A Hidden Fire
Page 50
“Okay, which one next?”
“So you like it?” he asked with a smile.
Beatrice nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s kind of cool, you know? Do they all taste so different? And, of course, scotch is a way cooler than beer.”
“Is it?”
She winked at him. “Of course it is. Don’t tell Carwyn, though.”
“I’m sure both he and Caspar would argue their drink preferences. Caspar is a huge wine snob.”
She shrugged. “So far, I’m liking the scotch, Gio.”
He leaned forward and continued to tell her bits about each one as she tasted them. She was surprisingly receptive to the complex flavors, and he found himself inordinately pleased. Finally, they reached the last glass, a heavier, gold whisky aged seventeen years. He handed it to her and felt her fingers brush his own.
“So this one—”
“No lectures this time. Just let me taste it.”
He grinned. “Fair enough, my awesome assistant. Tell me what you think.”
“Oh, I will,” she said a little loudly.
“Beatrice?”
“What?
Giovanni chuckled. “You don’t drink much, do you?”
She grinned back and leaned into his shoulder. “Nope.”
Still chuckling, he watched her as she tasted the last scotch, but the laughter died when he saw her close her eyes. She licked her lips, and he could see the flush stain her cheeks.
“This one,” she murmured. “This one’s my favorite.”
He could see the slow pulse in her neck, and he watched as her tongue darted out again to taste.
“Oh?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded. “Sweet and smoky. It almost—it tingles in my mouth.” Her eyes opened and he realized he had leaned toward her without thinking, her hypnotic tone drawing him in.
He fought the rush of blood in his veins until he realized they were being watched from the corner and her face was tilted toward his as if she was asking her lover for a kiss.
Placing an arm around her waist, he pulled her toward him and leaned down to cover her mouth with his own. He meant for it to be simple, a light kiss to cover the deception of his claim on her, but he tasted the gold whisky on her lips as they moved under his own.
She was kissing him back.
And he couldn’t stop his hand from stroking the gentle curve of her back or his mouth from opening to hers. His tongue reached out, sampling the sweet taste that lingered on her lips as she opened her own mouth to taste his. A soft sigh left her as they kissed, and the scent of her breath mirrored the taste of the whisky.
She moved closer, and his other hand reached up to her neck, pulling her more deeply into their kiss. He could feel his thumb linger over the pulse point under her chin, stroking lightly as it raced. He lost track of time; all he could think of was the soft feel of her body as she leaned into him, the scent of her breath, and her taste as it overwhelmed his senses.
It was clear and sweet, and the faint human memory of drinking cool water on a hot day flickered in the back of his mind. He wanted more.
Much more.
He pulled her closer and felt the delicate press of her breasts against his chest. A low kind of growl began to rise from him when he felt her heart beat against him. His fangs descended and her roaming tongue found them, but instead of recoiling, a soft moan came from her throat and her hand lifted to stroke his cheek.
It was the moment when he felt the urge to lay her down on the couch, brush her long hair aside, and drink deeply from her neck that he began to back off. The sudden realization of where they were and who she was began to take hold, and he loosened his grip, trying to regain his rigid control.
Giovanni didn’t want to create suspicion, so he let his lips trail to her ear. She was still breathing rapidly, and her other arm had reached around his back.
“They’re watching,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear, letting his lips brush against the soft skin there.
Beatrice panted a little, and he could still feel the blood rushing through her veins.
“What?” she asked in confusion.
“Gavin and a few others.” He swallowed, ignoring the low burn in his throat. “They’re watching us.” He closed his eyes, continuing his deceit. “They think we’re together, remember? We should leave now, but make sure we don’t give ourselves away.”
“Don’t give—oh,” she let out a sharp breath. “Right. They think…right.” She swallowed and he tried to ignore the acid note in her voice. “Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression, would we?”
He hesitated before answering, “No.”
He lingered at her ear as she calmed her breathing, brushing a kiss across her flushed cheek before he drew away from her.
Giovanni avoided her eyes as he pulled out his wallet, leaving more than enough to cover the drinks on the coffee table. He stood, holding out his hand to help Beatrice up. She took it and he could feel the stiffness in her fingers. Nonetheless, he pulled her to him, tucking her under his arm as they made their way out of the building.
He felt her stiffen as he nodded toward Gavin in the corner, and he hoped that her expression didn’t give them away. He couldn’t risk a glance. She tried to pull away from him when they got out the door, but he still held her close.
