Читать книгу I Want You To Want Me - Kathy Love - Страница 10

As Erika stepped out of the psychic’s shop, she felt irrationally upset with Philippe and his reading. Which was hardly fair to him. He didn’t make the future, he just foretold it.

Besides, what had she wanted him to say? She wouldn’t lie to herself, and claim she wanted no love interest in her future. Maybe she just wanted the fair-haired, dark-eyed prince he’d seen over and over to turn into a knight with dark hair and pale eyes, just to rule out her boorish upstairs neighbor.

But no, Philippe couldn’t even give her that. And now her prince was right above her, no less. All signs seemed to point to Vittorio. All signs, except the ones where he seemed to like her.

She sighed and headed toward her favorite bookstore, dying for one of the caramel lattes they made in the little café in the back. Decaf, because frankly her agitated body really didn’t need any more stimulation. And her headache wasn’t going anywhere soon—caffeine or no.

At least Philippe had assured her the art show was going to be a huge event. She should be focusing on that.

But no. She was focusing on a potential love interest who blatantly wasn’t interested.

Lost, once again, in the rehashing of last night’s encounter, she rounded the corner onto St. Louis Street and ran pretty much face first into another pedestrian. Right into his broad, very hard chest.

Stumbling backward, she immediately began to mumble her apologies while rubbing her nose. Damn, he had a seriously muscular chest.

But her words halted on her lips as she looked up at the man. Thick, black hair, chiseled, truly magnificent features, and striking pale green eyes. She knew she was gaping, but the man was stunning. Hadn’t she just wished to meet a dark-haired, pale-eyed man—well, she’d thought knight, but this was weird enough. Armor would have just made it way too eerie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes locking with hers, intent and more than a little unnerving.

Erika dropped the hand still at her nose and nodded. “Fine. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Well, it’s hard to see around corners,” he said with a slight smile.

A prickling of nerves ran over her—intense, causing goose bumps to rise on her bare arms.

She considered the feeling, testing whether the reaction was anything like the one she had to Vittorio. No. It wasn’t. This was totally different. It wasn’t attraction, but she couldn’t quite read what the feeling was.

“I’m Maksim,” the man said, holding out his hand, and when she didn’t immediately accept it, he added, “I always think it’s nice to introduce myself when I literally bump into someone.”

“Well, technically I did the running into you,” Erika reminded him, but she accepted his hand. “Erika.”

“Nice to meet you, Erika.”

He smiled at her, and again she almost wished her body would react to him. But the charming grin did nothing to her pulse. And this man was the definition of gorgeous.

“So you’re sure you are okay?” he asked, still holding her hand. He tilted his head, the gesture cute and sexy all at once, which she could see in a very objective way, but couldn’t react to. “No permanent damage to your nose?”

She smiled at him. “No, it’s fine.”

He nodded, but still didn’t release her hand. He was clearly waiting for her to say something, waiting for her to make the first move here. And he was a total hunk, yet she couldn’t.

She slipped her fingers from his. “Sorry again,” she said, and started to step around him, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

Their eyes met, his pale ones holding hers.

She tried to speak, tried to break the eye contact between them, but couldn’t. His gaze held hers. An intense feeling of confusion filled her, and her head seemed to feel—full. She didn’t even understand the description, but that was the only word she could find.

She weaved, and his hand steadied her.

“Are you sure you are okay?” he asked again.

Erika nodded, able to look away from him this time. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.”

He nodded, seeming reluctant to release her, probably because he was afraid she would fall or faint or something, and she wasn’t totally sure she wouldn’t. But he let go of her, and she did remain standing. That was good.

“Okay, then. Have a good day. Watch out for chests.” He smiled once more and then moved past her, taking the opposite direction from where she was going.

She watched him as he strolled away, frowning at her own weird reaction. The man disappeared among a gaggle of laughing and chattering tourists. And just like that, the powerful dizzying sensation faded.

She frowned, confused. What had that been? Not attraction, that was for sure, which was really too bad, because she had a strong suspicion that if she’d wanted to she could have gotten a cup of coffee and a chat from that very handsome man. But she hadn’t wanted it. At all.

