The Maestro's Butterfly (5 page)

She furrowed her brow at him angrily. “Tell me what I want then.”

“At this moment,
chérie,
you are desperate to have me inside of you.” Claudio reached between her legs to test his theory. His burrowing fingers found what they sought and came away soaked. She blushed, and closed her eyes, frowning. He smiled and pressed his fingers to her lips. She tried to squirm away.

“Open,” he ordered.

She glared at him, but the stern look on his face and the tone of his voice 32

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warned her that he meant business. For a moment, she wondered what would happen if she pushed him, if he truly would punish her in some way, this minute. For a moment, her heart beat faster and her stomach squirmed. But she didn’t have the nerve. Closing her eyes tight, she allowed him to press his fingers between her lips. She allowed them to slip between her teeth, first the fingertips then the slight bulge of knuckles, all covered in her own thick, tart juice. She had never tasted it before and wondered if she should be thoroughly disgusted. But, staring into Claudio’s eyes, it was impossible to feel anything but desire tinged with fear.

“Good,” he said, removing his fingers and leaping from the bed. “Now I must go to the theater. Come with me.”

“To the theater?” she asked, sitting up, tousled.

“No, to the
toilette.
You look terrible.”

She wrapped in the bed sheet and followed him into the bathroom, which was right next door, silently grumbling that he had no right to say she looked terrible after what he’d done to her. If she looked terrible, it was his fault. End of story.

Claudio had an old clawfoot tub with a shower curtain on a circular rod, to enclose the bather. The toilet seat was up. He walked unabashedly to it and began to relieve himself. It took Miranda a few seconds to realize what was happening and to feel embarrassed enough to turn and try to flee like a startled animal. But confronted with the door, she remembered that he wanted her in here, and may not like it if she left.

She turned her attention to his toiletries. The presence of shaving cream and brush, a hairbrush, comb, face wash and hair dryer surprised her. She found his straight razor and picked it up, twisting it this way and that to let the light reflect off the blade.

Danger crawled over it like an electric current. She looked up, and the sight of her reflection, with the two open welts, made her drop it. The sound of the razor clattering into the sink nauseated her.

“Planning to slit my throat while I sleep?” he asked with a smile.

“I—no.” she said, leaning on the sink, still embarrassed.

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“Beards are, unfortunately, still a problem, as are many other all-too-human things. Your turn,” he said and went to the sink.

“I’m not peeing in front of you,” she said. “And you didn’t flush.”

With a peeved expression, he kept his eyes on her while he leaned over to press the handle. “Better?” he asked over the noise.

She could smell the faint residue of his cologne mingled with the musk of last night’s stage-sweat. It intrigued her to think that vampires still had all the smells that made them human, while making her want to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his flesh, and she couldn’t do that while she was angry. She shook her head, partly to dislodge any thoughts of sex. “I’m still not peeing in front of you,” she declared.

He shrugged and turned his attention to his reflection, and prepared his shave foam and brush. “It is your choice,” he said. “I have no time to argue with you.”

Miranda leaned against the hanging bath towel and watched him get the ends of his hair wet as he shaved and rinsed his face.
God, that profile,
she thought, enjoying the curve of his nose and his lips as her anger subsided.
Not to mention the rest of him.

The hair on his chest reminded her of a phoenix, extending its dark wings beneath its pectorals and thickening in the middle. A dark line extended down his belly to his abdomen, where more hair swirled around his navel. The line continued into the dark thatch of pubic hair. Though not particularly muscular, he was well-built — and just under six feet tall, he had once told her. He was not as pale as she would have imagined a vampire to be. But he did have a nice, round butt. And he was the first uncircumcised man she had ever seen nude. She stared at the extra skin gathering at the head of his semi-flaccid cock, like a turtle trying to decide if it should go inside the shell or out.

Even a beautiful naked man could make her forget about her bladder for only so long, especially with the water running. She crossed her legs in desperation. “Don’t you have another bathroom?”

