I Want You to Want Me (15 page)

E
rika woke with a start. She cast a look around, her gaze stopping on Vittorio asleep beside her. She didn’t move for a moment, recalling her nightmare, surprised she’d managed to fall back asleep. But then she remembered that Vittorio had held her, stroked her hair, and despite her agitation she had found herself lulled back to sleep.

Even now, the dream seemed distant, as if it hadn’t quite happened. But it had, and as she stared at Vittorio, she couldn’t help wondering what her distressed psyche was trying to tell her.

Vittorio had been chasing her. He’d intended to kill her. She knew it. Yet looking at him sprawled out on her covers, hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep, she couldn’t see any threat.

He looked like an angel. Not a monster. Definitely not a monster. She could never see him as such. Especially not after what he’d done to her last night. His lovemaking had been generous, and also intense, but not in a way that could even remotely be perceived as frightening. No, fear had been the last thing on her mind when she was in his arms.

So why had the dream changed? Why was she having the dream anyway?

For a split second, Philippe’s words about someone threatening being around her flashed in her mind. But she disregarded that idea. At least about Vittorio. He wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that.

So what could be triggering these horrifying nightmares? She’d always been prone to vivid dreams, but never nightmares. She supposed it had to be the stress of the upcoming show. Or maybe the move had finally caught up with her.

Then she glanced back to Vittorio. They had started after he arrived. Again, Philippe’s words about someone dangerous being near her came back.

Vittorio could be distant. And so abrupt it came across as rude, but he wasn’t a threat. And now, Erika couldn’t help feeling that his aloofness was a defense mechanism. A way to keep people at bay—and not show the pain inside him. But she’d glimpsed it, even when she didn’t realize she had. Not until it manifested itself in her art.

She reached out and touched his hair, letting the silky strands fall through her fingertips back to the pillow. No, she’d never have to fear Vittorio. Well, except maybe fear for her heart, but to think that way was allowing things to go too far too fast anyway.

She touched his hair again, then crawled out of bed. She grabbed her robe and pulled the silky material on as she headed to the living room. Just as she reached the other room, her cell phone on the kitchen counter rang.

She rushed to flip it open, casting a look back at her bedroom.

“Hello,” she said, her voice hushed and a little breathless.

“Hey,” Jo said. “Am I calling at a bad time? You sound like you’re busy.”

“No,” Erika said, glancing back to the bedroom. “No. I’m just being quiet because Vittorio is still asleep.” She waited, expecting Jo to be pleased for her.

“So I guess you are going to stand by the fact that your psychic friend is never wrong.”

Erika frowned, surprised at the disapproval she heard in her friend’s voice. “Well, I think he was right about this. But honestly, it’s too early to really say.” Not to mention, she didn’t want Philippe to be right about some of the things he’d said. Other women, age differences, impending threats. Those were definitely a few things she could do without.

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you if he’s there.”

Again, Erika was confused. Why was Jo so put off by the idea of her and Vittorio? “Well, he’s asleep. What’s up with you?”

“Actually I have to run, I was just sneaking in a call on my lunch break. Just to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.”

Jo told her she was glad things were going well, but as Erika flicked her cell phone shut, she didn’t believe her friend’s words.

What was bothering Jo? Was it the idea of Vittorio or the idea that a psychic predicted it?

She was still holding her phone, trying to understand what was going on with Jo, when the phone rang again. She didn’t even look at the number before she answered it.

“Jo? I think we need to talk about all of this a little more.”

“I’m sorry,” a voice said. “This isn’t Jo. I’m trying to reach Ms. Erika Todd. Am I calling at a bad time?”

“No,” Erika immediately answered, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. This is Erika.”

“Ms. Todd, I’m so thrilled to speak with you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Erika moved the phone away from her ear to see if she recognized the number. She didn’t—although the area code was a local one.

“Thank you.”

Erika obviously hadn’t kept the confusion from her voice, because the woman on the other end laughed a little nervously, then said, “I’m sorry. I guess I should explain who I am and how I got your number. My name is Isabel Andrews, and I’m a patron of The Broussard. I saw some photos of your work, and I was greatly impressed. I’d like to discuss commissioning a piece.”

