"Thank you, Emmi." Monica patted her cheek in passing, then smiled. "It was a good show tonight." "The reviews have already started to pour in. So far, the news is most complimentary." "Good." (The design part of Monica's empire wasn't the most important, or even the part that made the most money, but it was the part that was the closest to Monica's heart.) There was something satisfying about going to Fashion Week and seeing the models strut around in her creations. "Well, let's make our appearance, shall we?" With Emelda on her heels, Monica spun and swept into the building. Several roving photographers trailed in her wake, flashes going off every few feet. She merely smiled at them, nodding to people she knew as she walked past. "Some of the reviews specifically mentioned the emerald line," Emelda said, glancing down at her PDA. "One even called it the most original line they'd seen in years." "Well, it's comforting to know that the press is still capable of recognizing originality when they see it." Monica favored another photographer with a brilliant smile, her steps never faltering. "And Lady Saldana is in attendance this evening. She has extended an invitation to stop by her table." "Zoe is here?" Monica's steps slowed. It had been years since she'd seen Zoe. "Then, that shall be our first stop." "I had a feeling you would say that. This way." The main banquet room was awash with light and noise, with tuxedoed waitstaff nimbly moving from table to table, trays piled high with delicacies from the kitchen. Monica had overseen the menu herself, as she did every year. Emelda snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and pressed one into Monica's hand. Monica took a slow sip, then nodded in surprised approval. "La Grand Dame." She turned to Emelda. "Didn't I request the Bollinger?" "A few cases of the '95 became available." "Truly, you are a treasure. Are you certain I can't tempt you into a permanent appointment at my side?" Monica teased, well used to Emelda's stance on becoming a vampire. Emelda shook her head with a smile. "You flatter me with the offer, but I must, once again, decline." "One of these days you'll say yes." "Well, as you always say, there's a first time for everything." Monica studied her over the rim of her glass, then chuckled. "I've taught you too well, it would seem," she said, moving through the crowd once more. Her eyes lit up when she spied a familiar willowy form, and she headed in that direction. She noted with approval that Zoe was wearing an evening gown from her '09 collection. "I thought these affairs weren't your thing," she said, smiling in wicked delight when Zoe turned with a wide grin. She was swept into a warm hug, subtle perfume teasing her senses as soft lips brushed hers in a brief greeting. "Well, it has been a little tame for my tastes. I'm still hoping for fireworks," Zoe said, reaching back to draw a dark-haired young man to her side. Monica looked him over, admiring pale skin and dark eyes that watched her with a quiet intensity. He was quite lovely, really, a pretty present wrapped in Versace. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught Zoe's flashing grin. "Monica, I'd like to introduce you to my (inamorta) and fledgling, Zachary." "Ah, the infamous Zachary," she said, offering her hand. "I remember Harry mentioning your petition for the Gift. He spoke well of you." "I'm honored to have Lord Sinclair's approval," Zachary replied, then gave her a courtly bow and drew her hand to his lips for a kiss. "As I am to finally meet you. Zoe speaks quite glowingly of you." "Does she?" Monica raised an eyebrow at Zoe. "What lies have you been telling this child?" "No lies, I promise," Zoe laughed, the sound musical. "I don't need to." Monica ignored Emelda's soft snort of laughter. "My reputation is honest," is all she said. "Indeed." Zachary glanced around the room, then back at Monica. "You seem to have quite the turn out." "They hope to see their photo in the tabloids," she replied, with a delicate shrug. A passing waiter offered more champagne, and Monica waited until they all had a glass. "So tell me, Zachary, however did you get tangled with this one?" Zachary chuckled, arm slipping around Zoe's waist. "I have a hard time saying no to beautiful women with dark eyes." "Is that so?" Monica tilted her head, studied him, then gave Zoe a sidelong glance. Before she could say anything else, a familiar shiver ran up her spine. Her head snapped around as she searched the room, eyes narrowed. It couldn't be... No. It was just her imagination. Then she shrugged it off, ignoring Zoe's curious look. "Many have had a hard time saying no to our Zoe." "Don't let him fool you," Zoe said. "He was the one doing the propositioning. And was charmingly persistent about it." "Direct, I like that in a man," Monica said. Zachary offered a smile that was part mischievous, part insouciant. "Zoe's a beautiful and formidable woman. Timidity wouldn't have done me any good." "I like strong men," Zoe shrugged, but looked pleased at the compliment. Monica couldn't blame her. Zachary seemed like a good match for her friend's fire and intelligence. She opened her mouth to offer her congratulations, and, once again, felt that same familiar tingle race through her. She whipped