by Lynsay Sands
“It is either me or all three of us since we are to guard you,” he pointed out. “And I can use the fresh air.”
When she didn’t protest further, Valerian headed up the hall, H.D. tucked under his arm like a football. The fur ball had stopped barking, but she wouldn’t put it past him to pee all down Valerian’s side on the way downstairs. He could be a little bugger when he wanted.
Shaking her head, she glanced at Tybo. “Coffee? Tea? Cake?”
“Tea would go nicely with that cake you mentioned,” Tybo said with a grin. “I love cake.”
Ildaria smiled, pleased that at least someone would try her tres leches. She’d made it intending to feed it to G.G. and his parents when they returned last night. But they’d never returned. Someone should eat it.
“I’ll bring a slice and some tea for Valerian too,” she promised and slipped back into her apartment. She didn’t bother to close the door. She’d need both hands to carry the tea and cake back, and Tybo was guarding the door. Back in her kitchen, Ildaria set about making tea, but her mind was on G.G. Obviously, he’d found her sleeping and gone to stay at his place with his parents. From Tybo’s comment about it sounding like they’d been up late, she supposed he and Valerian had heard their muffled talking and laughter through the door to his apartment.
That was nice, she supposed. She knew G.G. and his parents were close, and they hadn’t seen each other for a while what with G.G. being here in Canada setting up the Night Club. So it had probably been nice for them to get to visit alone, and she didn’t begrudge them that. If Ildaria had been awake, she might even have suggested it. But she would have sent her cake with them too.
Her gaze slid to the refrigerator where her beautiful cake was waiting. She’d wanted to celebrate the end of her troubles, but she’d also wanted to make a new and better impression on his parents than the first one they’d had of her. She had been sure that returning to find her fully dressed with an apron on, and cake in hand was a better second first impression than her naked on their bambino on the floor.
Ah well, Ildaria thought, she had years to work at removing that image from their minds. Hopefully. If G.G. wasn’t in an accident, or didn’t have a sudden stroke or heart attack. Pushing that troubling thought determinedly from her mind, Ildaria sliced the cake, made a pot of tea, poured two cups and fixed them the way Tybo and Valerian had requested them last night, and then set everything on a tray and carried it out to the hall.
Valerian returned with H.D. just as Tybo was taking the tray from her, so Ildaria wished them buenos dias and carried H.D. back into her apartment. She took a moment to get his food out, set his bowl on the floor in the kitchen and then left him to eat as she headed for her bedroom and the bathroom beyond. She was still wearing her black skirt and white blouse from yesterday and was starting to feel grungy in them. A quick shower and change of clothes were in order.
Ten minutes later she was wrapped in a towel and headed into her room to find clothes, but stopped dead when she saw the man entering from the hall. He was tall, and well built, wearing a beautiful charcoal suit, dress shoes, and she saw the sparkle of a gold watch on his wrist. For one second Ildaria thought it was Juan, but then her gaze lifted to his bald head, and she changed her mind; one of his minions then.
Lucian had been right to be cautious, she thought, and felt a moment’s concern for what might have happened to Tybo and Valerian, but was already kicking into defensive mode. With no other weapon at hand, Ildaria grabbed the top of her towel, gave it a tug to unravel it and then swung it out as she rushed forward. She flung it over his head and around his face, jumping upward as she did. Ildaria landed on his back, driving him to the ground as she caught the other end of the towel and pulled back. It plastered the cloth to his face and around his neck, blinding and hopefully choking him at once.
“Joshua? Did you find her?”
Ildaria froze and twisted on the man’s back to stare toward the door to the hall as Mary Guiscard entered and came to a startled halt. “Oh. Angelina dear. Uh . . .” Her gaze slid from a naked Ildaria to the man she was perched on, and then a smile began to curl her lips and she said with amusement, “I see my son found you.”
