“Persuasion?”
“First American edition, 1832. I found it in Paris a few years ago and thought you might enjoy it. I remember you eyeing my Austen the first time you were here.”
She carefully pulled the first volume from its original book box and opened it carefully. “It’s wonderful, Gio. Thank you.” She smiled again. “Persuasion, huh?”
He shrugged and smirked. “It seemed appropriate. There’s another small item in there, as well.”
She closed the book, carefully packing it away before she looked into the box again and pulled out a small leather bag. She opened it, and a familiar brass key fell into her hand.
She blinked. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Well, you like that house as much as I do, so there’s your key.”
“You’re giving me the…the Cochamó house?”
He snorted. “You still have to share it with me. That’s my favorite home, but your name is on the deed, so to speak. And Gustavo and Isabel know if anything ever happens to me-”
“Nothing better happen to you.”
“-the house is yours, Beatrice. It’s your house, too. You can go whenever you want to now.”
He couldn’t read the expression on her face until she looked up and there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love both my presents, but this one especially.”
“You’re welcome.”
She leaned over to him and kissed his cheek. He left his arms lying across the back of the couch so he didn’t grab her and cart her off to his room.
“So,” he asked, clearing his throat. “Where’s my present?”
“You know, you’re not really bouncing around like Ben was.”
He grinned and bounced in his seat just a little, making her laugh uproariously before she stood.
“Hold on; it’s in my room. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Giovanni stared into the fire and tried to imagine her lying in their bed at Cochamó, her smooth skin lit by candlelight. He wondered when he’d be able to persuade her to go with him again. He wanted to go in the summer with her, so she could see the waterfalls running and the meadows filled with wildflowers. They were beautiful at night, though she would be able to enjoy them during the day, as well.
“Okay,” she called from the hall. “I don’t have it wrapped, so close your eyes.”
He smiled and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, she would be modeling lingerie…or just skin, but he had a feeling that was wishful thinking. Instead, he heard her fumbling with something that sounded rather large.
“Okay, open.”
He opened his eyes to see a large framed color photograph. It was his favorite waterfall in Cochamó, the midday sun reflecting off the mist and scattering rainbows. He smiled when he recognized it and looked up to see her waiting expectantly.
“I thought you could put it in your room here to go with your picture of Florence.” She set it down and propped it against the chair nearest to the door. “And I got you a case of your favorite scotch, too. I called Gavin last week-”
She was cut off when he pulled her into his lap and kissed her. Beatrice tensed for a moment before she relaxed and sank into his arms. She gave a small sigh as he caressed her mouth, and she finally seemed to melt in his arms. His hands grasped her waist as she straddled him and met each surge with corresponding need. Her arms twined around his neck to pull him closer, and his hands reached up her shoulders, pressing their bodies together.
“Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth before his lips left hers to travel down her neck, nibbling in strategic places. “I love the picture.”
“You sure it’s not the scotch?” she asked breathlessly as she ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head into the crook of her neck.
“Positive. It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he said against her skin.
“I’m so far from perfect it’s laughable.”
“I love that you make me laugh.”
“And I’m still kind of mad at you.”
“I’m calling a Christmas truce. If soldiers in battle can do it, it shouldn’t be that much of a stretch for us.” His fingers lifted the back of her shirt and she shuddered as his hands caressed the skin at the small of her back.
He felt the normal buzz of electricity grow as his blood began to move through his veins and his fangs descended. He ignored his reaction and continued to explore the soft skin around her collarbone as her hands stroked his neck.
“Gio…”
“Let’s not fight,” he whispered. “Just for a little while.”
“But, Gio-”
He cut her off with a deeper kiss. Giovanni felt her moan and move over him, and he became almost lightheaded with desire.
She finally grasped his shoulders and pushed back.
“Oh, tesoro,” he groaned as his head fell to her shoulder. “Why are you-”
“The phone,” she said breathlessly, “is ringing.”
“Why?”
She snorted and grinned at him. “Carwyn, remember?”
“Damn that priest,” he muttered. “I’m going to burn his Hawaiian shirts the next time I see him.”
She grinned and stood. “Well, I’m going to answer the phone.”
He slouched in the sofa, closing his eyes while she went to answer the phone.
“Carwyn.” He heard her laugh. “You better lock up your Hawaiian-what? What are you-”
She gasped as he rushed to the phone and grabbed it out of her hand.
“-need to talk to Gio immediately. I can’t-”
“I’m here,” he said to his friend.
He’d heard the panic in his old friend’s voice from across the room. His heartbeat sped in anticipation of danger. Carwyn hadn’t panicked in two hundred years.
“I need you here, Giovanni di Spada. I need you in Ireland. It’s Ioan…my son is missing.”
Chapter Ten
En route to Dublin, Ireland
December 2009
Giovanni pulled Beatrice close as the plane took off, both of them glancing out the window to see Ben waving at the plane with a frightened look on his face. Her grandmother had one hand on the boy’s shoulder and Caspar stood behind them. The three were leaving directly for the safe house in the Hill Country as soon as the plane was off the ground.
She huddled into Giovanni’s side and buried her face in his collar. They had fought horribly about her going with him, but he finally relented when she threatened to fly to Dublin on her own if he left her behind.
Giovanni gripped her arm as the plane took off, and she was almost afraid he would leave bruises. She was beginning to realize he hated flying. He never said anything, but every time they flew together, he looked distinctly uncomfortable at takeoff.
“Tell me about Ioan,” she said to distract him. She wondered whether he would break his usually reticent behavior to tell her anything specific.
“Ioan is…he’s Carwyn’s oldest son, and his biological great-grandson, I believe.”
“Really?”
“Great or great-great grandson, yes. He’s only about one hundred years younger than Carwyn. He’s very powerful and very smart. His wife, Deirdre, is Irish and they’ve lived in the Wicklow Mountains for the last two hundred years or so, though they’ve been married for much longer.”
“And they’re both Carwyn’s children?”
He nodded. “Yes, Ioan asked his father to change Deirdre. They met when she was human. I believe he was around five hundred years old at the time.”
Beatrice fell into silence, contemplating a couple that seemed suddenly very familiar.
“So, if he’s so powerful, how did he disappear?” she asked in a low voice. “Is it Lorenzo?”
Giovanni shook his head. “I don’t know. I think it has to be, but this attack doesn’t make sense. Ioan is not political. He’s one of the most compassionate vampires I’ve ever met. He’s also a superb scientist. Some of our conversations…” His face fell, and Beatrice realized that not only had Carwyn lost a son, but Giovanni had lost a friend if they couldn’t find Ioan.