around, scanned the crowd, and again, saw nothing. But, she knew. Once could be attributed to any number of factors, but twice could only mean one thing. Harry was here. "Monica?" She glanced down in some surprise to see Emelda's hand on her arm. "Are you alright?" Zoe and Zachary were also giving her curious looks. "I'm fine, cara," she replied, marshalling her features. "I thought I heard something is all." Zoe's curious look faded, replaced by a small smile. "Surely nothing would not make you so jumpy." "Not at all," Monica replied, voice light and airy as she fought to ignore the tingling that spread over her body. "It was just...unexpected." "I see." Zoe winked, shifting to link her arm through Zachary's. "Well, if you say it's nothing..." Monica just smiled, patting Emelda's shoulder in an effort to reassure the child. //Troublemaker.// //You'd have me no other way, dearest.// It was accompanied by a soft chuckle as Zoe continued to sip her champagne. "The show was excellent, as usual. I saw a few things that I'll have to have." "Of course. I can think of no one else I'd rather have wear my designs," Monica replied. "Have your assistant call Emmi to arrange a time for you to come to the showroom." "And I have a feeling we've both been summarily dismissed," Zoe said, then leaned in to brush a light kiss across Monica's cheek. //Have a good time tonight, with whomever it is.// //I intend to.// Monica accepted Zachary's kiss with one of her own. "It was lovely to meet you. I hope you and Zoe enjoy Milan." "It was a pleasure." Monica turned to Emelda the second they stepped away from Zoe's table. "Can I trust you stay here and see to everyone?" "Of course," Emelda replied promptly. Then she offered a sly smile. "I trust he's handsome, whoever it is that's brought that flush to your cheeks." "What makes you think it's a man?" "Because I know you," Emelda laughed. "Go on. You've more than earned the right to enjoy yourself." Monica briefly touched her lips to Emelda's cheek, then slipped into the crowd. She had yet to see Harry, but there was no doubt he was there. There was no one else - alive or dead - who could make her that aware merely by being the same room. //Tesoro, it's not nice to hide from me.// //Now, who said I was hiding?// came the richly amused reply. Monica shivered at finally hearing Harry's voice. //Is this one of your games, then?// //No game. But I've no wish for an audience, either.// Ah, so it was to be like that. To tell the truth, Monica didn't want one, either. It had been too long since she'd seen Harry for her to feel generous at the idea of sharing him, even amongst friends. //Tell me where you are.// //Downstairs. In one of the courtyard offices.// One of them. Monica laughed softly, shaking her head as she started towards the exit. //Shall I bring a bottle of champagne?// //Why not? We can have it after.// She allowed a delicious shiver to ripple through her at the dark promise in his words. A few quiet words with a waiter procured the champagne, and then she was out of the room. Harry didn't say anything else, but she could feel him lurking in the back of her mind, his impatience feeding hers until she was practically running down the hall. She paused outside a door, not needing to ask if it was the correct one, and ran fingers over her hair to smooth it. It was silly of her, she knew, but she was honest enough with herself to know she wanted to look her best the first time he saw her after so long an absence. Taking a deep breath to calm the flutters in her stomach, she reached out and turned the knob. And promptly stopped, breath catching in her throat at her first sight of Harry. He was simply magnificent, slouched against a desk near the far wall, wearing a navy blue Hugo Boss suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips. His hair was loose, the way she liked it best, brushed back from his forehead. His remarkable eyes lit in welcome the moment he saw her. "Tesoro," she sighed, certain that everything she was feeling had to be showing on her face. "Bella," Harry replied softly, using the nickname that only he had a right to, and held out a hand. It took her three long steps to take it. Instantly, a bolt of electricity shot through her, leaving her weak at the knees. It would seem that she would forever be affected by this man. Not that she minded in the slightest. Her body molded against his as his arm slipped around her waist. She set the bottle down on the floor next to the desk, then settled back into Harry's embrace. "It has been too long," she murmured, leaning in so her lips brushed his jaw. "I began to think you had forgotten me." Soft, rich laughter drifted over her skin as he dipped his head closer to hers. "You know better," he said. The backs of his fingers skimmed her cheek, and she shivered. "I've had a lot going on this last year." "Mmm." Turning her head towards his, Monica captured his hand and nipped at his fingertips. "We're all busy, amore mio. You, however, never call, never a word, not even an update to let me know things are well." "I know, I've been neglectful." Harry offered a rueful smile. "I am sorry." "We'll see," she replied, then toyed with the knot of his tie. "Is that why you're here?" "Partially," he admitted. "Karl also suggested