Once she said it, she cupped his cheek and swept her thumb across his lips.
“What else?” he asked, intrigued by her almost hesitant touch.
She raised her other hand and laid it on the sharp ridge of his collarbone. Idly, she ran her fingers along that line and said, “I imagined how your skin would feel beneath my fingers. And you? What did you think of?”
He shocked himself by admitting, “How your mouth would feel against my nipple.”
She brought her lips there, licked the edge of it with her tongue.
Her mouth was warm, wet. Amazing. He held her head to him, while he wrapped his other arm around her buttocks and brought her tight against his arousal. She pulled away, looked up at him. “What else did you think?”
His erection pressed against her belly, revealing what else he had desired. “I imagined you holding me, stroking me.”
“Like this?” She snaked her hand downward and encircled him with her palm.
He watched, fascinated by the way her small hand enticed him toward satisfaction. So soft, but sure.
When she tongued his nipple again, he had to fight back his release.
She rose on tiptoe and kissed him, whispering against his lips, “It’s okay to let go, Diego.”
His breath exploded against her lips. “Not without you, querida.”
“Then touch me,” she urged, and he brought his hand to her breast, where he caressed her nipple, until each pull of his hand created an answering tug between her legs.
“That’s it, amor. Kiss me there,” she pleaded as she continued to fondle him, each stroke slightly stronger, more insistent as her own passion rose.
He bent his head, took the hard tip into his mouth and sucked on its sweetness. He heard her soft cry of passion as he teethed the nipple.
She pressed her hips to his in invitation, and he accepted, plunging his hand downward to part her thighs. She was so wet and slick, he ached to feel her, taste her.
He dropped to his knees, forcing her to stop her ministrations, while he parted her with his fingers and unerringly found the center of her with his mouth. He sucked at the swollen bud of her clitoris and the smooth, wet lips protecting it. He slipped in first one finger and then a second, stroking and sucking her until her knees went weak.
He surged upward then, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He sat her on the edge and urged her to lie down as he positioned himself between her thighs, but didn’t enter her. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed the pulse point at the base of her throat.
Ramona held his head to her and picked up her knees, cradling his hips. His erection brushed the curls between her legs. She wanted him inside of her, filling the emptiness caused by the desertion of his amazing hands and mouth. Reaching downward, she guided him to her, then stopped as reality reared up.
“I don’t have protection,” she whispered against the side of his face.
He raised his head, confused until her statement finally registered. “I hadn’t planned on this, either, but pleasure comes in many ways, querida.”
As if to prove his point, he brought his hand down to where hers held his erection. He guided her hand away from him and to the entrance of her vagina, then joined her in caressing herself, urging her on. And as she slipped one finger inside, so did he.
“Diego,” she said, tipping her head back and emitting a soft gasp as together they built her passion.
“Así, amorcito. Call my name when you come, querida,” he urged, and stroked faster until his fingers and hers were drenched and the beginning thrum of her climax arched her body up off the bed.
“Ay, Diego. Amor,” she called out, nearly overcome, but in sync with him as he moved, bringing his penis between her thighs.
Her hand slick with her own juices, she dragged it across the length of him, doing to him what he was doing to her. He felt it then—the rolling release that he craved.
He came, calling out her name as she breathed his in a cry of completion.
Her body warm from the bath they had shared to cleanse the remnants of their passion, Diego tucked her close to him, trying to contain that warmth. But it fled quickly.
Too quickly, he thought with concern.
Sneaking a peek at her, he noted the dark circles under her eyes, which seemed to be ever present lately. As she shivered and shifted near, he embraced her.
With a deep inhale, he once again sampled the scent of her, this time fresh from their bath. Their bodies were intertwined, allowing him to memorize the softness of her belly and thigh, the brush of her dark curls against his penis as it rested against her.
Despite his earlier satisfaction, he became aroused again, but forced desire back. Ramona needed to rest.
As she released a satisfied sigh and snuggled into his heat, contentment filled his heart, but so did sadness.
They had pleasured each other well, but he knew the physical satisfaction they had given one another wasn’t enough. Yet he was wary of allowing it to go beyond that.
There was no such thing as a long-term relationship for him. Not with a human. Possibly not even with a vampire, he mused as he thought about Esperanza’s untimely death, so sudden and without reason.
Maybe that was his punishment for his earlier decadent and selfish ways. Maybe that was why God had seen fit to doom him to a life of everlasting loss and uncontrollable change—to punish him for his past sins.
And Ramona? he thought, cradling her tighter as she murmured his name in her sleep and a furrow marred her brow.
