Venice Vampyr: Final Affair (2 page)

Chapter Two

Isabella tore the wet clothes off the stranger’s body as her maid Elisabetta stood by wide-eyed. “Don’t just stand there, get a fire going,” she ordered.

“Signora, shouldn’t you let one of the footmen do this?”

Isabella shot her an annoyed look. “There’s no time for modesty.” Already she’d wasted precious minutes by ridding herself of her own wet clothes and drying off before stepping into a chemise and a dressing gown.

Adolfo had helped get the stranger up into her own rooms and placed him on the divan in front of the fireplace. She’d instructed him to keep quiet about the man. Having a stranger who was neither her husband nor a close relative staying with her would start all tongues in Venice wagging. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before one of her staff gossiped and spread the scandalous news.

Despite the fact that she’d grieved for her husband for almost a year without taking a lover, without so much as allowing any man to even woo her in the most acceptable of manners, even she, a respectable widow, would not get away unscathed. If anyone found out a stranger was at her home—worse, in her own bedchamber—she would have to deal with the consequences. They would be harsh. Were they worth it? She hadn’t craved a man’s touch or attention, only her husband’s. Until now.

As she gazed upon the tall stranger whose clothes she peeled away layer by layer, she was grateful for the fact that her maid was busy with stoking the fire, for she didn’t want to be watched as she devoured the handsome man with her eyes.

Isabella allowed her hand to travel over his muscled chest and felt the raw power he represented. She wondered what kind of work this man did to have such strength in his body. But she knew he wasn’t a common laborer who worked in the warehouses or on the docks. His clothes were too well made and too expensive for that. He had to be a gentleman, a very well-built gentleman.

The moment she opened the flap on his breeches, easing open button after button, her own body heated, despite the chill she’d gotten in the freezing water. No man had ever been able to ignite that kind of response in her body, not even her late husband. They’d had a loving marriage, a very comfortable one, but she’d never lusted after him as she lusted after this stranger.

The fabric clung to him. She told herself that she needed to rip it off him so he wouldn’t die of a chill, but she knew better. The reason she tugged forcefully at his soggy clothes was so she could feast her eyes on what was beneath. She stripped him and dropped the wet garments onto the rug.

“Give me a bowl with warm water and a sponge.”

Behind her, Elisabetta shuffled closer. A gasp told her that her maid was looking at the naked man. Isabella shifted her body to obstruct her maid’s view. She didn’t want to share him. What a strange thought, she reflected. He wasn’t hers, yet she wanted to be the only one who saw him like this: vulnerable in his nudity.

“Signora! It is not decent!”

Isabella spun her head and snatched the bowl of water from Elisabetta’s hands. “Leave us. And not a word of this to anybody if you value your position here. Do you hear me?”

She nodded nervously and fled from the room. Isabella looked back at the beautiful naked man in front of her and took a deep breath. She should let one of her male servants do this, but she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the intimate task.

With the sponge she bathed him, starting with his face. His dark hair, sleek and shiny as that of a raven, clung to his skin. As she gently washed his face, she wondered what kind of eyes lay behind those dark lashes. Were his eyes as dark as his hair? And would those lips smile at her if he knew what she was doing? She sighed. It had been so long since she’d touched another person. And to touch him felt more exciting than she could have imagined.

Isabella cleaned every inch of his body with warm water, then dried him with a large bathing sheet. And all the while she marveled at the beauty of his nude form. Strong, powerful thighs, a muscled chest covered in just a light dusting of dark hair, arms that looked strong. But what truly captured her attention was what lay at the juncture of his thighs.

In a nest of black, coarse curls, a large shaft rested against his sac, which looked as if it held two small eggs. She knew all about the male form—her husband had been a virile man and had taught her about the pleasures of the flesh, how to arouse him and how to pleasure him.

When she looked at this stranger now, she wanted to do just that: arouse him, pleasure him. Her hand stroked over his manhood, exploring his soft skin. How she’d missed touching a man. How she longed for the invasion that stretched her channel to its capacity. And this man would stretch her. Even in its relaxed state, he was of a formidable size. Once aroused, she knew he would be magnificent.

Suddenly, he shifted under her touch, startling her. Isabella instantly reached for the thick blanket and pulled it over him, covering his gorgeous body.

***

Somebody had made a mistake. For all intents and purposes, he should be in hell. But from what Raphael could see, he’d made it into heaven. He’d never expected there to be a heaven for vampires. But he wasn’t going to complain—no, he would not voice his concerns, even though he knew he didn’t deserve this.

The woman was clearly an angel. Her raven hair was loose, not held up high on her head with hundreds of pins as was the current fashion. And her clothing was indecent at best. She wore a long red dressing gown of rich brocade embroidered with golden roses. It was pulled tight at her waist, but the top gaped open as she leaned over him. He noticed the soft white fabric beneath clinging to her generous breasts.

No, she could not be a mortal. No woman in Venice would dress this scandalously in the presence of a man who was not her husband. It was proof positive that he was in heaven. Why he lay on a divan in a very feminine boudoir, he couldn’t yet explain, but he would get to the bottom of it. Nor could he explain why he felt cold. In fact, he positively shivered.

“I’ll have Elisabetta put more coal on the fire in a moment,” the angel said.

Coals in heaven? Raphael had thought they would have invented something a little more advanced. When she reached out and stroked his face, he realized that her skin was almost as cold as his. He certainly could do something about that.

“You’re awake. Finally. We were worried.” Her voice was like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard.

