“Did you mean it?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That kiss?”
Yes, he thought, but remained silent as she stood and walked toward him.
She looked at him, frowning as she bit her lip. “Because at first I thought you did-I mean, it felt real to me-and then you implied that you were acting.”
I wasn’t, he thought again. I wanted to sink my fangs into you, drink your blood, strip your clothes off and-
“But then, I thought about it more.”
He felt his fangs drop and his skin begin to heat as she drew closer, and he forced his body to remain still instead of rushing to meet her.
“I thought about it more, and realized there are some things a man can’t fake. And the way you kissed me…” Her lips were full and flush from when she had bit them nervously. He crossed his arms on his chest so he couldn’t touch her as she continued in a low voice, “The way it felt, Gio, I don’t think it was fake at all.”
She stood in front of him, her eyes bold as she met his hungry stare, and all Giovanni would have had to do was take one step and he could have wrapped his body around hers, laid his mouth on her soft neck, and swallowed the thick blood that called to him. He swallowed slowly, and ignored the burn in his throat and the smell of honeysuckle and lemon that filled the air.
“I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you, Beatrice. Denying that would be foolish and insulting to us both.”
“But you’re not going to kiss me again, are you?”
“No.”
“Did you want to bite me?”
He searched her eyes, trying to determine what answer she wanted, but though he had observed humanity for five hundred years, her enigmatic eyes were still a mystery to him.
“Yes.”
“But you won’t do that, either?”
His body yearned to say yes, but his mind rebelled at the consequences of that kind of intimacy.
“No. I won’t bite you,” he said, hoping he was strong enough not to break his word.
“Why not? You could. I’m not strong enough to stop you.”
He straightened his shoulders and tore his eyes from her to look toward the fireplace.
“It wouldn’t be a prudent decision, Beatrice. For either of us.”
He saw her swallow out of the corner of his eye and detected the thin edge of regret in her eyes before she turned and walked to her desk. He knew his answer had pleased neither of them, but she was too valuable to be anything more than a human under his protection.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of them looking at the other, as the fire crackled in the grate. Eventually, he heard her open a desk drawer. She pulled something out and walked over to him where he stood at the table, his arms still crossed and his hands clenched. She was carrying a notepad and a black ball-point pen.
“So, what do you want me to find, boss?”
Chapter Fourteen
Houston, Texas
April 2004
“Just taste it,” a playful voice implored.
“I’m telling you, I don’t like lamb!”
“But, darling, you have never tried my lamb before.”
The sound of Caspar and Isadora’s voices drifted out from the kitchen, interspersed with the occasional chuckle or tinkling laugh. Beatrice saw Giovanni frowning toward the door from his seat at the dining room table, and she had to stifle a laugh.
“Caspar!” her grandmother shouted before breaking into a fit of what could only be described as giggles. Now Beatrice was the one frowning, and she glanced over at Giovanni to find him watching her with an eyebrow cocked in amusement.
“Do you wonder?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t even want to speculate.”
He chuckled and continued sorting through the catalogue printouts she had made for him.
They had finally fallen back into a comfortable work rhythm after the kiss in January, eventually finding a way to work with each other while giving each other space. Ironically, it was even more evident to Beatrice that she had developed serious feelings for Giovanni the longer they worked together. It didn’t help that they were now pursuing the same project and had even more time to interact.
Following his hunch, Giovanni and Beatrice searched for other documents he thought might have been sold or donated from his original collection of books, manuscripts and letters. He speculated that Lorenzo was attempting to draw her father out of hiding, and if Lorenzo had given some documents away, he might have given or sold others, as well. If Giovanni knew why Lorenzo was so determined to find her dad, he wasn’t telling her.
She’d discovered a cache of documents donated to the University of Leeds that Giovanni thought might have been the original Dante correspondence Stephen De Novo mentioned to his father, and Giovanni unearthed another set of letters between Girolamo Benevieni and Giovanni Pico that had been bought by a private collection in Perugia.
“This is odd,” he muttered as he looked at the details from another auction in Rome. “There’s something…Beatrice, call Carwyn, will you?”
“Sure, he’s outside with Bran?”
“Probably trying to cover up another horticultural disaster that beast has inflicted on my gardens.”
“Aw, Gio, you’ll miss him when he’s gone.”
“Carwyn, yes. The dog, no.” Just then, Doyle jumped on his lap and shoved his fuzzy grey head under Giovanni’s hand. Beatrice had to chuckle that neither seemed to notice the cat’s hair standing on end every time Giovanni touched him.
“No, no one will miss the wolfhound, will they, Doyle?” he murmured, continuing to stroke the cat’s back as he read. Watching the vampire read at the table with his dark hair falling into his eyes, a frown furrowing his brow and his lips pursed as he tickled under the cat’s chin gave Beatrice the irrational desire to crawl into his lap and curl up, just to see if she might get the same treatment.
“Beatrice?”
“Hmm?” she asked in a dazed voice as she stared at the cat.
She finally looked up to see him watching her, his eyes hooded and his hand still on Doyle’s back. “Were you going to-” He cleared his throat and looked out the dark window.
“Carwyn. Right. I’ll just…I’ll call-you know, I’ll just walk outside and find him. I could use a…walk.”
She got up and quickly exited the room, just as another burst of laughter rang out from the kitchen. Beatrice winced and walked quickly through the French doors and across the brick patio by the pool.
She didn’t mind her grandmother and Caspar dating. In fact, she was ridiculously happy that they got along so well; it was just somewhat cruel that her sixty-eight-year-old grandmother had a more exciting love life than she did.
A boy from Beatrice's art history class had taken her to dinner the weekend before, and she had enjoyed it. His name was Jeff, and he was polite and funny. She even laughed a little when he related stories about the drama in the office where he was interning and would probably work in the fall. He took her back to her grandmother’s house and gave her a really nice kiss.
She had absolutely no desire to see him again.
Beatrice cursed Giovanni’s superior kissing skills and intriguing personality as she walked through the grounds. Summer had almost settled on Houston, and the air hung heavy with leftover warmth from the day and the smell of honeysuckle. The roses were blooming and, as she rounded the corner near the small gazebo, she heard Carwyn muttering to his dog again.
“-not going to let you come back next year if you keep this up, Bran. And honestly, I don’t understand your fascination with rose roots. Is it just to annoy him?”
She heard the dog snort and half-expected him to respond. After all, vampires existed, so why not talking wolfhounds? She heard additional words that sounded a lot like curses, but she was pretty sure they were in Welsh, and couldn’t understand them.