Getting What You Want (10 page)

He reached the edge of the bed and switched on the lamp on her nightstand. The beaded fringe around the rim of the shade swung, creating swaying shadows on the wall and on the bed covers.

He leaned over her. Just like last night, her eyes were open, but they were unseeing. No, not unseeing. She definitely saw something. Just not anything he could see too. She was asleep, lost in her horrible nightmare.

He sat down beside her, reaching out a hand to brush back her hair. The skin of her cheek was cold, but damp with perspiration.

“Erika,” he said, continuing to stroke her hair. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her arms curled tighter around herself. She whimpered.

He lifted her, holding her like he had before. His arms around her seemed to calm her. But as he pulled her tighter against him, she shoved at his chest, her sudden violent movement catching him off guard. Her fist connected with his lip, knuckles bashing him hard. He tasted the rusty, salty tang of blood.

Then she was scrambling backward across the bed, her back pressing to the headboard, her eerie vacant stare becoming wild-eyed, frantic.

“Don’t hurt me. Oh God, please don’t!”

“Erika, you’re dreaming,” he said to her, raising his voice, knowing that he had to somehow penetrate whatever horror was going on inside her head.

She gaped straight ahead, none of his words reaching her.

He touched her again, his hand on her knee. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. Didn’t try to escape.

“Erika. Sweetheart. It’s Vittorio.”

She shook her head slightly, and for a moment, he thought he was connecting with her. But just as he started to reach for her again, she cried out. Her cry, terrified and heart-wrenching.

“Oh God,” she panted, absolute terror in her words. “Oh God.” Tears welled in her sightless eyes, spilling down her ashen cheeks. “I don’t want to die. Please.”

Her words hit him like a punch direct to his gut. Hell, his balls. He wouldn’t let her die. Damn it, he’d give up his immortality before he let anything hurt her. Even this monster in her head.

No longer willing to be cautious, just knowing she had to wake up, he pulled her across the duvet toward him. Scooping her up, he hugged her close even though she went rigid in his arms, her body unyielding against his.

“Wake up, Erika,” he commanded, his mouth near her ear. “Wake up.”

She struggled slightly, then froze again.

“Erika, wake up. It’s Vittorio.”

Her body jerked as if something was physically releasing her. Then she sagged heavily into his arms, her face burrowing into his neck.

She stayed that way for several moments, and Vittorio decided she’d never woken up, but simply slipped out of the nightmare she’d been having. He started to shift her toward the pillows, intending to place her back in bed. But before he could situate her, she lifted her head, staring up at him, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Vittorio, is that you?” She touched his jaw, dazed, as if she was having a hard time telling if he was real.

He nodded.

She touched his face again, cupping his cheek. Then she burst into tears.

S
he was going crazy. She didn’t even know if what she’d just experienced was real or a dream. She didn’t know if Vittorio was there or not. Could she trust this was really him, only to discover she’d imagined him and those things that had been chasing her were back? Trying to kill her.

Erika clung to him anyway, needing to take solace and comfort from someone. Praying she would be okay.

The arms around her held her tight, the pressure one of protection, not of threat, not the grip of horrible claws or gnashing teeth. She burrowed her face deeper into the curve of his neck, trying to escape the images she’d just seen.

“Shh, Erika, you’re safe. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Erika didn’t know how long she stayed pressed against him, or how long he repeated those words, his hands stroking her back, his cheek nuzzling the top of her head. Eventually she allowed herself to believe he was real, and he wasn’t going to let anyone or anything hurt her.

She also realized she was sobbing, her tears dampening his bare chest. She forced herself to let go, straightening away from him. Even as more reality sank in, she still hesitated to look at Vittorio, part of her afraid she was still dreaming, and another part embarrassed for him to see her so unraveled.

But when she met his eyes, she saw only concern and compassion in their dark depths. His kind expression made him more breathtakingly beautiful.

She began to cry again in earnest.

“Erika? What is going on?”

She shook her head, unable to explain.

“I’m sorry.” She swiped at her wet cheeks, pulling in a deep breath to stifle another sob that threatened to escape.

“Don’t be sorry.” He touched her hair, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, the gesture something her father had done when she was young and upset. But this wasn’t her father, and her body reminded her of that fact. Even overwrought with fear and confusion, every cell reacted to Vittorio.

As if he sensed her response, his hand dropped.

“What are these nightmares about?”

She shook her head, even now the details blurring. “I don’t know. Someone—” She frowned. “No, something—many of them, were trying to attack me. Catch me. Kill me.”

Vittorio waited for her to go on, but with every second another memory grew fainter, until she couldn’t pinpoint an exact image. But even though the images were disappearing, the fear remained, as if entrenched deep into her marrow.

“Well, it’s over now.”

