“It is probably better if I sit here in the chair,” he said in that sexy rumble of his.
Pet took another drink, eyeing him over the top of it as she tried to think of a way to get him to her bedroom. Claim she needed a light bulb changed that she couldn’t reach, lead him in there and “trip” into him, accidentally tumbling them both to the bed? No, she was too small and he was too big. Even if she tackled him like a linebacker, she probably couldn’t knock him onto the bed.
“My mother is Calandra Notte,” Santo said solemnly.
“That’s a pretty name,” Pet murmured. Perhaps she could claim she had to go check on Parker, then grab Mrs. Wiggles and put her in her room and say the cat ran in there and she needed help cornering the feline and—and what? If the cat was on the bed, he’d just grab her and put her back in Parker’s room, and if Pet put her under the bed, he’d do the same. Neither would actually get him on the bed where she could strategically trip onto him and hopefully end up in a nice passionate—
“My father was Gasparo Carbones Notte,” Santo continued. “My mother was two hundred and thirty years old when she met my father. He was fifty-one.”
Maybe she could—Pet’s thoughts died abruptly and she gaped at Santo. “Hold on, your mother was almost one hundred and eighty years older than your father?”
“Sì.” He nodded. “Why are you so surprised by this?”
“Well, you know, I mean, older guys get with younger women all the time. And some women are getting together with younger guys now, but it’s still not that common, and I mean, come on, she was almost a hundred and eighty years older than him. That’s a super gap.”
“But she looked about twenty-five,” he pointed out gently. “And still does.”
“Oh. Right,” Pet muttered. “Just like you look like you’re somewhere between twenty-five or thirty, but are really almost three millennia.”
“Exactly,” he said easily.
“Yeah.” Pet nodded and then shook her head. Good God, the diseases he must have encountered over those millennia. The plague, smallpox, leprosy, tuberculosis, syphilis . . . Could immortals get herpes? Maybe she should rethink this. She had condoms still in her bedside drawer, leftover from her last boyfriend, but she wasn’t sure they would fit Santo. If he was as big down there as he was everywhere else . . . Well, that could be a problem. She didn’t know if they made Super XXX-sized condoms. Maybe they did come that big but were special order. This could be a serious problem and one she needed to sort out right away.
“I was born four years after they met and became life—”
“Do you have condoms?” Pet interrupted.
Santo blinked several times and then asked weakly, “What?”
“Condoms,” she said clearly. “To prevent pregnancy and the spread of disease.”
“I . . .” He looked at a loss for a minute. She suspected that was a bad sign. And then he cleared his throat, rubbed one hand over his skull, and said, “I have no need of condoms.”
Pet narrowed her eyes. “So you’ve just gone bareback all these millennia?”
“What?” he asked with bewilderment.
“Bareback,” she repeated, getting a little agitated at the thought that she had been messing about with him and he might be riddled with disease. “It means sans condom. Have you gone the last nearly three thousand years screwing women without protect—dear God!” she interrupted herself with horror as another thought struck. “How many women have you had sex with?”
“What?” Santo asked with disbelief.
“I mean, you’re nearly three thousand years old, Santo,” she pointed out as if he didn’t know that. “Even if you only had sex with one woman a year, that’s nearly three thousand women. If it’s been two a year, that’s nearly six thousand. I don’t even want to think what the numbers are if it was one a month. That would be more people than live in all of the city of Long Beach, and almost a third of the population of Albany. And all bareback. Dear God! You could be a walking herpes simplex, riddled with syphilis, and—and gonorrhea. And I kissed you! I can’t believe this!” she muttered, and then snatching her still nearly full wineglass, she stood up and downed it on the way to the kitchen.
“Pet,” Santo said with a frown, following her. “I am not sure how you—why you are—I have not slept with more women than the population of Long Beach,” he said finally with frustration, and then added, “I have not even slept with six thousand women, and probably not three thousand women either.”
“Probably not?” Pet gasped, turning on him as she reached the sink.
