Her eyes shifted, changed, nerves giving way to anticipation. He could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat as she caught that full bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know yet.”
Vito swallowed hard, his own pulse kicking into overdrive. He barely restrained the urge to drag her away from the table and bite her lip himself. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can think of something. Just do me a favor and eat fast, okay?”
Tuesday, January 16, 11:25
P.M.
It was good. Damn good. Not as good as Warren Dies, but still better than ninety-nine point nine percent of the drivel that made it into galleries.
He looked back at the stills, then at his own painting of the moment of Gregory Sanders’s death. There was something about Sanders’s face. Even in death it looked better on film than in reality. His lips quirked. The boy probably could have been a star.
Well, if he had anything to say about it, Gregory would. For now, he had a bit of cleaning up to do. He’d hose off the body in the studio below ground. His dungeon. Gregory had been suitably impressed. Suitably terrified.
As well he should have been. “Try to steal from me,” he muttered. The young man had begged forgiveness. For mercy. There had been none.
He’d be able to get several good scenes from the Gregory footage. Thievery had been a common crime in the Middle Ages, with a variety of punishments. It hadn’t been the torture he’d planned, but it had worked, all in all.
He’d head out to bury the body at first light, then get back here to work on the game. By morning he should have some responses to the e-mail he’d sent to the tall blonde from UCanModel before meeting Gregory this afternoon. He’d devise an end fit for a stately queen to please Van Zandt. Then he’d make the knight’s damn head explode. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d accomplish it, but he’d figure it out.
Tuesday, January 16, 11:30
P.M.
Sophie’s hands shook as she tried to get her key in the lock in Anna’s front door. They’d said nothing as he’d driven her home, save her clipped directions. Through it all he’d held her hand, at times so hard she nearly winced. But it was welcome pain, if there was such a thing. For the first time in a long time, Sophie felt alive. And clumsy. She cursed softly when the key bounced off the lock for the third time.
“Give me the keys,” he ordered quietly. He managed the door on the first try, bringing the dogs, barking shrilly. The look on his face would have been comical had she not been so impatient. He was staring down at Lotte and Birgit with mild horror.
“What the hell are those?”
“My grandmother’s dogs. My aunt Freya lets them out at noon, so they’re impatient by now. Come on, girls.”
“They’re… colored. Like your rainbow gloves.”
Sophie looked at the dogs with a wince. “It was an experiment. I need to let them out. I’ll be right back.” She took the dogs out through the kitchen and stood on the back porch, arms wrapped around herself, toes tapping, while they sniffed the grass and each other. “Hurry up,” she hissed at them. “Or you’re both getting dry dogfood for a month.”
The threat seemed to work, or maybe they just got cold, because they finally hurried. Sophie scooped them up and nuzzled each fuzzy head against her cheek before putting them down in the kitchen. She locked the deadbolt, then turned and sucked in a breath. Vito had materialized inches away, his eyes dark and reckless and her knees went weak. He’d shed his coat and gloves and made quick work of hers.
His gaze dropped to her breasts, still covered by layers of clothing. He lingered there for a few beats of her heart before lifting his eyes to hers and for a few more hard beats it was as if she couldn’t breathe. Her breasts were tight, her nipples almost painfully sensitive and the throbbing between her legs had her wishing he would hurry.
But he didn’t. With maddening care, he traced her lower lip with his fingertips until she shuddered. His lips curved, his smile sharp. Predatory. “I want you,” he whispered. “I’d be lying if I said anything different.”
She lifted her chin, wishing he’d touch her. Nervous that he didn’t. “Then don’t.”
His eyes flashed and for another long moment he stared, as if he waited for her to say something more. Then in a blur of motion his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers and she moaned because it felt so good. His kiss was reckless and hot and demanding and she wanted more of it. She wanted more of him.
She flattened her hands against his chest, feeling his rock-hard muscles through his shirt, nearly moaning again when those muscles flexed against her palms. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer. Needing to feel that hard chest pressed against her aching breasts. She wound her arms around his neck and lifted herself the few inches she needed to align their bodies, needing to feel his hardness all over.
He didn’t disappoint, and in seconds he’d pressed her back against the door, the hard ridge in his jeans thrusting where it felt the very best. The door against her back was ice cold, but Vito burned hot against her front as she strained against him. His hands finally took her breasts, his fingers plucking and teasing until she moaned again.
His hips and hands came to an abrupt halt and he ripped his mouth from hers.
“No.” It was a whimper, but she was too turned on to care.
“Sophie. Look at me.” She opened her eyes. He was so close she could see every eyelash. “I told you what I wanted. I need you to do the same. Tell me what you want.”
He would make her say it. “You.” The single syllable emerged rusty. “I want you.”
He shuddered out a breath. “It’s been a long time for me. I can’t go slow this time.”
This time. “Then don’t.”
He nodded slowly, then dropped his hands to the hem of her sweater and yanked, pulling it over her head. Then he laughed breathlessly when it got tangled in her hair. Together they freed her, and he sobered, staring at the wispy white lace of her bra.
He swallowed hard. “God, you’re pretty.” He skimmed his fingertips down the scalloped edges and under the fullness of her breasts, narrowly, but purposely missing her nipples which now strained against the lace. But his hands were shaking.
Her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. “Touch me, Vito. Please.”
Again his eyes flashed and in another blur of movement he’d dispensed with the lace by ripping the front clasp. She had only a moment to feel the cold air against her skin before he’d covered one breast with his warm palm, the other with his even warmer mouth. She threaded her fingers through his wavy dark hair and held him close, then closed her eyes and let herself feel. And it felt so good. So necessary.
Too soon he straightened. “Sophie, look at me.”
She opened her eyes. His mouth was wet, his eyes live coals. “Where’s your bed?”
Another shudder shook her and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Up.”
His grin was quick and wicked. “Up it is.” He leaned in to kiss her again and her fingers stumbled over the buttons on his shirt, his over the zipper on her slacks. They backed out of the kitchen, frantically dropping clothes as they made their way to the stairs. He stopped at the first step and pressed her into the wall. She was naked, but he still wore his boxers. His eyes took an appreciative ride from her face down her body. His chest rose and fell, as if he jerked each breath from his lungs. “You’re beautiful.”
She’d heard the words before. She so wanted to believe them now. But words were just that. Words. It was the action that counted. A little desperately she pulled his head down and kissed him hard. With a deep growl he took control of the kiss, deepening it, running his hands down her back. He kneaded her butt, pulling her against him. She felt his erection pulse against her and she gyrated her hips, rubbing closer, but she needed more. “Vito, please. Now.”