them and keep an eye out tonight and she’d agreed so long as they kept their distance so she and Christian could talk freely. They’d been sitting at the other side of the bar and she’d seen them get up to follow when they left, but the bar was crowded and they’d had farther to go to reach the door. She and Christian should have waited at the door for them, Marguerite thought unhappily.