There were no more flowers after that, no more erotic dreams that filled her with both embarrassment and pleasure. She buried herself in her work, spent her weekends doing last-minute Christmas shopping. She mailed her Christmas cards, late as always, went to a holiday party at Linda's house and tried to pretend she was having a good time.
She checked the newspapers every morning and listened to the news each night, but there were no more vampire killings, no sign that Alexi Kristov had returned.
She went out to dinner and a movie with Edward a few times, and then Christmas week was upon them.
The office closed early on Wednesday, and Marisa packed her bags and went to Florida to spend Christmas with her parents and her brother and his wife and kids. She endured her mother's gentle urging to settle down, listened to her father complain about the fate of the nation, tried not to be jealous of Mike, who seemed to have everything: a lovely wife, four beautiful children, a new car, a thriving business.
It always amazed her how she became a little girl again as soon as she walked into her mother's house. Part of her resented it, but the other part, the part of her that had never grown up, would never grow up, was happy to let her mother fuss over her.
Christmas passed pleasantly. They exchanged gifts, went outside to watch the kids ride their new bikes. Later, they ate a big breakfast, followed by an enormous dinner, and then, too soon, the day was over. Mountains of paper and tissue and ribbon filled the trash cans. The kids, worn out after a day of playing and pigging out, went to bed early.
Marisa stayed up after everyone else had gone to bed. Sitting in the living room in front of the fireplace, she stared at the flickering flames. She wondered where Alexi had gone, how Edward had spent the day. She should have asked him to spend the holiday with her and her parents. It wouldn't have been any trouble to put him up, but she didn't want to encourage him, didn't want him to think that they could ever be more than friends.
Leaning back, she tried to focus on making New Year's resolutions. More exercise, less chocolate. Go to church. Help out at the soup kitchen. Call home more often....
Finally, she gave up and let herself think of Grigori. How had he spent the day? Did vampires celebrate Christmas, or was it just another day in an endless string of days? Or nights.
How had he endured for two hundred years? What would it be like to be young forever, never to be sick, never to have to worry about dying? What was it like to know that everyone you knew would grow old and die while you stayed forever the same?
She closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the lateness of the hour and the warmth of the flames....
It was Christmas Eve and he was walking alone down a residential street. Dressed in the sweater and jeans she had picked out for him, he moved soundlessly through the night, oblivious to the bitter wind and the rain. Christmas lights twinkled from porches and housetops, shimmering with moisture. And all around him, he could hear the sounds of Christmas carols and laughter as families gathered together to celebrate the most joyous day of the year.
He walked for miles, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his face turned to the wind. She sensed his loneliness, his separation from the rest of the world. She felt his hunger, saw him pause outside an all-night drugstore, his nostrils flaring as he came upon an old man huddled in the doorway. She felt the hunger clawing at him, urging him to take what he needed, to satisfy his thirst. She felt his hesitation, and then, with a muttered oath, he passed the old man by, and she knew it was because it was Christmas, because the old man was on his way home to his invalid wife.
And then she saw him in the house he had bought, and she knew he had bought it because of her, that he had hoped she would share it with him.
She saw him walking through the dark, empty rooms, heard his voice whisper that he needed her, that his life had lost all hope, all meaning.
And then she saw him standing outside again, his head thrown back, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He spoke her name, and then, riding on the wings of the wind, she heard the melancholy wail of a wolf...
She awoke with a start, her heart pounding as she glanced around the darkened room. "Grigori?" But of course he wasn't here. He was back in L.A.
She lifted a hand to her cheek, surprised to find it damp with tears.
"Why do you weep, Marisa?"
She should have been frightened, or, at the very least, surprised. Instead, the soft, husky sound of his voice sent a warm glow pulsing through her. "Don't you know?"
"I'm trying not to read your mind, since it upsets you so."
"I was dreaming." She wrapped her arms around her waist and looked up at him. He stood beside the sofa. Wrapped in a flowing black cloak, he looked tall and dark and dangerous. The light from the fire haloed his hair. "But you know that, don't you?"
He shook his head. "No. What was it about?"
"It doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"
"What do you think?"
Her heart began to pound. Her mouth went dry. "I - " She swallowed. "I don't know."
He knelt beside her, the cloak settling around him like a pool of black ink.
"I missed you," he said quietly. "I came to see if maybe you had missed me, too." His gaze found and held hers. "Did you?"
She couldn't lie to him, not when he was looking at her like that. She could feel his loneliness as if it were her own. It made her feel powerful and humble at the same time, to think that he had come here. It was frightening, to know she had the ability to hurt him, to shatter his pride and wound his ego.
