Desire Calls Page 4

  Stacia chuckled as she sauntered in, the sway of her hips in all that black leather mesmerizing. Once she was inside, she placed her hands on her hips and looked around, taking note of the collection of cast-offs in his small rooftop home.

  On the floor, thick oriental rugs that had seen better days, but were ruthlessly clean and of high quality. Rich mahogany furniture filled the small space, from the oddly matching tables scattered here and there which held an assortment of candles to the jewel in his room – a large four-poster bed piled high with a sumptuous collection of linens.

  “Very nice,” she said and headed to the French doors he had picked up from a nearby demolition site and installed to give him access to the rest of the roof. She opened the French doors and stepped outside.

  He followed, walking with her to the edge of the building which was directly across from Gramercy Park. In the early spring night, a sliver of moon illuminated the park where the branches of the trees were still bare of any growth. She looked at him and then around to the wrought-iron chairs and table on the roof, as well as the assorted pots for plants.

  “I didn’t take you for a nature boy,” she said and laid a hand on his chest, stroking him through the thin cotton of the T-shirt.

  Blake shrugged as he said, “My family had a farm before…” He stopped, sensing it wasn’t the time for recollections about his lineage, but when she looked up at him with her fathomless eyes, he sensed she wanted a connection. He picked up his hand and cradled her cheek, cold as the night and smooth. Like satin.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said and traced the edges of her full lips with his thumb.

  “Do you think you’re the first man who’s ever told me that?” she said, a hint of scorn in her tone even as she raised the hand on his chest up to cup his jaw.

  “No, but I’d like to be the last,” he said with a broad grin.

  He was irresistible, Stacia thought. Handsome and full of spirit. Passionate. Desire rose up, urging her to take the risk. To seek out the solace he might bring to her heart and so she inched up on tiptoe and kissed him.

  His lips were cold. Firm. He met her kiss tentatively at first, but then relaxed and soon his mouth opened on hers, tasting her. Begging her to open and allow him more which she did, leaning into him as his tongue darted out to lick the edges of her lips and slip into her mouth. Dancing with her tongue until they were both straining against each other, needing more.

  Arms wrapped around one another, they staggered back into his room and toward the bed, but at its edge he stopped and stepped back a bit. Looking down at her from his slightly greater height, he said, “I’ve waited too long to rush this.”

  “Me, too,” she confessed.

  With a nod, he slowly undressed her, his fingers skimming her skin as he slipped each button of her silk shirt free. She was naked beneath and as she shrugged off the shirt to expose herself to him, he gasped at the sight of her beauty.

  Blake cupped her breasts in his hands. Strummed his thumbs across her nipples until she mewled a protest and then he replaced his hands with his mouth. Sucking at her, gently at first, but then just a bit harder as she cupped the back of his head to her.

  Then he slowly sank to his knees, kissing a line down the center of her. His hands holding her hips as he dipped his tongue into her navel and after, playfully tugged at the golden ring there with his teeth.

  That tug sent a direct signal to the center of her. She moaned and sat back on the edge of the bed, her knees almost weak from the desire he had awoken.

  “Easy, luv,” he said as he worked open her black leather pants and then slipped his hands beneath to drag them off.

  Blake paused to admire all that he had revealed. To marvel at the pale skin between her legs. At his perusal, she parted her thighs, exposing the deeper coral of her lips, glistening with her need. With a half glance at her, he slipped between her legs, kissed her there.

  She let out a ragged sigh, but cupped his head to her as he pleasured her with his mouth and tongue, until he felt the quickening beneath his fingers, and his own erection twitched to remind him that it, too, needed more.

  Vamp speed was a good thing, he thought, as he tossed off his shirt and jeans and returned to give her one last lick before he rose and positioned himself at her opening.

  Stacia watched the emotions splash across his face as he gazed down at her, hesitating as if asking permission. With the slight shift of her hips, she invited him in.

  He moved slowly, restraining himself so as to satisfy her. Conscious of her every need as he slipped his hands up her body to caress her breasts. Bent and took her mouth with a kiss that mimicked the motion of his hips, until she was gasping for breath and her heart thundered in her chest.

  She picked up her knees and cradled his hips, increasing the penetration of his thrusts and he quickened his tempo then. Strengthened the force of his thrusts until she had to hold onto his shoulders to keep with him. Nearly panting with the intensity of his lovemaking.