Lord, she was mad. Totally mad. Letting a hot, charming man walk away, while pining for, albeit an equally beautiful, but not even remotely charming—or even friendly—man.

She sighed and started down the sidewalk toward the bookstore.

Clearly she was altogether too stressed. She was not making good or rational choices. She needed to focus and get back to her work. Men could just stay on the back burner for the time being. She had much bigger things ahead of her. She’d do well to focus on them.

Maksim stopped as soon as he was out of sight of the woman. Erika Todd. He had her name. But that was about it. Entering her mind hadn’t been the treasure trove of information he’d hoped.

Erika Todd knew nothing of Orabella, and she knew nothing about Ellina, which was both disappointing and frustrating.

For a split second, he lamented the fact that he had entered the mortal’s mind. Mortals couldn’t handle that kind of invasion. But then he shrugged it off.

Erika Todd would have some sort of residual damage from the mind-connect, but the harm was rarely permanent. And he had to give it a shot, didn’t he? He’d certainly used his abilities for much less noble purposes—and frankly, Erika Todd meant nothing to him—just another mortal. And there were billions of them. He grimaced as a group of loud, obnoxious ones passed him, wearing green, purple and gold plastic beads and silly hats.

Unfortunately what he’d learned from Erika Todd was useless anyway.

Then he paused. Or maybe it wasn’t.

She did know this Vittorio, object of Orabella’s obsession. Not well, but she did know him. Maksim had seen a couple of uneventful encounters with the vampire. He supposed the cell phone incident from last night had been sort of eventful, but aside from being mildly amusing, it was of no import to him.

But this Erika was interested in Vittorio, which was bound to be an issue for Orabella. He considered that for a moment…it might be good information to know for the future. So he wouldn’t dismiss Erika totally.

Not to mention, he didn’t know for sure if Vittorio wasn’t somehow involved in Ellina’s disappearance. It seemed like a long shot, but at this point he had to take long shots. He’d been searching for her for two months. Someone had to know something.

Maksim shifted to get out of the sun. Damn, he hated the heat. Ellina had loved this city, which surprised him. Decadence, sin, overindulgence—which this city had in abundance—that was his shtick, not his half-sister’s. Ellina wasn’t so easily tempted. So what had drawn her here?

He shifted again, resisting the urge to tug at his T-shirt, which sweat had glued to his body. Certainly not the oppressive heat. He grimaced. Or the smell. Why had Ellina come here?

There were no answers yet. But he felt like he was on the right track. At least with Orabella. She was definitely up to something.

And she did know Ellina, he’d found correspondence from Orabella to his sister. Innocuous missives, but upon meeting Orabella he’d known she was far from harmless.

But thus far instead of getting answers, he was just finding more questions. What was Orabella up to? Who was this Vittorio, and why was Maksim’s petulant little lover so obsessed with him? Oh, Maksim was fully aware that Orabella was the one obsessed despite her claims otherwise.

Maksim wondered what he should report back to Orabella tonight. He wasn’t stupid or conceited enough to believe that Orabella was just using him for his body. Well, he was conceited enough—but definitely not stupid. She wanted him for other reasons, reasons beyond tailing Vittorio.

He, on the other hand, suspected she was conceited, or at the very least self-absorbed enough, that she wouldn’t discover he was using her too. He just had to keep up the game of being her smitten lover. A game he enjoyed in its deceit.

She wasn’t the only one who excelled at using her lovers. But, if her motives for following Vittorio didn’t yield any answers about Ellina, he didn’t want her little mystery interfering with his own quest for answers.

The truth about Ellina was out there somewhere.

Maksim smiled to himself. How very Fox Mulder-ish of him.

He pushed away from the wall, whistling the theme to The X Files as he headed down the street to find some air-conditioning and a cold beer.

This was so ridiculous. Erika paced at the bottom of the stairs that led to the second-floor apartment. She hadn’t even made it up them yet.

Okay, she had managed to walk up to the first landing, but once she got there, she’d turned around and headed right back down. There was something even more pathetic about that than just standing here.