I take a nice, long vacation." "And you sought me out?" Monica offered what she knew had to be a dazzling smile. "Remind me to send Karl a lovely gift as thanks." "I think having me out of his hair is thanks enough," Harry replied, and pulled her flush against him. "Besides, it didn't take much convincing to get me on the plane. I've missed you." "I shall send him a gift anyway." One finger hooked into his tie and pulled, untying the knot so she could wrap the loose ends around her hands. She tugged, tipping her face to his, stopping only when his breath warmed her lips. "Just how long is this vacation of yours? And do I have you the entire time?" His hand skimmed down the back of her dress to rest against her ass. His voice was a sibilant whisper that melted her heart all over again. "How does a month sound? Just the two of us?" "Glorious," she answered, then closed the miniscule distance between them. And let out a small sigh of happiness at the first touch of his lips on hers. It had been far too long. As always, the kiss incinerated her. His tongue slid over hers, curled along it, as a low moan built in her throat. If she lived for another thousand years, she had no doubt that Harry would always have this effect on her. The kiss deepened, and his fingers tightened as he pulled her hard against him. She shifted, savored the feel of his erection straining against her, then shifted again, deliberately teasing him as her fingers sank into his hair. //Harry...// //Shhh...I'm indulging myself.// A moment later, she heard the rasp of a zipper, and cool air kissed her skin as her dress slid to the floor in a glittering heap, leaving her clad in nothing except her stockings and heels. "Much better," he stated, then lifted her in strong arms, and turned, sitting her on the edge of the desk. "Is it?" She leaned back, braced her hands on the desk behind her. One foot slid up his leg. The look in his eyes made her shiver even as it ignited a building heat deep inside her. "What would be better is if you were wearing less." "I'll let you take care of that," he promised, then slid to his knees. "Later." He settled between her thighs the next instant, and pulled her towards him. The first flick of her tongue against her was a welcome shock, and she curled forward, buried her hands in the thick fall of his hair. Dio, but she'd missed him. Missed the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands upon her, they way he looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman alive. He drove his tongue into her, and she gasped her pleasure, letting go of all control and restraint. She trusted him to take care of her. She breathed his name, her voice little more than a whisper, and tightened her fingers in his hair. Each slide of his tongue, each thrust, sent sparks skittering along her nerves until she couldn't breathe. It had been far too long. Her head fell back and her lips parted on a low moan. His soft, answering chuckle shivered against her skin, tightened her nipples, and she gasped again. //Harry...// Her back arched, hips tilting up, seeking and offering more. And Harry, bless him, gave and took in equal measure. The first orgasm rocketed through her, a second one hard on the heels of the first, and she was practically incoherent by the time he lifted his head and started a slow course up along her body. His tongue was raspy, soft, along her torso, lingered at her breasts, traced her collarbones. She was boneless, languid, trailed her fingers along his shoulders, his back, seeking more of his touch, his body. By the time he made his way to the curve of her neck, she'd managed to unbutton his shirt and had pushed his jacket to the floor. "Better," she said, and nudged against him until his lips were on hers. Better, yes. But not nearly enough. Not after so long apart. //Patience, bella, we've got time.// His amusement was palpable, but she forgave him as his fingers stroked along her ribs. His shirt joined his jacket on the floor, and she growled into the kiss. Patience be damned. She'd been patient for far too long. They could be patient later. Her hands slid over his chest, slipped across his stomach until she could attack his zipper. "I'm not feeling very virtuous, my love." He threw back his head and laughed at the old joke, and Monica smiled. Her eyes traced the line of his throat seconds before her lips touched his pulse. She shoved his trousers over his hips, wrapped her legs around his waist. "Months," she said, voice throaty, with a pout that was all for his benefit, "and still you tease me like this." "Merely enjoying being with you, that's all," Harry genially replied, then pushed deep into her with one sure thrust. She gasped in pleasure, fingers spasming in his hair, and locked her ankles around his back, pushing him even deeper. "More," she demanded, knowing Harry would refuse her nothing. "For you," he promised, "everything," and started moving, flexing his hips and thighs with every thrust. Each snap of his hips drew a soft moan or sigh from her. One hand dropped back to the desk so she could lean back. For a long moment, she met his gaze, held it. Then he ducked his head. When his teeth captured a taut nipple, she gasped, letting her own head fall back. Strong fingers dug into her hip as