by Jackie Ivie
“I suppose we should get down to business. Is this...the music room?”
She walked from him while she spoke. Reynaldo swiveled and immediately followed. He didn’t query it. No need. He hadn’t any jurisdiction over anything. Self-control was an illusion. She stopped in the door between the rooms for a moment before continuing in. He barely kept from plowing into her.
“Oh. My cello is here.”
“Yes,” he replied.
“I’ll need to tune it.”
“Yes,” he replied again.
“Is your piano in tune?”
“Yes.”
She reached the instrument and lifted the front, revealing ivory and ebony keys. And then she stared over at him wide-eyed. His heart stuttered. His knees sagged. To remain upright, he smacked a hand to the doorframe beside him, grabbing the plaster ridge with his fingers.
“This is a pianoforte,” she told him in an awed tone.
“Yes.”
Giving one word answers should make it easy to manage his reactions. It wasn’t working. Her instant glance from him back to the keyboard and the tremor of her hands were vivid indicators of his failure.
“This...can’t be original.”
“Why?”
“It would be almost three hundred years old!”
“Yes,” he answered.
“It’s that old? Truly.”
“Yes.”
Despite his hold, the word carried too much emotion. Deep bass tones pulsed through both rooms. Candles flickered with the infusion of air. The fire behind her flared brighter before subsiding. Reynaldo sucked on his fangs. One-word answers were even getting difficult. Her lips parted slightly. She was breathing rapidly. Her breasts swelled against the black confines of her gown. Reynaldo matched her breath-for-breath. The plaster he gripped began crumbling in his palm.
“I think I’ll just...get my cello now,” she told him.
He toyed with what to answer and how to manage it, but it wasn’t necessary. Without looking in his direction, she sat, pulled her cello case to her. Unsnapped an outer pocket. She was visibly shaking now. Then, she blushed. And Reynaldo’s world got upended.
He was soaring, but his feet remained locked to the floor. His fingers gripped to plaster. His heart thumping mightily. The mating pull was so vast that containing it required every effort and a large measure of luck. His heart wasn’t pumping blood. It sent need and hunger and craving through his veins. Vampiric strength was on the verge of failure.
Was it possible...she felt this too?
Already?
She lifted a binder from the pocket. Shuffled through pages. Spoke her next words to them. “Do you, um...have a particular selection you’d like to hear?”
He grunted something unintelligible. Answering had become a lesson in futility.
“I appear to have brought...Bach’s Cello Suite #1 in G. The prelude is one of my favorites.”
She lifted a page. Reynaldo didn’t answer. She glanced at him and then back to her music. Her shaking made the paper rustle.
“I also have Brahms’ Cello Sonata #1, first movement...and...here is Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme. That one showcases...uh. Melodic long notes.”
He didn’t reply. This time, she didn’t even glance at him.
“I also have...Beethoven’s Cello Sonata #1...and—ah!”
She gave a cry as her bundle of pages slipped, scattering onto the floor. She jumped to her feet. Reynaldo was instantly before her. She lifted a stricken gaze to his, blinking rapidly. He couldn’t move. He could barely think. He was already smitten with her eyes. His heart sent solid thumps of pain as he viewed the patina of tears atop them. And then she looked down at her pile of papers.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can audition...tonight.”
She worried over an audition? Who the hell said anything about—?
Nigel.
Accidenti!
Reynaldo was going to stick a sword through the kid the next time they met. No. Wait. Damning things didn’t help. Nor did anger. And this wasn’t just Nigel’s fault. The blame for this was at Reynaldo’s door, too.
His train of thought took seconds. There was an after-effect, as well. Self-disgust gave back a measure of wits and some semblance of control. Not much, but he wasn’t quibbling. Reynaldo cleared his throat to speak, but she forestalled him.
“I’m really sorry. I don’t...know what’s wrong with me. I’m not normally so nervous. It’s just...everything is so strange! I mean, we just met, and—oh, no! No. No. I did not just say that!”
