Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 11

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘Three weeks in Italy! Holy Ravioli.’ It really hit me, then. Greg had planned and booked a whole trip. And not merely a short trip but a long and most likely involved one.

  ‘Oh my God. Thank you, baby,’ I gushed as I practically jumped onto Greg’s lap. Luckily the coffee table was a solid timber one. Although, all my neatly organized articles went flying everywhere. And you know who gave a damn about that? No one.

  ‘This time,’ said Greg, ‘you can see the sights without being hounded by the locals. I’ll be your bodyguard.’

  I’d been to Rome once for a conference; however, I’d only spent three days there. I’d loved it so much I’d always dreamed of going back and seeing more. Greg knew all the details of how, as a young woman travelling on my own, I’d been hassled by the locals. Italian men: notorious butt pinchers and hasslers of single women.

  ‘I won’t need a bodyguard so much anymore. I was younger and a lot cuter back then.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’d hassle you. I’d pinch your bum relentlessly. I’d chase you down the streets.’

  ‘And what would you do when you caught me?’

  ‘Let me show you,’ he said, gaze hooded, voice low.

  And he did. Twice. Just in case I didn’t get it the first time.

  * * * * *

  At exactly sparrow’s fart (the classy Australian way of saying way too early in the morning) on Monday, Greg and I set off on our flight. I was so excited I could barely sit still in my seat. I was chattering endlessly and telling Greg about all the places I wanted to see and places I’d been that I’d like to take him to.

  Greg grinned and gave me his indulgent look in response to my effusive enthusiasm. It must have felt as though he was taking a small child to the carnival for the first time.

  After the fourteen-hour flight to Dubai, let’s just say my enthusiasm had waned a little. If waned a little meant I’d totally lost it and was in danger of never seeing it again.

  I refused to sit down at all during the four-hour stopover in Dubai. Instead, I dragged myself around the airport shops, staring at stuff I wasn’t remotely interested in buying. I found a corner with few witnesses where I did some stretching, and then I window-shopped some more.

  On the flight to Rome, I was almost beside myself. At the twentieth-hour mark since we’d boarded the first flight, I told Greg I was going to search for parachutes because I was ‘diving out of this winged vehicle of torture.’

  Greg attempted to distract me by inviting me to accompany him to the bathroom so we could join the mile-high club.

  I declined, asking him if he’d seen how messy those things got sometimes. Telling him that by the time he squeezed himself into the tiny compartment, there wouldn’t be room to swing a cat. And that I wasn’t getting my pussy out under those circumstances.

  Instead of doing anything exciting, like joining clubs, I trudged quietly up and down the aisles of sleeping passengers. While I did that, I fantasised about getting crazy with Greg in the airplane bathroom. Fantasies don’t have to take into account things such as unhygienic surfaces, or the logistics of folding yourself into ten centimetres of space so you could ride your boyfriend. The fantasies went a ways towards taking my mind off the pain in my bum and the crick in my neck.

  During the flight, I discovered something new about my boyfriend. Vampires can sit extremely still (I’m talking statue territory, here) for long periods of time without any ill effects. No need to stretch, wiggle or trudge.

  Sometimes Greg was sleeping. Other times, he was doing an excellent approximation of it. Although, every time I quietly slid back into my seat, his eyes would snap open and stare in that disconcerting vampire way of his that still gave me the heebie-jeebies. I guess he was on higher alert, being surrounded by people or, from his perspective, potential vampire-stakers.

  Twenty-three hours and five minutes (who was counting) after we first took off, we landed in Fiumicino airport in Rome. I completely understood the Pope kissing the ground whenever he arrived somewhere. I easily could have done that, so happy to be on land was I.

  Greg wrapped his arms around me. ‘I’m sorry you were so uncomfortable on the flight. I’ll do some treatments on you while we’re here, and I’ll change the return booking for at least an overnight in Dubai to break up the flight a bit, okay?’

  ‘That’s very okay. And wonderful,’ I mumbled against his chest. ‘Thank you.’

  By the time we got through immigration and collected our luggage, it was well after 9:00 p.m. I was so tired from not having slept a wink during the flight that a few minutes after climbing into a taxi, I promptly fell asleep. I awoke only when we’d arrived at our hotel. It was lovely: smallish, with a relaxed, homely ambiance about it. It was also clean and close to everything, so it received extra points from me.

  The first thing we did upon arrival was get hot and steamy. In the shower. I was in no mood for any single thing until I had washed almost thirty hours of travel off myself. When I felt more human (I’m sure the vampire felt that way, too), I climbed into bed, entertaining hot and steamy thoughts. Ones that didn’t involve showers but involved my man—with his skin on mine.

  Skin all around mine. Inside places that are mine.

  That’s what I was thinking when I fell asleep and slept like the dead for a long time.

  The second I woke, I launched into flustered mode. ‘Hell, how long have I been asleep? What time is it?’ I started firing questions at Greg, who was sitting in a high-backed chair near the window, sipping his daily dose of sun-protection tea while watching the city streets below.

  ‘It’s ten-thirty,’ Greg answered calmly.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. You should have woken me up.’ I hustled out of bed and went over to him. ‘I’m wasting good sightseeing hours.’

