The Raven (The Florentine #1)(90)

She reddened. “I’m just trying to figure out what your game is.”

“It isn’t a game. As I told you before, you’re the first to capture my interest in a very long time.”

He bent down and kissed her firmly. He swept her hair to the side and stroked her neck, lightly, up and down.

When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed.

“Your beauty is a feast for the eyes as well as the senses.”

At that her eyes opened. “I hate it when men lie.”

“Look at me,” he ordered, his tone momentarily harsh.

Their eyes met.

“I have no reason to lie. While it’s true that flattery is a means of seduction, I have no reason to use it with you. I think you’re beautiful. If you want me to heal your leg, I’ll do so. But stop playing the jealous mistress. I don’t owe you explanations or fidelity, unless you agree to be mine.”

He rolled to the side and left the bed, moving to stand next to her desk.

She sat up, watching him. He looked very unhappy.

“Are vampyres faithful to their pets?”

“No.”

“And you?”

“I’ve never had a pet,” he confessed.

“Never?”

“That’s correct.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I can only surmise that part of your reaction has to do with my story about Allegra, the young woman who killed herself. The story is not a pleasant one. Perhaps I’ll tell you someday.

“In the interim, I’ll reiterate what I have already said. You are not my pet and if anything were to develop between us it would be pleasurable and enjoyable.”

She toyed with her fingernails, avoiding his eyes.

He lifted his arms in frustration. “Why don’t you tell me what is really going on?”

“I think I missed you,” she blurted out. “When I came home after staying with you, the apartment seemed so quiet.”

William smiled, and the smile lit his entire face. “You missed me?”

Raven looked down at the bedcovers. “What kind of person am I? You kidnapped me, you threatened to keep me as your sex slave, and I miss you? I must have serious issues.”

William’s expression darkened. “Is it really so terrible to desire my company? Am I so repulsive that you’d despise yourself for wanting to see me again?”

“It isn’t exactly natural. You’re a vampyre.”

“I may as well be human. I’m not feeding on you.” He gave her exposed throat a hungry look. “If fidelity matters, I’ll volunteer the information that, for the present, I’m not having intercourse with anyone—vampyre or human.”

Raven tried to ignore the strength of feeling that bubbled up inside of her. But she failed.

He sat next to her on the bed once again. “There is mutual attraction between us. Clearly we enjoy one another. Spend the night with me, just once, and you’ll see how magnificent we will be together.”

He traced her cheekbone with his finger. “It will be the greatest evening of your life, I swear it.”

Raven closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

The music shifted and her laptop began playing Madeleine Peyroux’s “Dance Me to the End of Love.”

“I like this,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “I never listen to modern music.”

He traced the V-neck of her T-shirt, his finger descending to just above the curve of her breasts.

She grabbed his wrist.

“Are you positive the illustrations you have are original?”

“Yes.” His eyebrows knitted together in irritation. “Forget about them. You’re the only work of art I’m interested in.”

He brought his lips to her throat.

Raven knew she was fighting a losing battle. His touch was light but sensuous, leaving a scorched trail across her skin.

No one had ever made her feel this way before. She felt as if he were drawing away her resolve, little by little, and soon there would be nothing left.

“You have to give them back.”

William lifted his head.

“Absolutely not.”

“You own a lot of beautiful things,” she said quietly. “Don’t you want to share them?”

“No. And I’d rather not discuss them, especially when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“This is the dance of love. Men and women have been doing it for centuries. What did you think was happening between us?”

“No one ever looked at me with . . . desire.” She fumbled her words, embarrassed.

“Because human beings are shallow, ignorant creatures.” He lifted his eyebrows, as if daring her to contradict him.

Her eyes dropped to her hands, which were gripping the quilt. “You don’t mean love, you mean sex.”

He frowned. “I am not capable of love, Cassita. No vampyre is.”

He lifted his hand and ran it through her hair.

“But I am capable of tenderness, I think, at least with you. Can’t that be enough?”

Raven fought the urge to wince.

Perhaps these had been the words William spoke centuries earlier to the woman who jumped from the bell tower. For her, it had not been enough.