She was to be his for only an instant. Maybe only for this one pleasant night, since every moment with her was one filled with deceit.
His deceit about what he was. What he could give her, which was…
Nothing, Diego thought.
He closed his eyes and foolishly allowed himself to imagine he was human once again, with all the possibilities that could bring.
Ramona woke to the enticing smell of something sizzling on the stove. Cracking one eye open, she realized Diego was hard at work in her kitchen, cooking up a storm.
She lingered in bed, covertly watching him, imagining what it might be like to start every morning this way. But then reality intruded as her alarm sounded, not just to wake her. The annoyingly loud beeps were the call for her to head to the bathroom and down the assortment of pills necessary to keep her failing body running.
At the sound of the alarm, Diego raised his head and beamed her a smile. It caused a painful constriction in her heart, but she forced an answering smile and, wrapping the sheet around her, walked to where he stood at her stove.
Rising on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss on his lips, but he was not appeased with that simple peck.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her up so he could open his mouth against hers and entice her to answer his demand by slipping her tongue into his mouth. She kissed him deeply, uncaring of anything except how good it felt to begin the morning like this, next to him.
When they broke apart, she was breathless and holding on to his shoulders for support. As she met his gaze, she noted his worry.
“You still look tired. Maybe you should have shut off your alarm and gotten more rest.”
“I’ll take a nap later.” She turned from
him, intent on taking her medicines before she ate, but he asked, “Where are you going?”
“Morning breath,” she said as an excuse, then she hurried to the bathroom, where she pulled out the half-dozen prescription bottles from her medicine chest. With a sip of water, she took her dosage, no longer caring which was to boost her hematocrit or keep at bay the painful headaches that sometimes attacked when she least expected.
Taking a breath, she leaned her hands on the sink and waited, hoping her stomach would keep the medications down this morning. Some mornings she was not so lucky.
Today was a good day, she thought.
She took a moment to brush her teeth and comb her hair. A quick splash of cold water against her face revived her. For good measure, she pinched her cheeks, thinking that with a hint of color, she might not draw Diego’s concerned attention again.
When she exited the bathroom, he had already set the table and was placing plates piled high with food before the two chairs. He gestured for her to take a place, and she slipped into the seat, inhaled the enticing aromas of bacon, eggs and toast. When he put a mug of coffee before her, she moaned, “I think I’m in heaven.”
He smiled and slipped into the seat beside her. With a wink, he said, “If I had known this was all it takes to make you happy, we could have skipped last night.”
“Amor, I wouldn’t have skipped last night for the world,” she said, and laid her hand on his as it rested on the table.
He twined his fingers with hers. “Me, neither. Eat up. I have to get going and make some calls.”
“What do you hope to find out?” she asked as she forked up some eggs.
“Which appraisers looked at the paintings. How the paintings got to the auction house and then to the buyers. I may even pay Alicia a call, if you’d like to come?” He watched as Ramona ate, but left his own plate untouched.
“I’d like to come with you if it won’t seem odd.” She gestured with her fork to his food. “Please eat. There’s nothing worse than cold eggs.”
Diego did as she had requested. He ate just to maintain the semblance of being human. Only blood could provide any real sustenance. He recalled things far worse than this meal, such as the mealy bread and worm-filled meat they’d fed him in his cell during the Inquisition. Or the chilling blood of one of his dead companions on the first trip he and Esperanza had made out west. They had been trapped in a mountain snowstorm, and to avoid feeding on the living, they had drained the dead to keep alive.
After a few forkfuls, he said, “Alicia bought the largest painting.” The one he had hoped to keep himself, he mused regretfully, but then continued, “We’re supposed to deliver it in a few days, and you could come along to help hang it.”
Not an unusual occurrence in the art world. Some buyers even paid extra for the artist to come and assure that the work was properly displayed.
“Do you think she’ll let us look at the painting she bought from van Winter?” Ramona asked.
“The question isn’t whether we’ll be able to see it. Alicia keeps most of her paintings in one special room. Her own museum of sorts, complete with a sophisticated security system.”
“You’ve been there, obviously. So, once we see it, I’ll know if it’s the painting I did.” Ramona laid down her fork, no doubt filled with anticipation.
Diego noticed the early morning light creep over the edge of one of Ramona’s skylights and realized he couldn’t linger for much longer. Although his age allowed him a little immunity from the effects of sunlight, too much would weaken him. Full midafternoon sun for an extended period of time could kill him.