She nodded, but it didn’t feel over. She glanced around her bedroom with its wealth of rich colors and plush textures, expecting darkness to appear and try to envelop her.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could feel the impending blackness coming.

“Here.” Vittorio stood and fluffed the pillows scattered behind her in the tangle of bedclothes. He arranged them, patting them into perfect place. “Lay back.”

She did as he asked, looking up at him, feeling childish, pathetic. Still, she was glad he was there and grateful for his strong, steady behavior.

He tucked in one side of the duvet, and her heart made a strange twist in her chest. She longed to reach out and touch the lock of his long hair that fell forward, shielding his features from her as he reached across her to tuck in the other side.

“Okay,” he said, straightening, brushing his own hair back in the way she’d wanted to.

She frowned. “Your head. It’s healed.”

He touched the place where she’d hit him with the phone. “Oh, yeah. It wasn’t much of a cut.”

Erica blinked. It had looked bad.

“You are safe. I will check the apartment before I go. And I will be right upstairs if you need me.”

Erika sat up, some of the anxiety that had faded under his calm, caring attention, returning with a renewed vengeance.

“No.”

He frowned. “I won’t be far. Just upstairs.”

“No,” she repeated. “Please stay with me.”

Vittorio eyed the bed, and he seemed to war with the idea.

“I will stay with you until you sleep,” he finally said. Then he pointed to the divan against the wall at the foot of the bed. He sat down on the ornate piece of furniture, looking uncomfortable and out of place against the gold and cream brocade.

She rested back against her pillows, watching him. Wanting him closer. She wanted him beside her. And not solely because his nearness calmed her. Her heart skipped, then sped up as she imagined him lying beside her, his body touching hers.

No, he definitely didn’t calm her—but he made her feel safe. Safe, if not more than a little turned on.

He situated himself, leaning back, crossing his arms and his ankles, looking even more awkward on the ultra-feminine divan.

Erika actually felt a smile tug at her lips. Then a small laugh crept past them.

Vittorio frowned at her. “What?”

“You look very—cute.” She giggled, unable to stop herself.

He raised an eyebrow. “Cute, huh?”

She laughed again. “Yes. Very uncomfortable, but very cute.”

This time, a smile curved his lips, which transformed his already achingly beautiful face into something absolutely mesmerizing. “I don’t feel cute, I feel a little ridiculous.”

“Well, I did offer you a place on the bed.”

He glanced toward the unoccupied portion of the mattress, then tried to relax where he was. “This is fine. I don’t want to disturb you if you fall back to sleep.”

Erika didn’t argue, but she got the feeling he was the one who was disturbed by the idea of sharing her bed. And she hoped it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t sure what she wanted. Although she doubted he couldn’t guess.

“Now, close your eyes,” he said, his voice firm, as if he was being resolute with himself rather than her. His reaction made her feel good. Hopeful that there might be interest there after all.

She considered telling him that his presence in her bed wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, but then thought better of it. She wanted him to stay, and pressuring him might just make him leave. With him here, she felt fine, but she knew if he left, the fear would return and she couldn’t bear the smothering completeness of her own terror.

Instead she said, “I’ve never felt as scared as I have the past two nights. I’ve never been prone to nightmares. I don’t get why this is happening.”

Vittorio turned his head, regarding her for a moment before speaking. “Maybe something is just bothering you. And this is how it’s manifesting.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. That seemed like a reasonable explanation. “But these are so much more intense than any nightmare I’ve had before. These feel absolutely real.” She shook her head, feeling as if there was no way to give them adequate words.

He nodded, seeming to understand. After all, he probably saw more of her behavior during the traumatic episodes than she did.

“Who can really say why it’s happening. But they will pass.”

He sounded positive, and she was thankful for his certainty, she just wished she could believe it too.

Curling on her side, she angled her head on the pillow so she could still watch him at the end of her bed. He stared up at the ceiling, his mouth set, his jaw rigid.

“You’re a very nice person, you know that?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Aside from being rude to you on several occasions.”

She shrugged against her pillow. “Yes, aside from that.” She smiled. “You can run a little hot and cold. But you are more hot than cold.” Her cheeks burned at how that sounded. “Not hot, hot. But—you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, obviously finding her flustered behavior amusing. “Yeah, I get what you meant.”

She smiled slightly, glad he was letting her muddled assessment go. Although she couldn’t help being curious about why he put up walls. There had to be a reason. She’d heard Ren talk about how controlled and uptight his brother was, but now she’d started to think that was a defense of some sort. And she wondered for what reason.

“You and Ren are very different,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Vittorio glanced at her again, considering her words.

“Oh yeah,” he finally agreed. “Ren is the spirited brother. The creative one. The charmer.”

It was Erika’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I think you are very charming when you want to be. You just hide a lot of yourself.”

His gaze locked with hers, then he shrugged, donning an air of casualness. “I guess. Maybe there just isn’t a lot to see.”

