Читать книгу I Want You To Want Me - Kathy Love - Страница 13

“So what was he doing?” Orabella knew this particular moment, as she straddled Maksim in their bed, probably wasn’t the best time to question him about Vittorio, but she couldn’t help herself.

Maksim opened his eyes, regarding her with an ironic glint that stated he agreed with her unspoken logic. “Nothing of interest. Having a drink in a dingy little hole-in-the-wall.”

Orabella nodded, then pivoted her hips, riding him like one of her deceased husband’s prized ponies.

Maksim’s eyes flickered shut as he moaned with pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered roughly.

But Orabella didn’t share his satisfaction. She was focused on other things.

What was her darling son doing here? Surely he knew she’d eventually come looking for him here. New Orleans was one of his favorite places. Just as he favored his dreadful, spiteful brother. And other dreadful creatures.

Did Vittorio want her to find him? The idea excited her. Her hips moved faster. She closed her eyes, picturing her son’s angel face.

A face so like her own—which would ultimately make it impossible for him to deny or forget her. They were the same person, the only two who could truly understand each other.

But what if he was here for a different purpose? Some of her pleasure waned. Vittorio always seemed to have a fondness for the women of the South. Another mystery to her.

And frankly, no woman he picked was good enough for him. No woman was good enough, period. The only one worthy of his love was his mother. He had to know that, deep inside, didn’t he?

“Are you sure he wasn’t there to meet someone?”

Maksim opened one eye. “It didn’t seem that way.”

She nodded and twirled her hips, pretending she was enjoying their sex as much as he was. Sometimes having a lover was such a nuisance.

But she did need him, for multiple reasons. Maksim could follow Vittorio. Vittorio would sense her instantly if she got within two hundred feet of him. And while that should have irritated her, because it did make it hard to get to him if he didn’t want to see her, it also thrilled her. His awareness of her proved how connected they were. One soul in two bodies.

Her hips ground down hard on Maksim’s, taking him deep. Vittorio was going to love her again. She would give him exactly what he’d missed all these years. He’d be thrilled.

She ground herself down onto Maksim, taking what she needed. What she needed for Vittorio. He’d be so pleased. He’d have to forgive her.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, baby,” Maksim growled, his words shattering her lovely thoughts.

She rolled her eyes in arrogance, then disguised the gesture as one of overwhelming bliss.

“Will you follow him tomorrow?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“Of course.” Maksim’s voice sounded as irritated as she felt.

“And tell me if he talks to anyone?”

“Yes.” Maksim’s large hands spanned the curve of her hips and took control of the pace, lifting her and impaling her over and over.

She had to admit, she did like it rough and his aggressiveness and rapid rhythm did feel good. She flung her head back and let her arousal rise. Maksim would report everything back to her, and she would know what her baby boy was doing. And eventually, she’d get what she wanted. She would use what Maksim was giving her, and then she would make Vittorio return to her forever.

She just had to keep Maksim blindly devoted to her for a little longer. She cried out as her release hit her, but before the last shudder quivered through her body, she wiggled off him.

“Where you going, baby?”

Orabella graced him with a coyly shy look. She licked her perfectly glossed lips. Demons loved naiveté. And he adored her ingenue act, never guessing it was just that. A show.

“I want to taste you,” she said shyly, managing a blush.

Maksim rose up on his elbows, looking down at his penis. The sated organ began to swell and lengthen again. Sex was another thing demons adored. And Maksim was insatiable.

He glanced back to her, raising an eyebrow. “Well, who would I be to deny you your wants.”

Exactly, she thought as she took his now huge and hard erection into her mouth.

Erika groaned as Boris woke her with a strident and demanding yowl. She tried pulling the covers over her head, but the insistent cat wouldn’t cut her a break. He leapt onto her, landing smack dab in the center of her back.

“Get down, you pest,” she groaned, her tone more tired than chagrined. Her cat seemed to have the market on that emotion. He yowled again. She wiggled and he jumped down, hitting the floor with a solid thud.

“Like you need any more food,” she muttered.