She looked at him and reminded herself that he was a vampire, but all she saw was a faint ray of hope in a pair of deep black eyes.
She looked at him and tried to see a monster, but all she saw was a man who had been alone too long, a man who needed her.
"Did you think of me at all while you were here?"
"Yes." She had thought of him constantly. At church on Christmas Eve, she had wished he could be there beside her. All day today, she had thought of him, lost in the dark sleep, alone, while the rest of the world celebrated the wondrous birth of the savior of the world.
"You missed me then?"
She nodded. "Yes. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it."
The hope in his eyes burned brighter, its heat enveloping her. "Marisa."
"Merry Christmas, Grigori," she whispered, and held out her arms.
He could only stare at her, momentarily stunned by the love he read in her eyes, and then, with a cry, he drew her down into his lap and wrapped his arms around her.
"Marisa... Marisa..." He buried his face in the silky cloud of her hair and held her tight.
She clung to him, feeling the tremors that shook his body as he whispered her name over and over again.
"Aren't you going to kiss me?"
He drew back a little, a faint smile curving his lips. "As often and as long as you wish."
Happiness bubbled up inside her like champagne. "I wish," she murmured, "I wish you would kiss me now."
"Ah, cara," he said fervently, "your wish is my command."
She closed her eyes as his head dipped toward hers, sighed as their lips met. She had yearned for this, hungered for this. Why had she fought it for so long?
Without taking his lips from hers, he turned her in his lap so that she was facing him, her legs circling his waist, her breasts crushed against his chest. His hands roamed over her back and shoulders, down her arms, along her thighs, tantalizing her with his touch, arousing her until she ached with needing him.
He burned with the same desire. She could feel it in every quivering muscle, hear it in the ragged edge of his breathing, in the rasp of his voice when he whispered her name.
She was breathless when he took his mouth from hers. "Grigori... have you always had this power over women?"
His knuckles brushed her cheek. "What power is that, cara?"
"You know very well what I mean. One kiss and I'm on fire."
"It isn't power, mi amore."
"Magic, then?"
He smiled at her, his expression tender. "More like a miracle."
"A miracle?" She traced his lips with her fingertip, and then cupped his face in her hands.
"That you could love me."
"I do love you," she said, "but - "
He placed his hand over her mouth. "Let us not worry about the future tonight," he said. "Just let me hold you until the dawn."
She licked his palm, and he groaned low in his throat. "I can't believe you're here."
"You wanted me here, did you not?"
She nodded and snuggled into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. "I think this is the best Christmas I've ever had."
His arms tightened around her. "For me, as well," he said, his breath warming her neck. "For me, as well."
They sat there for hours, content to hold each other close and watch the flames dance in the hearth. Grigori told her of his childhood in Italy, of his father who was a cobbler, of his older brother who became a priest. He told her of faraway places he had explored in centuries past, and she could see it all in her mind, the house where he had been born, Grigori as a young boy, tall and dark and handsome, even then. She saw the world through his eyes, the pyramids of Egypt and the canals of Italy, the great cathedrals of Europe, the jungles of Africa. How wonderful, to have lived so long and seen so much.
After a time, he grew silent, and she knew that dawn was drawing near. She stared at the hearth, only then realizing that, though they had never added more wood to the fire, it had burned all through the night.
"I must go." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "When will you be home?"
"Sunday night. I wish you didn't have to leave."
He shrugged. "It cannot be helped. I will see you when you return, yes?"
"Yes."
He held her close, breathing in her scent, silently vowing that he would grant her every wish, fulfill her every desire, as long as she would let him stay by her side.
He stood up in a fluid motion, carrying her with him. "I'm afraid I've robbed you of your sleep."
She locked her arms around his neck and smiled at him. "I don't mind. I can sleep late tomorrow."
"Dream about me?"
She grinned. "I always do."
He kissed her again, long and hard, and then, ever so gently, set her on her feet. "Until Sunday night, cara mia."
"One more kiss?"
He swept her into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless, and then, in a swirl of black silk, he was gone.
Head whirling, heart filled with a dozen conflicting emotions, she made her way up the stairs and fell into bed.
She was in love.
With a vampire.
And it was the most exciting thing in the world.
It was a little after eight when the plane landed. Holding her purse and a small carry-on bag, she followed the other passengers up the ramp. It had been fun spending the last three days with her family, but she was glad to be home again. She couldn't wait to see Grigori.
The airport was crowded with people returning home. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to be patient. She wasn't the only one in a hurry.