Erika’s heart jumped in her chest. Someone was already showing interest in her work, and she hadn’t even had the show yet. This was wonderful.

“I’d love to meet with you and discuss you working on a piece. I realize you must be getting ready for the show, but I was hoping it could be sometime soon.”

Erika nodded, even though Isabel Andrews couldn’t see her. “Sure, that wouldn’t be a problem. What time is good for you?”

Erika heard a noise on the other end of the line like she was thumbing through a datebook.

“How about tomorrow evening?” Isabel suggested.

“Tomorrow evening should be fine. Say, six o’clock?”

“Yes,” Isabel agreed. “That would be fine.”

“Great,” Erika agreed, thrilled that this woman wanted to see her so soon. That had to mean she was very excited about Erika’s work.

“Okay,” Isabel said. “Six o’clock, and let’s meet at Court of Two Sisters. They have such a nice courtyard and wonderful food. Perfect for discussing your work.”

“Sounds good,” Erika agreed. “See you then.”

Erika flipped her phone shut, then glanced around, trying to decide what to do. She felt giddy. Vittorio and she were planning on—dating, she guessed, although that seemed a just a little out of order, given that he was in her bed. And now someone wanted to commission a piece of her art. Things were coming together.

She wanted to go in and tell Vittorio her good news, but he was sleeping so soundly she hated to wake him. He’d be up soon anyway.

Instead she cleaned up the mess from last night. The plate that had clattered to the floor during their lovemaking. The pizza she hadn’t eaten. Although from the pieces dragged out onto the hardwood floor, it appeared Boris had helped himself, which explained why he snoozed on the back of one of the chairs in the living room instead of yowling around at her heels, demanding food.

And while the fallen pizza no longer looked appealing, Erika realized she was famished. She’d sort of lost interest in dinner once Vittorio set about satisfying a different hunger in her. But now, she could really use some breakfast.

She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. Or some lunch. Late lunch. Dang, they’d stayed in bed late today. She finished picking up and then headed to her cupboard.

She really did need to do better with her grocery shopping, she always had only odds and ends, which never made a meal. Well, at least not any meal that appealed to her.

She decided to throw on some clothes and head to the gumbo shop down on the corner. She’d bring back carryout for her and Vittorio. They could celebrate her potential commission.

She grinned at the thought. Her career was taking off, and she was starting a relationship with a man she was crazy about. Life was definitely getting better and better by the minute.

This stakeout crap was getting mighty old,
Maksim thought as he watched Vittorio and Erika’s building. He tugged at the designer shirt which clung to his damp skin. He came to the human realm to avoid the sweltering heat. New Orleans was a steamy, smelly cesspool. At least in Hell, it was a dry heat. If he ever found Ellina—and she was alive—he was going to insist she move to Vermont. Or Canada.

Finally, he saw movement. The large gates of Erika’s building opened, and she stepped out. She had her hair pulled up on the back of her head in a messy bun. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and she sported an inanely pleased little smile.

Definitely the look of a woman who’d experienced some good lovin’. Maksim smiled at the image. He always appreciated the look of a woman the morning after. Okay, he usually liked to be the one who created that sated, satisfied look, but he could still appreciate another man’s handiwork.

She started down the sidewalk, not bothering to glance around her. She was obviously lost in her own happy place. Which would make following her easier.

Maksim didn’t dare approach her again. Not without setting off warning vibes in her. He’d intended to keep showing up and using his physical appeal to win her over. But she was not interested in him. In the least. He didn’t even need to probe her mind to know all her attraction and attention was on this Vittorio. And mortals could be quite amazingly loyal.

Not to mention, she was unusually susceptible to his mind reading. Likely she was very open-minded. That always made mortals more aware of him, even if they never figured out what he was exactly. He knew this would probably be the last time he could enter her thoughts without causing permanent damage. But he had to give it one more shot to find out what she knew about Vittorio.

