A Venetian Vampire

“I don’t think you’ll find a change of clothing at my place.”

“So you’d prefer I return home and walk in on two werewolves with stakes? You bruise me, Kyler. I thought the sex we shared was, at the least, spectacular.”

“It was awesome. But it didn’t make us besties.”

“Fair enough. Though we are in this adventure together.”

“But—”

Rain suddenly spattered the canal and the sidewalk where they sat, and Kyler burst out in laughter. Dante could not find the humor in being soaked even more. Had he been on his own he might have returned to his neighborhood, tracked the wolves from his palazzo to their hideout and found the egg. But having to protect a woman?

She most certainly could not do this on her own.

“Fine. We’ll go to my hotel room,” she said. “But don’t get any ideas, Casanova.”

“You think I’ve seduction in mind when I smell like the canal? Absolutely not. I want to regroup and then find that egg.”

“As do I.”

* * *

Dante was surprised Kyler offered to let him accompany her back to the hotel room. There was that blind trust again. But it worked for him. Perhaps it wasn’t so much trust as an innate openness and willingness to try new things. He decided she was an adventurous woman striving for full-on boldness. But with the loss of her stolen prize, adventure had turned and snapped back at her.

They wandered into the hotel foyer, shoes squishing and clothing clinging to their skin. The rain had escalated to a downpour, so they hadn’t needed to worry about explaining why they were soaked. Everyone was wet.

Kyler pointed to the elevator bay, but Dante veered toward reception. “Hang on.” At the reception desk he took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down his name and the name of his tailor. “What’s your room number, Kitten?”

“Three twenty.”

He wrote that down, as well, then handed it to the concierge. Fortunately he had a few folded bills in his trouser back pocket, but they were pitifully wet. He stretched out a fifty and handed it over. “Call Signore Galleti. Give him my name and tell him I’ll need a complete suit and shoes. Quick as possible, per cortesia.”

“Very good, signore. I’ll have someone bring it right up when it arrives.”

“Grazie.” He turned and led the way to the elevator, feeling Kyler follow behind him. He was accustomed to having things go his way, but a niggle at the back of his neck wanted her to walk beside him, not behind.

Once in the elevator, she said, “You have élan.”

“I’ve had a good century and a half to practice.”

“You were born with it,” she decided.

“Furthest from the truth possible, that guess.”

He wouldn’t elaborate on his odd childhood spent among the courtesans and johns. Who would believe he’d learned everything about women from tidying rooms in the morning while the courtesans slept off their nightly efforts in rumpled bliss?

“Were you born, uh...vamp?” she asked.

“I was not transformed until my twenties.” The doors opened, and this time he allowed her to walk out first, following her to her room. Once inside, he kicked off his soggy shoes.

“So, how were you made?” she asked, toeing off her flats. They did nothing for her shapely gams. He’d prefer to see her in stilettos.

Dante strolled into the small but tidy room and unbuttoned his shirt. It took some finesse to peel off the clinging fabric. He dropped it in a pile near his shoes. After pulling down his trousers and stepping out of those, he turned to stand in nothing but his boxer briefs, which were also soaked and clung to his cock, which quickly hardened when he noticed Kyler’s eyes alight there like heat-seeking missiles.

“How was I made?” he posited, barely keeping amusement from his tone. “Same as you were. One long bite, the sharing of blood until my heart almost burst and voilà!”

“Yes, but, that’s not exactly what I meant.” She ran a palm up her neck and glanced away from his crotch. “You can keep your undies on. Maybe I’ll hop in the shower while you...dry off. You can tell me the whole story when we’re both dressed and dry.”

“You don’t like me wet?” he asked as innocently as he could manage. Anything to distract from her wanting to learn more about his transformation to vampire.

Kyler shook her head and chuckled. “You try all you like. Those chiseled abs are not going to make me fall to my knees again. I’m over you, you sneaky bastard.”

“I don’t think I like being called such a thing.”

“Too bad. You earned it.” She began to pull up her shirt as she strode into the bathroom. “Don’t sit on my bed in those wet boxers. Here!”