“Your son?” Ildaria echoed with confusion, peering down at the man she was presently trying to choke the life out of. Not that this move would kill an immortal, but she could knock him out this way and then truss him up. Or—Oh God, if this was G.G., she could kill him with this choke hold, she thought suddenly, and started to ease her grip, but then shook her head and glanced to Mary to say, “But this man is bald.”
“Yes. Well, his hair will grow back, dear,” Mary assured her, and then added in a gentle voice, “If you don’t take his head off with that towel.”
Ildaria released the towel at once and scrambled off the man’s back. But it wasn’t until he rolled over and pulled the towel off his head that she saw that it was indeed G.G.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed as she took in his flushed face and completely hairless head. “G.G.?”
“He isn’t G.G. anymore. The Green Giant is dead, long live Joshua,” his mother pointed out happily and Ildaria shook her head with dismay.
“I can see that,” she said faintly and then asked G.G. entreatingly, “Madre de Dios, what have you done? Where is your beautiful hair?”
G.G. turned to scowl at his mother at that, but she just smiled brightly, and said, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Your father and I will be next door at your place, Joshua. Come see us when you—after you—later,” she said finally, and turned to hurry from the room.
Ildaria watched her leave and then shifted her attention back to G.G. as he got up off the floor. Her gaze traveled over him in the fine new suit and shoes and then up to his head again.
“It will grow back,” he rumbled, looking uncomfortable under her stare.
“Si,” she agreed.
“I was going to leave an inch or so of hair where the Mohawk used to be, but it just looked silly so I shaved it all off, but—” He paused, frowning at her expression, and ran a hand self-consciously over his bald head. “You don’t like it?”
“Do you?” she asked cautiously.
He shrugged uncomfortably. “I thought it was time I stopped looking like a mortal child, and more like an immortal man.”
Ildaria scowled as she recognized Juan’s description of him as a mortal child, but then the last of his words sank in and her eyes shot to his. The blue eyes he had inherited from his mother were now shot through with silver.
“G.G.?” she breathed, moving closer. “You are . . . ?”
“Immortal,” he finished for her when she didn’t say the word.
“How? When?” she said, reaching out to touch his face and urge him to lower it so she could better see his eyes. She watched the silver shimmer and swim through the blue and thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.
“Mother turned me last night at the Enforcer house. I wanted to surprise you,” he explained. “It was apparently pretty quick as turns go. I woke up a couple hours ago, and then I shaved and showered and we went to buy this suit and shoes, and—I bought you flowers too. They’re in the kitchen. I wanted to . . . impress you.”
“I am impressed,” she assured him solemnly.
“So . . .” He tilted his head. “You like me better this way?”
Ildaria frowned, and then said honestly, “I think you look beautiful, but you were beautiful the other way too.” She paused to bite her lip, and then admitted, “But I miss your hair. And your laugh lines.”
He smiled wryly. “I can grow the hair back, but there’s nothing I can do about the laugh lines. They’re gone I’m afraid. Actually, it was kind of weird waking up, looking in the mirror and finding a much younger version of myself looking back.”
Ildaria grinned, but then alarm covered her face. “Your tattoos!”
G.G. shook his head. “All gone.”
“Si,” she sighed. Ildaria had known that would h
appen if he ever turned. The nanos removed piercings, tattoos, and anything that didn’t match up with the blueprint of a mortal body at peak condition. Tattoos and piercings hadn’t been on that blueprint. It wasn’t unexpected, it just made her sad. She had loved his tattoos.
Lifting her head, she raised her eyebrows and said, “You vowed you would not turn. You loathed the very idea. What made you change your mind?”
“I found there was something else I loathed more,” he confessed with a wry twist to his lips.
Ildaria’s eyes narrowed as she recalled Mary saying G.G. did not like to share his toys. Finally, she asked, “What?”
“The idea of you with Juan after I died,” he said, his voice grim. “I’d go through hell and back to make sure that didn’t happen.”