  As his gaze locked with hers, she realized he was striving for something besides physical satisfaction. Something was lacking within him much as it was within her. And so she raised her lips to his, wanting to give him that. Wanting to take it from him, as well. “Love me, Blake.”

  With one arm braced on the bed to keep his weight off her, he cupped her head with his free hand and whispered, “You have it, Stacia. You have it, luv.”

  The kiss that followed sent them both over the edge, but even as they lay there afterward, damp and sated, she needed more and he gave it. Time and time again they made love until the first fingers of a rosy dawn crept into the night sky and the sounds of birds tittering out in the park reminded them that it was time to rest.

  Blake snuggled her against his side and she went there willingly, satisfaction of both a physical and mental kind granting her peace for the moment.

  As she lay there, savoring the lean lines of his body and the comfort of his arms, Stacia wanted to ask if this was forever, but after two thousand years of existence, she knew forever was promised to no one. So instead she said, “Is this love, Blake?”

  A boyish grin slowly blossomed on his face and traveled up to his deep blue eyes, which sparkled with promise. “I certainly hope so, luv.”

  The smile shook something loose inside of her and for the first time in centuries, Stacia imagined love was possible for her. Inching upward, she whispered against his lips, “So do I,” and kissed him.

  Blood Calls

  By Caridad Piñeiro

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

 
Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Prologue

  1491, Galicia, Spain

  T he thought of slowly strangling the life from his wife made the flogging almost bearable for Diego Rivera.

  As each lash stripped another bit of skin from his back, he imagined his hands encircling her throat. Imagined himself watching her eyes bulge as he exerted pressure and heard the crack of cartilage beneath his fingers.

  The pleasure of his near-delirium daydream evaporated as one particularly sadistic blow penetrated his defenses and his body jerked spasmodically.

  “Madre de Dios,” he gasped as fire erupted between his shoulder blades. Beside the heat of the whip as it tore into his flesh, Diego sensed a warmth that could only be blood trickling down his back.

  “Confess your sins, convert. It will go easier if you tell us the truth,” the Inquisitor urged from his spot a few feet away. Beside him sat a physician whose job it was to make sure the heretic wasn’t too far gone to confess.

  This business of saving lives wasn’t supposed to kill anyone, Diego thought cynically, then laughed out loud.

  The sound bounced off the stone walls of the room, shocking his torturers, who looked at him as if he was crazy. Maybe he was, Diego mused, as he heard the eerie echo of his laughter, sounding too much like that of a madman.

  As the physician rose from the chair and walked toward him, Diego realized they would stop the punishment now and wait for him to be more lucid. That was the way it had been for weeks now. Maim, wait, repeat.

  It was the way it would be today.

  The physician jerked his head toward Diego, and two guards quickly undid the shackles that had been cutting into his wrists. Released from his bondage, he slumped and would have fallen to the ground if not for the guards, who dragged him from the chamber toward the small cell that had held him prisoner for nearly a month now.

  They tossed him inside unceremoniously. He landed roughly on the floor, his head smacking against the cobblestones, since his arms were too feeble to break his fall.

  What was one more bruise? he thought as the chilly humidity of the cell quickly registered his burning flesh. He shivered violently, which brought renewed pain to his mangled back and sore arms. He tried to quell the chatter of his teeth and swore he would get vengeance on those who had betrayed him.

  He didn’t know how long a time passed before the slight scuffle of footsteps on the stone floor drew his attention.

  “Esperanza?” He glanced upward and smiled as the familiar face of the plain servant girl from his home crept into his vision. Esperanza had been sneaking into the prison to care for him.

  “Don Diego, I’m so sorry,” she said as she dabbed at his back with a moist cloth.

  At his groan, she explained, “This will keep it from getting infected.”

  Diego knew she meant well, but keeping him alive would only benefit the Inquisitor. He gently laid a hand on her thigh as she knelt beside him. “You are a good girl, Esperanza.”

  Her gasp confused him. In her vibrant brown eyes, however, he finally saw why she risked her life to help him—she was in love with him. In a way, he cared for her, as well.

