Getting What You Want (23 page)

“I
think we need that talk now,” Vittorio said to Erika as soon as he stepped back into her apartment. He half expected her to be furious and not want to talk, considering he’d spoken with Ren first.

But she simply nodded.

“Okay,” Maggie said, quickly rising from the sofa and heading toward Ren, who waited in the doorway. “See you later then.”

Erika waved to them, remaining where she was on the sofa.

Vittorio walked over to her, taking the place Maggie had just vacated. He wanted to pull Erika into his arms, but he didn’t. She deserved some sort of explanation for his erratic behavior. And from the firm set of her jaw and the serious glint in her eyes, she wasn’t going to accept anything less.

“I’m sorry I panicked like I did.”

“Why did you?” she asked.

What could he say? He wasn’t willing to tell her about his mother. He supposed that would be the best defense, to just give her the truth, but how could he make her understand that his mother wasn’t like the average matron of the family. To do that, he’d have to reveal more than he wanted to about himself.

Yet, what was holding him back? He wanted to be with Erika—forever. So eventually he’d have to tell her the truth. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“I guess it’s true what Ren said, I’m a big worrier. I had a different”—
and that was putting it mildly—
“childhood, and I guess that’s made me wary.” All of that was true, as close to the truth as he could get without really saying anything.

But he should have known that explanation was only going to raise further questions.

“What was your childhood like?”

Vittorio had a hard time meeting Erika’s eyes, because he knew that serious, no-nonsense look was gone, replaced by compassion.

“I had a different”—
there was that word again
—“family. And my childhood was just rather strange.”

Of course it wasn’t exactly his childhood that had him messed up. Oh, that hadn’t helped him out either, but it was the time after his undeath that had him truly mixed up.

“How so?”

He shook his head, unsure, unable to tell her. He met her eyes, and realized what was holding him back. He couldn’t bear to see her looking at him with the same fear other women had. Women from the early days of his vampirism who had seen him for what he was. He couldn’t go back there.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “But just know when I get concerned for you, it’s because I care so much about you.”

Erika wanted to pressure him to tell her more. She knew that whatever he had gone through in his past had created all the shifts she saw in his personality. All the worries that plagued him, which she did understand. Hadn’t she fretted after her mother died? She was sure she was going to lose more people she loved. She didn’t understand what he’d been through, but she did understand that kind of irrational, consuming worry.

And she did believe his reactions tonight were out of concern, not control. That alone was enough to make her willing to wait and gradually learn all there was to know about him. When he was ready to share.

“Okay,” she said, reaching out to capture his hand. She squeezed his fingers in reassurance, and he did the same in response.

They were silent for a moment, then she just wanted to make things right. Make him smile and relax and realize she was there for him, however he wanted her.

“So the first day of sculpting Isabel went well,” she said.

He immediately lost a little of the haunted look that had plagued him since he came back into her place.

“Oh yeah? She was a good subject?”

She nodded. “Very good. A very nude one, but very good.”

“Nude? Really?”

Erika smiled at his stunned expression. “Yep. Totally.”

“Did you know that was how she wanted the sculpture done?”

“Not until she’d already stripped down.”

Vittorio chuckled. So did she, and suddenly the air felt much lighter.

“And I thought I was doing something scandalous the way I was posing for you.”

Erika remembered last night and how he’d stretched out among the cushions, a sheet draped over his lap, his hair cascading around his broad shoulders. He’d been beautiful and sensual and oddly heartbreaking, not scandalous.

“You aren’t embarrassed about it, are you?”

He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I actually quite enjoyed it.”

“Good. Want to start again?”

“I think I need some warming up first.”

She grinned, giving him a speculative look. “How would you like to warm up?”

He tugged her hand, which he still held, drawing her closer to him on the sofa. His mouth found her, showing her in nips and sweeps of his tongue what he’d like to do to warm him up. It was certainly warming her up.

She linked her arms around his neck, her fingers sinking into the thick silkiness of his hair.

“So did you spend the night with your beau?”