Ildaria’s eyebrows rose and she pulled back when he reached for her. Perching her fists on her hips, she glowered at him and said, “So, you would not turn to be with me, but you will turn to make sure no one else is?”
G.G. pursed his lips briefly, and then grimaced. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of fucked up, doesn’t it?”
“Si,” Ildaria said coldly. “Loco.”
Sighing, he slid his arms around her and tugged her stiff body close. “But now that I’ve been turned, you’re kind of stuck with me. Forever.”
“Hmm,” Ildaria said, unimpressed.
“And while I may be loco, I love you,” he pointed out, bending his head to press a kiss to her neck.
Ildaria fought the shiver that wanted to slide down her neck, trying to remain unresponsive but it was next to impossible when he touched her and that new life mate magic kicked in.
“I love your body too,” he added, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. “You should always greet me naked.”
Ildaria’s eyes were just closing as she gave herself up to the mounting pleasure growing inside her, when his words sank in. In the next moment, she’d pushed away from him with horror. “Oh, no!”
“What?” he asked with concern.
“Your mother,” she said unhappily, shaking her head and covering her face. “I wanted to make a good first impression. I baked a cake last night, and I was going to be dressed and wear a pretty apron, and be holding the cake like Betty Crocker. But instead, how does she meet me? Naked on top of her bambino again.”
G.G. blinked several times as he processed what she was saying, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Uh, honey, this wouldn’t have been a first impression. She’d already met you,” he pointed out.
“But I wanted to make a new first impression,” she wailed and could have sworn she heard a short huff of laughter before he pulled her back into his arms.
“Angel, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You don’t have to worry about making an impression on my parents. They both love you. My mother, especially. They’d take you naked, dressed, on or off me.” Pulling back, he urged her face up and added, “But more importantly, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she breathed, leaning into him as his hands began to slide over her body again. “But you should take off your pretty new suit before we ruin it.”
G.G. released her reluctantly, and began to shrug out of his jacket, but teased, “You just want to see my new and improved body.”
“Si,” she agreed, backing up to the bed as she watched him undo the buttons of the shirt. “You do look fine in a suit, but I like you in jeans and a T-shirt too.”
“Yeah?” He tugged the shirt out of his slacks and shrugged out of that too, and Ildaria almost changed her mind. The man was beautiful no matter what he did or didn’t wear, she thought as she climbed blindly onto the bed, her gaze locked on the play of muscles in his back as he undid and removed the dress slacks. When he then bent to slide them off and step out of them her gaze slid over his strong shoulders and she thought that she missed the tattoos, but he was still beautiful.
“Well?” he asked, turning to her after folding the slacks over and setting them on her dresser. “How do you like the new vehicle? Want to take it for a ride?”
She chuckled at his teasing, but nodded. “Si, I will ride you hard, señor.”
“All the way to shag city?” he asked as he prowled toward the bed.
Ildaria tilted her head with confusion. “Where is shag city? Is it in Canada? Or England?”
“No, it’s—” G.G. began, and then knelt on the bed and crawled toward her, promising, “I’ll show you.”
Epilogue
“You may not have had them long, but at times like this I really miss your bodyguards, Angelina. It would be handy to have them here to carry the shopping bags.”
Ildaria glanced to G.G.’s mother with surprise. “Are the bags too heavy for you? I can take some if they are.”
“Of course, they aren’t, dear girl,” Mary Guiscard said, amused at the very suggestion. “But they are large, and awkward, and I think I may have ruined my manicure swinging them around to avoid hitting passersby. I don’t think that girl at the salon kept my fingers under that light of hers long enough to set them properly.”
“Not a problem, Mary,” Marguerite said before Ildaria could respond. “We can fix them up before the party. I have a lovely manicure set for just such occasions.”
“Oh, good. I-Is that the boys?” Mary interrupted herself to ask, and then her eyes widened incredulously. “What on earth are they wearing?”
“Leather,” Ildaria said as she spotted the men ahead, moving in their direction. “A lot of leather.”
