Buoyed by his reaction, she decided maybe it was time to let Diego learn a little more about her. She slipped her hand into his and said, “Would you take me home? Come in and have some coffee?”
His broad smile was the only answer she needed.
Diego watched as she puttered around her kitchen, making a pot of coffee. The action seemed so normal and yet tonight was anything but normal.
She had just confessed a great deal to him, but he sensed that she had still held back a part of herself. He hoped that this visit to her home, not as a business partner but as a man, would reveal the part of her that she kept hidden.
Like you’ll reveal your own secrets?
He ignored his conscience’s warning and trained his attention on Ramona, intrigued despite himself.
She was still dressed in the wine-colored velvet gown, and while she looked gorgeous, it seemed out of place here in her home, where he was used to seeing her in the jeans and T-shirts she usually wore to paint. Rising from his chair, he stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.
The velvet was soft beneath his fingers, but not as soft as her skin might feel.
“Why don’t you take this off and get comfortable.” Easing his fingers beneath the edge of the velvet jacket, he slipped it off to reveal the creamy expanse of her skin.
On her right shoulder was a tattoo, a rose. His fingertip traced the unpracticed lines of the drawing.
“This is—” But he was cut off.
“Not the best artwork. I…”
Beneath his finger he sensed the slight tension in her body before she continued.
“I was a member of a gang in Spanish Harlem. I had to spend some time in juvie, and the leader decided we needed something to identify us. Since we couldn’t wear our colors in the detention hall, she came up with this idea.”
“A rose in Spanish Harlem,” he said, recalling the line from the once popular song. When he bent and dropped a kiss over the tattoo, her body trembled and she pulled away from him.
“It’s not romantic, Diego. I spent months in detention because I was too stupid to get out of the gang before it was too late.”
He crossed his arms and watched as she grabbed some spoons and napkins and set them on the table in an effort to avoid him. But he wasn’t about to let her. “It’s part of what made you what you are, querida.”
She paused, gripping one of the spoons tightly. “I’m an ex-gang member. No one would believe my word against van Winter’s. No one.”
“I do,” he said, although he had his reservations. He believed she had not known about van Winter’s planned deception, but he had doubts about why she had made the copies. He sensed there was more to that part than she was letting on.
“You said you had concerns about his request, so why did you do it?” He cupped her shoulders, so small and delicate under his large hands.
“My mom. I needed to make sure I could take care of her,” Ramona admitted. But even that confession seemed only partial. There was more she wasn’t saying, but he sensed she wouldn’t reveal it. At least, not just yet.
He slipped his palms to her back and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. She responded, burying her head against his chest. They lingered in the embrace until the sputtering of the coffeemaker reminded them why they were supposedly there together.
As the beep signaled that the brewing was done, she eased away from him, but seemed flustered. “It’s kind of late. Coffee’s probably not a good idea at this hour.”
With his vamp metabolism he would be awake all night, anyway, but the dark circles beneath Ramona’s eyes hinted she needed some rest.
“Why don’t you get ready for bed,” he said, inclining his head in the direction of the large four-poster at the far side of the loft.
“I’ll let you out.” She was headed to the door when he grabbed her arm to stop her.
She faced him with a confused look and he said, “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe.”
Chapter 8
“Y ou can’t be serious.” She tried to pull away, but he held fast, his grip strong, but gentle.
“I am, querida. Someone tried to run you over tonight and a psycho millionaire threatened you. Until I know you’re safe…”
“You cannot stay the night.” With slightly more force, she yanked free of his grasp and stormed into the living room area of the loft, where she plopped down onto the couch.
He followed her and took a spot beside her. After bouncing on the cushions a few times, he said, “This should be comfortable enough.”
“Diego, be reasonable. You can’t expect me to get any rest while you’re—”
“Lying here on your couch? So it is true that you find me irresistible,” he teased. Reaching up, he plucked one of the silver combs from her hair, which tumbled down onto her shoulder.
He fingered the loose strands and said, “Go to bed. In the morning we will make some calls and try to find out if van Winter made a switch without anyone noticing.”
Ramona wanted to protest, but she knew Diego was intractable once he’d made up his mind about something—in this case, staying the night. The truth was she would feel more secure with him around, given what had happened earlier. Still, she had to salvage a bit of pride.
Removing the other comb, she ran her fingers through her hair and noticed how Diego followed the movement of the waves as they fell to her breasts. Placing her index finger on his chin, she applied subtle pressure to raise his gaze to hers. “Seems to me I’m not the only one with ganas.”
