I smiled in the dark, slowly stretching so as not to wake him and rolled, pulling him close, so that our bodies touched along the front instead of the back. He snuggled close, and my enhanced senses picked up on the scent of lemons and other tangy citrus, mint and tea, things I now strongly associated with the man in my arms. When he sighed in his sleep and lifted his face, his eyes still closed, I stared down at him. I let my gaze leisurely slide over his fine features.
I wondered if he’d been an aristocrat in his human life. I suddenly wished he was awake so that I could ask him, though, I thought I already had the answer to that question. Hadn’t most medieval crusaders been noblemen—lords—or something? Yes. I was pretty sure they were. Serfs and servants didn’t run around crusading. Weren’t they poor and downtrodden? Toothless and dirty? I chuckled silently, feeling my body tremble with mirth at my stupidity.
I was ashamed of myself for never asking these things or already knowing them. I should read more of the books in my house, instead of lusting after a young Kevin Costner running around in tights as Robinhood.
Vincent was a handsome man, but he was more than that. He was more beautiful, I think, than any other man I’d ever been with. I’d seen more handsome men but never had I been as attracted to them as I was to the creature in my arms. He had shining brown hair that in the right light, carried highlights of gold, red, and bronze. His skin appeared permanently tan, and I wondered if that was because he’d died in a land where the sun would have been harsh on the hide of an English nobleman. Hadn’t he said that vampires retained all the features they’d had when they’d been bitten and changed? He’d told me about the massive sword scar on his chest, but I wondered whether that applied to tans.
I really was an idiot, and I chuckled again.
“What on earth could be so fucking funny at this time of the morning?”
I looked down again, this time focusing on the two topaz eyes staring at me. His mouth turned up at the corners, and I couldn’t stop my own grin. I reached up and threaded my fingers into his shoulder length mahogany hair, noting how it felt like silk and how, when I did this, I could detect more of the incredible citrus scent which clung to him.
“I was just wondering if your tan was permanent,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss his nose. It immediately wrinkled as I pulled away. I noticed how he narrowed his eyes at me and leaned his head back, separating our bodies only a sliver. It was too much, I tightened my hold on him, keeping him close. That only made him crane his neck farther to meet my eyes.
“What are you on about this morning?” Vincent asked.
I was pretty sure I heard a trace of a European accent in that question. I heard it now and then, but his voice was so deep and resonant, that most of the time I simply ignored the accent. Besides, with the mouth the man had, more and more I found myself thinking of better things he should be doing with it. I couldn’t help but smile at him.
“I said I was wondering if your tan was permanent.”
“My tan?” Vincent rocked his hips against mine, and I felt the prominent morning bulge scrape over my groin, making all my thoughts suddenly travel south.
I sighed. “I was lying here looking at you, admiring your good looks and wondering if your tan was permanent,” I admitted.
He smiled. “Why the hell would you do that, Romeo?”
I chuckled. “Didn’t you tell me that when vampires are made, all the scars on their body which were there before death, stayed on them after the change?” I absently placed my hand on the wide scar over his chest which ran from his collar bone to his bellybutton.
“Yes.”
“So, I was thinking that the pale English rose you probably once were, had no business being such a tanned vampire unless it happened in the Holy Land before you were turned.”
Vincent chuckled. “You’re an idiot.”
“Thank you.”
“For your information, my skin color hasn’t changed a whole lot since birth, certainly since being made vampire. My mother’s people were members of the aristocracy—specifically Italian or Roman as we called ourselves—so our skin has always been olive toned.”
I knew nothing about him…nothing at all.
I pulled away, loosening the hold I had on him, so I could prop my head in my hand. I ran the other through his soft hair, staring at him, and trying to make out his Italian features. I could see it now in his dark hair and those amazing topaz eyes which never ceased to take my breath away when he turned them on me like a car’s high beams. His cheekbones were high, and his stubbled jaw was square with the tiniest dimple on his chin. I’d licked over it more than once while making love to him.
“I thought you must be an aristocrat,” I said. “Are you descended from kings?”
He laughed, touching my lower belly and sliding his hand lower into my thatch. “No. I am very much not descended from kings. My mother was a lady in a prominent family and my father was landed gentry. He was eventually knighted along with my uncle when they saved the life of a nobleman who was a favorite of the king.”
“Who was the King of England in your time?”
“Edward the