Santo scowled and shrugged helplessly. “I do not know the number. I never counted, and even if as a foolish and prideful young man I had kept count, that was a long time ago and I could not possibly remember now.”
“How long?” she asked at once.
“I have not had sex since 775 b.c.,” he said solemnly.
Pet’s jaw dropped at this news, and then Santo added, “Except to make my children. But that only took two tries in the summer of 1108 to make Cataldo and Romaso, once in 1212 for Dardi, and three in the spring of 1316 for Claricia and Fenicia.”
“Twice in 1108 and once in . . .” She couldn’t remember the second year, so just fell silent and stared at him with amazement.
“Sì.” Santo puffed up a bit. “I am very virile.”
“And probably disease ridden,” Pet snapped. “I’m quite sure they didn’t have condoms back when you were sexually active, but I’m equally sure they still had STDs.”
“I am not disease ridden,” he said a little sharply, and then added more calmly, “I cannot be. The nanos would not allow it.”
“They wouldn’t?” she asked with surprise.
“No, they would not,” Santo said firmly. “The nanos are programmed to keep us at our peak condition. That does not just mean to make us young and strong and repair any injury we might suffer. It means destroying and ridding the body of any foreign invader whether it is a virus, bacteria, a cancer cell . . .” He paused and then frowned suddenly and said, “Did you not know this?”
“No,” Pet admitted on a sigh, and thought that was good news. But then she recalled the whole virile thing and frowned again. Her gaze dropping to the front of his jeans, she muttered, “A large-size condom probably wouldn’t fit you, huh?”
Much to her amazement, the front of his jeans started to bulge outward as she looked at it, and then Santo cursed and turned sideways to lean against the counter.
“Why are you even asking me something like that?” he growled, and she glanced up to see that he was rubbing his head again as if checking for dandruff . . . or as if he were stressed.
“Because you’re virile,” Pet said dryly. “And while I would very much like to have sex with you, I don’t want to get pregnant, so a condom is needed, and I only have large size ones. I suspect you’d take a triple X or something . . . if they even make condoms large enough to accommodate you,” she added with a frown.
“Dear God.” Santo leaned forward and began to bang his forehead on the island top.
Pet reached for his arm to stop him, but the minute she made contact, he jerked up and away until there were a good three feet between them. He then just scowled at her. Sighing, she picked up the glass she’d poured for him and took a drink. Just one, before commenting, “I’m not sure why you’re upset, I’m just trying to be responsible here. I told you I didn’t want to have a baby alone.”
After a prolonged silence, Santo sighed and said, “You would not be alone. But a condom is not necessary. As a rule, immortals cannot impregnate mortals.”
“As a rule?” she queried, one eyebrow arching.
“It has happened twice in my lifetime that I know of,” he said solemnly.
Twice in almost three thousand years with numerous immortals sleeping with probably countless mortals, she thought. Those were actually pretty good odds. Better odds than the pill, which was supposed to be 99 percent effective. Still . . . “So would
large fit? Or does one of us have to go to the drugstore?”
“Please stop talking about condoms,” Santo begged, running one hand over his head again.
“Why? We are both grown-ups, Santo. And we need to think of these—”
“Because I want to be a talking penis and not just a vibrator with legs,” he growled. “But discussing condoms and when I last had sex makes me want to strip your clothes away and ravish you.”
Pet stared at him blankly. She had no idea what he was talking about with the talking penis and vibrator with legs business, but the stripping her clothes away and ravishing her business sounded promising. Only, it sounded like he wasn’t likely to do that until they’d “talked” and “got to know each other better.”
That was a problem, Pet decided, and glanced down, then paused when she saw the coffee staining her top. Apparently it hadn’t all gone on the floor. She scowled at the discolored splotches, thinking that probably wasn’t helping her cause. Her outfit wasn’t exactly sexy to begin with, but having it covered with coffee stains probably just made her look pitiful rather than someone he’d want to jump . . . which gave her an idea.
