Getting What You Want (7 page)

Jo made a sound of agreement, then she added, “I do think you are seeing that psychic person too much. And taking too much stock in what he says. Those tea leaf places are just for entertainment. They’re a business. You can’t believe what they say.”

Erika considered mentioning that Philippe had predicted she’d move to New Orleans within the past year, and that her art would finally get some recognition. She glanced at Boris, now sated and asleep atop her crumpled duvet. He’d even predicted her finding a stray cat. And not any cat. A black cat.

But she didn’t bother mentioning any of this to Jo. Her friend simply didn’t believe in psychic phenomena. Or anything paranormal. She liked a good ghost story as much as the next person, but she didn’t believe a word of them.

Jo must have sensed awkwardness in the silence, because she changed the subject to Erika’s art show, and her impending visit.

By the time Erika flipped her cell phone shut, she did feel calmer. While Jo didn’t understand Erika’s belief in mysticism, she had been a good voice of reason about the lock. And Erika wasn’t so wrapped up in her otherworldly interests that she really believed Vittorio had some magical ability to undo locks with his mind or whatever.

Ridiculous.

For the first time in a long time, Erika turned her attention to her art, getting some work done that she was actually pleased with. There was still the lopsided bust that she couldn’t seem to fix, but she did finish a smaller piece she’d started earlier.

Pleased, she wiped her hands on one of her ever-ready rags, then checked her watch. It was after 3 p.m. No wonder her stomach was growling.

She wandered to her fridge, only to find a take-out box with a salad that had seen much better days, a twelve-pack of Diet Coke, and some yogurt. She grabbed a soda and headed toward the bathroom.

She’d grab a shower, then a late lunch at her favorite place, The Napoleon House. Maybe when she got back, she’d see some signs of Vittorio. She hadn’t heard a sound from the apartment overhead all day.

She caught herself. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him, having decided as she worked that she wasn’t going to search him out. When she saw him, she’d thank him for his kindness last night, and that was it.

If Philippe was right, Vittorio would come to her. If not, he wasn’t her prince.

Erika walked into the restaurant, greeted by Jean-Pierre, a short, somewhat stocky waiter with a haircut shorn very close to his scalp.

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle. How are you today?”

“Very well,” she said, “and you?”

“Excellent, excellent.”

Erika smiled as he led her to her favorite table out in the open courtyard. Some people didn’t like to be recognized as a regular, but she did. She liked going to a shop or a restaurant and being remembered. Another reason she loved New Orleans, people made the effort to remember you. And to be friendly.

She was glad she’d made the choice to come here. Even if it was in part a decision based on Philippe’s psychic recommendation.

She sat down and ordered a diet soda. Diet Coke was her biggest vice. Pretty mild as far as vices went.

Picking up the menu, she perused the food choices, although she knew she’d probably order the crawfish étoufée. Her favorite dish here.

“Excuse me?” A deep melodic voice sounded by her right ear. Startled, she twisted to look at the speaker.

“I thought that was you. What a small world.”

Erika stared at the large man beside her, unable to speak for a moment.

It was the man she’d run into on St. Louis. Literally.

“E
rika? Right?”

Maksim offered the mortal woman an easy smile. He made sure he tempered himself. On their first meeting, he’d been too intent, too eager to find out what she knew. In retrospect, he now saw he could have easily spooked this woman, even before he entered her mind. Another risk of being a demon, he could come on a little strong.

Actually he did that more often than he should.

“Yes.” She set down the menu, returning his smile with a surprised one of her own. “Hi.”

“I’m Maksim,” he told her, sure she remembered, but wanting to come across unassuming enough to make her think he suspected she’d forgotten his name.

“I remember,” she said, as predicted. “How are you?”

“Famished.” He smiled, exuding charm from every pore.

She smiled back, timidly, but still a smile. A good sign. “This is the right place to be then.”

He nodded, glancing around. “It’s my first time here. It’s quite—” He’d have gone with
rundown
if he was being honest, but he opted for, “Quaint.”

Erika glanced around, an affection for the shabby place clear in her eyes. Humans were such a strange lot.

“It’s one of my favorite restaurants in the Quarter.”

“Well, you will have to tell me what entree you like best.” He rested his hand on the back of one of the chairs, a signal for her to ask him to join her.

Her eyes went to his fingers, curled casually against the worn wood, but she didn’t offer an invitation.

Maybe he had come on too strong with his powers yesterday. He thought the mind-connect had just confused her, like a sudden bout of vertigo when you’d never been dizzy before. But maybe he’d actually scared her. That could happen too. It was never comfortable when someone enters your mind.

He needed to go slowly. Impatience and greed were always his missteps. Of course, he was a demon, and as a whole, his race was hardly known for patience or moderation.

Still, he had to try. He offered her another smile laced with warmth and sincerity.

“I know this is presumptuous, but would you mind if I join you? I hate to eat alone.”