He laid a finger along the swell of her breast, rubbing it just above the edge of the fabric. “I won’t deny mis ganas. The wanting is very real, Ramona. But let’s see who has the strength to resist whom,” he challenged.
Her nipples had tightened with his simple touch, but luckily, the velvet was thick enough to hide her reaction. Knowing retreat was the only way to avoid surrender, she rose and whispered good-night before fleeing to her bed on the far side of the loft.
Diego had heard the stutter of her heart and felt the slight rise in her body temperature before she fled. She had been affected by that one modest caress. He didn’t need to imagine how she might respond to more. He had watched her nights ago and experienced her passion from afar, as well as up close and personal. Even now he could recall her soft moans and the sharp little gasp as fulfillment had washed over her.
He wondered whether he could survive the night without touching her. Whether he could resist her, or if he’d find himself in her bed, making a fool of himself with the mistaken belief that he could be a part of her life. Her mortal life, he reminded himself, and tamped down the desire awakening in his loins. A complicated life filled with secrets that should have been ringing warning bells.
His suit jacket suddenly felt constricting, and he rose, yanking it off. A moment later he noticed Ramona slipping into bed, wearing a long nightshirt, probably in deference to his presence. But as he sank back onto the couch and stretched along its length, he recalled the image of her naked. The rosy tips of her breasts tight with desire. Her head thrown back as her release claimed her.
He bit back a groan and did the unthinkable: he called forth the demon to chase away his human desire. To drive away the emot
ion urging him to rise and go to her bed, make love to her until his name exploded from her lips.
The demon would only want one kind of release—that of her sweet blood against its fangs.
The trace of humanity in Diego’s heart was strong enough to resist the demon’s desire to take the woman, but possibly not strong enough to resist the human’s desire to make love to her. As long as he kept the demon with him, he could resist.
He lay there in vamp mode, his senses energized by his vampire power, aware of every sight, sound and smell of the night. The earthy aroma of the coffee they hadn’t drunk, cooling on the counter. The shadows in the kitchen giving way to the moonlight spilling onto Ramona’s work area. He fought back images of how that same moonlight would caress her curves and valleys as she slept, but failed to erase them.
His fangs elongated in anticipation, and saliva pooled in his mouth at the call of her blood, pulsing through her body. The demon envisioned her pale skin, inhaled the smell of her, so that he would find her no matter where she might try to hide. Sucking in a deep breath to quell the vampire desires that were growing stronger than he had expected, Diego focused on the beat of her heart, steady and with no sign of slowing.
She was still awake.
Was it because of him? he wondered for only a second, because he didn’t dare follow those thoughts further.
Instead, he concentrated on the metallic beams and braces above him, tracing their shadows and lines in the night until slowly his eyes drifted closed, and sleep claimed him.
The sofa creaked with each subtle movement of his body.
He hadn’t been resting well until about an hour ago, when it seemed as if he had finally fallen asleep.
Ramona wished she could do the same, but she was unable to forget that the object of her erotic dreams lay barely thirty feet away on her sofa. Between her legs, damp need throbbed, demanding fulfillment.
To channel that need into something more worthwhile, she escaped the tangled sheets and tiptoed to her work space. After grabbing her sketch pad and pencils, she made her way to the love seat across from where Diego slept.
He sprawled across the cushions, magnificently graceful even in sleep. It was a shame that he had too many clothes on, she thought as she began sketching his pose. One long leg outstretched. The other to the side, creating a vee between his legs.
She dragged her eyes from that spot and upward, along the flat planes of his stomach to where the shirt gaped open to midchest, exposing an enticing amount of flesh and hair that she craved to touch.
She satisfied that yearning by creating the enticing whorls with her pencil on the paper beneath her hand. As they took shape, she paused to smudge the lines with her finger to delineate the hollow between the well-defined muscles of his chest. A chest that still rose smoothly and peacefully in sleep.
Pleased with how the drawing was taking shape, she continued capturing the lines of his body. The broad shoulders straining the fine cotton of his shirt. His arms, one pillowed behind his head and the other resting loosely along his side, palm upward, with his exquisitely long, masculine fingers relaxed in slumber.
She moved upward to his face and stroked the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones onto the paper, then sketched in the lock of hair spilling downward.
Glancing at her model once more, she nearly jumped out of her seat as a startling blue-green gleam appeared, before his eyelids fluttered open to reveal the coolness of his ice-blue eyes.
“You’re awake,” she said with a soft exhalation, afraid to disturb the moment. Afraid to move.
