that had lingered in his eyes since Edward had destroyed Antoinette. She wondered how many women he had loved, how many people he had cared for. How many he had watched die while he stayed forever young, forever the same.
He tipped his head to the side, meeting her gaze. "What are you thinking?"
"Don't you know?" she replied, her voice sharper than she intended. "Aren't you reading my mind?"
"No."
"Oh?" She smoothed her skirts, delighting in the sensuous feel of the silk beneath her fingertips. "Why not?"
"You asked me not to," he reminded her. "Besides, I don't think I care to know what's going on in your mind right now."
"Well, that's a first." She smiled to take the sting from her words and then frowned. "Why not?"
"The look in your eyes says it all."
"What do you mean? What look?"
"Pity," he said succinctly.
She shook her head. "I wasn't... I don't - "
He made an angry slashing motion with his hand, cutting off her words. "I don't want your pity, Marisa."
"What do you want?"
"I want you."
Three words. Softly spoken.
"It's impossible."
"Is it? Why? Because of what I am?"
She nodded.
"I chose to be what I am, Marisa, and I have no regrets."
"None?" She met his gaze squarely. "You were married. You had children. You seem to have loved them. Don't you miss that? Haven't you ever wanted to get married again? Have children again?"
He shook his head. "No."
She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "I haven't been married. I want a home and a family."
"I can't give them to you, but there's no reason why you can't have both."
"So you just want an affair, and when it's over, I'm supposed to go find someone else. Is that what you're saying?"
"Marisa - "
"I'm sorry, I can't." Yet, even as she denied him, she heard his voice in the back of her mind: low and husky and edged with loneliness. I want you.
"I hope you like white wine," Ramsey said as he entered the box. He handed a glass to Marisa, offered one to Grigori, who waved it aside.
"Thank you, Edward," Marisa said.
Ramsey frowned, wondering at her sudden change of attitude. A few minutes before, she'd been bubbling like champagne. Now, she looked as deflated as yesterday's birthday balloons. He glanced at Grigori, but could read nothing in the vampire's expression.
Marisa sipped her wine, careful to avoid Grigori's gaze. She focused all her attention on the stage, but she was ever aware of Grigori sitting beside her. He shifted in his chair, and his thigh brushed her gown. The touch made her mouth go dry and her palms damp. What was there about him that affected her so, that made her want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he admitted he was sorry he was a vampire?
She shook the thought from her mind. He was what he was and it couldn't be changed. She would not let herself love him, or care about him.
"Marisa?"
She looked up at the sound of his voice, only then realizing that the ballet was over.
"Are you ready to go home?" Grigori asked.
"Home?"
"Back to your own time."
"Oh. Yes."
"I know I am," Ramsey muttered. He stuck out his hand. "Let's go."
Chapter Twenty-two
Marisa blinked, and blinked again, relieved to find herself back in her own apartment. She reached for a light switch, but the two table lamps beside the sofa came on before she flipped the switch.
The lights came on in the kitchen, too, and then in her bedroom.
Slowly, she turned to look at Grigori. He gave her a shrug and an enigmatic grin.
Marisa glanced at the clock on the VCR. It was just after two a.m.
"What day is it?" she asked.
"Monday," Grigori replied.
"Monday!" It had been Wednesday when Alexi carried her off. She'd missed three days of work. What must her boss think? She went to check her messages on the answering machine. As she had expected, there were several from work, as well as one from her mother reminding her that she had promised to come for a visit over Christmas.
The lack of sleep and the events of the last few days caught up with her in a rush, draining her of energy. "I don't know about you two," she said, smothering a yawn, "but I've got to get some sleep."
"Yeah." Ramsey yawned, too, and then grinned at her. "I'm bushed. I'll pick you up tomorrow, at five."
Marisa nodded. "Okay. Good night, or good morning, or whatever it is."
Edward hesitated; then, placing his hands lightly