“So you like it?” he asked with a smile.
Beatrice nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s kind of cool, you know? Do they all taste so different? And, of course, scotch is a way cooler than beer.”
“Is it?”
She winked at him. “Of course it is. Don’t tell Carwyn, though.”
“I’m sure both he and Caspar would argue their drink preferences. Caspar is a huge wine snob.”
She shrugged. “So far, I’m liking the scotch, Gio.”
He leaned forward and continued to tell her bits about each one as she tasted them. She was surprisingly receptive to the complex flavors, and he found himself inordinately pleased. Finally, they reached the last glass, a heavier, gold whisky aged seventeen years. He handed it to her and felt her fingers brush his own.
“So this one—”
“No lectures this time. Just let me taste it.”
He grinned. “Fair enough, my awesome assistant. Tell me what you think.”
“Oh, I will,” she said a little loudly.
“Beatrice?”
“What?
Giovanni chuckled. “You don’t drink much, do you?”
She grinned back and leaned into his shoulder. “Nope.”
Still chuckling, he watched her as she tasted the last scotch, but the laughter died when he saw her close her eyes. She licked her lips, and he could see the flush stain her cheeks.
“This one,” she murmured. “This one’s my favorite.”
He could see the slow pulse in her neck, and he watched as her tongue darted out again to taste.
“Oh?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded. “Sweet and smoky. It almost—it tingles in my mouth.” Her eyes opened and he realized he had leaned toward her without thinking, her hypnotic tone drawing him in.
He fought the rush of blood in his veins until he realized they were being watched from the corner and her face was tilted toward his as if she was asking her lover for a kiss.
Placing an arm around her waist, he pulled her toward him and leaned down to cover her mouth with his own. He meant for it to be simple, a light kiss to cover the deception of his claim on her, but he tasted the gold whisky on her lips as they moved under his own.
She was kissing him back.
And he couldn’t stop his hand from stroking the gentle curve of her back or his mouth from opening to hers. His tongue reached out, sampling the sweet taste that lingered on her lips as she opened her own mouth to taste his. A soft sigh left her as they kissed, and the scent of her breath mirrored the taste of the whisky.
She moved closer, and his other hand reached up to her neck, pulling her more deeply into their kiss. He could feel his thumb linger over the pulse point under her chin, stroking lightly as it raced. He lost track of time; all he could think of was the soft feel of her body as she leaned into him, the scent of her breath, and her taste as it overwhelmed his senses.
It was clear and sweet, and the faint human memory of drinking cool water on a hot day flickered in the back of his mind. He wanted more.
Much more.
He pulled her closer and felt the delicate press of her breasts against his chest. A low kind of growl began to rise from him when he felt her heart beat against him. His fangs descended and her roaming tongue found them, but instead of recoiling, a soft moan came from her throat and her hand lifted to stroke his cheek.
It was the moment when he felt the urge to lay her down on the couch, brush her long hair aside, and drink deeply from her neck that he began to back off. The sudden realization of where they were and who she was began to take hold, and he loosened his grip, trying to regain his rigid control.
Giovanni didn’t want to create suspicion, so he let his lips trail to her ear. She was still breathing rapidly, and her other arm had reached around his back.
“They’re watching,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear, letting his lips brush against the soft skin there.
Beatrice panted a little, and he could still feel the blood rushing through her veins.
“What?” she asked in confusion.
“Gavin and a few others.” He swallowed, ignoring the low burn in his throat. “They’re watching us.” He closed his eyes, continuing his deceit. “They think we’re together, remember? We should leave now, but make sure we don’t give ourselves away.”
“Don’t give—oh,” she let out a sharp breath. “Right. They think…right.” She swallowed and he tried to ignore the acid note in her voice. “Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression, would we?”
He hesitated before answering, “No.”
He lingered at her ear as she calmed her breathing, brushing a kiss across her flushed cheek before he drew away from her.
Giovanni avoided her eyes as he pulled out his wallet, leaving more than enough to cover the drinks on the coffee table. He stood, holding out his hand to help Beatrice up. She took it and he could feel the stiffness in her fingers. Nonetheless, he pulled her to him, tucking her under his arm as they made their way out of the building.
He felt her stiffen as he nodded toward Gavin in the corner, and he hoped that her expression didn’t give them away. He couldn’t risk a glance. She tried to pull away from him when they got out the door, but he still held her close.