Erika looked as if she was going to say no, but then nodded. “Sure.” She still didn’t sound certain, but that was another trait of demons, they didn’t hesitate to capitalize on another’s moment of weakness.

“So are you from New Orleans?” he asked, taking the seat to her left. His knee brushed hers under the table and she immediately shifted away. He did make her nervous.

“No. I’m from the East Coast originally.”

“Have you been here long?”

She fiddled with her fork. “No, only a few months.”

Maksim nodded. He’d been inside her head, and knew all this, but he needed something to use for small talk.

“Are you from here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’m not really from anywhere. I travel a lot. I did spend a majority of my—childhood in Russia.” If demons had childhoods, which they didn’t.

“I can hear the accent.”

He nodded. “Yes. I guess no matter how much I travel that never goes completely.” It was actually a dialect of Male-bolge, the eighth circle of hell. But it sounded fairly close to a Russian accent.

She nodded. “Are you here on business?”

“Yes, business.”

She nodded again, then there was a lull in conversation. She studied her menu, clearly not knowing what to say to him.

“What do you do?” He knew that too. A sculptor—now. He’d seen other jobs along the way, but in her mind she saw her career as that of an artist.

“I’m a—sculptor.”

She was reluctant to tell him. Perhaps because others didn’t see sculpting as a real career. But he was a full-time demon, who was he to judge career choices? “Really? That’s fascinating.” Ah, the sincerity he could portray. Even Orabella at her best couldn’t out act him. “How did you get started?”

His “genuine” interest loosened her tongue and got her to relax. Aside from the breaks to order food, then receive it, she told him about her long and rather dull journey to potential success.

Maksim manufactured appropriate interest and impressed reactions, all the while waiting for the thing he wanted.

“That is such a great story. I always relish hearing that creative people are able to use their talents to make a living. Too often you hear that a person has to give up their dream, because of money. You are doing well.”

Erika nodded, clearly pleased by his comments. She took another sip of her soda.

“I know this sounds strange,” he said suddenly, hoping his approach made his announcement sound unpremeditated. “But I’d love to pose for you sometime. I mean if you use models. If you don’t, well…I just figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

She shifted in her seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, I do. But I generally just take pictures and work from those.”

Well, shit.
That wouldn’t help him. Like he really wanted an amateur sculpture of himself. Done from photos, no less. He wanted proximity. She was his conduit to finding out more about Vittorio—and maybe through Vittorio more about Orabella, too.

Of course, he was going on the feeble hope that this mortal’s sexual interest in Vittorio would lead to some sort of relationship between them. All of it was a long shot, but one he’d been willing to take. Now he just felt irritated with the whole shoddy plan.

So instead, he leaned back in his chair and without any preamble locked eyes with Erika and entered her head.

Erika couldn’t say what happened to make her feel so strange, so suddenly. But she did, her heart skipped, almost as if she had a heart arrhythmia. She couldn’t pull in a full breath, and her head was spinning. Or rather the room was spinning. Her vision began to tunnel, and for a moment, she was afraid she was going to pass out.

The feeling continued for—she had no idea how long. But finally, she realized Maksim had moved forward on his chair and he frowned at her.

“Erika? Are you okay?”

She nodded, although the bob of her head was slight. She was afraid any sudden movement would bring back the disorientation and dizziness.

An urgent need to leave filled her, an irrational and unrelenting urge to get away. Not from fear exactly, but just a drive to go. Now.

“You don’t need to feel badly about not being interested in having me model. I understand that everyone works differently.”

Erika blinked.
What?
Then she remembered what he’d been saying just before the vertigo started.

“Thanks—thanks for understanding.” Where was Jean-Pierre? She wanted to pay her bill and leave. She knew her abrupt departure would be weird and rude. But she just didn’t feel…well.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand going to her head, massaging her temple. “I think I need to go. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

“I hope it wasn’t the food.” Then he smiled slightly. “Or the company.”

“No, no, of course not. I just seem to be coming down with a headache all of a sudden.”

“Perhaps it’s the heat.”

She nodded. “Maybe.” She started to reach behind her for her purse, which hung on the back of the chair, but Maksim’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Let me get it. To thank you for the company.”

Usually she wouldn’t allow that, but the pounding in her head continued to increase and she was afraid if she didn’t go now, she’d truly be ill.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.” She gathered up her purse and the thin sweater she brought everywhere with her, because she was prone to getting chilled. And she was shivering now, but not with cold.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, and something about the tone of his voice caused her to pause. She looked at him, trying to understand what about his tone niggled at her.

She rose, not sure she’d be able to keep her balance. The wooden legs of the chair squawked on the flagstone, and she used the table to center herself.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Again, Erika got the feeling that while his face appeared concerned, his tone didn’t quite match his look.

She was rattled from the strange bout of illness, but she certainly couldn’t identify anything that should make her feel odd about his behavior. Yet she did. And she just wanted to go.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Thank you for the nice lunch, or early dinner, or—whatever.”

