I know he’s being sarcastic, but the idea of jetting off on a beach vacation with Orfeo makes my mouth go dry.
“Jesus Christ, Orfeo.” I grab his sleeve, yanking him back into the kitchen—or, I guess, he lets me yank him back into the kitchen. “What if someone sees you?!”
“Humans only see what they want to see.” He frowns down his nose at me. “You’re all quite lazy.”
“Oh, thanks. I’ve been up since five, making cappuccinos and asking people if they want their croissants toasted or not, but sure.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Do you…want to talk about last night?”
“Not yet. Not here. It’s too…” He shakes his head. “The woman is okay and the vampire has been vanquished.”
“That was a vampire last night, then?”
Orfeo grimaces. “I told you.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m not…I’m not afraid. Can you tell me what’s going on? What do you need to talk about?”
“I think I may have a solution to your mother’s problem. It’s extremely dangerous and…and frankly, I may hate myself for bringing you into this, but we can help each other. You could free your mother and…” He reaches for my hand, just like he did last night. He takes my palm and lays it flat against his. His heat radiates through me, a tidal wave of excitement and comfort that makes my thighs throb. “You could change my life forever.”
I nod. My mind is already racing. Selfishly, for a moment, I imagine him becoming human again. I imagine what it would be like to have him that way.
“Can you come to my home tonight? Around seven?” he asks, snapping me out of my daydream. “I’m staying in the carriagehouse at the Collegiate Inn on the road to New Hope. Bring your best dress.”
“My best dress?” I laugh. “Why do I feel like you and I have extremely different ideas of what my best dress should look like?”
He drops my hand and steps back, sizing me up. “You are, what? A size eight? Ten?”
My mouth drops open. “Okay, first of all—never ask a lady about her dress size.”
“What? It’s a simple question, Diantha. I have something that might work.”
“Yeah…I’m a size ten.” I frown at him. “Fucking crazy that you knew that, by the way.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be late, please. Collegiate Inn, carriage house. And here is my number…” Orfeo hands me a slip of paper with seven digits printed in almost comically ornate script.
“Do you…text?”
“No, I do nottext.Call me if you need me.”
“Sir, yessir,” I say, slipping the paper into the front pocket of my apron.
Orfeo’s already by the kitchen door when he pauses and turns back to face me. “Diantha?”
“Yeah?”
He pauses, one hand tight on the doorknob, the other dragging back and forth over the sharp angle of his jaw. His eyes lock on mine, and I feel that same spark of heat I felt last night as our bodies worked against each other. In a few steps, he crosses the room. In one more, we are chest to chest. My breath snags and my heart rate doubles. Orfeo presses his hands into the fridge doors, slowly backing me up until I feel the cold steel against my palms.
His arms cage my body, and he brings his lips so close to mine I can feel the electricity moving between us. I try to keep my breathing even, but the sheer bliss of having him this close is like a nicotine buzz, the last hit of a drunk cigarette. It’s the first bite of chocolate cake. The first stroke of a new hand between your thighs. I lean my head back and let my lips part in a whimper.
Then, he brings his cheek to mine, all heat and dopamine and comfort. I coil into him, like a cat nuzzling into its favorite blanket. His nose traces the contour of my neck, then my jaw, until I feel his lips against my ear and his hands sweeping around my lower back.
“Sei dolcissima,” he whispers. “So sweet. Like a dove.”
I swallow hard. His voice washes over me, an invisible third hand coaxing me into his orbit. I rest my palms on his shoulders, melting into his touch. “I thought I was prickly?”
“Mm.” He pulls back and smiles at me. A soft smile. “Only when you’re nervous.”
And then he finally—finally— presses his lips to mine.
“Are you fucking the Italian vampire?”