He suspected he would need all his strength in the days to come, until they had a better handle on what van Winter had done, or what the recluse would do if he suspected Ramona was trying to expose his deceit. Diego also needed to keep his wits about him regarding Ramona, reminding himself of both her humanity and her beauty. Beautiful packages sometimes hid ugly contents.
“Once we know for sure, we’ll have to prove it somehow,” he said, and rose from the table.
“My paints contain titanium. Polarized-light microscopy will show that, but it’s not likely Ms. Tipton will let us take a sample, right?”
Diego shook his head. “If she did, are you prepared to go to jail for forgery?”
Chapter 10
S ome might call her a fool, but she definitely had not intended to help van Winter deceive anyone.
“I made copies, Diego. Not forgeries. Being in the art world, you should know the difference.”
“Did you sign them with the artists’ names?” he challenged, and she wondered why he hadn’t asked this and a host of other questions before now. Possibly because they had been too busy doing things they maybe shouldn’t have been doing.
“I didn’t, but the names were on the paintings at the gallery. It surprised me to see them there,” she admitted. “I didn’t use older canvases or stretcher frames. They were brand-new.”
“The appraisers would have checked those items for age,” Diego said as he paced back and forth. Then he paused and faced her. “But if van Winter went so far as to add the signatures, maybe he altered that, as well.”
“Or maybe he replaced mine with the originals from the paintings. The frames looked old when I examined them in the gallery. Removing them would alter the value of the real pieces, but help him carry out the fraud with the copies.”
“Someone should have noticed an exchange like that. The nail holes and mounting marks should have tipped them off.”
“Unless the appraisers didn’t carefully check. The provenance of the works is faultless. The van Winter family was known to have been in possession of the paintings for quite some time,” Ramona said, running through all the things she might examine if she were in the role of authenticating the works.
Diego picked up where she left off. “The craque-lure would be off.”
Ramona winced as she thought of the care she had used to replicate the fine cracks and lines due to the age of the paintings. As Diego noticed her response, he sighed. “I’m guessing you’re as good at that as you are at painting.”
“I guess, but if someone took the time to do a full Morellian analysis—”
“I know one of the owners of that auction house and suspect that his interest in the commission may be greater than his concern for the authenticity of the works.”
A ray of light inched onto the tabletop as the sun rose higher in the morning sky. Diego shifted away from it as he said, “It’s getting late. If I’m going to reach out to some of my contacts, I need to go.”
Ramona had things of her own to do that day, most importantly, a visit to her hematologist to discuss the results of the blood tests she’d had earlier in the week. She walked Diego to the door, where she stood before him uncertainly, not quite sure where things stood after their passionate night but rather businesslike morning.
“Will I see you later?” she asked, waiting awkwardly.
He slipped on his suit jacket, and when he noticed her apprehension, kissed her cheek. “I’ll be by, but first I want to get some things straight.”
She suspected it was about more than just the paintings, but still needed to hear it from him. “About the forgeries?”
His hand dropped heavily and he fiddled with stra
ightening his jacket. With a sigh, he finally answered, “About that and more. Whatever this is between us…I need to think about it. Think about the consequences.”
“Right.” After she closed the door behind him, she realized she should be thankful that someone in this relationship—if that’s what it was—was thinking with his head.
Maybe it was time she gave it more thought, too, reminding herself that she wasn’t someone to pin hopes on for a long-term relationship.
While she prayed the doctor would give her some reason for optimism, in her heart she feared the prognosis would be worse.
Your heart didn’t lie to you about some things.
Diego ran his hands over the frame, hesitant about the course of action he had decided on. For over four centuries, he had possessed this painting and a few others, holding on to them as a last connection with his past and a safeguard for his future. If he needed to sell them, they would fetch quite a tidy sum.
Luckily, his business sense and other investments made it unnecessary to go to such extremes.
But now his association with Ramona required that he reveal the existence of this painting.
Ramona. In the many years he had known her, she had always brought a bright spot to his life and, although he wouldn’t admit it, to his heart. Last night had been…
Extraordinary. Overwhelming. Dangerous.
He couldn’t allow himself to forget what he was. What he could not possess—a human.
Unlike the painting in his hands, Ramona could never be his.
“Diego? What are you doing?” Simon asked as he limped over, leaning heavily on his walking sticks.
“Just wondering about…things.” He caressed the frame, its edges sharp beneath his fingers. Cold. Lifeless.
“You came in rather late this morning,” Simon noted as he dropped into the chair beside him, leaned over and examined what Diego held in his hands. “Quite beautiful,” his keeper said.
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