A towel flew out from the bathroom and landed on the floor two feet away from him. The bathroom door closed, and muffled sounds from the fan came from within.

“A sneaky bastard, eh?” He peeled off his wet briefs and tossed them aside. He wrapped the towel about his hips. “I’ll show her sneaky.”

Scanning the room, he sought her suitcase and personal items. There were a few things hanging in the open closet. A pair of black pumps sat on the closet floor. Nice.

She had to keep a purse and passport somewhere. As the patter of the shower began, he eyed the safe inside the closet. A safe cracker he was not. Though if given the proper impetus he’d give anything a go.

He bent before the square safe and rubbed his fingers expectantly before the dial. But, no. He wasn’t that convinced he’d find any damning information on Kyler Cole. She’d come to steal the Fabergé egg. For a friend? He could understand the monetary reward, but selling the thing would be a bitch. She didn’t seem the sort who had such connections as a fence.

Yet he knew next to nothing about her. Save that when he suckled her nipples she arched her back and squirmed as if possessed by an exotic goddess. Mmm, he had to do that again.

No.

Yes?

Most certainly he would not avoid the temptation if offered again.

Pushing aside the sheer curtain, he looked out over Saint Mark’s square and focused on the campanile, the bell tower that stretched more than three hundred feet into the sky. The hotel room offered an excellent view of the entire square, which now bustled with a rainbow of tourists and a mad feeding frenzy of pigeons. He liked a crowd, getting lost among humanity. All those warm bodies rubbing against one another, most never aware that a man who survived by drinking their blood lurked close by.

It had been a week since he’d had a drink of blood. He didn’t need it any more often than every other week, but he indulged whenever he desired. And much as he could use a long drink of human blood, he would starve himself of that treat for the pleasure of Kyler’s blood.

And what was that about? It had been a long time since he’d been with a vampiress. More than a century. And he seriously wanted to taste her. To hold her close and feel her heart beat against his chest as her blood slid across his tongue, imbuing that pounding pulse into his taste buds.

If only she were not vampire.

Drinking from his own kind was intimate, and some vampires bonded in doing so. It wasn’t necessarily a rest-of-their-lives thing, but it did connect them deeply. And he was about as willing to make that connection with another vampire as he wanted to take another dip in the canal.

Unless he found the right woman.

Never going to happen. Dante D’Arcangelo give up all women to settle for merely one? He chuckled at the madness of that thought.

Pulling the curtain across the window softened the light in the room. He eyed the television remote but shook his head. Instead he sat on the bed and closed his eyes. It took a while, but eventually he could move his hearing beyond the bathroom fan and pick out the individual water droplets that pearled on Kyler’s soft skin. They spattered from her head, dribbled down her glossy hair and then glided across her full and heavy breasts. He should be in there, licking them as if she were drenched with wine.

But he’d given her reason to distrust him when she’d caught him going through the empty backpack. Now, to earn back that trust, or simply play with her naivety for as long as was necessary until he got what he wanted?

Chapter 4

Kyler pulled on the oversize T-shirt that she’d tossed over the towel bar. She should have brought a change of clothing into the bathroom with her, but she’d wanted to get out of the main room as quickly as possible. The sight of Dante standing in wet briefs that clung to his hard-as-steel cock had almost undone her.

She had only to remind herself of the empty backpack sitting on the closet floor to lose all interest in the sexy bastard. Sneaky and sexy made a terrible combination, so she would remain on her toes. Because...damn. She’d made a promise to another man to bring the egg to him. She wouldn’t renege. He’d given her so much. And he offered her so much more than Dante ever could.

Stepping out of the bathroom in a mist of steam, she found Dante sitting on the bed, a pillow supporting his back, his hands clasped behind his neck. The position beckoned her gaze to his chest and abs. Tight and hard, a landscape that demanded an assessment from her fingertips. And then she noticed the white towel had a gap right...there.

“Your turn,” she said, walking briskly to the table by the window and trying to look busy by opening the room service folder. “I may have used all the hot water. I’m not sorry.”

“That shirt,” he said as he stood.

“What about it?” She tugged out the frayed hem from the thirty-year-old rock concert T-shirt she’d inherited from her mother. It was one of the very few things Kyler had kept after she had died.

