danced in the inky black of Grigori's thick black hair and cast golden shadows over his face. And his eyes... his eyes burned with a radiant heat that spoke more eloquently than words.
"I shall not rush you, cara. I shall not ask more of you than you wish to give. I ask only that you let me see you each night, and dream of you each day."
He lifted his hand, one long finger lovingly outlining the contours of her face. "Say yes, cara mia. I have lived alone too long."
It was tempting, so tempting. He needed her as no one ever had, ever would, and yet she couldn't forget what he was.
"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, afraid of hurting him, afraid of incurring his anger. "Please try to understand. I don't want to hurt you. I wish that I could - "
He placed his fingertips over her lips, stilling her words, and then, slowly and deliberately, he lowered his arms and took a step backward. "I understand."
"Grigori, please, just let me explain - "
"It isn't necessary," he said flatly. "I am Vampyre. I know your thoughts, Marisa, better than you know them yourself. Be assured, you have nothing to fear from me. Come, I will see you safely home."
Chapter Twenty-five
There were no more flowers after that, no more erotic dreams that filled her with both embarrassment and pleasure. She buried herself in her work, spent her weekends doing last-minute Christmas shopping. She mailed her Christmas cards, late as always, went to a holiday party at Linda's house and tried to pretend she was having a good time.
She checked the newspapers every morning and listened to the news each night, but there were no more vampire killings, no sign that Alexi Kristov had returned.
She went out to dinner and a movie with Edward a few times, and then Christmas week was upon them.
The office closed early on Wednesday, and Marisa packed her bags and went to Florida to spend Christmas with her parents and her brother and his wife and kids. She endured her mother's gentle urging to settle down, listened to her father complain about the fate of the nation, tried not to be jealous of Mike, who seemed to have everything: a lovely wife, four beautiful children, a new car, a thriving business.
It always amazed her how she became a little girl again as soon as she walked into her mother's house. Part of her resented it, but the other part, the part of her that had never grown up, would never grow up, was happy to let her mother fuss over her.
Christmas passed pleasantly. They exchanged gifts, went outside to watch the kids ride their new bikes. Later, they ate a big breakfast, followed by an enormous dinner, and then, too soon, the day was over. Mountains of paper and tissue and ribbon filled the trash cans. The kids, worn out after a day of playing and pigging out, went to bed early.
Marisa stayed up after everyone else had gone to bed. Sitting in the living room in front of the fireplace, she stared at the flickering flames. She wondered where Alexi had gone, how Edward had spent the day. She should have asked him to spend the holiday with her and her parents. It wouldn't have been any trouble to put him up, but she didn't want to encourage him, didn't want him to think that they could ever be more than friends.
Leaning back, she tried to focus on making New Year's resolutions. More exercise, less chocolate. Go to church. Help out at the soup kitchen. Call home more often....
Finally, she gave up and let herself think of Grigori. How had he spent the day? Did vampires celebrate Christmas, or was it just another day in an endless string of days? Or nights.
How had he endured for two hundred years? What would it be like to be young forever, never to be sick, never to have to worry about dying? What was it like to know that everyone you knew would grow old and die while you stayed forever the same?
She closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the lateness of the hour and the warmth of the flames....
It was Christmas Eve and he was walking alone down a residential street. Dressed in the sweater and jeans she had picked out for him, he moved soundlessly through the night, oblivious to the bitter wind and the rain. Christmas lights twinkled from porches