Any Way You Want It (24 page)

His tender attention was just as thrilling as his desperate lovemaking. More so, because he never broke eye contact as he rocked her to her release. Even after she cried out, he kept moving slowly, bringing her to another orgasm.

Only this time when her head fell back and a pleasured moan escaped her, Ren’s own release joined hers. He gripped her tight, and she burrowed her head against his neck. The fresh scent of his hair, the green, earthy scent of the courtyard; it all somehow joined in the wave of satisfaction that swept through her.

She remained curled against him, and he remained holding her.

She must have dozed, because the next thing she knew Ren was placing her carefully into his bed.

She smiled sleepily up at him, her eyelids feeling as if they had weights attached to them.

“Thank you,” she managed to mumble, still riding the wave of delighted bliss, even in her exhausted state.

She closed her eyes, and as she drifted back into darkness, she thought she heard Ren whisper,

“What am I going to do?” She wondered what he meant for a fraction of a second, then a lovely darkness, warm and comforting, enveloped her.

Ren watched Maggie drift easily back to sleep and knew rest would not come so readily to him.

He’d not be able to relax until the sun forced him to sleep.

Again he found himself pacing, something he’d done quite a bit since meeting Maggie.

It was as if he had no control where she was concerned. Vittorio’s comments about her had made clear he really had to tread lightly with her. Hell, if he had been honest with himself, he wouldn’t have needed his brother to suggest he was feeling more for Maggie than he should.

Of course, he could feel whatever he wanted. His affection for her wasn’t the risk. He could be head over heels in love with her, as long as she didn’t love him back.

He walked to the bathroom and stood in front of the medicine cabinet, his reflection in the mirror vaguely see-through, as if he was fading away.

Except he didn’t fade away—he just remained like this, almost human, almost a ghost. Not quite either.

He studied the eyelashes, the white ones, that were hard to make out in his opaque state.

He touched the spiky lengths. It hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when the left eye had been the same as the one on the right.

He’d only been half kidding when he’d asked Maggie on that first night if she thought it was an evil eye. It wasn’t evil in and of itself. But it was a strange outcome of this curse. He’d mentioned voodoo as a source for his unusual eye as well, but there was no voodoo involved.

Only a petty, selfish, and spiteful woman.

And now, Maggie had wandered into his life, and he couldn’t stand what he was. He didn’t want to be this see-through, empty person. He wanted to be worthy of her.

He wanted her love.

No! He gripped the edge of the sink, leaning in to glare at himself. No. He couldn’t think like that.

He couldn’t want her love. Even thinking it made him as selfish as the one who’d made him this ghost of a man.

He would never hurt Maggie. Never.

He pushed away from the sink and headed back into the bedroom. Maggie still slept soundly, nestled in his bed like she belonged there.

He watched her for a moment. She did look perfect, burrowed deep under his covers, curled on her side, her hand under her cheek, her lashes dark, her pink bow lips parted. She looked like a cherub. Young, innocent. So how could she possibly be perfect for a creature like him? She couldn’t.

Even if love was a possibility for them, what could he offer her? He’d never be normal, and she needed normal.

He paced the room again. What was he going to do?

Pausing, he ran his fingers through his hair, still tangled from their earlier tryst in the courtyard.

His eyes stopped on the piano. And as on the night before, he found himself wandering over to it.

He hesitated, wondering why the antique instrument that he’d very rarely noticed over the years suddenly called to him.

He sat down and opened the lid. The keys shone mellow in the lamplight. Maybe he was using something familiar to calm himself.

He held his hands over the keys, then began to play.

He lost himself in the delicate weave of notes and keys. When he finished, he just sat there, wondering what was getting into him.

“That was lovely,” a sleepy voice said from behind him.

He spun on the bench to see Maggie sitting up in a nest of rumpled bedding. She pressed a sheet to her ample breasts.

His chest immediately tightened at the sight—as did other parts of his body.

“That was the piece you were playing that first night.”

He cursed silently to himself. Why had he done that? Why had he played the one song that would possibly pique her curiosity again?

“Yes. It’s just something I wrote years ago,” he said, hoping that if he admitted to writing the song, she’d realize it couldn’t be the same piece she was researching.

Except—maybe it could be. Although he couldn’t for the life—or the undeath—of him figure out how she’d have a copy.

“It seems so much like that piece I looked at before leaving.”

Ren shrugged. “Couldn’t be.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. She yawned, then smiled at him, adorably drowsy.

“Want to come to bed?” she asked.

Even in his agitated state, that was not an invitation he could turn down.

He walked to the bed and undressed. Maggie wiggled closer, once he was under the covers with her.

“I like when you play,” she murmured. “You are so good.”

The compliment pleased him. He’d once derived his whole identity from his music. But instead of letting her know that, he said, “So I’ve heard,” and it was clear that he wasn’t talking about his piano playing.

But she didn’t smile. Instead she reached out and brushed back his hair, tucking the long strands behind his ear.

“So how many women do you think you’ve been with?”

He hadn’t thought there was any topic he wanted to discuss less than his past compositions. But apparently, she’d found one.

“Quite a few.” Honestly, even that was an understatement.

She nodded, her gaze focused somewhere over his left shoulder.

“Do you think you could ever be faithful?”

This was the moment to say something that would put all of his worries to rest. Given what Maggie’s fiancé had done to her, at the altar no less, if he just said he couldn’t be faithful, she’d never fall in love with him. She couldn’t love a man who couldn’t offer faith and loyalty and love…

things she deserved.

“I’m not sure.” That was hardly the definitive answer he should have given her. It left room for hope, if she should want it. And he knew better than anyone that hope was just another form of self-torture. Hope kept you longing for something you couldn’t have.