“Def Leppard?” He shuddered. “I was around when they were in their prime, but I can’t imagine you were even a thought in your parents’ minds then.”

“Trust me—I was a thought. What do you think inspired my parents to have the sex that produced me if not ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’? Got a problem with it?”

“I think they’re an excellent band. But the thing is four sizes too big for you. It doesn’t show off your attributes.”

“Suck it, vampire.”

He gaped at her, but too quickly that familiar smirk tugged a corner of his mouth. “I’ve said you’re not ready for me to suck on you.”

“No, I meant it as—” She gestured dismissively. Did the man not recognize an insult when he heard one? Probably had never been insulted in his lifetime. Pretty bastard. “Never mind. Go take a shower before that towel falls off.”

He pulled the towel away to reveal an astute erection. Kyler’s jaw dropped. And Dante swung his equipment around and strolled into the bathroom, his dimpled, tight buttocks mocking her as he went. She couldn’t see his grin, but she knew it was there.

“You’re back to sneaky!” she called as the door closed.

And she needed a drink of ice water.

And to check her messages. Sitting on the bed, she grabbed the cell phone she’d left on the nightstand and scrolled through messages. Nothing about a pickup meeting place. That was weird. The vampire who had sent her on this mission knew she was going to nab the egg last night. Wouldn’t he have expected she’d have it in hand by now?

He had been explicit that she not call him. He was a busy man. He didn’t take calls; he made them. She wasn’t sure what his profession was exactly—beyond vampire—but she assumed it was stressful.

She should check the local news. See if the theft had been reported.

“This may be a good thing,” she mused. Because she didn’t have the egg in hand. She had to hurry and get it back. When the message finally did come through, she wanted to be able to move as quickly as possible.

“Werewolves,” she said. A big sigh sifted through her lips as she pulled her fingers through her wet hair. “I have no experience with werewolves.”

She was thankful Dante had suggested their dip in the canal to dissuade the werewolves from their scent. That man thought on his feet and used his instincts as they were meant to be utilized. She could learn from him.

If she weren’t trying to dodge him and keep him away from the prize.

Picking up the remote, she clicked on the TV and determined the scroll across the bottom of the screen, in Italian, was local news. She found the captioning and switched it to English. Weather. Museum times. Breaking news: Fabergé egg missing.

Missing?

“Not stolen? Weird.” But no matter to her. What did matter was that the media knew. It wouldn’t take long before such information reached Paris, where her contact waited. “Now the heat is on, and I have no idea where the egg is.”

She had failed miserably. But she wasn’t about to give up. As long as she had Dante on her side, she could use him, just as he had used her. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. He knew the city and werewolves.

Ten minutes later, he emerged in a cloud of jasmine-scented steam, wearing a towel tightly wrapped about his hips. After rubbing his hair with another towel, he then tossed that aside to his abandoned clothes pile. His short hair stuck up like bristles on his scalp, a dark cap that drew her eye directly to his face. His bone structure was something else. All lines and angles and exquisite shadows. Mmm, for one more taste of his sex-warm skin.

“Maybe housekeeping can dry and iron your shirt for you?” Kyler offered in an attempt to redirect her wandering lust.

She got up to sit in the armchair beside the TV. She’d forgotten to get dressed between fretting over werewolves and what she’d say to her friend if she didn’t get the egg back.

“It’s silk. It’s ruined.” Dante toed the heap of his wet clothing. “I’ll leave it for the hotel to donate to charity. If anyone wants to bother with this disaster. The shower felt great after a swim in the canal. And the water was still hot, much as you may have wished otherwise. Though I abhor the shampoo scent. I smell like flowers. Ah. Still in the ugly shirt, I see.”

“You are such a charmer. How did I ever see Casanova in you?”

“As I’ve said, I’m nothing at all like that roustabout.”

He sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching out his legs, giving no indication he might consider getting dressed. Kyler wondered how long it would take the tailor to deliver a new suit. Depending on the length of their wait, it could prove good, bad and so, so...naughty.