She sounded horrified. And she put her hands to her face. But she didn’t look up or she’d have seen what he couldn’t hide. Fangs were impossible to conceal, not with a cheek-splitting grin. Reynaldo brushed plaster debris on his trousers before putting his hand toward her, palm up. A head shift indicated she glanced at it, but then she looked back to the pile of papers.
“I should um...go now...while I can still talk around the foot in my mouth,” she said.
Reynaldo’s smile widened. “Allow me to escort you.”
“I can probably find the front door by myself. But maybe Jacques could see my things...brought down?”
He regarded the top of her head for some moments before trying again. “Simone. Please. Take my hand.”
“I...think I should just go,” she informed the floor.
“Well, I think you just need a change of venue.”
“You’re joking. You can’t possibly have a better room than this.”
“I do,” he replied.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Your chamber.”
Her gasp was loud. Shocked. He matched it. But beyond a series of tremors he couldn’t halt, Reynaldo didn’t move. Shift. Or even breathe. He stood, silently waiting, willing her to take his hand. It took every ounce of strength at his disposal. And just when he thought he’d failed, she reached out...
And touched her fingers to his.
CHAPTER NINE
For an incalculable amount of time nothing happened.
Reynaldo was frozen in place, too overcome to even move. And then she looked up. Slowly met his gaze...and sucked him right into an unbeknownst realm of wonder. Hammering beats filled his ears. Each breath was harshly indrawn and swiftly exhaled. Her eyes widened as he gazed into them. The color altered. They’d been green, but now they resembled vats of molten copper. Just as bright. And just as hot. Her fingers quivered next, sending electric signals that not only sparked through his skin, they burned. But it was her step toward him that was the real catalyst.
And that’s when pandemonium ensued.
Every bond he’d put in place ruptured. Reynaldo responded like a beast sprung from a cage. He snatched her to him and swooped backward with her locked in his arms. Her gasp was audible. So was his. But he followed with a lengthy howl that tore his throat. Shockwaves resounded through the area. All but a few candles were instantly extinguished. Small trinkets clattered and fell. Fireplace flames shot up chimneys. Chandeliers gyrated on chains, sending tiny shafts of light that brought the ceiling paintings to life.
Moments later he was facing her chamber door, Simone cradled against one side, while the other hand held her cello case. And he didn’t remember how or when he’d even grabbed for it.
“Um. Reynaldo?”
Her nose was against his cheek, her lips grazing his jaw. Air from her whispered query snuck around his cravat to caress his throat. Reynaldo levitated, but somehow managed to keep from smacking into the hall ceiling. He dropped back to the hall floor, bent knees taking the impact. This was incredulous. Intense. Frightening.
He grunted. Felt her lips against his skin again. His knees sagged. The cello case beneath his arm kept them upright.
“How do you...um?”
She didn’t finish and he waited. Tensed. Trembling. Alert and aware. He’d been right about the fabric of her gown, too. Two of his fingers had ripped through the waist of it, putting him in
contact with her skin. That sent combustible signals pulsating through his one-word response.
“Yes?”
“Move...so fast?”
She didn’t sound scared. She should. Alarm choked him. Stilled his tongue. Stopped any answer. She wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t even grasp it. He was in the grip of something so massive it defied every description. He’d been without sensation for so long! And now he had to deal with too much of it - in too many places – at once. His heart pounded. His skin itched. Every muscle burned. His head spun. But his groin was the real issue. His cazzo was aroused to a painful status. Thoroughly primed. Beyond ready.
He needed to explain all kinds of things to her. But right now, he was out of time.
“Never mind!” she answered herself. “This is a dream! It doesn’t have to make sense. All it needs to do is keep going!”
“Si—mone—!”
The name was split in two, the last half an octave higher. Because she’d touched his ear with her tongue!
Reynaldo jumped. Then moved. He yanked the door handle downward. It broke off in his hand. He pitched it behind them, grabbed her cello case, and shoved the door open with it. Light flooded the hall before he kicked the door shut. The instrument thumped as he set it on the floor. Her arms were about his neck, her lips trailing along his jaw. She reached the top of his cravat and touched a pulse-point with her tongue, lighting a fuse somewhere inside him. He could actually hear it sizzling.