  Diego had barely noticed her the entire time that she labored in his home. He had been too busy whoring with many more beautiful women, including his own bitch of a wife. His infidelities had been the reason that his wife had lied about him and turned him over to the Inquisitor. Backing her claims that he was a relapsed convert was a lower nobleman who coveted Diego’s properties and wife.

  God help the poor man when he discovered the real nature of the harridan Diego had married.

  A woman nothing like kind and gentle Esperanza, he thought, passing his hand over her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth and remarkably creamy in color, in sharp contrast to the deep auburn of her hair.

  “Do not come again, little one. I am not worth your life,” he said, and in truth, he meant it. Selfish and materialistic, he had not been a good man up until now. It had taken this unfortunate encounter with the Inquisitor to make him realize he needed to change.

  “Don Diego—”

  “Promise me you will stay away.” As tears filled her eyes and spilled over, he whispered, “I will never forget you.”

  She kissed his cheek, then rose and rushed from his cell.

  He didn’t expect the loneliness that followed her departure. It was a greater torture than any the Inquisitor could visit on him.

  Loneliness had been with him for most of his life, he had realized in the weeks of numbing pain and solitary confinement within this small cell.

  He vowed that if he survived, he would strive to change that. Strive to do good.

  God had to have visited this torture on him for a reason, and he wasn’t about to question why he had been called.

  He just intended to answer when the time was right.

  Chapter 1

  2007, New York City

  P assion.

  It didn’t exist in every person who graced the earth, Diego suspected. Only a handful truly knew what it meant to live their lives with such intensity. In the five hundred years since a vampire’s kiss had turned him into an immortal, Diego had surrounded himself with artists and others who lived life to the fullest. Who lived life with passion.

  Ramona Escobar was such a person, Diego decided as he looked over the latest work she had done.

  As he strolled back and forth in front of the six paintings, the vibrant colors called to him, as did the amazing movement and life splashed across the canvases. Beneath it all shimmered the sensuality of the scenes Ramona had depicted in her works—a study of men and women in various stages of making love.

  He considered how to best display these paintings in his gallery. He had no doubt he would do so, since they were as wonderful as the others Ramona had done over the years, except…

  A yearning existed in these works he hadn’t seen before. A need that connected to something deep within him. He had to take a shaky breath to quell the desire that rose in him as he perused one piece. He was sure other people would feel the same and that the paintings would fetch a good price. Possibly an immense price. Thanks to the many centuries he had mingled with the artsy set, he knew how to recognize talent.

  “These are wonderful,” he said.

  Petite and slender, Ramona stood beside him, wiping paint off her hands with a rag.

  “Do you think so?” she asked, clearly uncertain. He wondered, as he had more than once during the half-dozen years he’d known her, about the kind of woman she was. One with passion mixed with equal parts humility and doubt. She had matured since the day he had met her, during her final year of art school. He had been intrigued back then by the young, tough ragamuffin with so much talent, but little ego.

  But then again, had she been a braggadocio like some other artists he had encountered, he doubted their professional relationship would have lasted this long. Diego did not suffer fools or braggarts. They reminded him too much of how he had been before beginning his eternal life.

  Driving that thought from
his mind, he said, “Truly unique. They will sell well.”

  “Que bueno. When do you think you can show them?” She continued wiping her hands with the cloth, the gesture telling.

  Diego laid his hand over hers. Her fingers were cold, which worried him. “Is something wrong, amiga? If it’s money—”

  “I know you would give it to me. It’s nothing, really,” Ramona said, and looked up at Diego’s remarkable face.

  He was so handsome and so honorable. When she had first met him, she had been struck by his elegance and beauty. In the many years they had known each another, he had always done right by her, showing her that his beauty went far beyond his physical attributes. He would do right by her this time, as well.

  “I’m fine. Let me know when you want to do the show.” She hoped to finish raising the money she needed to care for her mother.

  He stroked her hand once again in a gentle gesture, and, unnerved by his touch, because it made her think of things that weren’t possible, she walked away from him. At the table holding her paints and brushes, she set down the cloth.

  Diego glanced at the paintings once more before striding toward her. As always, he was impeccably dressed, in a suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The blue silk brought out the color of his intense ice-blue eyes.

  When he stood before her, he tossed his head, sending the longish strands of his artfully highlighted, nutmeg-brown hair back, which emphasized the strong lines of his pale face.