“I should get dressed.” She stood and wandered to the closet, selecting a snug pair of black capris and a red shirt. She nodded toward the muted TV. “Check out the news scroll.”

Behind the closed bathroom door, she swiftly changed and then drew some eyeliner on and combed her hair. She rarely did blush and eye shadow because she never could get makeup right. Her skin was flawless, though, so she never missed a made-up face. She bet Dante dated glamour-pusses. Those who really knew how to put themselves together and who could wield a makeup brush like an artist.

“Just average,” she said to her thoughts. A sigh felt necessary, but she did not.

What was wrong with enjoying an exciting affair with a sexy man? Beyond that he wanted to steal something from her. She needed him as much as he needed her. So she’d work with him. For now.

Back out in the main room, Dante observed the TV. “The media is not reporting it as theft, merely missing,” he said. “Curious. They must be trying to keep it quiet.”

“By broadcasting it on TV?”

“Can’t prevent the reporters that feed on the sensational, I’m sure. We need to get out of Venice.”

“Not without the egg. It’s noon. Do you think we’ll be able to pick up the werewolves’ scent again?”

“So you are relying on me now to help you in your endeavors? I thought you had decided to hate me?”

“I do hate you. With a passion.”

“Always be passionate about your endeavors, Kitten. It makes them tolerable, whether good or bad.”

“Whatever. But you do seem to have the better nose. I’ll follow it until it leads me to the prize.”

“I will do my best. But there will be a struggle between the two of us at the end—I can assure you of that.”

“I’m strong.”

“Yes, I noticed that last night.” He tilted forward a shoulder and looked over it. “The claw marks are no longer there, but you do like to dig in and hold on, don’t you?”

“You loved it.”

“Of course I did. You are exuberant and fiery when properly aroused. And wow. Red is really your color.”

She blew out a breath and shook her head. He was baiting her, and she should not take the hook. Again. It was just another line in his Casanova script, she told herself. He probably said the same thing to every woman he fucked.

“What is your reason for stealing the egg, if you’ll share with me?” he asked. “I would guess the monetary reward, but really, we both know fencing that thing will prove a bitch. It’s too famous. A lost Fabergé egg?”

“It’s worth millions,” Kyler said. “Why wouldn’t I want the thing?”

“So you’re a professional thief, are you?”

No belief in that question whatsoever. She set back her shoulders with as much confidence as she could muster. “I am.”

He eyed her soberly.

Kyler felt her bravado slip. The man could read her like a book. And that stare was 100 percent seduce and master.

She wandered to the end of the bed. “I’m not going to give details. In my profession, that’s never wise.”

“Of course not. So it’s a profession for you? I’m so glad I stepped aside to allow the professional to handle the details.”

“Damn right.”

“So you’ve a fence or buyer lined up?”

“Maybe.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

“And where does this friend come in? I thought you said you’d picked up a piece of art for him. Or was that a lie you made up when we met at the bar? It is a him, yes?”

“It is. And it wasn’t a lie. But how can you know the art I told you about was the egg?”

“You’ve committed two heists since arriving in Venice?”

Kyler shook her head. The man was insufferable! “Just the one. What about you? You said you were casing the place the same time as me. You don’t strike me as particularly in need of pin money.”

“I am quite well off, thank you.”

No kidding. The palazzo must be worth a fortune, and she bet the suits set him back a couple thousand per outfit. “And I recall you said you weren’t a thief? I don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to get, Kyler. I wanted the Nécessaire egg. I devised a way to obtain it, via you.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“I can’t argue the night ending on a high point with you pierced by my cock.” He stroked his jaw. The move was so sensual Kyler’s body heat rose a few degrees.

Neither could she make the argument. And just the sound of it—pierced by his cock—ooh, it gave her a good shiver.

“And I do love a good adventure. Such as werewolves,” he continued. “They provide a challenge. Keeps an old vamp on his toes. And in this case, I’ve also the pleasurable challenge of dallying with a very pretty vampiress thief who wishes to thwart my mission.”

“I’ve never thwarted anything. I’m not a thwarter. But I will win this one. I don’t care why you want the egg. It was mine. I had my hands on it. And I will have it again.”