Reynaldo leapt toward the bed. They bounced twice. He rolled, gaining the top position. Pushed up from her with a primal grunt. But her eyes stopped him. Moss-filled pools of mystery deepened as he stared. He couldn’t miss her glance to his fangs or the width of her eyes when she again met his gaze. Her pupils enlarged, darkening her eyes to black. Buzzing overtook his hearing, followed by a long, high-pitched drawn-out note. Nothing moved.
Not even time.
And then she smiled.
Elation slammed through him. Reynaldo shoved his head back and roared, giving sound to the euphoria. Candle flames reacted, some tapers extinguishing, others coming back to light with renewed vigor. His cry ended, but deep base tones continued reverberating about them, ruffling the drape behind the headboard, lifting wisps of his hair.
He looked back down at her. She had a brow raised. Her lips pursed. And then she completely surprised him. She instigated with a reach for his coat. She shoved it onto his upper arms, but stopped there, moving her attention instead, to his cravat. Reynaldo lifted and straddled her hips, freeing him to shuck the jacket while she worked at his neckerchief. The knot was troublesome. She pulled and yanked and twisted, before she left it, too. Her hands burrowed beneath the red lace, and started slipping pearl shirt buttons from their holes.
Reynaldo hooked a finger beneath his neckwear, tore it off, and tossed it. He didn’t look where it landed. He didn’t care. Simone had started writhing between his thighs, sending stimulation he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. Or absorb.
Her frock might as well be sewn from tissue paper. Reynaldo gripped both sides, tore the thing open, and was stopped for an instant by the view. She wore a demi-cup brassiere. Black satin. A little line of black lace was sewn onto it for decoration. She had a lush bosom, barely held in check. The cups were not useful. And they were in his way. Reynaldo hooked a finger beneath the center seam and ripped upward, releasing her. He gathered handfuls. Bent down. His unbound hair fell forward as he nuzzled. And adored. Groans fled him. Her soft cries added accompaniment.
“Reynaldo! Oh, my. Yes! Oh, my. Yes! Oh, my—!”
The words ended on a feminine cry. It punctuated the air. Inciting. Then galvanizing. Reynaldo released her. Sat again. Shoved his hair off his face with one hand, then stilled in place.
Porca vacca!
She breached his shirt. Reached skin. The resultant thrills surged through nerve endings with blistering effect. He couldn’t contain it. His tremors shook the bed. Posts thumped against the floor. Drapery swayed again.
“Oh, my. My. Look at this...”
Her hands splayed across his chest before grazing a path down his belly, skimming abs he involuntarily tensed.
“Oh wow, Reynaldo. You are really...really ripped.”
The word was unfamiliar to him, but her tone of voice translated feminine appreciation. She reached his belt. And then her fingers delved lower! Reynaldo caught a breath. His eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. She flipped his belt buckle open! Without a hint of hesitation! Her boldness fascinated. Provoked. And enticed. And while he reeled with the combination of sensations as she worked the buttons of his fly apart. Her hand slid beneath his waistband, she found the opening of his under-drawers...
Reynaldo went rigid with shock. Amazement. And absolute wonderment.
“Oh. Wow. Reynaldo. Just...wow—!”
She had her delicate touch around his cazzo. Slid her hand along his length. And Reynaldo went berserk. The world jerked sideways. Re-righted. Then spun the opposite direction. His woolen trousers were no match for this. The fabric disappeared with a loud rip. His under-drawers followed. The bottom of her dress was next. And everything else. He lifted from her, supporting his weight with one arm, while the other hand shredded and displayed.
Even from his besotted fog, it registered that she wore thigh-high stockings. And her legs were spectacular. Shapely. Feminine. Perfect. And then she opened them for him! Reynaldo leapt between them. Found her core with his hand and then his fingers. Positioned himself. Oh! She was so tight. So perfect. So utterly...womanly.