  Greg pulled me onto his lap and hugged me. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. We have three weeks to sightsee. I planned rest and relaxation time into the schedule. You’re on holiday, remember? Now act accordingly.’ He gave me a look that could be described as vaguely stern. His stern must have decided to take a vacation also.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, exhaling a gusty breath. I saw three whole weeks stretch in front of me and predicted this would likely be the best holiday I’d ever had.

  Famous last words.

  Our first stop after breakfast was the Colosseum. We joined an English-speaking tour guide and her group for a guided tour. Greg and I compared what we were looking at to drawings of how the structure would have appeared in its heyday. It must have been an incredible sight.

  I’d heard stories of gladiators fighting each other as well as wild beasts before. I still got goose bumps when I heard it again.

  As the tour guide described it, I tried to imagine the whole arena being filled with water in order to stage naval battles. I had a hard time picturing such a thing.

  Our next area for investigation was the Roman Forum. Greg and I wandered along the road not far from the Colosseum until we came upon the ruins that were below street level.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Greg. ‘That’s the Forum.’ He pulled me along as he jogged down the steps. He was as excited about the place as I was.

  This time, instead of a guide, we got some headphones that told us all about important landmarks as we approached them. It was a great system, allowing us to amble along at our own pace. We both kept touching the stones and columns that were the remains of ancient temples, museums and marketplaces. We eventually arrived at the Curia (senate house).

  ‘This is where Julius Caesar was killed,’ I whispered. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was whispering. I just had this incredible awe that we were standing where it had all happened. We were walking where important figures in history had walked; we could touch the buildings they had touched. I experienced a feeling of reverence that no other place had inspired in me.

  So busy was I, marvelling at all the history, I forgot to eat. Forgettin
g to eat has happened not even one time in my entire life. After I realised how hungry I was, Greg and I went back up to the street level, walked along and stopped at the first restaurant we saw, where I shovelled down an amount of macaroni in white sauce with mushrooms that almost made me go “pop.” And a few glasses of Chianti, which made everything go slightly fuzzy around the edges.

  Greg and I spent the rest of the evening rambling around the city, taking in the sights. I came across a shop where the gelati were piled high in their frosty silver containers, looking too gorgeous not to sample.

  I rarely get annoyed that Greg’s a vampire. I was annoyed as hell that he wouldn’t be ordering ice cream because that meant I could only try two flavours. I grumbled and took ten minutes to decide my flavour duo would be pistachio nut and coffee.

  ‘Greg, I really wish you could try this,’ I said approximately forty-five seconds later. ‘It’s the creamiest gelato ever.’

  He was staring intently at my lips and tongue.

  I wondered if there was a way for a woman to eat an ice cream in front of a man that wouldn’t result in him imagining being the object of the licking. Not that I minded Greg contemplating fellatio. I was simply curious to know if it was possible for him not to.

  I spun the cone in a slow 360 and swirled the flat of my tongue around the side of my creamy tower of delectation. Because you just have to catch those side drips, yanno. Then I opened my lips over the top of the scoop and sucked some into my mouth.

  Because sometimes I just have to be a little bit bad.

  ‘Can you have one lick?’ I asked.

  ‘Huh?’ said the vampire with the glazy, glazy eyes.

  I waved the cone in front of his nose.

  ‘Ah, no. Not anymore. There’s only one flavour I like anyway.’

  ‘Which one?’

  Greg bent and inhaled a deep breath at my throat. ‘Yours,’ he whispered in my ear.

  I shivered and knew my eyes were doing their best to out-glaze Greg’s. Then I realised something. ‘Oh Greg, you haven’t eaten in a while. You must be hungry.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am. Starving.’ He brushed his lips languidly along the side of my neck from shoulder to ear. He palmed my ass and pulled me to him. He made a growling sound when our groins pressed together. His other hand grabbed a chunk of my hair and pulled my head to the side, exposing more of my neck.

  The last time Greg had gotten out-of-control hungry, bad things had happened. Things like him ending up on his knees in an alley with his face in the crotch of another woman. While he sucked the blood out of her femoral artery. Long story short—there was a misunderstanding that almost broke us.

  I twitched and huffed out a breath. Apparently, I still could not think about the episode without wanting to kill that little troll bitch.

  I have issues. Sue me.

  Another breath huffed out of me when Greg took an additional high-powered inhale at my pulse point and then dragged his tongue along my throat. I enjoyed a good throat-licking as much as the next person. But Greg was getting a serious hard-on for my blood. I loved his usual type of hard-on. This type, though, was disconcerting. In the deadly kind of way.

  ‘Oi!’ I smacked his arm with the hand that wasn’t clutching my gelato. ‘Snap out of it, Vamp Boy.’ I’ve had to get forceful with him on the rare occasions where he starts to lose control. Once he’s locked on and salivating to penetrate, it’s hard to divert his attention.

  I punched him in the throat once.

  It wasn’t my best day.

  ‘Greg, you stop this immediately.’ I made my demand to the boyfriend who loved me and didn’t want to hurt me. Not the creature part inside him that was coming to the fore and giving me crazy vampire eyes.

