She kissed the tip of his finger. "That's very generous of you. Can I ask you something?"
"You may ask me anything," he said, grinning faintly. "Though I do not promise to answer."
"I saw a coffin in the basement. Is it yours?"
He nodded, his expression grim. "It is the one I was buried in after I was turned."
Vicki grimaced as she imagined him lying inside, dead but not dead.
"I bought a new one some years ago."
"Oh," she said, trying not to look horrified. "How nice."
"Shall I describe it to you?"
"No, that's all right."
"It is quite comfortable." His gaze moved to her throat. "And big enough for two."
"Please, can't we talk about something else?"
"Shall I tell you how beautiful you are? Or how much it pleases me to have you here, in my home? Shall I tell you that I dream of you when I am at my rest? Shall I tell you of what I dream?"
His voice was like rich black velvet sliding over her skin, warming her in ways and in places she had never felt before. "You dream of me?"
He nodded, his eyes hot as his gaze moved over her face to the pulse beating in her throat.
"Is that what you dream of?" she asked. "Biting me?"
"Yes, but it is so much more than that."
She had to agree with him there. His bite had been like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. It still astonished her that it hadn't repelled her; indeed, if she was honest with herself, she would admit that she wanted him to do it again.
And he knew it. She could see it in the way he was looking at her, as if he was just waiting for her to ask. But she couldn't. It wasn't natural to want such a thing.
"It is natural for my kind," he said quietly. "It is natural for me."
"You're reading my mind, aren't you?" she accused indignantly.
"I cannot help it. Your thoughts come to me clearly, especially when you are angry or frightened." His gaze lingered on her lips. "Or when you are aroused."
His words sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.
"One taste, my sweet? Would you refuse me one taste?"
"You've already had one."
"Would you deny me another?"
"Is that why you brought me here? For dessert?"
He laughed softly. "No, but it is a tempting idea."
She glared at him. "That's not funny!"
"One taste?" he entreated. "One sip? A few drops?"
"I don't know… "
"What is it that you crave above all else?" he asked.
"Chocolate," she replied quickly. "Rich, dark chocolate."
"How do you feel when you have not had it for several days?"
"I get cranky." She'd had a candy bar in the show that afternoon and stopped at a convenience store to buy several more on the way home.
He nodded. "For me, your blood is like rich, dark chocolate. No one else satisfies me as you do. No one ever will."
When he put it like that, how could she refuse?
"Just a little, you promise?"
With a nod, he drew her onto his lap. He teased her lips, each kiss growing longer and deeper until she was lost in a world of sensual pleasure. The room grew darker as night dropped her cloak across the land, increasing the sense of intimacy between them.
He kissed her again, his lips sliding down her neck. He licked the pulse in the hollow of her throat, then kissed his way to the soft, sensitive skin behind her earlobe.
She was breathless with wanting when she felt the sting of his fangs, followed by a rush of sensual pleasure. She moaned softly, one hand cupping the back of his head to hold him in place.
He made a strangled sound. His hands curled over her shoulders as the hunger reacted to her response.
The sound of her heartbeat filled his ears, growing faster.
With a low groan, he drew back and turned his head away lest she see the hellish glow in his eyes. Deep inside his mind, the hunger urged him to take her, both body and blood, and satisfy all his needs. It was tempting, so tempting. Her taste lingered on his tongue, his nostrils filled with the scent of her, warm and womanly and ripe for the taking…
She looked up at him, her expression slightly dazed, her lips swollen and slightly parted.
"Antonio, don't stop."
He had no wish to do so, but he dared take no more.
Moving her off his lap onto the chair, he went downstairs to the kitchen and filled a glass with orange juice.
He stood there a moment, breathing heavily while he fought to restrain both his hunger and his desire.
When both were again under control, he returned to the parlor.
"Here." He handed her the glass. "Drink this."
She did as he asked, remembering that the Red Cross always gave her orange juice after she donated blood, too. She had a sudden urge to laugh.
"Vicki Cavendish," she murmured, "vampire blood bank."
" Victoria, you must never think of yourself like that!"
"Sorry," she said with a lopsided grin. "I may go back to the Red Cross. They always give me cookies with my orange juice."
Antonio stared down at her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Instead, he lifted her into his arms and sat down. "Finish your juice, my sweet one, and the next time I ask you to indulge me, tell me no."
"Next time," she murmured, and fell asleep in his arms.
He caught the glass before it fell to the floor. For her own good, there could not be a next time.
Chapter 27
Dimitri Falco prowled the perimeter of the castle, his anger growing with every step. She was here. Her blood called to him as a Siren called a sailor to the sea. And he would have her. In spite of that thieving bastard, Battista, in spite of that accursed vampire hunter, he would have her!
But first he would have to dispose of Battista.
How best to do it? That was the question. It would have to be something slow and painful. Pondering the possibilities made him smile with anticipation.
They thought they were safe, the two of them locked inside the castle. It pleased him to let them think so, for now.
Chapter 28
For the second time in as many days, Vicki woke in bed with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. She lifted a hand to her neck. Little frissons of heat warmed her palm when she touched the place where Antonio's mouth had been. It puzzled her that something that sounded so repulsive could bring such pleasure.
Lying in bed, she wondered how things were going at the diner, how Duncan and Bobbie Sue were getting along, if Mrs. Heath had started making pumpkin pies and cakes for the fall social held at the church each year, if there had been any more murders. Though she had been in the castle only a couple of days, it seemed as though she had been cut off from the world.