She was making her way toward the luggage carousel when she saw Grigori.
She smiled as he walked toward her.
"Welcome home, cara mia," he said, and, taking her in his arms, he hugged her as if they hadn't seen each other for years instead of three days. It made her ridiculously happy to know he had missed her as much as she had missed him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you. Let's go get your luggage."
For the first time in her life, her bags were the first down the chute.
Grigori picked up her two suitcases and tucked them under one arm; then he took her hand. "Come, I rented a limousine to take you home."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, it's right outside."
"But my car - "
"I drove it to your apartment last night."
"Why?"
"So I could hold you in my arms that much sooner."
It was, quite possibly, the most romantic thing anyone had ever said or done.
Marisa felt like a movie star as a sleek white stretch limo pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and opened the door for them, stowed her luggage in the trunk. Minutes later, they were on the 101 Freeway headed home.
Marisa snuggled against Grigori. "This is wonderful."
"Are you thirsty? Hungry?"
"No, I'm fine."
His arm tightened around her shoulders. "Did you have a good time with your family?"
"Uh-huh. My mom always cooks enough for an army. I probably gained ten pounds." She looked up at him. "I guess that's not a problem for you, is it?"
"No."
"Lucky."
"Indeed I am."
She felt a wave of heat flood her cheeks as his gaze moved over her, possessive, admiring. "The vampire diet plan," she quipped. "Liquid protein."
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. "Don't knock it until you've tried it."
"No, thank you." And then she frowned. "Wait a minute. When we went to the North Woods Inn, you ate a steak." She grimaced at the memory. "A very rare steak, but you ate it."
"Did I?"
"Of course you did. I saw you."
He smiled indulgently. "I never ate it. I only planted the idea in your mind."
She punched him on the arm. "Messing with my head again."
He shrugged. "I won't do it anymore."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, cara."
"Did you take a walk on Christmas Eve?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I saw you."
Grigori frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"I saw you in a dream. You were walking down a street, all alone. You passed a drugstore and there was an old man standing in the doorway. He was wearing a brown raincoat, and had a red scarf around his neck."
She felt the muscles in his arm tense. "Go on."
"You were going to... you know, but then you read his mind and saw that his wife was home alone, and sick, and he had gone out in the rain to pick up a prescription for her."
"You dreamed this?"
Marisa nodded. "You passed him by and then you went home."
His arm was like steel around her as he waited for her to continue.
She looked up, her gaze searching his. "You said life had lost its meaning for you, and then you called my name. And then - " She shivered as the sound of the wolf's lonely cry echoed in her mind.
"And then?"
"I heard a wolf howl, and I woke up. Was it real, or just a dream?"
A muscle throbbed in his jaw. He took a deep breath, and she felt the tension flow out of him. The arm around her shoulders relaxed. "It was real, cara mia. It happened just as you've described."
"Did you plant those images in my mind?"
"I told you I did not."
"That's why I dream about you, isn't it? Because you gave me some of your blood. Does that mean you can make me do anything you want?"
"I could always bend your will to mine, Marisa. The little bit of blood I gave you was only to mark you as mine, to enable me to find you, to allow me to speak to your mind."
"Alexi said he could taste you."
"Alexi." Grigori glanced out the window into the darkness, wondered where his old nemesis was hiding. Had he given up the game? Or was he merely biding his time, lulling them into a false sense of security before he struck again?
"Hey, where are you?"
He smiled down at her. "Here, beside you, for as long as you want me."
"That could be a long time."
His smile turned bittersweet. "I have a long time."
"What about Ramsey?"
"What about him?"
"He said he was going to destroy you."
"He would not be the first to try. He may not be the last."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been hunted before, in times past. Those who sought to destroy me are dead."
She was face-to-face with reality again. The other night, in front of the fire, it had all seemed magical, romantic, a fairy tale.
"You killed those others?"
"Of course."
"Would you kill Edward?"
"That choice is his."
"But how? If they come after you in the daytime... I mean, I thought vampires were helpless when the sun is up."
"No. It is natural for us to sleep during the day, but only the very young are helpless. I can sense the presence of others when I sleep. The instinct to survive is as strong with us as with you. I have yet to meet a mortal I could not defeat."
She shivered, suddenly cold clear through as she pictured Edward bending over Grigori, his eyes blazing with righteous zeal as he plunged a wooden stake through the vampire's heart.
He didn't have to read her mind to know what she was thinking. Opening one of the side compartments, he withdrew a bottle of red wine. He filled two glasses, warmed one with his gaze, and handed it to Marisa.