  When he didn’t respond, I did something I never would have imagined I’d do.

  I shoved my splendiferous gelato up underneath his chin. Just stabbed him with ice cream. I’m not sure if it was the cold that did it, or the fact that I’d wasted good food like that, but Greg jolted, straightened up, and stepped away from me.

  I observed him. He looked contrite. The creature had been boxed up, and Greg was in control. For the time being. ‘You need to go hunting…for animals.’ Ugh, why did I say animals? It was always animals. He didn’t hunt humans.

  ‘Yes. I’ll get you back to the hotel and then I’ll go.’

  ‘You could take me with you.’

  ‘No!’ This was said vehemently. Seeing him hunt was something I was insanely curious about. Sating my curiosity on this subject was something he always denied me.

  ‘It’ll be quicker—’

  ‘Ana.’ His stern was back on duty. Dammit.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find something.’

  I contemplated retrieving the gelato that was smeared under his chin. Shame that throat licking is a gateway drug for vampires. If I licked his, he’d lick mine. You know how it goes. All fun and games until someone gets exsanguinated.

  We made our way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, Greg removed the evidence of his stabbing with a tissue. I lapped my gelato furiously the entire time in as nonsexual a way as I could.

  In the elevator, Greg moved to the opposite side, putting as much distance as possible between us. ‘Stay up for me,’ he said, staring straight ahead at the elevator numbers. ‘There’s something I want to do with you before you go to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said in a whispery voice, studying the side of his face. His jaw was clenched, and I could see the tendons standing out on the side of his neck. If he tore his attention from the floor numbers long enough to investigate me, he would have discovered my nipples standing up under my shirt. If he employed his fingers in the investigation, he would have found my pussy clenched. So tight.

  As soon as I stepped into the hotel room, Greg said goodbye, spun around and darted off.

  I felt sad for my vampire. It was hard for him to always have to fight his natural urges. The man and the beast were locked in an endless battle for supremacy. Lucky Greg the man was such a stubborn alpha male, constantly beating the beast into submission by sheer force of will. When the beast got particularly feisty, I couldn’t even console Greg, because the worst thing I could do was get close to him when he was wrestling with it.

  The honest truth was that I really wanted to let Greg sink fang into me and have a drink. I used to love to cook for him. Since that was now off the table, I wanted to provide him with nourishment in this other way. I also had reason to believe that it would feel very good, not only for him, but for me, too.

  There were problems with this, though. For reasons I don’t understand, Greg is particularly fond of the taste of my blood. My blood is to him as Havarti cheese or Godiva chocolate is to me. The most delicious. Can’t stop once I start.

  I’m going to digress for a minute and talk about not understanding why Greg has a particular affinity for my blood. I’ve been waiting for Greg to come across another sample for which he goes crazy. It hasn’t happened yet, but when or if it does, I’ll be investigating similarities between all the red cell and white cell antigens and antibodies that I can possibly test for. It’s annoying that I haven’t had a chance to begin my investigations. Not understanding the reasons for things chafes me. But anyway, that’s my problem.

  Back to why I’m worried about Greg sucking on me.

  In the early days, he admitted that he had come very close to killing me, so badly did he crave my blood. Another time, I’d accidentally cut my finger, and Greg had sucked on that finger, drinking my blood until I’d been convinced he wasn’t going to stop. I’d had a glimpse of his beast that day. The beast had looked through me, not really seeing me, not caring about my protests, only viewing me as a container of top-shelf blood.

  It would be helpful if we could experiment to find out if Greg’s now able to drink straight from the source. However, if he can’t control himself with me, we won’t figure that out unti
l I’m dead. Therefore, I’ve shelved the idea of experiments for the time being.

  The one thing I can safely do is give him my blood in a tube. Whenever I use my own blood for testing, I collect much more than required. That way, I’m able to give Greg more of mine than that of my colleagues.

  Because my Greg should have as much of his favourite thing as possible.

  I’ve also been swallowing iron tablets like they’re going out of style.

  I had a hot shower while pondering how I would deal with my overused vein and future blood donations. The virgin vein in my opposite arm is deep and not as accessible—a phlebotomist’s worst nightmare. Also, my boss advised me to keep one vein untapped in case of future illness that requires constant blood sampling or catheter insertion.

  Not having come up with any feasible solutions, I went to bed. I was worn out from walking all day long but forced myself to stay awake, waiting for Greg to come back and do that thing he wanted to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, I discovered I hadn’t been successful. Apparently, Greg had feasted on Italian food (the four-legged variety), and then come back to find me out cold.

  We both scrambled out of bed the second the alarm went off. A tour of Vatican City was planned for the day, and we had to make an early start. Unfortunately, there was no time to make up for what we’d missed out on the night before.

  We met with our tour group and our tiny tour guide, Lina. Lina was slim, with dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, a smooth olive complexion, and lovely light brown eyes. She was like a dynamo, bustling through the place, managing to keep our group together while informing us of all the important facts as we went along. She had a surprisingly large voice for such a small body. And with her no-nonsense businesslike manner, she clearly projected a don’t-mess-with-me attitude.