Erika glanced up at Isabel, both to acknowledge her question and to study the exact curve of her cheek. She looked back to the sculpture, using her fingers to shape the gentle fullness.

“I did. We are pretty much living together.” She smiled, mostly to herself. The past couple of weeks had fallen into a wonderful routine. During the day she met with Isabel, which was always an experience, and she worked on her sculpture. Then at night she was with Vittorio, sculpting him, making love with him, learning about his talents as a musician. Learning everything she could, although she always sensed there was still a barrier there. Things he didn’t tell her.

“Living together? In sin?”

Erika glanced up again, not sure if Isabel was disapproving or not.

Then the lovely blonde grinned. “How delicious.”

Erika chuckled. “You know, I’ve never asked, are you and your partner married?”

Isabel smiled. A strange, enigmatic little smile that Erika had long since given up trying to decipher.

“My love and I are joined in every way two people can be. We are one.”

Erika nodded, turning her attention back to her work. She was becoming accustomed to Isabel’s overly dramatic way of answering questions. Not to mention, she often didn’t really answer them, like now. So Erika chose to believe they were indeed married.

“And what of you? Do you intend to marry this love of yours? Do you think he’d be interested in marrying you?”

Ah, and here was another of Isabel’s interesting traits. For all the questions she didn’t directly answer, she didn’t mind asking pointed ones of Erika.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she told the blonde as she smeared more wet clay on the torso of the sculpture. “Maybe one day.”

“Yet, you are willing to live with him? Have relations with him?”

Erika glanced up, giving the woman a slight, unashamed shrug. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“And you don’t feel any shame in it?”

“Isabel, I’m in love with him, and he is with me. That’s enough for now.”

Erika had to admit she was growing tired of answering Isabel’s relentless questions about Vittorio. The woman was inordinately intrigued by their relationship.

Of course, Isabel had no sense of personal privacy. She didn’t like to answer direct questions, but she had no problem telling Erika all about the love of her life, expounding on all his amazing attributes. Beauty, intelligence, kindness—although she often lamented that he was too generous and considerate for his own good.

Erika also realized Isabel never actually said her lover’s name. She always referred to him as “the love of her life,” “her lover,” “her soul mate.” Erika was even beginning to wonder if this man really existed. There was something distinctly delusional about the woman.

She’d also stopped seeing Isabel as the stunning beauty she once had. There was a hardness to her that Erika hadn’t noted at first. And a coldness to her eyes. Again Phillipe’s warning returned to her mind—Erika had to admit she would be glad when she was done with this project.

And she would be finished soon. This afternoon, to be exact, and just in time for the show. And while she was still pleased to have her first commission, she was getting a little tired—and uncomfortable, frankly—with Isabel’s company. She had a hard time seeing Isabel as “evil”—but “odd” certainly fit.

“We will be done today,” she said, stepping back from the piece to study her work.

“Today?”

Erika nodded. “Yes—and just in the nick of time. I will have to let this set tonight and tomorrow, and then hopefully I can get one of the people from the gallery to move it over there. My show opens Friday night.”

“I know,” Isabel said, her voice sharp.

Erika frowned. She truly didn’t understand this woman. She could appear so sweet, then shades of a creature acerbic and unpleasant seemed to lurk beneath her pretty surface.

“I’m sorry,” Isabel added, clearly aware that she’d sounded sharp. “I guess I’m just nervous about the whole thing. To be a part of your show, that is such a great compliment. And my darling will be so surprised.”

Erika forced a smile, letting the previous reaction go. “So I will finally get to meet him.”

Isabel gave her an impish, almost sly smile. “Yes, you will.”

Vittorio stretched among Erika’s soft bedding, waking to hear her out in the kitchen. Dishes clattered, and he could hear her muffled voice. Probably talking to her eerie cat.

He smiled, not about the cat, but pleased Erika was home already. She usually came in after he’d already risen for the night. It was nice to have her here when he awoke.