Philippe couldn’t be right about this. Or he was misunderstanding his own reading. Yes, Vittorio did fit all the specifics that the psychic had told her. Except the whole attraction thing, which seemed to be the key part of the prediction.

She placed a hand on the banister of the stairs that went straight, turned at a narrow landing, and disappeared overhead. And beyond those hidden steps was Vittorio.

She released the banister and fiddled with the plastic wrap covering the plate of cookies she’d made as a peace offering. Okay, “cookies” was generous. They were Rice Krispie treats, which was about all she could manage. She wasn’t a good cook, nor did she particularly like to cook. She fiddled with the plastic wrap again. She wished she had something better to offer him.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just go up there,” she muttered to herself. The worst thing that could happen would be that he’d act as he had the previous night.

And she had gotten easily and uncharacteristically irritated by his rudeness. Which hadn’t been fair, on her part. He’d been injured, and annoyed. Justifiably so, really.

At the very least she owed him another apology. He was Maggie’s brother-in-law, and Maggie was one of her best friends. So she’d kill two birds with one stone. Smooth things over, and just see if maybe he was attracted to her—when he wasn’t bleeding profusely from the head.

Her reasoning was sound, but still her feet remained planted on the worn wooden floor, the plate gripped in her cold fingers. What was making this so darned hard?

She pulled in a deep breath.

Okay, here was the truth of it, and she needed to be truthful with herself—if no one else. She was insanely attracted to him. An instant, undeniable attraction, a shock wave rippling through her like a hit on the Richter scale measuring beyond anything previously recorded.

That reaction made it a lot more difficult to face potentially encountering the same cool disdain she’d gotten last night. Dislike was something she never dealt well with—especially from a man whose mere presence sent her blood pressure rocketing out of the atmosphere.

But she had to. She knew she did. She had to know if Philippe was somehow miraculously right about this, and last night had just been Vittorio’s pain making him seem so totally uninterested. And at the very least, she wanted to show him she was normally a polite, even-tempered person.

Staring at the staircase a moment longer, which was getting more daunting as shadows from the setting sun darkened the corners and cast strange shapes on the walls, she gripped the banister and took a step. Then another.

The hallway outside of Vittorio’s apartment was murky, the waning light through dirty windows giving the whole corridor an unsettling air.

She fought the urge to glance over her shoulder, hairs rising on the back of her neck. Instead she focused on the door, rapping on the solid oak twice. She waited. No noise sounded from inside. No footfalls, no “just a minute,” not even a shuffle.

Great. She went through that whole pep talk, and he wasn’t even there? Crap. She’d have to get her nerve up again—and she didn’t know if she could do that.

Okay, just one more knock. She couldn’t do this again. He had to be there.

Just as she raised her hand to knock again, the door jerked open, her fisted hand coming close to bopping him in the nose. In the dim light, Vittorio grimaced at her through sleep-heavy eyes. His long hair was tangled and shoved haphazardly back from his face. Bare, muscled chest and flat stomach appeared over sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips.

“I’m sorry,” Erika immediately said, even as her heart skipped wildly. An image of him lying in bed filled her mind, quickly morphing to a picture of her in bed with him. “I—I didn’t think you’d be sleeping,” she managed to mumble.

He frowned, blinking, then peered over her shoulder at the evening sky, which now nearly left them in darkness.

“I keep weird hours.” His tone was flat, yet his voice still lent the words a beauty with its deep baritone timbre.

Erika stared at him, unable to keep from studying the shadows emphasizing the muscles of his chest and stomach. Chiseled and perfect. She immediately wanted to capture that perfection with her art.

But she managed to stop gaping and move her gaze up to his face, which was also a study in shadows and beauty.

Clearing her throat, she managed a smile. “I keep odd hours too.”

He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead he leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement caused his muscles to come to life. Erika’s fingers twitched with the longing to shape over them like she would the smooth clay of one of her sculptures.

“I’m guessing you didn’t come up here to discuss our sleep habits.”

Erika’s eyes returned to his, as did the sense of dread she’d been experiencing at the bottom of the stairs. Cool disdain—that was what she was getting. Crap.

