This Same Earth: Elemental Mysteries Book 2 (28 page)

“My Grandpa Hector was a plumber, but he loved dressing up. He would take Grandma for dinner and dancing every month.” She smiled wistfully. “It was their thing. And he always dressed in a suit for church on Sunday. He was…”

“What?” She hardly ever talked about her grandfather, and he knew they had been very close.

“He was my ideal man,” she said with a soft smile.

“You loved him very much.”

She sniffed and wiped at the tear in the corner of her eye. “I adored him.”

Beatrice finished up with his tie and then went to the bathroom to change into the deep burgundy dress she had bought the day before. It was high necked and long-sleeved, which would cover the bruises that still dotted her pale skin.

Giovanni was happy to see her injuries gradually decreasing as she gained strength and speed. She had also acquired the faint smell of cordite and gun oil since learning to shoot with Terry. According to their host, she had a natural and “typically American” affinity for firearms and was becoming a very good shot.

“Speaking of grandfathers,
tesoro
, did you call Ernesto today?”

“I did,” she said through the bathroom door. “Why did you want me to talk to him again?”

“He requested that I keep him updated on our progress, and I thought he would enjoy talking to you, as well. Keep in mind, he’s a powerful vampire who has a real affection for you. That’s not something to take for granted.”

She peeked her head out the door and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of bare shoulder. “I just met him that one time. I don’t want him to think I’m looking for anything from him.” She shut the door and continued her preparations.

“You should. He would expect you to.” He came to sit on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom and picked up a long, dark hair that lay on her pillow, twining it around his finger as they talked.

“What do you mean, he expects it?”

“He considers you family, remember? He will enjoy providing connections for you. He’ll consider it a privilege.”

“That seems kind of opportunistic.”

Giovanni chuckled. “Trust me, he’ll use his connection to me now if he needs it, and I’m happy to give it to him. He won’t get anything I’m not willing to give.”

“So why—”

“He’s a powerful and wealthy man. Part of his wealth is his connections. He offers you connections and…pedigree, if you want to call it that. You offer him connection to me, to Carwyn, to Gemma and Terry now…even to the legendary Tenzin. It’s all part of how the game is played.”

The door cracked open and she stood with a hand on her hip, which was cocked ever so slightly in his direction. He pushed down the satisfied rumble that wanted to leave his chest as he stared at the luscious curve he knew would be pressed against him when he rested later.

“Gio.”

“Hmm?”

“Up here.”

His eyes moved up her body to meet her amused gaze.

“Yes,” he said with smirk.

She only rolled her eyes. “So, what you’re saying is, don’t be afraid to drop names at dinner.”

“Name dropping is an art in immortal society, particularly among water vampires. So no, drop away.”

“Good to know.”

“Happy to tell you.”

She left the door open, and his eyes traced the lines of her body through the form-fitting dress. He darted over to rest his chin on her shoulder as she applied make-up in the mirror. He disliked when she put anything over her skin, but he enjoyed the brush of gold that accented her dark eyes.

Giovanni placed his hands on her waist and bent down to nose along the nape of her neck where she had pulled her hair up in a simple ponytail.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She winked in the mirror and reached back to tug his tie. “You look pretty good yourself.”

Jean Desmarais had controlled the ports of La Havre and Marseilles for over two hundred years. His ruthless ascension on the French coast bore witness to both his canny political skills and his ferocity as a fighter. He was renowned for his business acumen and his negotiating skills; his wealth and connections were some of the best in France.

What Giovanni hadn’t counted on was his charm.

“Surely,
mademoiselle
, they cannot pretend to make wine in Texas. California, I grant you, may have some passable vines, but Texas? How could a cowboy produce something so fine?”

Beatrice laughed along with him.

“I don’t know, Jean, some of the Chardonnays I’ve had from the Hill Country have been pretty fantastic.”

“Far be it from me to disagree with such a charming recommendation.” He winked and sipped his glass of red from the bottle he had brought for dinner.

Jean was decidedly rakish in his appeal and appeared to have been turned in his mid-thirties. His  brown hair and dark eyes spoke to as much Spanish blood as French, and the ladies at the table seemed to melt when he flashed them his roguish grin.

When Giovanni and Carwyn had wrangled a meeting with the busy water vampire over a month before, he had agreed to come and meet with Terry and Gemma in their home, which was a testament to both Jean’s confidence and his curiosity. The French and the English, like their human counterparts, did not often agree. But since the swarthy vampire had arrived, he had charmed the party with his wit and humor.

Giovanni stared at Beatrice from across the table. She had been nervous at first, glancing at him as if checking for proper protocol, but he only nodded and shrugged, curious how the evening might progress.

In very short order, she had the shipping mogul eating out of the palm of her hand.

“I haven’t seen him eye her neck once.” Carwyn leaned over and murmured into his ear. “He’s playing this very well.”

“As is she,” Giovanni said. “I told you, she has a knack for this. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”

“—so I was riding through the hills and I had my helmet on. Now, granted, it was winter and I was wearing a bulky jacket.”

“Winter? In Hollywood? I thought you only had sunshine and palm trees?”

They both laughed and Giovanni smirked, pleased to see others appreciating her quick wit and humor.

“We get a little bit cold. Nothing like here, of course—”

“My own home is quite damp. Perhaps I need to come to California to see the surfers.”

She smiled. “Perhaps you should.”

“Please, continue my dear.”