But Erika realized she’d struck a chord with him. He did hide a lot under a cool, distant exterior. But she didn’t believe that was the real him. Not when he’d been so caring to her. Not when he cared for his wild brother so much. Not when he was willing to curl into an uncomfortable position on a narrow divan to make sure she felt safe.

She knew she shouldn’t say it, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Sometimes I think you look a little sad, too.”

This time he didn’t speak or look at her, and Erika suspected she’d overstepped her bounds. But now that she’d said it, she realized that’s what she saw sometimes in his dark eyes, sorrow and regret.

Why? What had happened to him that he carried so much pain?
The idea bothered her.

She studied him for a moment longer, wondering what was going on inside his head, behind those often unreadable eyes of his.

Her own eyes drifted shut as she wondered. What did Vittorio hide? Had he thought about her as often as she’d thought about him since their first meeting? Did he think about her at all?

She hoped so. She wanted him, so very, very much—all his sides. All his facets.

Vittorio hated himself for what he was doing as he pulled in some of Erika’s energy. Last night, he’d done it to take away the fear in her eyes. To give her peace from her terror.

Tonight, he stole from her to protect himself. He could feel her watching him, trying to understand him. Her eyes moved over his features like the heated touch of her fingers. A touch he craved with every fiber of his being.

And it unnerved him, because he wanted her to understand him. He wanted her to know all about his past and somehow forgive him. Give him absolution in some way. But that kind of redemption wasn’t hers to give. Even if she could.

No, he couldn’t share his past, his concerns, his own failings with her. That was dangerous, and she likely wouldn’t understand, much less grant him clemency, anyway.

And then there was the slight problem of his attraction. He wanted that part of her too. Her passion, her body, her touch. It had taken all of his willpower not to take her up on her offer and lie on the bed beside her. Feeling her body heat next to him. The spicy scent of her skin. Her lithe curves, made to be touched.

He fought back a groan. Goddamn, he wanted this woman. So much. Even holding her as she cried, her body trembling with fear, he’d noticed how perfect she felt against him. That had to be a whole new low for him, feeling attracted while she was wracked with fright.

And now he was stealing her energy, not to help her rest, but to protect himself. He glanced at her. Her eyes were shut, her breathing not quite to the even rhythm of sleep, but close.

He stopped absorbing her energy, even as everything in his greedy body told him,
just a little more
.

No. No.

She was fine, her body and mind calmed. She would rest. He slowly levered himself up and started to swing his legs off the divan.

“Don’t go.”

Vittorio froze, her sleepy voice low and…sexy. He remained still, watching her.

She managed to open one eye. “Please stay. You said you would.”

He nodded, sliding back onto the chaise.

She smiled slightly, then shifted to snuggle farther down into her soft bedding.

He wanted her to curl up against him like that. He crossed his arms back over his chest, as if the gesture could close him off and hold all his wayward thoughts at bay.

He shut his eyes, willing his mind to be quiet. Hadn’t he learned enough tonight to know that he couldn’t be with Erika?

Wasn’t the potential of her death enough to rein in his damned libido?

She was floating. A lovely peaceful place. Floating, floating.

“Erika.” The voice reached out to her, but she couldn’t see the speaker; but she thought she recognized the deep voice. She looked around.

“Vittorio?” She realized she was no longer floating, but standing in the woods. The forest was dark and overgrown. She stayed to the path slicing through the tangle of limbs and underbrush, but searched the woods for the person calling out to her.

“Vittorio?” she called again.

“Erika.” The voice was closer now. Erika’s skin bristled, and a chill stole away any vestiges of warmth that had enfolded her.

“Erika.” The voice was right beside her, the deep tone becoming guttural, eerie, distorted. She suddenly grew apprehensive, as she whipped around trying to locate who was there with her.

“Erika.” This time her name was drawn out, singsong, threatening. Her skin grew cold, her heart pounded.

She was no longer floating, she was running. Racing through a strange forest, tangles of weeds pulling at the legs of her pajamas. Low tree limbs jumping out in front of her like long arms and hands grabbing at her.

“Erika!”

A broken whimper escaped her throat as she tried not to worry about the voice behind her.
Just keep running. Just stay on your feet.

But even as she chanted those thoughts over and over in her head, her foot caught on a bared root, sending her tumbling. When she finally stopped, the cold earth was at her back.

Get up,
she screamed to herself.
Get up!

She tried to stand. But before she could even get her arms under her to push herself up, shadows started to move around her, some swaying like the movement of the trees.

Just trees,
she told herself.
Stay calm, get to your feet.

Then the shadows began to circle her.

Overwhelming dread stilled her movement. Maybe if she stayed absolutely still. Maybe. But her heart thundered in her chest, her breath came in short pants. She shook.