“Do you know what the egg does?”

She shrugged. She had a good idea what the egg could make happen, and she understood it wasn’t the actual egg, but something inside it. But she wasn’t about to lay down all her cards before this guy.

“I thought it was a woman’s cosmetic kit inside the Nécessaire egg?” she said. “That’s what was advertised on the auction profile.”

“Right. Filled with combs, nail files, a mirror and so on. But beyond what the public knows...let’s say it is important I obtain the egg. For the safety of many.”

Kyler rolled her eyes. “Too vague. You didn’t win that argument.”

Dante tilted his head back against the headboard and slid a hand down his abs. The action took her out of her cautious reluctance and into a wanting desire for what was not-so-cleverly hidden beneath the towel.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll play this game of cat and mouse. I like games. Especially one matched against a beautiful woman.”

“I never mix business with pleasure,” Kyler said quickly.

“Too late,” he said in a singsongy tone. “I’ve tasted your sweetness. Everywhere.”

Her shoulders dropped. Yeah, tell her about it. She hated the man. But she also found him irresistible. And she hated herself for being interested in him. This was exhausting.

“So what will we do with ourselves until my clothes arrive?”

“I’m not waiting for clothes,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll step out and see if I can pick up the trail.”

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I would only wish to do such when you are naked and wanting before me.”

She bristled and turned her head quickly to hide the sigh that crossed her lips.

Dante leaned forward. “Have you experience with werewolves, Kyler? With fighting them? We do know the ones we heard on the bridge are armed with stakes. And they have our scents. How many times have you faced down the pointy tip of a stake?”

She’d forgotten about that. Her answer was never, and please, never let it happen anytime. Soon enough she wouldn’t have to worry about a stake being her end. But if she wanted to maintain any sort of advantage in this game of Dante’s, she couldn’t let him see her bluff.

“And what is your experience with fending off wolves?” she countered. “Are you some kind of trained killer? A werewolf slayer?”

Dante chuckled and swung his legs off the bed. As he stood, he ran his fingers through his hair, which had already dried; the short strands stuck up ever so invitingly. “Over the decades I’ve picked up some defense skills. Werewolves may be strong, but they’re slow. We vamps have speed and agility going for us. And I’d like to think we have the brains, as well. The dogs are stupid. But if they are part of a pack, then we have to be careful. Two or even three werewolves shouldn’t present a problem. A whole pack? Then we’ve got issues.”

“How do you know if they are with a pack?”

He shrugged. “That is something we probably won’t know until it’s too late.”

Kyler scoffed at his lack of knowledge. “What about you? Are you in a tribe?” She knew vampires gathered in tribes. She remained independent—not for lack of wanting to be in a tribe but rather for not knowing how to approach one to join.

“Yes.” He strolled around to the end of the bed and stood three feet from her. Kyler’s neck heated. She could feel his electrically sensual draw prickle at her skin through the air. Her nipples hardened. She caught her breath before another exhale could escape. “Tribe Incroyables.”

“Seriously? The Incredibles? That’s kind of cocky, don’t you think?”

“We are rather incredible,” he said with all the boisterous pride such a statement demanded. “I didn’t name the tribe. It’s a tip of the hat to Dumas’s musketeers. Our tribe leader, Christian De Bareaux, was a musketeer in the seventeenth century. He’s a good man.”

“How many are in your tribe?”

“About a dozen. But no women allowed. Johnny Santiago’s sister wanted to join, and we wouldn’t allow it.”

“So an old boy’s club, eh?”

“Exactly, and we like it that way. What about you?” He took her in, assessingly this time. “You are tribeless.” He stated it as fact.

“I am, and I like it that way. I don’t care to have vampires telling me what to do.”

“What vampire has told you what to do?”

She met his gaze and felt his delving intrusion deep in her being. It felt as if he peeled her open to expose the center, the secret parts she tried desperately to keep concealed. She fiddled with the shirt hem as he stepped closer.

“No one,” she said, looking away. And then, more testily, she argued, “None of your business.”

“Ah. So someone has told you what to do, and you’re rebelling against it ever happening again. Good for you, Kitten.”