His hand trailed up from her arm and cupped her cheek. His eyes searched her own before he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her mouth. It was soft and searching, and she felt his arm pull her closer. She also felt his eyelashes fluttering on her cheek, and knew he was struggling to remain awake.
“Sleep, Gio.”
“Will you be here when I wake?” he mumbled, almost incoherent from the pull of day. “There’s more…”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll be here.”
Though his arm lay heavy across her waist, and his head slumped to the side, Beatrice felt safe for the first time in weeks, so she closed her eyes and joined him in a dreamless slumber.
When she woke, he was still sleeping, so she pulled away from the tangle of his arms and went to the front of the house. She boiled some water and made black tea to drink on the front porch. When she went outside, there was fresh milk sitting on the porch, and a block of ice for the icebox.
She was surprised by how peaceful she found the simplicity of life in the valley. The house had no electricity, but she didn’t miss it as much as she imagined. The fire in the main hearth was constantly burning, and it heated a small water heater by some mechanism she still didn’t understand, but appreciated anyway.
Other than the dreams that had plagued her every night, Beatrice had never felt more peaceful, and she understood why Giovanni had wanted her to come to this quiet place. Her soul, as well as her mind, had been refreshed.
She could hear the rustle of someone approaching through the trees, and sat up straighter in instinctive alarm. She relaxed when she saw the oldest son of the Reverte family, who kept the lodge at the base of the valley. Arturo had escorted her over some of the gentler riding trails as she explored the valley. He was riding his favorite horse and leading another one for her.
“
“
She thought about getting some fresh air but was unsure of what time Giovanni would wake, so she nodded that, yes, she was sure, and waved him off with a smile. She realized she wanted to be there to hear the rest of Giovanni’s story and didn’t want to lose time when he woke.
To say she had been stunned to learn he was the orphan the count had adopted, instead of Giovanni Pico himself, was an understatement; though when she thought about her research into the life of the fifteenth century philosopher, the ages had never seemed exactly right. She still had many questions, but she was beginning to understand how valuable the correspondence of his uncle and friends would be to the boy who had loved them.
She ate a small meal and perused the bookcases in the living room. When Giovanni had mentioned his books the first night they’d come to the house, Beatrice had frozen, thrown back to the night he had callously traded her for the books he had sought for so long.
At least that’s what she had thought at the time.
Her mind understood what he had been saying since he had rescued her, but a small part of her heart found it difficult to let down her guard around the magnetic man she knew she still loved, though she had trouble admitting it-even to herself.
Beatrice found a harmless paperback and crawled back in bed with the sleeping vampire, who had not moved from the position she left him in.
“Sheesh,” she grunted as she shoved his arms over to clear a spot. “You’re heavier than you look, Gio.”
He just lay there, silent and unbreathing.
“It’s probably really evil that I want to draw something on your face right now, isn’t it?”
She examined his unmoving form. “I could draw a big, curly mustache, right on your upper lip, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me, would you?” She lay down and traced her finger over his upper lip.
“Yep, that would piss you off for sure,” she muttered. “You’re so damn proud, Giovanni.”
Ironically, his face looked childlike in repose, and she found herself wishing the soft curls still covered his forehead so she could brush them away.
“Or should I call you Jacopo?” she murmured.
She liked the feeling of his childhood name in her mouth, so she continued in a soft voice.
“Does anyone else know your name, Jacopo? Does Lorenzo even know?” she said. “I wonder…”
She began to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes, and she lay her head on his chest to stare at him. She heard one soft thud as his heart gave a beat before falling silent again.
“I thought I was in love with him, Jacopo. I think I still am.” She blinked away tears. “But I don’t trust him anymore, even though I want to.”
Suddenly, his expression creased into a slight frown, and he no longer looked like a boy, but the hard man who had killed to get her back.
“Oh,” she whispered, “there you are, Giovanni.”
She sighed and decided she didn’t really want to read, so she curled into his side and fell into another dreamless sleep.
Beatrice woke to the feel of a hard body beside her, and soft lips traveling over her neck. She sighed and arched toward it, purring in sleepy pleasure when a large hand cupped her breast. Though her eyes were closed, she could feel them roll back as a mouth traveled along her collarbone, a hot tongue licked up her neck, and she felt the gentle scrape of teeth behind her ear.
His mouth dipped lower, searching, and she could feel her heart begin to pound. The lips grew more urgent and a low rumble issued from the body next to hers. Beatrice’s eyes suddenly blinked open when she felt the scrape of pointed teeth again the pulse in her neck.
Giovanni must have still been sleeping, but his body was hard and pressed into hers. His hand caressed her breast, and his other arm pulled her closer as they moved against each other. She was overwhelmed by the pleasure of his touch. Her skin hummed with the transfer of energy, and she could feel the brush of amnis wherever his bare hands or lips touched her flesh.
“Gio,” she whispered softly. “Gio, I-” She broke off with a quiet moan of pleasure at the feel of his lips teasing behind her ear.
Giovanni’s hand left her breast and moved up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her lips before he wandered back down her body, touching places she had dreamed of for months.
“Tesoro,” he breathed out, along with a string of sleepy Italian she didn’t understand. They rocked against each other, and her eyes rolled back when she felt his teeth nip at her neck.
“Do it,” she whimpered, unable to contain her desire as his lips teased her skin. “Please, Giovanni.” She felt his mouth close over her neck, and his tongue teased her rapid pulse.
Beatrice thought, in the back of her mind, that it would hurt, at least a little. But though she could feel the quick burst as her skin gave way to his fangs, a wave of pleasure overwhelmed her, and she shuddered in his arms as his mouth latched on to her throat and sucked.
She cried out in release, and she sensed Giovanni rouse to full consciousness. He hesitated for only a second before instinct took hold, and he drew from her vein as his hands clasped her to his body.
Every pull of his mouth was answered as she arched into him, and she could hear soft growls of pleasure as he drank. Her hands dug into the hard muscle of his back, as his soft lips worked her neck and his hands stroked her skin. She was lightheaded, but had the feeling it had less to do with blood loss than the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through her body.
It was probably only minutes until she felt his fangs retract and his tongue sweep over her skin, licking the last drops of blood as his body shivered, then fell still. He hid his face in her neck and lay next to her, silent and unmoving as a statue as her heart rate evened out.
“Gio?”
“I am…sorry, Beatrice,” she heard him whisper. “That was-”
