"
"I want you, too, you know I do." She moistened lips gone suddenly dry. "I - "
He saw the hesitation in her eyes, heard it in her voice. Fighting the urge to take what he wanted, as he had been wont to do since he became Vampyre, he slid away from her, so that his body was no longer covering hers. But he couldn't let her go, not entirely.
Taking her hand in his, he waited for her to go on.
"I... I can't."
"You want me."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and his tongue stroked her palm, making her go all shivery inside.
She nodded, unable to deny it. "But wanting isn't enough."
His eyes narrowed. "Ah," he murmured, and wondered how he could have been so blind. "You want the words." His free hand caressed her cheek. "I love you, cara mia."
Anger penetrated the layers of passion. "Do you think I can be had for the price of a few endearments?"
He frowned. "What do you want of me?"
"I want more than empty words!"
"They are not empty, Marisa." He released her hand and sat up, his back toward her. "I have lived alone for two hundred years. I have not loved a woman in all that time, nor have I pretended to. I am not a eunuch, nor have I lived like one. I have taken women to my bed when it pleased me."
How many women? she wondered. How many in two hundred years?
Slowly, he turned to face her. "Save for Antoinette, I have never told a woman I loved her. I would not say it now if it were not true."
"Oh, Grigori, I'm sorry!"
He rose to his feet with the lithe grace of a dancing master. "Come," he said, offering her his hand. "I will take you to dinner."
She shook her head, thinking she had never felt more miserable or churlish in her life. "I'm not hungry."
"Do not pout, cara. It is most unbecoming."
"I'm not pouting. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
He smiled down at her. "I promised I would not rush you, nor force you to do anything you did not wish to do." He reached for her hands and drew her to her feet. "You look beautiful. I wish to take you out and show you off. Where would you like to go?"
"You're not mad at me?"
"No." He brushed a kiss across her lips. "Get your coat. It's cold outside."
He took her to the Velvet Turtle for dinner, sipped a glass of dry red wine while she ate. Marisa couldn't help noticing that Grigori caught the eye of every female in the room. Tall and dark, dressed in gray slacks and a white wool sweater, he looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
After dinner, they drove to the beach. Ignoring the cold, they took off their shoes and stockings, rolled up their pant legs, and walked along the shore. Marisa shrieked as a wave swirled around her ankles.
In an instant, she was in Grigori's arms. His eyes were like pools of liquid ebony in the moonlight, his mouth warm and moist as he kissed her. The heat of his lips chased away the cold, and she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily.
He held her effortlessly, his tongue sliding over her lower lip, delving into her mouth.
He kissed her, and it seemed as though skyrockets went off inside her head. All the colors of the rainbow came together, until she was engulfed in a bright white light. And Grigori stood in the middle of that light, his eyes burning like the sun.
She felt like a child who had been hopelessly lost in the darkness and was suddenly found. It was a most peculiar thought, for Grigori was a man born of darkness, as mysterious as the night that surrounded them, as elusive as the moonbeams that danced upon the sea.
"Marisa?"
"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me you love me."
"Ti amo, cara mia. Mi vita, mi amore."
"Grigori." Her voice was husky, her breath warm as it tickled his ear. "Let's go home."
With a nod, he scooped up their shoes and socks and carried her to the car. Settling her in the passenger seat, he kissed her cheek, then went around and slid behind the wheel.
He felt her gaze on him as he drove home. Her hand rested on his thigh, as light as thistledown, warm and alive, keeping him in a constant state of arousal. She wanted him. He