So...wet.
He rammed into place, filling her. Simone cried out, the sound filled with feminine pleasure. Reynaldo’s yell carried triumph. It was loud. And lengthy. More candles were snuffed out. Her arms snaked over his shoulders, enwrapped his neck. Her legs flexed about him and Reynaldo gripped her hips to prevent further movement. His every muscle was locked. She didn’t understand. It had been far too long. She was way too sweet. He was on the absolute verge.
His breath ran out. Baritone notes hung in the room as he pulled in more air. Beyond that, he didn’t dare move. He didn’t just long to give her pleasure, it was a requirement. He knew how. He’d once been known by his abilities at it. But this was so much more. Simone was infinitely precious. Divinely special. The need to mate with her was beyond massive. Hunger was a physical force that surged through him. To take...
And dominate.
This was complete madness. His muscles burned. Everything shook. He was caught in the throes of a seemingly impossible goal, fighting every instinct...and then Simone snorted what sounded like merriment.
Reynaldo snapped his head toward her, caught her gaze. He hadn’t misheard. She looked as amused as she sounded. She had a twinkle in her eye, as well.
“Oh, Reynaldo. My, dear...dear man.”
“Simone!”
He pleaded the name in a harsh whisper. Just saying that much was dangerous. It added to all the other ills and then it multiplied them. And all of that completely bypassed her.
“Wow. I mean. Wow. This is - by far - the best dream I have ever had,” she informed him. She finished with an air-kiss. And then she wriggled! And that should make what happened entirely her fault.
Reynaldo pushed up, denting the mattress, and started pumping. There was no stopping this. No controlling it. No way to even steer it. His thrusts were heavy. Mighty. Hard. He scrunched his eyes shut, opened his mouth. Not just for air, but to gain room for fangs that throbbed angrily along with everything else.
His thrusts got wilder, each one heaving the headboard against the wall. The mattress rocked beneath them. Bedposts creaked. Wood groaned. The drapery behind the headboard wavered and then dropped, enclosing part of the bed with a make-shift canopy. Furnishings rattled and fell. The world was alive with pounding. Gasped breaths. Harsh moans. Deep-throated grunts. And at the center of it was his mate.
Simone.
Her cries grew louder, became a scream. And this time she took
him with her. An explosion tore through him, sending him soaring with ecstasy. His bellow filled the chamber with a sound to match. He vibrated with bliss. Radiated happiness. Hovered with her above the mattress, encased in rapture so sublime his eyes stung.
For an eternity of time.
And then it dissipated. They settled back to the mattress. Reynaldo cracked an eye open. His hair curtained the view. He shook his head to move it out of his way. At some point, her braid had come undone. Tangled locks covered the bed beneath her, making a sable backdrop. And her eyes were liquid pools of warmth.
But it was her neck that drew him.
A blue-toned vein pulsed just beneath the skin, sparking a different craving to life. Somewhere in him it registered that he shouldn’t. He hadn’t explained anything. It was too soon. It wasn’t just roguish. It could be dangerous. He might not be able to stop.
But he didn’t have anything left to fight with.
Reynaldo dropped his head, touched his tongue to where the little vein throbbed. Groaned. Shook...
And then he stabbed.
CHAPTER TEN
This was not how her life was supposed to go.
Thirty-three years old. Single. Sharing a flat with four roommates. Having a basically useless degree, since no paying art historian jobs ever opened. Going back to college for a chemistry degree. At least that one paid. She had a roof over her head and food in the icebox. She supported herself, even if the job was night work and mind-numbing...
No wonder she’d dreamt of a job playing her beloved cello! Paying twenty thousand Euros. At a fairytale palace. With a drop-dead gorgeous guy possessing an old-world foreign name and title. The earth-shattering lovemaking session was a huge bonus, too. That had been amazing. And so realistic! She could swear she still experienced the afterglow. How was that even possible? Simone couldn’t remember the last time she’d dreamt of sex.
Heck.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had it.