“Did you really fly all the way to?—?”
“A quick morning flight to New Orleans is an excellent way to stretch my wings,” I say with deliberate casualness, as if transcontinental breakfast runs are perfectly normal behavior.
Her eyebrows arch high as she accepts the steaming coffee from my hands and inhales the rich, chicory-laced aroma with obvious pleasure.
“I was thinking you might enjoy taking a walk by the lake today,” I suggest, fighting to keep my voice level despite the way she’s unconsciously licking her lips. “Perhaps explore the grounds a little, see more of your new home.”
“I’m not even dressed yet,” she protests, and I can’t help but notice the faint blush creeping up her neck.
I take my sweet time looking her up and down, drinking in the sight of those gorgeous, thick thighs and shapely calves exposed beneath the hem of her sleep shirt.
“Hey,” she says sharply, stepping behind the door for cover. When I drag my gaze back to her face, her cheeks are beautifully flushed, but her eyes are still bright and alert. I’m reminded of the tortuous night I spent replaying every little sound she made, the intoxicating scent of her pleasure that lingered in my nostrils like the most addictive drug.
Thank the gods for that long, cold flight through the pre-dawn hours—it was the only thing that got my body back under any semblance of control.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she says, her voice deliberately sharp, like she’s trying to regain her composure after the way my appreciative gaze affected her. “But you do realize that if I’m actually going to stay here long-term, I’ll need more than just gourmet food delivery?”
“Anything you need, you have only to ask,” I promise immediately.
“I need clothes. Real clothes, not just what I’m wearing. And a toothbrush—God, I desperately need a toothbrush. You know, basic necessities?” Her eyes narrow dangerously. “And I swear I will absolutely murder you if you bring me back size six clothing or some other ridiculous bullshit like that.”
I frown, genuinely puzzled. The intricacies of purchasing women’s clothing have never occurred to me in all my centuries of existence. But I can see her point—for all my elaborate planning to acquire a consort, there were certain practical considerations I apparently overlooked completely.
But she’s here now, in my castle, and that’s all that truly matters.
“I can have a complete wardrobe delivered by tonight,” I declare with absolute confidence. “Along with anything else your heart desires. Simply make me a list of requirements.”
What I’ve learned throughout every era I’ve lived in is that wealth can triumph over virtually any obstacle. Whether it’s been gold bars, paper currency, or these modern plastic cards that connect to bank accounts, money has always been the ultimate problem-solver. And my brothers and I have accumulated our fair share over the millennia.
Romulus had the foresight to invest our accumulated wealth in Italian banking houses during the early seventeenth century—one of his few genuinely useful contributions to our existence. The returns from those investments have made us one of the wealthiest, if most secretive, families in all of Europe. My methodical twin also arranged for a human accounting firm to serve as the public face of our assets, along with connections to a specialized fixer who handles our more unusual requests. Like when we need modern appliances and conveniences delivered to remote locations with no surveillance, no questions asked.
She studies me skeptically from behind the partially closed door, then shuts it completely in my face.
I’ve waited for her all night. I don’t mind waiting a little longer.
I close my eyes and let my supernaturally keen hearing drink in every sound—the soft pad of her bare feet across the stone floor, the rustle of the paper bag as she opens it, and then thatlittle stifled moan of pure pleasure as she bites into one of the sugar-dusted beignets.
Oh yes.I feel that delicious sound travel through my entire body like lightning. In this moment, I make a solemn vow to introduce her to every conceivable pleasure I can imagine, to memorize each sensuous sigh and gasp I can coax from those perfect lips.
I wish desperately that she hadn’t closed the door between us, that I could see the expression of bliss that accompanied that sinful little moan. I would gladly give away half my accumulated wealth to witness the look of ecstasy on her face as she devours that pastry.
Patience,I remind myself.
I have to stifle a groan of my own. I am spectacularly bad at patience. It’s not numbered among my virtues—not that I possess many of those anyway.
A soft slurp as she sips the coffee, followed by another bite and an even softer sigh of contentment. Dear gods, how she tortures me without even realizing it. Does she have any idea?
I breathe deeply, trying to center myself.
I don’t think she does. She seems completely unconscious of how utterly irresistible I find her, how much restraint I must exercise every moment I’m in her presence, what exquisite punishment it is to have this door between us when all I want is to worship every inch of her magnificent body.
What feels like hours later—but is probably only twenty minutes of the most excruciating anticipation—I hear her footsteps approaching the door again.
My breath catches as I step back just in time.
Apparently not quickly enough, because when she opens the door, she gasps in surprise. “You’re still here! Have you been waiting this entire time?”
I consider deflecting for a moment, then decide on brutal honesty. “Where else would I be?”