"Drink this," he said, "and then we will speak of something more pleasant."
She did as he suggested. The wine warmed her, made her feel sleepy and relaxed.
He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. "Better?"
"Yes, much."
When she was finished, he put their glasses aside, and drew her into his arms. "We'll be home soon."
Home. Never had the word sounded so good.
They reached her apartment a short time later. The chauffeur carried her luggage up the stairs. Grigori carried Marisa. She had protested that she could walk, but he had insisted on carrying her. And now she was sitting on his lap on the sofa. He had started a fire in the fireplace simply by willing it to happen.
"You'd be great to have along on a camping trip," Marisa remarked. "I'd never have to worry about remembering to bring matches."
Grigori grunted softly. "I'm afraid I've never been camping."
"No, I guess not."
She slid her arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish I didn't have to go to work tomorrow."
"I thought you liked your job."
"Oh, I do. But every time I get a few days off, I start to get lazy."
"If you don't want to go, stay home."
"Yeah, right."
"I mean it. Quit your job if you are not happy there."
"I can't do that! I've got bills to pay, you know. Rent, things like that."
"Come live with me, cara. Let me take care of you."
She looked up at him as a new thought occured to her. "Where do you get all your money from? You don't seem to have a job."
He shrugged. "If one is wise, one can accumulate a great deal of wealth in two hundred years."
"I guess so."
"Come, cara, let me take care of you."
It was tempting, oh, so tempting. She considered it for all of sixty seconds, then regretfully shook her head.
"I'd like to, but I can't." She saw the question in his eyes and covered his mouth with her hand. "It's not because you're a vampire. It has nothing to do with you. It's me. I told you before, I don't sleep around."
He lifted her hand from his mouth and kissed it. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me." His tongue stroked her palm, sending shivers racing up and down her spine. "I'm only asking you to share my home, let me take care of you. There's no need for you to work."
"But what would I do all day?"
"Whatever you want." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, delighting in the softness of her skin. The siren call of her blood teased his hunger as surely as the warm womanly scent of her body teased his desire. "Go shopping. Sleep late. Employ a masseuse. Sit in the sun. Stroll on the beach. Take long walks in the park." He smiled at her. "In the morning."
She gazed up at him, her heart breaking because, even if she could accept his offer, he would never be able to sit in the sun with her, or walk hand in hand along the beach, or stroll through the park on a warm summer day.
"I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I can't. I'd miss working, and I like having money of my own. You're not mad, are you?"
"No, cara."
His lips grazed her cheek, the tip of her nose, then slid down to cover her mouth. His arm tightened around her waist as he deepened the kiss, and she forgot about work, forgot about everything but the man who held her so tightly, kissed her so completely, made her heart soar with happiness. She pressed herself against him, wanting to be closer, closer.
Grigori groaned low in his throat as he absorbed her heat into himself. The sound of her heartbeat roared in his ears; the very essence of her life called to him as the scent of her blood filled his nostrils. Hunger and desire warred within him. He felt his fangs lengthen as the hunger roared to life within him. Just a taste, he thought, what could it hurt? One taste of her sweetness. So easy, he mused, so easy to take her, to look deep into her eyes arid let the power of his mind overshadow hers. She need never know....
The tension radiating from Grigori penetrated the haze of passion that engulfed her. Feeling as though she were moving through thick molasses, she drew back, her gaze searching his face. "What's wrong?"
With great effort, he subdued his hunger, felt his fangs retract. "I think I'd better say good night."
"But it's early yet."
"You are far too tempting, Marisa." He stood up, and placed her carefully on her feet. "I shall see you tomorrow night."
"All right." She swayed against him, lifting her face for his kiss. "Thanks for picking me up."
"My pleasure." Tenderly, as though she were made of the most fragile spun glass, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "Sweet dreams, cara."
"You too," she said, and then frowned. "Do you dream?"
He traced her lips with his fingers. "I didn't," he replied softly, "until I met you. Buono notte, cara mia."
"Good night."
With a sigh, she locked the door behind him. Feeling giddy as a schoolgirl, she sat down on the sofa and gazed dreamily into the fire, a pillow clutched to her breast.
She was in love with Grigori Chiavari. The thought was both thrilling and frightening.
Marisa Chiavari... Mrs. Grigori Chiavari... Mrs. Marisa Chiavari...
Giggling, she kissed the pillow. She'd never felt like this in her whole life. It was wonderful and scary, exhilarating and frightening, all at the same time. And, most of all, it was impossible. How could she be in love with a vampire?