He meowed once more, then gave up his vocal complaining and sat on the carpet, directly in front of her, regarding her with those unblinking golden eyes. Displeasure clear on his furry face.

Great, now the stare tactic. Groaning, she rolled over and sat up. God, her brain felt as if it was wrapped in a thick layer of cotton batting.

She pushed her hair back, and tried to decide what time it was. Sunlight flooded in through the windows and dappled the hardwood floors. Then all thoughts of time disappeared as memories of the night before penetrated her wooly, disoriented brain.

Vittorio. He’d been here. How could she have forgotten that for even a minute? He’d come down when he heard her reaction to her nightmare. She must have been loud. Her cheeks burned, embarrassed that she’d let a nightmare get her that upset.

Then again, that was no ordinary nightmare. Even with the warm, lemony light of the sun dancing around her, a chill stole over her skin. She’d never had a dream like that before. Shadows and horrible, disfigured beings coming after her. Pulling at her. Wanting to do things to her that she knew would be beyond awful. All of it had been so real, so vivid. Even remembering frightened her.

But then Vittorio had been there. He’d checked her apartment. He’d stayed with her until she dozed off again.

She touched the soft velvet of her duvet. He’d covered her before he left. Somehow that knowledge chased away a little of the chill prickling her skin.

She pushed away the cover and swung her feet to the floor. The worn wood was warm under her bare feet, helping chase away a bit more of the chill in her bones.

She looked around, wondering how long he’d stayed. Boris got up and began to twine himself around her ankles, the gesture nagging, certainly not affectionate.

“All right, all right.” She started to reach down to pick up the plate of remaining marshmallow treats. Then something caught her attention. A half-eaten treat sat on the coffee table. She hadn’t left it there.

When she’d returned from Vittorio’s apartment with the rejected peace offering, she’d promptly sat down and eaten at least five of them. Drowning her frustration, hurt and disappointment in a moment of binge eating. And she hadn’t left any half-eaten ones behind. Which meant Vittorio ate part of one, despite his dislike of sweets.

For some reason, the knowledge warmed her further. Which was ludicrous. A few bites of marshmallow and breakfast cereal didn’t mean a thing. Like Boris’s current behavior, the gesture didn’t mean affection, for heaven’s sake.

Or even mild like, really. But he had come down here last night. And he’d been kind. Maybe she had touched him in some way. Or maybe she’d just been such a wreck, he decided to accept the offering.

She pushed up from the sofa, being careful not to trip on her insistent cat. She shuffled to the kitchen and reached into the cupboard for a can of tuna. Not only was her cat annoying, he was a very finicky eater. No ordinary cat food for this bossy feline.

Boris meowed plaintively.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m hurrying.” She rummaged in a drawer for a can opener. Working the lid off, she tossed the top into the sink, then placed the can on the floor. Another quirk of her cat’s. He wouldn’t eat from a cat dish. The greedy cat started gobbling before she even moved her hand away.

She tossed the can opener back into the drawer. Then Erika paced over to the door. She opened the door, moving into the sunlight of the glassed-in porch.

The courtyard was beautiful this morning, vibrant and green. Now that the sleepy haze was clearing from her head, she actually felt good. She should take her sculpting supplies outside and work. But instead of doing that, she wandered back to the living room.

Was Vittorio sleeping? She imagined he was. He’d said he kept strange hours, and she’d also kept him up late. Still, she was tempted to go upstairs and check.

Just to thank him, of course. She glanced down at the half-eaten Rice Krispie treat. Or just to see him.

She rolled her eyes at herself. God, why was she making so much of his reaction last night? And of a few bites of Rice Krispie treat.

“I need to just act cool about it,” she stated to herself. Or maybe Boris. Or both.

She picked up the remaining treats, tossing the unfinished one on top, and carried them to the kitchen.

Only she could make a couple bites of Rice Krispie treat into a budding romance. She needed to get the notion that he was her predicted prince, out of her head.

“And you need to work,” she commanded herself adamantly. But again, she didn’t move to gather her supplies. She walked back to her front door, cracked it open and angled her head to look at the staircase to the upstairs.