“Make believe I’m not.” He closed his eyes once again and maintained his position, but she couldn’t fail to miss how strain crept into his muscles.
“Relax,” she urged, but he chuckled and peeked at her from beneath his lowered lids.
“Should I be as relaxed as you?” His tones were soft, like a lover’s in the night, but tinged with his biting humor.
With the moment fleeing, she dropped her hand into her lap, frustrated at capturing only a part of his grace on the paper. Determined not to lose the inspiration, she said, “Close your eyes and take a breath. Do something to get comfortable again.”
Diego wanted to laugh out loud at the thought that he could somehow be at rest with her sitting across from him, naked beneath the nightshirt. In the brief moment before he’d reined in the demon, his vamp eyesight had picked up on the dusky shadows of her nipples beneath the fabric, had smelled the musky dampness of her arousal, begging for him to taste.
Comfortable? he thought, as, between his own legs, human passion awakened once again. He knew there was only one way he could remotely get comfortable.
One hand was pillowed behind his head, but with the other he undid the buttons on his shirt, parting the fabric to let the cool night air wash away the lingering heat. His nipples tightened with the chill and he forced himself not to imagine how it might feel if her warm mouth replaced the nip of the evening.
The scratching of Ramona’s pencil against the paper stopped, and he opened his eyes to stare at her.
“You can…take it off if you’d like,” she said, gesturing to his shirt.
Even as he slipped off the garment and tossed it aside, he called himself a fool. His passions had gotten him into trouble once before, and tonight was no different, he told himself. But the warning wasn’t enough to quench the fire building in his loins. Especially not when Ramona’s hungry gaze traced the lines of his muscles, and her hand moved quickly across the paper, rendering those lines in her drawing.
She paused for a moment as her gaze drifted downward, and even in the dark, he detected the becoming flush spreading across her cheeks when she settled her attention on his erection.
He decided to continue with her earlier request. He undid his pants, dragged them and his briefs away, before reclining again on the couch, attempting to resume his original position.
Dios mio, Ramona thought, her hand faltering against the paper, dragging an errant line as he finally revealed himself. She had sketched many a nude model before, but none had been quite as magnificent. She snared the gum eraser from her lap and carefully removed the offensive line, replacing it with the strong sweep of his hip. She darkened one edge to create the shadow at the juncture of his thighs and the tight curls from which his erection jutted.
As before, she traced and blurred the edges with the tip of her finger, her movements more sure against the paper than they could be if it were his flesh beneath her hands.
At that thought she worked quickly, aware of his discomfort as he lay there, aroused. Aware of her own desire to replace the rough paper and charcoal with the smooth skin of his body.
As she stroked and smudged the last few lines, she glanced over the edge of the paper and caught him watching her. She knew what he wanted as much as she.
To touch. Taste. Explore.
With one last stroke, she signed her name on the paper, claiming at least this image of him. She knew that to claim him in any other way would be substantially harder.
He was a man of intense emotion and passion, of great honor, and she wasn’t sure she would measure up to his standards. But for this night, she intended to try.
Setting aside the pad and sketching materials, she stood. With trembling hands, she reach
ed down, grabbed the hem of her nightshirt and, in one unbroken move, ripped it off her body.
Then she walked toward him.
Chapter 9
R amona stopped within inches of him and did what she had been longing to do for so long. She laid her hand on the hollow above his heart, and the soft strands of his light-brown chest hair tickled her palm. Beneath that hair, his skin was cool to the touch.
“You’re cold.”
Unerringly, Diego covered her breast with his hand, his palm slightly rough.
“So are you.”
The constant chill in her body came as a result of her system no longer producing the red blood cells it should. The lack of rest the last few days, combined with worry and excitement, had taxed her health to the brink. But she couldn’t tell him that. Instead she said, “The loft’s a big space and hard to heat at night.”
A lie, Diego thought, sensing the quickening beat of her heart. But he wouldn’t press her on it. Not now, when all he could think about was the touch of her hand on his skin, the feel of her hard nipple against his palm. Still, he wanted to make her comfortable. He stood and embraced her, using the powers of the demon to flood his body with heat and slowly spread to hers.
“You feel so good,” she said, and pressed herself against him tighter. But when he noted the chill was gone from her flesh, he reined in the vampire, to maintain his human self.
As he held her, he said, “Tell me what you thought of as you sketched.” He needed to know what was in her mind and possibly her heart.
She raised her hand, brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward onto his face. “I thought that this softened the line of your jaw.”
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