“Yes,” he said without looking at her. “But you will use this one.”

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She opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of anything suitable to say. He ignored her for several more minutes as he shaved, so finally she said, “Fine,” and tossed the bed sheets out the bathroom door. Then she gingerly let down the toilet seat with two fingers. He turned on the shower, which helped, but she still had to close her ears and her eyes in order to relax enough. After all, if she couldn’t hear herself, he couldn’t hear her either. She had no idea why she had to close her eyes, though.

When she had finished, she refused to look at him, preferring instead to study the floor tiles. They were cream-and-brick red. She could still see Claudio in her peripheral vision, however, holding back the shower curtain. “After you,
Mademoiselle.
”

“I’m not showering with you,” she said, partly because she thought she ought to, and partly because of her evacuation-related embarrassment. In reality, the thought of seeing Claudio wet, with his hair plastered to his head, was a giant turn-on.

“Miranda,” he said in an even tone. “I don’t have time for this. You promised me thirty days, and I will have those days. And in these thirty days you will obey my wishes.”

“False pretenses,” she repeated.

“No,” he said. “I never claimed not to be a vampire. And you never asked. Now, come into the shower, or you will have a very bad morning. You don’t want that on your first day, do you?”

Miranda sighed and grumped into the shower, telling herself that she didn’t have any choice. She felt perfectly justified, at that point, in luxuriating in the warmth of the water, until Claudio placed his hands on her upper arms and moved her to the spot farthest from the spray. “Hey!” she said. “I’m not getting any.”

“I have to leave quickly,” he said. “Be patient.”

She crossed her arms and waited for him to soap his body and wash his hair.

Then he handed her the soap. “Use this on my cock,” he said. “Be thorough.”

The word “
cock
” sounded strange in his mouth. At first, she didn’t quite 34

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register the demand, but just stood there for a moment, looking at him, unable to believe his arrogance. Then he clapped the backs of his fingers into his hand as though commanding his musicians. “
Now,
Miranda.”

Pressing her lips together, she did as she was told, too appalled at first to be conscious of what she was doing. What had she been thinking? Last night it had all seemed so intriguing, so right. Coming out here with a man she had wanted since early summer. Making a bet. The music, the wine. Now in the mundane light of day, soaping his genitals in the shower instead of enjoying the gentlemanly attention she felt entitled to after being subjected to last night, she decided she was a complete and utter idiot.

Then, to her horror, she started blushing when it was time to slide back the foreskin for greater access. He emitted a soft little groan as the flesh began, again, to harden. Miranda wondered if there was ever a time when he wasn’t turned on. If not, she mused, was it a result of being a vampire, or of being French? Then she realized she was also starting to tingle again, and that she was enjoying the feel of his balls knitting up as she caressed them. She had the urge to take him in her mouth, but repressed it, preferring to hang on to as much of her anger as she could. She didn’t know what to feel at this point.

“Enough,” Claudio said as he often did during their lessons. It brought back a certain schoolgirl apprehension she sometimes felt with him, when he wasn’t being charming and seductive, but businesslike and brusque. It surprised her that he had never actually rapped her on the knuckles when she had missed a note on her guitar, especially now that she knew about his preoccupation with punishment.

At any rate, the tone made her obey him without question. He stepped aside and motioned her beneath the water, where he began to bathe her quickly and efficiently, as though washing a pet. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, but didn’t dare protest at this point. And besides, it felt good.

Without warning, he maneuvered behind her and held her against him, soaping her shaved crotch as his erection hardened. There was no teasing as his hands moved 36

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to her breasts, only his deep, measured breathing. When she became brave enough to steal a glance up at his face, she found a look of concentration there, like the one he sometimes had when playing his violin. Except that now his hair was plastered to the sides of his face and hanging in soggy curls on his neck.