But his answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. Her lips turned down slightly as she considered it. Then she rolled onto her back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you think you will want to get married again one day?” he asked, maybe feeling a need for a little self-torture himself.

She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Fidelity, loyalty, love—none of those things would ever be an issue for Maggie.

Ren tried to imagine the man she would end up with. Someone handsome enough, intelligent, reserved. Not a long-haired lead singer of a cover band. That was for sure. And certainly not a cursed vampire.

And that should be a good thing, but he found himself wanting to kill the Mr. Right who’d appeared in his head.

He glanced at Maggie. She still stared at the canopy above them, lost in her own thoughts.

“Do you want to know something?” she suddenly asked.

He rolled over to face her. “What?”

“I could see myself living in New Orleans.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. He didn’t breathe. This was not good.

But instead of saying anything to stop this train wreck they were headed for, he just reached out and touched a lock of her hair.

“I can see that.”

M aggie woke feeling no better than she had falling asleep. This morning she was thankful for the dark shroud of the curtains surrounding the bed. She rolled over, resisting the urge to pull the covers up over her head. The darkness wasn’t enough to block out her embarrassment. She wanted to curl up and hide.

Why had she thrown out the comment about living in New Orleans? Especially after Ren had basically admitted that he couldn’t see himself in a monogamous relationship?

Was she utterly stupid? Wasn’t everything that happened with Peter enough of a humiliation? Did she need to repeat her stupidity with Ren?

Ren had said more than once this was a fling. Over as soon as she got on that plane back to D.C.

Why was she even abstractly considering something more long-term?

Ren hadn’t even made it sound like he was offering friendship when all was said and done.

Maggie just needed to let her silly fantasies go.

She didn’t even look over at Ren as she crawled out of bed. Her first thought was to call Erika or Jo; they’d know the best way to brush all this aside and get things back to where they’d been before she’d opened her big mouth. But her friends were gone, probably on the plane back home.

She fought back a groan as she again recalled announcing that she could see herself living in New Orleans. Could she have been any more obvious?

She tiptoed around gathering her clothes, then she headed into the bathroom. From the look of the light outside, she had again managed to sleep until afternoon. Even in her horrible state of embarrassment. God, she was a fool.

She tugged on her skirt and sandals. She wanted to get out of here for a while. Just to clear her head, and get herself sorted out and calmed down, so she could actually enjoy her night with Ren. He had the night off, and he’d told her he was going to take her to another nice restaurant.

She walked carefully to the piles of magazines stacked in nearly teetering towers on the end tables by the sofa in his bedroom. She scanned them, searching for something she could write him a note on, in case he should wake up before she got back.

All she saw were music magazines—interestingly enough, about every type of music but rock.

She flipped through one about opera, then headed down the stairs. She continued her search, finally finding a small notebook buried under more music magazines.

She found a pen and flipped open the notebook, her fingers pausing as she saw musical notes.

She studied the handwritten notes. From the tempo and style she could see it was a classical piece. He’d said that piece he played again last night was one of his own compositions. He was not only interested in classical music, he was very good too.

She studied his notation for a moment longer, then flipped to a blank sheet further back in the pad. Tearing it off, she wrote a brief note telling him that she’d gone for a walk and would meet him back here for dinner.

She placed the note on the kitchen table, along with the pen and the pad of paper.

Then she found her purse and stepped outside. It was drizzling, although the air was still warm.

The gates that led to the sidewalk couldn’t be bolted back into place behind her without a key.

She hated to leave them unlocked, but she didn’t want to wake Ren, and she really needed this time alone.

Her emotions were in total upheaval, and being in his presence even when he was asleep was jumbling her thoughts. She wanted to walk and clear her head. Even the light rain dampening her skin somehow helped.

She opted to shut the gates firmly behind her and hope that no one tested them and discovered them unlocked.

The street was relatively quiet. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was because it was a Monday afternoon and even things in the Quarter quieted down on a workday. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the general lull.

She wandered, pausing under store awnings and balconies to peer in the plate-glass windows at all the strange and fascinating assortments of items. Antiques, jewelry, paintings.

“Good afternoon, precious,” a smiley older man greeted her. Maggie smiled back, realizing that if some stranger said that to her on the streets of D.C. she would have assumed him crazy and/or homeless. Here, the man’s greeting seemed natural. A part of the weird and wonderful atmosphere.

Instead of rushing away, which would have been her natural reaction back at home, she stopped to peer into the store where he stood in the doorway. A bookstore. One of her favorite places.

“We’ve lots of superb books. About the history of New Orleans. About the architecture.” He leaned closer. “And about all the hauntings and other spooky things that happen here in the Big Easy.”

Maggie found the man’s mysterious and conspiratorial whisper entertaining.

“I think I will look around,” she told him, offering another wide smile.

He nodded, giving her an approving look. “You’ll find something of interest. I guarantee.”

She stepped into the book-lined store. Actually, “lined” implied order. This store was utter chaos, books piled in every inch. The wooden floor was warped, and creaked under her feet as she navigated the narrow aisles. The scent of aged paper filled the air, mixed with newsprint. She liked the place immediately.

She wandered aimlessly, stopping occasionally, tilting her head to read the titles embossed on the spines. Everything ranging from bestselling fiction to voodoo as a form of self-help.

She smiled.

Then she spotted the section dedicated to local authors and New Orleans itself.

She picked up one of the hardcover books with an interesting picture of New Orleans from the 1800s. The street was crowded with women in bustled skirts and men in top hats.

She smiled at the image, trying to imagine how different the city was then. She suspected the mechanical legs on Bourbon Street were not there. But then, other adult entertainments had been available, just not so blatantly displayed.