He flung his legs over the side of the bed and padded down the hallway, coming up behind her and pulling her back against him. Unfortunately his embrace startled her and she dropped the coffee mug she was holding, the ceramic clashing to the floor and smashing.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, releasing her to bend and gather the broken pieces.

Erika, who had become quite accustomed to and tolerant of his stealthy appearances, threw him an amused, yet long-suffering look.

“I should be used to your creeping by now,” she said, squatting to help pick up the pieces. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You’re in a good mood tonight.”

She smiled. “I am. I finished my commission piece today. And not a moment too soon.”

“Isabel is still being strange?”

Erika straightened and placed the broken pottery in the trash can under the sink. “She is odd. I can never quite pinpoint what it is about her, but she’d a weird duck.”

Vittorio moved beside her to cast away the fragments he’d cleaned up. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself on Friday.” He leaned in and stole a kiss. “I can’t wait. And I can’t wait to see all your work displayed in a gallery.”

She grinned. “Me too. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A little. But mostly excited.”

“Really? Excited tends to work out well for me.” She laughed and he kissed her again, her giggle fading into a pleased moan.

But the kiss was interrupted by a knock at the door. They reluctantly moved apart, and glanced at the door.

“It’s probably Ren,” Vittorio muttered. “The pest.”

Erika chuckled. “He does have impeccable timing.”

Vittorio had to agree with that one. In the past couple weeks that Erika and he had been living together, Ren had interrupted them on the build-up to, or in one case right in the middle of, sex at least three times. Which delighted his warped brother to no end.

Then again, to be fair, it wasn’t terribly hard to interrupt them. They were insatiable for each other. And while Vittorio still struggled with his desire to take her energy, he was handling it, taking only a little now and then to satisfy himself. Recently he felt a new desire—he wanted to give his energy to her. But thus far he hadn’t.

Another rap sounded, and Erika pulled away from him to go answer it. As soon as the door was opened, Erika squealed, the sound shocking Vittorio and sending him around the kitchen table toward her.

But when he got closer, he realized Erika was not scared. She was pleased. She hugged the person on the other side of the door, the two laughing and rocking. Vittorio just watched, curious about who this could be.

When the two parted, he realized this must be Erika’s friend, Jo. He’d met her at the same time he’d met Erika, but honestly, he didn’t recall much about her. He’d been too entranced by Erika.

“When did you get in? You were supposed to call,” Erika admonished her friend.

“I’ve been trying to call you for three days.”

Erika groaned. “I really need to get a new cell phone. Mine is a piece of junk.”

“Well, I e-mailed too. Do you ever check it?” Jo narrowed a glare at her.

“Not much,” Erika admitted. “But I can’t believe I forgot anyway. I don’t know where my mind is.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jo said easily. “Maggie knew I was coming and left a key for me out front. And she informed me exactly where your mind is most of the time these days.”

As soon as she said that, Jo spotted Vittorio over Erika’s shoulder. Her cheeks stained pink, but she managed a smile.

“Hi.”

Erika glanced back at Vittorio. Her cheeks grew pink as well. Who knew blushes were contagious.

He stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Hi, you must be Jo.”

Jo shook his hand. “And you are Vittorio.”

He nodded.

Then the apartment became a whirlwind of rolled-in luggage, chattering, laughter, some wine. Vittorio simply watched, enjoying how happy Erika was to see her friend, joining in, but also letting the two friends get caught up.

“So let’s go,” Jo suddenly said, looking at her watch.

“Where?” Erika asked.

“Down to the bar where Maggie and Ren are playing. She made me promise we’d come see them. And I really want to see Maggie working the keyboards for a Bourbon Street rock band.”

“I’ve wanted to see her too,” Erika said, and Vittorio didn’t miss Jo’s surprised look.

“You haven’t seen her yet? She’s been playing with The Impalers for a few weeks, hasn’t she?” Jo asked.

Erika nodded, looking embarrassed. “She has, it just seems like time has gotten away from me recently.” She glanced at Vittorio and blushed, and he knew she was thinking about what had kept her so busy the past week.