Although this time he thought he could enter her brain without getting particularly close to her. Once he’d been into a mind, he could usually find his way back.

Not that he was hopeful of discovering anything new. Nor did he think Vittorio was involved in his sister’s disappearance. He’d done a little research outside of mind reading, and he’d learned Vittorio was a bit of a do-gooder. Working with addicts.

Maksim grimaced at the idea of hanging out with people so self-consumed and riddled with insecurities and hang-ups. Drug addicts were only entertaining in the beginning phases, when they were still deluding themselves that the drugs were just for fun.

He’d also discovered that Vittorio was close to his brother, Ren Anthony, a vampire with a penchant for women, liquor and classic rock. Well, until he’d recently settled down with a mortal, of all creatures. But Vittorio, up until that point, had been his brother’s keeper.

None of these traits added up to a being who’d be involved with the disappearance of a Halfling demon. But then, he did know looks could be deceiving. Just look at himself.

But his gut was telling him that Vittorio wasn’t involved. And his gut was usually right. Not to mention, all along his gut had also been telling him if anyone was involved it was Orabella.

He had a feeling that if he was going to get her to crack and show her true colors, he’d have spill more details about the relationship between Vittorio and his mortal object of lust. Or maybe even love. Vittorio seemed like the type who fancied the idea of love.

So he was going back to Erika for more details. Specifics were bound to piss Orabella off. And while he could manufacture the finer points of the mortal and vampire’s tryst, sometimes the truth added so much more spice.

Maksim fell into step some distance behind Erika. Besides, he liked the details too. What was the fun of being a mind reader if you couldn’t get all the juicy insights?

Erika walked straight to the gumbo shop, lost in her memories of last night, and her excitement to tell Vittorio about her new career offer.

The air was hot and humid, the showers of the day before only adding to the thick dampness of the air, but she didn’t mind. She was in far too good a mood to let the heat bother her.

“Hi Allan,” she greeted one of the waiters as she entered the narrow hallway of the shop, which led out to a courtyard.

“Hey Erika, eating in today?”

She shook her head, knowing she was smiling broadly. “Nah, I’m taking out today.”

Allan gave her a speculative look, as if he could tell what had her grinning ear to ear, then he handed her a menu. She settled onto one of the worn wooden chairs that lined the wall and began to peruse the different entrees. Although she barely saw the names and ingredients of popular Creole dishes as she stared at the dog-eared cardstock page.

She was too damned happy. And that was a good thing.

Allan returned after a few moments. “So what can I get you today?”

“The chicken with red beans and rice. Two of those, and two cups of gumbo. And do you have the bread pudding today?”

Allan nodded. “Sure do.”

“Then I’ll take two of those too.”

Allan gave her another knowing look. “So you’re not eating alone.”

“Nope,” she said with a wide grin.

“Well, crap. And when I’ve been trying so hard to win you for myself.” He winked, and she laughed. Allan was ever the flirt.

Erika continued to smile foolishly as he headed toward the kitchen to put in her order. She leaned back in the chair, absently observing the other patrons.

She knew she was being ridiculously giddy about everything, but the truth was, everything just felt right. She knew she shouldn’t get too ahead of herself. But she was just…happy. And there was nothing wrong with that.

She sighed, letting her mind wander to the night before. Aside from the irritating nightmare, her night with Vittorio had been perfect. She sighed again. She had no idea making love could be like that.

“You’re still smiling,” Allan said as he returned with two white plastic sacks filled with delicious-smelling food. “You must have it bad.”

She laughed, reaching into her pocketbook for her wallet. “Yeah, I do.” For a niggling moment, she considered that she really was feeling too much, too soon. But then she was a believer that when something felt right, why question it?

She waited as Allan ran her money card, hoping Vittorio would be awake when she got back. She had enough food for an army. He better have an appetite.

She leaned over to inspect the bags, making sure everything was in there, when a prickling sensation crept slowly up her spine. Straightening, she glanced around. The restaurant was relatively busy, but she didn’t spot anyone paying her any attention. Yet she felt as if someone’s eyes were on her. Watching her. Studying her every move.