Worried that he wouldn’t make it to heaven? “My angel, you won’t have to worry any longer. I am here now.” He reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her palm. The floral bouquet of her skin barely masked the heavy, rich scent of the blood in her veins. Despite the fact that he’d fed just before his death, he felt his fangs itch and his stomach clench with thirst for the angel’s blood.

The beauty pulled her hand from his grip. “Signore, there is no need for such familiarity.”

Raphael dropped his gaze to her neckline. “Familiarity? Maybe you mean formality?” He gave her a charming smile, the same kind of smile he used to lure his female victims to him. As he locked eyes with her and gazed into her green orbs, his hand went to her face. That was when he noticed the absence of clothes on his person. Why was he naked?

Surely, if he was without any clothes beneath the blanket and with the most gorgeous angel bending over him, there could only be one reason for it: he was here to make love to her. After all, this was heaven. “You’re right, my angel, why kiss your hand when your lips are so red and full?”

Raphael pulled her to him and brushed his lips against hers. A gasp was her answer. “Shh, my angel, let me love you.”

He captured the lovely creature’s mouth and snaked his free arm around her, pressing her against him. She seemed to want to protest, but he didn’t allow it. Instead, he greedily slipped his tongue between her parted lips and explored her.

Her tangy taste was enthralling, her lips soft and yielding. She tasted as enticing as her scent had hinted at. Yes, he would make love to her and take her intoxicating blood into him at the same time, gorge himself on her to celebrate his arrival in heaven.

His tongue coaxed her to respond to him, to dance with him in the intimate dance of two lovers. When he stroked against it for the first time, his cock pumped full with blood, readying itself for her. He pressed her body closer to make her aware of his urgent need.

When her hands pushed against his chest, he thought it was so she could free herself of her clothes, but she separated herself entirely from him instead and jumped up from the divan.

 She took a few steps back, her body trembling, but he doubted that it was from fear. Her look was scolding as she glared at him. “Signore! Is that the thanks I get for taking care of you after you nearly drowned? Being attacked by you in my own home?”

Chapter Three

Isabella pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart beat frantically. He’d kissed her! The stranger had kissed her and made her feel things she’d never experienced. But she couldn’t allow this, couldn’t receive the pleasure he offered when she knew nothing about him. He was a complete stranger, a scoundrel for all she knew—very likely, considering his behavior. If she gave into his advances, she would turn into a common whore. She’d already gone too far by touching him. She should have never brought him here. He was a danger to her body and her heart.

“My life was saved?” His voice was full of disbelief. He sat up, dropping the blanket to his stomach, exposing his muscled chest.

Isabella averted her gaze. “Yes, you were one of the lucky ones.”

“So this is not heaven?”

“Heaven?” Was that what he’d thought? “No, this is Venice. Do you remember anything about what happened?” Her pulse settled a little. Had this all been a misunderstanding? He’d called her
Angel
—several times in fact. Had he truly believed himself to be in heaven and thought she was an angel? Was that why he’d kissed her?

“Signora, my sincerest apologies,” he said, and attempted to rise, then seemed to realize he was unclothed. “I would get up and bow in order to ask for your forgiveness, but it appears I find myself without the proper attire to do so.”

Despite his sincere words, there was a smirk on his face, bringing out dimples in his cheeks. He looked young, younger than she thought he was. She followed his gaze to the heap of wet clothes that lay on the floor.

“It appears my garments are unusable at present.” Then he looked at her, one side of his mouth tilting up in a smile. “Did you help me out of them?”

Isabella felt herself blush down to the roots of her hair. He knew! Had he been awake when she’d undressed him? Had he felt it when she’d caressed his naked body, washed him, dried him? She sucked in a much needed breath of air, afraid she would faint from the acute embarrassment that swept through her. She’d been a fool. Her reputation would be destroyed forever, and she would have to leave Venice because decent society would shun her.

A soft chuckle came from him. “Ah, I see. Well, Signora, then it appears I have nothing to hide.” She heard the blanket being tossed to the floor and instantly turned her back to him.

He rose, and a second later, she could sense him a step behind her.  “Signore, I will have my servants bring you some of my husband’s clothes,” she rushed to say.

“Husband?” he asked, sucking in a sharp breath.

“My late husband’s, yes.” She walked toward the door, trying to leave temptation behind her, but he followed her. When his hands grasped her shoulders, her breath caught.

Relief seemed to color his voice when he spoke again. “I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me. Very grateful,” he emphasized.

Then he spun her around to face him. “Raphael di Santori, at your service.”

She turned her head to the side, making sure her gaze didn’t drift lower, because she knew what she would see: his very tempting naked body. And if she allowed herself to feast her eyes on him once more, she would succumb to the temptation of touching him.

“Signore, this is hardly the time for an introduction.” She tried to pull from his grip, but his hands cupped her shoulders firmly.

“When then, if not now? Or would you rather I ravished you before I found out your name?”

His arrogant suggestion made her snap her head back to him. “There will be no ravishing, Signore di Santori. I’m a respectable widow. Once you’re dressed, you may come down to the parlor so we can talk.”

Isabella pulled free of his grip and turned to the door. He didn’t follow.

“Your name, Signora.” When she hesitated, he added, “Please.”

The softness in his voice made her relent. “Isabella Tenderini.” Then she swept out of the room, holding her head high, trying to hold onto her dignity. When she closed the door behind her, his laughter followed her.
Insolent, arrogant rake!

***

Raphael couldn’t stop laughing. Oh, this woman had fire in her belly. She made him feel alive. Hell, he was alive! And he had hundreds of questions. Had one of her servants pulled him out of the water? But, more importantly, who was this alluring woman who had clearly undressed him?