“No.” She offered him another small smile. “No, I came up to see how your head is.” She reached forward to brush aside his hair to see the wound, but he caught her wrist, stopping her. His fingers cool, curled a tad too tightly on her skin.

“It’s fine.”

Erika nodded at the clipped response that didn’t invite further questioning. Yet she didn’t move, nor did he release her. Although his hold loosened and she could have sworn his thumb slid on the outside of her wrist like the briefest, faintest caress.

Crazy. She made a small noise in the back of her throat at the silly notion. The soft sound seemed to make Vittorio aware that he still held her, because he promptly dropped his fingers away from her.

Erika fought the urge to touch the place where his hand had been. Instead she stepped back from him. She should leave.

“Okay,” she said feeling disoriented. “I just wanted to check.” Check Philippe’s theory, but as before she seemed to be the only one affected by Vittorio’s nearness. Vittorio’s expression was still remote, hardly filled with overwhelming attraction.

“I guess I should go, then,” she added. She took another step backward, then remembered the plate of treats she still held.

“Oh and I made you these,” she said, shoving the plate toward him. “You know, as a peace offering.”

He stared down at the plastic wrap–covered squares as if he expected them to crawl off the plate and attack, perhaps sticking in his beautiful long hair.

Her fingers held the plate, tightening with the desire to touch the silky-looking locks. Was she utterly mad? This man was not interested in her—in the least—and she was fantasizing about touching his hair.

“I—” He still regarded the cookies with consternation. “I don’t eat—sweets.”

“Oh.” She pulled the plate away from him. “Okay. Well, I did just want to say I’m sorry.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

“About last night, I mean,” she said, watching his expression.

A muscle in his jaw worked as if he was clenching his teeth. “As you’ve already said,” he stated.

Erika nodded, not sure what else to say. It certainly didn’t appear he was any more willing to forgive her tonight than he was last night.

Suddenly that uncharacteristic feeling of irritation swelled inside her again. Why did he dislike her so much? Okay, she had hit him with a cell phone, but it had been in an unusual circumstance. And she did feel truly awful about it.

But instead of just accepting that he wasn’t going to warm up to her, she heard herself saying, “I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m actually trying to figure out if you are someone that my psychic told me I’d meet.”

Vittorio straightened, and the remote look in his eyes shifted, but it wasn’t to an expression she liked any better. His eyes widened with amused disbelief.

“Your psychic?”

Erika had received this reaction before. More than once. And she immediately regretted her honesty.

“I’m sure this sounds a little strange to you.”

He tilted his head. “What did this psychic say?”

She hesitated. Was he genuinely curious, or did he intend to mock her?

“He’s been predicting that I would meet someone who at least physically fits your description.”

He nodded, his gaze leaving hers as if he was considering the idea. She still couldn’t quite decipher what he might be thinking.

“And what else did this psychic say?”

Erika again debated what to tell him. But the lopsided, not altogether kind, slant of his lips made her stop. He just thought she was nuts. And he didn’t appear to like her any better for her nuttiness.

“Forget it.” She raised a hand in a gesture of defeat. “I just wanted to be sure your head was all right.”

She started to leave, when his voice stopped her. “Thanks.”

Erika didn’t bother to turn around. She simply nodded, unsure if he could see it or not. And not really caring. He had a way of making her feel like a blathering idiot. Not a fun feeling when combined with her very irritating, and clearly irrational, attraction to the man.

She headed down the stairs, determined to let Philippe’s prediction go—and to be nothing but polite in the presence of her upstairs neighbor, who she was beginning not only to want to shag, but to hate too. Talk about a doomed relationship.

Philippe had been so wrong.

She entered her apartment, shoving the door open with more force than necessary. And shutting it with the same needless force, although the slam did give her a small measure of satisfaction.

Sinking onto the gold sofa, she tugged off the plastic wrap protecting the marshmallow treats and picked the biggest of the bunch. She bit into it, forcing herself to focus on the crunch and the sweetness rather than her anger. But the attempt didn’t last long.

“He is so…infuriating,” she muttered around the cookie.

She took another bite, chewing with frustration.

“He doesn’t know what he just sent away.”

And she was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about her cooking.