“So I was riding my bike and my helmet was down. I pull up to the stoplight and no less than three girls in a convertible—don’t ask me why they had a convertible in December, they were probably tourists—start cat-calling me!”

“Cat-calling?”

“Oh, you know, ‘Hey, handsome, I’ll give you a ride,’ stuff like that.”

“They thought you were a man?” he asked, finally catching on before he started chuckling.

“I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered, Jean.”

The whole table seemed to find the story amusing, and the small side-conversations continued as the roast beef was served. Giovanni bypassed it, never caring much for roast meat, which reminded him too much of his days as a mercenary. He focused quietly on Beatrice and the Frenchman across from him.

“Di Spada,” Jean called. “How were you so lucky to find this lovely woman, and why does she pay you any attention?”

“I must have been born under an auspicious star.” Giovanni winked at Beatrice, smiling when he saw the slight blush on her cheeks.

“Truly, you must have been. Now, Mademoiselle De Novo, if I were to visit Los Angeles, what must I see?”

“Well, it all depends on your interests…”

She continued to explain the various sights in Southern California as the table hummed around him. Giovanni exchanged cautious nods with Jean’s silent enforcer, who sat near the door to the dining room and glanced occasionally at Terry who, he noticed, was also observing Beatrice and Jean. Gemma caught his eye, and he saw a small smile cross her face. Despite their initial dislike, he had seen a grudging respect grow between the two women in the weeks they had spent in London.

“My daughter would love to meet you,” he heard the Frenchman say.

“Oh?”

“She was born during the twenties, my Louise. She absolutely adores the cinema. And anything American, for that matter. She even talks about acting on the screen, but that, of course, is impossible.”

“Is she interested in other aspects of working in film? I’m sure there are a lot of things she could do that wouldn’t be in front of the camera.”

Jean gave a typically Gallic shrug. “She has expressed an interest in costumes; but of course, there is nothing like that in Marseilles. And the vampires in Paris and Lyon...they are not particular friends of mine. No, French cinema is not for my Louise, I’m afraid.”

Giovanni saw the minute Beatrice recognized the opportunity, and he suppressed a smile.

“Has she considered moving?”

“Out of France? My dear Beatrice, where could she go where I would be assured of her welcome and safety? I am very fond of my daughter. She is my youngest child.”

“I wonder…are you familiar with my grandfather, Don Ernesto Alvarez?”

A slow smile spread across the Frenchman’s face. “What are you proposing?”

“You were brilliant.” He shoved the door closed and reached for her, pulling her to his chest and kissing her passionately before he drew her to the chair in the corner of their bedroom.

“That
was
kind of fun,” she said when he finally let her up for air. She was perched in his lap, and he was running his hands over her waist and kissing her neck, tasting behind her ear as he pulled the tie from her hair.

“I knew you’d be a natural at this.”

“I kind of am, aren’t I? It’s like a big game board. Or a puzzle. You just have to figure out how everyone is connected.”

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured as his lips wandered over her collarbone.

“And you’re sure Ernesto won’t mind?”

“He’ll consider it an honor to introduce the girl to Hollywood if it means Jean’s cooperation on the French coast, I’m sure of it.”

“And you think Jean will help us look for Lorenzo?”

He nodded and ran his fingers through the hair that fell down her back. She hadn’t cut it since they had been reunited, and he wondered if she knew how much he liked the length. “He’s in shipping, smuggling, all the same circles. They were allies of a sort, for a while. If Lorenzo goes to France, he’ll call Jean.”

“Okay then. Yay me.”

He pulled her closer, and his mouth moved along her neck as his fangs ran out. “Yay you, indeed,” he said as his tongue fluttered against her racing pulse.

“Go ahead,” she whispered and pulled him toward her neck, tilting her head as his fangs pierced the skin.

He moaned and pulled as the sweet blood entered his mouth. Giovanni pulled her hip against him, knowing she could feel his arousal.

“Gio,” she whispered. “Wait—”

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

He licked at her neck, sealing the wounds after a few quick drinks that slaked one hunger while feeding another.

She gasped, “Gio—”

“Let me make love to you, Beatrice. I’ve wanted to for so long. I love you. Let me show you.” One hand pressed at the small of her back, while the other stroked over her breasts. Her arms lifted and she clutched at his shoulders.

“I don’t…” She whimpered in pleasure. “Not here.”

“What?” He blinked and pulled away.

“Not in Gemma and Terry’s house. I just…” He saw the blush flood her face and he only imagined it spreading further down her body. “And…it’s too soon.”

He sat back and let his arms drop to the side.

“Too soon? For what? For this? For
us
?”

“We’ve only been…together for a few weeks now,” she stammered. “I mean, we’ve never even talked about—”

He pushed her off his lap and stood up to pace the room. “What? What do you want to talk about?”

“Well—” she was still blushing. “—us, I guess.”

“I love you.” He crossed his arms as he leaned against the desk. “I’ve made it quite clear what I want, Beatrice. If anyone should have doubts about our relationship, it’s me.”

She stood as her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You are the one holding back. You’ve held back for months when I know how attracted you are to me. I know how aroused you are right now. Why do you push me away?”

“I told you—”

“You tell me…” He broke off and lowered his voice, which had risen as they argued. “You tell me nothing. I know
nothing
of your feelings for me because you refuse to tell me anything.”

She stood gaping at him, furious as she struggled for words.

“You—you haven’t even apologized.”