Without debating it any further, she put her hand on the doorknob and twisted. But the door didn’t budge. She frowned down. The old-style dead bolt was latched.

She stared at it for a moment, confused. She remembered locking the bolt last night after going to see Vittorio.

So how did Vittorio get in? And how did he leave and flip the lock back into place? The old bolt either needed a key to lock it or had to be latched from the inside. A chill snaked over her skin.

“Ah!” she let out a startled cry as her cell phone on the table beside the door picked that moment to ring. She clapped a hand over her skittering heart, trying to calm herself, then she picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey there.”

Erika recognized the voice on the other end as her friend Jo’s.

“I just bought my plane ticket,” Jo said, although Erika was still having a hard time concentrating since her heart was doing circles in her chest like an overexcited dog. Her eyes remained locked on that bolt.

“I’ll be coming in for a week. The twenty-eighth to the fifth. I got a great price. Thanks for suggesting that one site. The deals are good.”

How had he gotten in here? Had he even really been here?

“Erika?”

Erika blinked. “I’m here.”

“Are you okay?”

She debated whether to mention anything to her friend. Jo would definitely think she was crazy. She tended to be very practical—not prone to share Erika’s mystical beliefs.

“Yes. It’s just that—well, remember Vittorio?”

“Ren’s brother, of course.”

“Well, he’s staying in the apartment above me.”

“That’s cool,” Jo said, clearly not understanding how she was supposed to respond to this information.

“Yeah,” Erika said.

“You don’t sound too sure.”

Erika sighed. “You’re right about that. It’s just—well, I guess I should start from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Jo said, then waited.

Erika took a deep breath, realizing this was going to probably make little or no sense to her friend.

“Well, you know since I moved down here that I’ve been going to see Philippe regularly.”

“No. Who’s Philippe?”

“He’s that psychic I’ve told you about. The really accurate one.”

There was a brief silence on Jo’s end of the phone. “Okay.”

Erika sensed Jo’s censure, but she continued. “Well, he keeps predicting that I’m going to meet a fair-haired, dark-eyed prince. Remember he predicted that way back on our first trip here.”

“Okay,” Jo said again, clearly not recalling.

“Well, Vittorio fits that description perfectly.”

“I know blond hair and brown eyes isn’t as common as some color combinations, but it’s hardly rare. Vittorio isn’t the only guy who’d fit that description.”

Erika nodded in begrudging agreement even though Jo couldn’t see her. “Well, that might be true. But Philippe also said in my last reading that he was right above me. He was referring to the placement of his card in the reading. But he is quite literally too. He’s staying in the apartment above mine.”

“Again, that sounds like a coincidence that you are choosing to see as a sign.”

“Maybe,” Erika agreed. “Maybe.” Still she felt like there was something there—some truth.

“Are you interested in him? Is he into you?”

“Kind of.” Erika considered last night. Vittorio had been so different than in their other encounters. “I mean, initially he was kind of…well, rude.”

“That sounds promising. And princelike,” Jo said.

Erika knew Jo was teasing, but it still didn’t feel good. Rudeness was hardly a promising start to a romance. Was she just seeing what she wanted to see from his behavior last night?

“But last night, I had this horrible nightmare. Honestly, one of the most frightening things I’ve ever experienced, and I must have been screaming or something, because he came down to check on me. And he stayed until I fell back to sleep.”

“Well, that was nice.”

“Yes,” Erika agreed, although now that she’d said it aloud, Vittorio’s behavior didn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary. Surely anyone, given the same situation, would act that way.

Then she glanced back to the bolted lock.

“But the weird thing is,” she said slowly, “I know my door was locked. It’s one of those dead bolts that you either have to lock from the inside or use a key. Yet, he got inside. He left while I was sleeping, and it’s locked now too. Isn’t that weird?”

Again there was silence, then Jo said, “Erika, he’s Ren’s brother. If he has a key to the upstairs apartment, then he likely has one to yours, too.”

Erika’s shoulders, which she hadn’t realized had been drawn up, relaxed. Of course.

She laughed weakly. “You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I guess the nightmare must have shaken me more than I realized.”

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.