Pet had no idea if the coffee would stain the top but was quite sure Santo wouldn’t know either, so murmured, “Oh, damn,” and set her glass down on the counter as she raised her other hand to touch her top where the worst of the stains were. “I’d better go change and put this in the sink to soak before the coffee sets and my shirt is ruined.”
Pet didn’t wait for him to respond, just moved around him and headed for her room.
Santo released his breath on a long sigh as Pet disappeared up the hall, then shook his head and walked back out to the living room. This talking business was more difficult than even he had imagined, and since he disliked talking to begin with, he’d feared doing so would be pretty damned hard, but—good Lord, her reaction to his age had been dismaying! And that business about how many lovers he’d had . . .
The truth was, Santo had been born and raised in Greece, where the people had been anything but prudes about sex. He’d had many lovers during the almost two centuries that he’d been sexually active before growing bored with it. But he’d never kept count and couldn’t even guess at the number.
Sighing, he relaxed back in the overstuffed chair and gazed up at the high ceiling as he considered what he should talk about next with Pet. Obviously, just blurting out everything from his birth to now was not the way to go about it. He needed to be more circumspect, and to that end, he started going through his history, deciding which things he should probably leave out.
Santo doubted she would appreciate learning of the many centuries he’d spent as a warrior, first in Greece and later in Europe. While he would surely tell her about them someday, now might not be the time since, if he were to judge by how the conversation about sex had gone, Pet might ask if he’d killed anyone and then how many. He didn’t want to upset her with the knowledge of just how many men he’d killed in battle over the last three thousand years. Not that he’d kept an accounting of that either, but . . .
Pushing the thought from his mind, Santo decided he would simply tell her about his day-to-day life outside of battle. As a history professor, she’d no doubt be fascinated by what he could tell her about life in ancient Greece.
But, Santo decided, he would have to stay away from the lustier aspects, like the celebration of Dionysius where the people had paraded through the streets carrying giant phalluses. Probably he should avoid talking too much about the symposia he’d attended too, at least the ones that had turned into all-out orgies when high-class prostitutes had been hired for entertainment. Keeping the conversation away from sex altogether seemed a good idea—
Santo’s thoughts died as a whisper of sound caught his ear. Lifting his head, he turned to see Pet approaching the living room, and sat up. But as he noticed what she was wearing, he stiffened, his mouth dropping open with shock.
When Pet had said she was going to go change and soak her shirt, he’d expected her to change into another top or . . . something. Not the sexy, dark purple slip of a nightgown she was wearing. Pet had also put on a matching robe, but since it was just as short as the gown and she’d left it undone and open, the only things it covered were her arms. Everything else . . .
His gaze slid hungrily over the dark lace bodice that didn’t really cover much of the breasts they were encompassed so lovingly, and then trailed down over the purple silk that did cover the skin beneath until it stopped high up her thighs. The gown and robe were so short that he was sure if she turned around and bent over, he’d get a lovely view of her panties. If she was wearing any.
Dear God, she wasn’t wearing panties, Santo realized with dismay when Pet swung toward the couch and the gown swung with her, flaring out and lifting enough to give him a peek at the bottom of her bare behind before it dropped again.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Pet murmured. “But it seemed silly to dirty another shirt so late in the day and it’s not like you haven’t seen me in my pajamas before.”
Santo blinked and shifted his gaze back up to her face as Pet settled on the couch. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she was a little embarrassed or uncomfortable and she was wringing her hands a bit nervously. He supposed his trying to devour her alive with his eyes had done that, and quickly looked away, managing little more than a grunt in response to her words. But she was right, of course. He had spent a good deal of time with her last night and earlier today while she was in her pajamas. But while the boxers and cropped T-shirt she’d worn then had been sexy in a cute way, this was . . .
His gaze drifted down to the lace hiding so little of her breasts and he swallowed thickly.
“Now . . . you wanted to talk?”