At that moment, she forgot all of the anger and foreboding of the previous hours and surrendered to the feel of his hands and the intensity of concentration that he gave her, stretching beneath the water for him to rinse and explore. She wasn’t prepared for the abrupt, “It’s finished. Turn off the water,” when it came, but she didn’t argue. He smacked her hard on the ass and grinned at her shocked expression before stepping out of the shower and drying himself. Then he handed the damp towel to her.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“You do not know how to use a towel?”

“It’s wet,” she said indignantly. “You already used it.”

“It’s dry enough,” he said, with that French half-frown that seemed to say,

“So what?” She took the towel as though it was something disgusting. He shrugged.

“Usually there is another, but not today, it seems.”

She used it sulkily, stealing glances as he blow-dried and styled his hair. “What happens if I win the bet?” she asked suddenly.

Something about the way he looked at her in the mirror chilled her. There was a strange, protective intensity in his eyes, and hesitation in his voice. Then the mask of charm returned, as though it had been there all along. “I told you,” he said, finally. “You will go free. We will continue our lessons, and nothing more. If this is what you want. I will not force you to play well if you do not wish.”

As much as she wanted to ignore what her gut was telling her, Claudio’s little joke couldn’t change what she’d seen in his eyes. Her scalp prickled. “What
really
happens, Claudio?”

Something flickered momentarily in his black eyes, and Miranda realized she had startled him. The look changed quickly to disapproval. “What do you mean? You 36

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don’t believe me? Why would I lie? I am not desperate for feeders, as you can see.

There are hundreds, if not thousands, of young women who would be delighted to take your place, I assure you.”

The comment hurt. Her face grew hot. Of course. Why would he fuss with her when so many other women wanted him? It didn’t make sense. She lowered her eyes and nodded, feeling the sting of tears. “Yeah,” she said. “Of course.”

She put down the toilet seat and sat down, mulling over her situation and feeling chastised. She startled when, upon finishing his grooming rituals, Claudio motioned toward the bed sheet she had tossed outside the door. “Pick that up,” he said. “I would prefer my linens to remain on the bed, not on the basement floor.”

Then he checked himself in the mirror once more and walked out of the room.

Blushing like a naughty child, Miranda picked up the sheet and followed him.

“When I have gone, make the bed, tightly,” he said.

“I’m not making your bed,” she answered. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping in a coffin or something?”

“I have every confidence that you will,” he said, slipping into his shirt, ignoring the coffin question.

“And if I don’t?”

He paused and looked at her as he buttoned his shirt. “If you are curious what happens when someone under my authority refuses an order then, by all means, refuse.”

The warning made her stomach go hot, but she couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Who says I’m under your authority?” she asked.

“I do,” he said, pulling on a charcoal-colored suit, leaving the shirt open at the neck.

“What am I supposed to wear until you get back? You ripped my dress.”

“Borrow something from Chloe or Seth,” he said with an absent flourish of his hand. “This afternoon I will have someone purchase clothing for you.”

“But I’m naked. I can’t just— ”

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“No one will mind,” he said, cutting her off. She sat on the bed with her sheet and watched him get ready, then he kissed her, promised to see her that evening, and was gone. She strained to hear his car starting, but no sound from upstairs made it into Claudio’s bedroom.

The Maestro’s boudoir,
she thought, then wondered what she should do. The bed was a mess, and he wanted it made. She looked at it, sighed, and got to work. Since she never bothered making her own bed in her apartment, she didn’t know how to make it tight. It looked pretty lumpy to her when it was finished, but she patted it and pronounced it
made
.

“Hope he likes it,” she muttered, and pulled on her ripped dress. The front was torn from stem to stern, so she was able to put it on like a coat. She pulled it together in the front, but didn’t like how it made her feel as though she were a cringing refugee.

She looked at herself in Claudio’s full-length mirror. As nervous as he made her, Claudio had been her only protection from the others, and at least a couple of them were as lecherous as he was. How would they react when the discovered she was still here, without clothes?

Especially Seth.