All three women were silent as they watched their mates approach. G.G. and his father, Robert, were all decked out in leather. G.G. was wearing very tight black leather pants, black combat boots, and a long black leather coat open over a bare chest now looking tanned and tattooed when it hadn’t been that morning. But then neither had he had the high, dark green Mohawk he was now sporting, his real Mohawk had only grown an inch since he’d shaved his head. She was guessing the look was the result of spray tan, temporary tattoos, and some kind of wig. And she thought he looked incredibly hot. His father, Robert, was also wearing the pants and boots, but he had gone for a shorter leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and a red Mohawk. Like son like father, she supposed.
As for Julius, he was the more conservative of the three, wearing a suit made of black leather, with a blue silk shirt under it. He was also wearing some kind of white face paint, delicately applied to make him look pale, and he had his real fangs out. Going for the vampire look, she supposed, noting that some kind of red paint or polish had been applied to his fangs and then dabbed on his cheek to look like a drop of blood.
“My goodness, don’t they look fine,” Mary said, sounding a little breathy.
Ildaria glanced at the woman with surprise. “But Robert is wearing a Mohawk.”
“Yes, dear. I can see that, and it makes him even foxier than usual,” she said, her eyes starting to glow.
Ildaria blinked in disbelief at those words. “I thought you hated G.G.’s Mohawk?”
“No. Actually, I think it’s adorable on my son. It’s hot, though, on Robert,” she added.
“But you were always telling G.G. he would be handsome if he only did not have the Mohawk and—”
“Oh, that was just so he’d feel he was being rebellious,” Mary said, waving away her comments. “Boys need to rebel. It’s in their coding or something. So, I complained about his hair, and he didn’t have to go out and do more drastic things to feel like he was being adventurous and naughty.”
Ildaria stared at the woman blankly for a moment with amazement. She made G.G. sound like a teenager. “You know he is nearing forty now, si?”
“Forty,” Mary breathed with horrified wonder. “And he hasn’t produced a single grandchild for me yet.” Turning on her, she asked, “When are you two going to get busy on that? I expected to be a grandmother by this age.”
“What?” Ildaria gasped with horror as Marguerite burst out laughing. “We are
not even married yet.”
“You’re right,” Mary said judiciously. “So when is that going to happen?”
“I don’t know, maybe when your son asks me,” Ildaria suggested with exasperation. It was the end of October. They had only been together for three months and had been busy during that time working at the Night Club, helping his parents find and move into a house here in Canada, and Ildaria with her new courses at the university. Whatever spare time they had was usually spent either making love, or passed out after making love. They hadn’t had time to talk about the future. But she suspected now that his mother had brought up the subject, she would be harassing them nonstop until they got married and produced a grandchild. Ildaria shook her head at the thought. She loved Mary dearly, she was like a mother to her, but she also drove her crazy.
“Well,” Mary said on a dramatic sigh. “I guess I can’t blame you for that then, can I? I’ll have a talk with my son,” she promised. “But right now, I’m going to go kiss that foxy hunk of burning love with the red Mohawk . . . and give him the shopping bags to carry,” she added, and hurried off to meet the men.
“So, how are things?” Marguerite asked as they followed more slowly.
“Good,” Ildaria assured her. “Very good.”
“You do seem much happier. You glow with it,” Marguerite said with satisfaction.
“Oh.” Ildaria felt herself blush at the compliment, but said, “You have a pretty good glow going too, Marguerite. Pregnancy agrees with you.”
Marguerite smiled at the words, one hand shifting to smooth over her round stomach. The woman was six months pregnant now and really was glowing with it, but instead of responding to the comment, she asked, “Any word about Juan?”
Ildaria shook her head. “He returned home and there has not been a peep out of him. And none of his men have headed north again. I really think he’ll leave me alone now.”
“I do too,” Marguerite agreed. “But I am keeping my eye out for another possible mate for him anyway to make sure he leaves you alone.”