Maksim leaned back and crossed his arms over his broad chest. A strange, small smile on his lips. “Not a problem, Erika. After all, I forced myself on you.”

Erika still couldn’t decide why she felt like there was some hidden meaning behind his words. Or maybe it was just her. It had to be this strange and sudden illness. She really did have to go.

“Okay, thanks again.”

He nodded, that little smile not changing.

Erika didn’t say any more. She just turned, made sure she was steady and walked slowly out of the restaurant.

The sun hadn’t set, but it was low in the evening sky, creating long shadows. She expected the dim light to add to her vertigo. But almost as soon as she stepped outside, her head started to clear.

What the heck was wrong with her? She’d never experienced an overwhelming sense of vertigo like that. Or the weird drive to leave, just get out of that restaurant. But as she slowly took a deep breath, the feeling dissipated.

She started down the uneven sidewalk, feeling a little embarrassed now about leaving Maksim so quickly. Now that her head was clearing, she wondered if the change she’d perceived in Maksim had something to do with her rejecting him as a model. Which certainly did seem more insulting, given her abrupt exit.

But she decided against heading back to the restaurant to explain her reaction to his suggestion. She had to admit, while she didn’t dislike Maksim, she wasn’t comfortable with him. In a purely aesthetic way he should have appealed to the artist in her, he was truly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Heck, she should want to sculpt him just to have more time with him. But again, she realized she wasn’t in the least bit attracted to him.

And for some reason she’d also lied to him. She made it sound like she didn’t want to work with live models. But generally it wasn’t a matter of wanting to work with them. It was a matter of not being able to work with them. It wasn’t easy to find people who were willing to take the time to pose for her. It wasn’t as if she could afford to pay a model much, if anything.

Maksim had offered, and she turned him down. But he did make her uneasy. And if she was being extra truthful, she didn’t want Vittorio thinking she was interested in him. She got the vibe that Maksim could be interested in her if she gave him any hint she was attracted. But right now, all thoughts were on Vittorio. Long shot that it was.

If Vittorio offered to model for her, she’d accept without a moment’s hesitation. And there was no denying her attraction. Definitely Vittorio. Despite her uncertainty about his feelings, she couldn’t deny hers. But she’d play it cool and let things go as they may.

By the time she reached her apartment, the sun had disappeared behind the buildings, and clouds darkened the sky. A storm was rolling in, quickly.

She reached the double doors leading to the courtyard and fumbled with her keys. On the third try, she got the key in the lock. She was still a little shaken from the bout of vertigo—either that or distracted by her own thoughts about Vittorio.

What was he thinking about her after last night? Had he found her reaction to the nightmare odd or too extreme? Was his attention solely because of her nightmare? Or was he a little interested?

She entered the courtyard and relocked the gate. Ren had told her when she moved in that it was never wise to leave the front gates unlocked. Tourists or other undesirables—Ren’s words—wouldn’t hesitate to come in and look around if the gate was left open to the street.

A chill stole over her skin as she thought about that. She turned and inspected the darkening courtyard. The rising wind rustled the greenery, but aside from that, all was quiet.

She glanced up at Vittorio’s apartment. A light glowed from one of the windows—and the tension in her muscles relaxed. Had anyone had asked her yesterday if she’d find peace in knowing Vittorio was near, she would have said no. Peace wasn’t what her body ever felt when she was near him.

But tonight, even with the insane attraction and confusing interactions she had with the man, she was glad he was there. Although between nightmares, mystery vertigo and unreasonable attractions, she couldn’t decide what was going on with her. Lately nothing seemed to make much sense.

The key slid easily into her apartment door. She stared into her darkened living room. She suddenly didn’t want to face her lonely apartment. She turned and headed up the stairs with none of the hesitation of last evening.

She rapped sharply on Vittorio’s door, then waited.

This time, he answered right away, although as before, the door opened without any sound of footsteps. And again, he wore sweats that rode low on his narrow hips, and little else.

She swallowed, loving the sight.

“Hi,” she said, greeting him with a smile that she knew was probably too delighted. But she was happy to see him. She felt safe, which again made no sense, given she should have had nothing to feel wary of in the first place. Aside for a dream that was well over and done with. Maybe she was just lonely. And it was nice to have someone there.

“I just wanted to come up and thank you for sitting with me last night.”

Vittorio studied her, his dark eyes unreadable. But instead of the cool, or even rude, remark he usually gave her, he nodded. “You had a really bad dream.”

“Yes. Terrible. But having you there helped calm me.” She wanted to touch him. His hair was sleep-mussed and so tempting. But she simply smiled, keeping her hands firmly at her sides.

Although she noticed his eyes move briefly to her lips, they were back meeting her gaze. Just that short glance made her body react—even more. Her skin tingled and her fingers twitched at her sides.

Lord, she wanted to touch him. His hair, the faint stubble along his jaw. His bare chest.

“I just sat there. Nothing particularly remarkable.”