“Talk,” Santo growled, grasping desperately onto that reminder. Yes. Talking. What was it he’d wanted to talk about? He searched his mind a little frantically, trying to recall what he’d been thinking about as he’d waited for her, and spat out the first word to enter his mind. “Sex.”
Her eyebrows rose delicately and she stilled. “You wanted to talk about sex?”
“No,” he assured her quickly. That was a topic he was supposed to stay away from, Santo recalled, but then realized he was also nodding his head even as he said no. Forcing himself to stop nodding, he squawked the next word that jumped out at him from his earlier thoughts. “Orgies.”
Pet’s eyes widened. “Orgies?”
“Phallus,” Santo added, and then slapped his hand over his mouth, trying to stop the words that kept leaping out of his treacherous lips. He followed that up by closing his eyes on a groan of dismay and letting his head drop back to rest on the chair back. Good Lord, when had he lost his mind? And how was he supposed to talk to her about himself and his past with her sitting there looking so damned—
“Are you all right?”
It wasn’t the words so much as how close they sounded that caught his attention. Opening his eyes, Santo lifted his head and then froze again when he saw that she had crossed the room to stand between his splayed knees. She was now bending forward as if to touch him.
Pet froze when Santo raised his head and looked at her. She’d been about to touch his arm and perhaps feign a loss of balance and then tumble decorously into his lap as part of her seduction routine. The nightgown had been the first part of her plotting. Actually, it had been all the plotting she’d managed when she’d gone to her room to change. Put on a sexy nightgown and hope he was so overcome with lust he forgot all about talking and they could get on to the good stuff.
Pet had always been impetuous by nature, but even she had got a little nervous once she’d changed into the nightie. She’d pushed those nerves aside, though, and headed out, stopping only to look in and be sure Parker was sleeping soundly, and not letting herself think much about what she was doing for fear she’d lose her nerve. Santo’s reaction had been gratifying. At least at first. She wasn’t sure what to make of the words he’d started b
arking at her, though. Sex? Orgies? Phallus?
Still, when he’d looked so pained, covered his mouth, and dropped his head back, she’d seen an opportunity to get closer to him under the guise of concern. The idea about tumbling into his lap had only struck her as she’d crossed the room to reach him. But the sight of his silvered eyes made her pause and catch her breath. They were so beautiful . . . and so hungry.
Pet was still staring at those eyes with fascination, when Santo suddenly lunged forward. Snatching her up, he pulled her off her feet and dragged her with him as he fell back in the chair again. Pet found herself on his lap in a cocoon made up of his chest and arms, but her smile of relief died on a gasp as his mouth covered hers.
There was no feathering of lips first, no soft seeking kiss. It was like she’d unleashed a beast intent on devouring her as his mouth claimed hers and his tongue swept in to conquer. Pet stilled briefly under the onslaught, but only very briefly, and then her own passion rose to meet his and she gave as good as she got. Battling him with her lips and tongue, she managed to free her hands from between them. One immediately slid to clutch at his shoulder, while the other went around his neck and then up so that she could scrape her nails over his bare head.
Santo murmured into her mouth at that, and then broke their kiss and growled, “We should talk,” as he shifted her to sit upright in his lap and began to push her robe off her shoulders.
“We will,” Pet panted, lowering her arms so that he could remove the silk cloth.
Santo grunted at that, and then caught her at the waist and shifted her to straddle him so that he could close his mouth around one nipple through the lacy covering of her nightie. Pet gasped and then bit her lip and groaned with pleasure as he tongued the sensitive tip through the thin material.
She was so distracted by what he was doing that Pet was barely aware of his urging her arms down to her sides until he stopped what he was doing and raised his mouth briefly from her breast. She glanced down then to see that he’d slid the straps of her nightie off of her shoulders and was urging them down her arms. She immediately shifted her arms so the straps slid down and off. It left her nightie to gather around her waist, leaving her bare from there up. Santo immediately took advantage of this and lowered his head to reclaim the nipple he’d been teasing through the lace.
The Trouble With Vampires Page 18