the other hand slid over her waist. With teeth and tongue and fingers, he played her body like a fine instrument, each whisper touch sending shivers through her as he continued to plunge relentlessly into her body. But she was far from a passive participant. She moved with him, offered her body, her soul, met every thrust halfway. Every groan wrung from his lips was like music to her ears. "Missed you so much, tesoro," she gasped, pulling his head up so she could get at his mouth. The kiss was hard, messy, mirrored the motions of their bodies. "Mi sei mancata," Harry murmured against her lips, and wrapped his arms tighter around her, plunged into her with reckless abandon. She mouthed soft words against his jaw, flicked her tongue along his skin in pursuit of a bead of sweat. They moved together in perfect synchronicity, and she could feel the tension coiling deep inside her, feel how his movements grew more erratic. Polished nails dug into his shoulder as her free hand lifted, cupped the back of his head. "Now," she whispered, fangs sliding out as she pressed his face against her throat. The small sting of sharp fangs grazing her skin, followed by his soft growl, barely registered as her own fangs broke through. His blood hit her tongue, copper and clove, and she shattered, feeling her orgasm echoed in his, both feeding back through her, through him, until there was nothing else. He slumped on top of her, and she bore his weight easily, soothing her hands along his back as their lips found each other again, met. She could taste herself mingled with him, and hummed happily, replete and satisfied. "Much better," she told him, once he lifted his head. "I agree." The backs of his fingers skimmed across her jaw, toyed at the hollow of her throat. "Do you need to make another appearance or can I claim your time?" "My obligations are at an end this evening." She stretched under him, relishing the twinge in sore muscles. "My time – and everything else – is yours." "Lucky me." He straightened then, and bent to pull his slacks back up his legs. "Seems a shame to cover all of that up when I've barely had a chance to enjoy it," she remarked, but shimmied back into her dress and presented her back to him. And smiled when he kissed her nape as he rezipped the dress. "You'll soon have your fill of me naked, I promise." Monica laughed. "That will never happen," she said, turning back to help him slip into his shirt. She smoothed the material over his chest, her touch lingering for a moment as he smiled down at her. "And I intend to gorge myself on you while you're here." "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." He captured her lips in a soft, light kiss, then stepped back to scoop up his jacket and tie and open the door. "Shall we?" She snagged the forgotten bottle of champagne and tucked her arm in his as they stepped out into the cool night air. She took a deep breath, then exhaled, rested her head against his shoulder as he led her to a waiting limo. "When did you land in Milan?" "Early enough so I could watch the show." She slid into onto butter-soft seats, and gave him a puzzled look as he climbed in after her. "You were here for the show?" "Of course. You know I'd never miss an opening. I was most impressed." She knew she had to be glowing under the praise, but she forgave herself for the weakness. "Thank you," she said, and curled next to him. He placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "It's alright, you know," he told her. "You can ask." She gave him a sidelong look and debated pretending not to understand. Then she reached up to lace her fingers with his. "I've no wish to intrude," she said, after a long moment of silence. "Liar," he whispered into her hair, his voice fond and amused. "And you know you could never intrude." "Very well." She allowed herself a small smile, pleased that he could so easily read her. "How is he? And how are you? It's obvious he survived as you are not mourning, but..." One shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. She wondered if she should mention the new quietness inside him that she could sense. "He's well. The procedure was...difficult. But he came through with flying colors. Dave..." his voice caught and she squeezed his hand in silent support. "He stayed close by the first few weeks. And Katie's been a godsend since then." "Gerard's fledgling Katie?" At Harry's nod, she made a noise of approval. "She's got a good head on her shoulders. It was a good choice." "It was Viggo's suggestion, but we're not letting him gloat about it," he answered. "He's still weak, but getting stronger by the day. Keeps saying he wants to be able to be turned again within the year." "Well, he's definitely yours and Karl's, then," she replied. "I've never met two more stubborn souls." His laugh rumbled through her. "When he's stubborn, he's Karl's. Although...I suppose I should mention that my bond with Orlando is now complete." She stared at him, puzzled. "He's been yours for over a decade, amore. I don't understand." "Well, yes, he has been mine," Harry said, and she peered at him. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that he looked embarrassed. "But more as a, well, companion." "A companion?" "It seems that we never actually completed the pet bond," he said, and yes, there was a definite sheepish note to his words. Interesting. She wanted to laugh, but swallowed the giggles before they started. "I see," she said, simply, glancing out the window when he looked at her. She took a few seconds to compose herself, then looked back to him. "He must be very special to make you forget something that important. Though that does explain a few things." "That's what Liv said." "Liv's always been a smart woman." She squeezed his arm. "How does Karl feel about this?" "You know Karl. He's happy that everything is settled and things are where they should be," Harry replied. "He knows he'll have me for eternity, and Orlando for eternity once he's given the Gift again. And now he's got Josh, and Liv seems to be back in the picture, so I believe his plate is quite full." "Josh?" She tried wracking her brain, but the name sounded unfamiliar. "Who is Josh?" Harry patted her hand, smiled. "That's right, it has been a while since we've spoken. Josh is Karl's new pet." "Karl's new..." She stared at Harry for a long moment, then shook her head. The two of them. What Harry said should be impossible, but then, Orlando should have been impossible, and Monica had long since learned to never apply 'impossible' to Karl or Harry. "That makes my head hurt." "Imagine how the rest of us feel," Harry replied, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know Josh's aunt, though. I believe you spent a few years in her company. Kate Horan." "Josh is related to Kate Horan?" Monica laughed in delight at Harry's nod. "I remember her very fondly. It's been an age since I've seen her, however." "She was at the bonding ceremony. She said to give you her regards the next time I saw you." "Did she now?" Monica studied Harry for a moment. "I know that look, tesoro. I do hope you treated her well." "Very well," Harry assured her, nuzzling her hair. "I believe she's residing in the Riviera at the moment." "I'll have to look her up. But later," she told him, then lifted her head. "For now, I don't wish to think about anyone other than you. It's been far too long since I've had you to myself." "You have me for a full month," he said, fingers toying with the ends of her hair as he smiled down into her upturned face. As always, the smile did things to her that had her nearly squirming in the seat. "Before you distract me again, however..." Distract him. As if he hadn't been the one to pounce the second she was within arm's reach. Typical. But she played along. "Yes?" "I should tell you that Orlando is...interested. In meeting you." "Is he?" She had to admit, she was more than a little bit surprised. "I wasn't aware he knew about me." She knew she didn't mention Harry much to anyone else. What the two of them had...it was theirs and theirs alone. Although she had occasionally shared Harry with Karl in the past, she knew she was as possessive of Harry as he was of her. "I think Karl mentioned you to him, or maybe Viggo. At any rate, he asked me about you." "And what did you tell him?" Harry tapped his temple. "I had to show him. You know as well as I that there's no way to tell anyone what we are to each other." She could feel her gaze soften as she cupped his cheek. "From the moment I saw you, amore, I knew." He laid his hand over hers, the touch heated, possessive, conveying more than mere words possibly could. "As did I, bella." "It's a good thing Karl had first claim on you," she murmured, reaching up with her other hand to cup his face and pull him down for a soft, slow kiss. //And why's that?// //I would have gone through the iunctum ceremony with you centuries ago if you were free.// She pulled back, flashed him an impish smile. "And then where would Karl be?" The smile faded a little as she remembered everything Harry had ever told her of his pet. There was more than a little hesitation in her next words. "Does he...is he truly alright with this? With us?" "I believe he is," Harry told her, grabbing onto her hands to hold them to his chest. "He told me himself that if you make me happy, then that's enough for him." She relaxed at the sincerity of his tone. "He sounds very wise. You and Karl have taught him well." "I think Dave had a fair amount to do with that." "How are you handling that loss?" she asked, gently. "I know it could not have been easy for you." "It wasn't, but it was needed. We weren't...it was never a true bond between us. I think we both knew it." He offered a rueful smile. "He's with a good man now. Lawrence Makoare." "I know him," Monica replied, with a light laugh. "We met through friends in New Zealand some time ago. Dave could have done much worse. Lawrence was...a lot of fun." She vividly remembered his infectious love of life and how poetic he'd looked on a surf board. And some truly spectacular tattoos. "He spoke highly of you. Said you were one hell of a woman." Harry paused, then laughed, the sound vibrating along her skin. "In fact, I think his comments alone managed to convince Orlando that you're going to eat him alive when the two of you meet." "I hope you set the child straight," she said, convinced she managed to hit just the right tone of indignation. "And miss seeing him quietly work himself into a nervous frenzy over you? Not likely, my love. Besides, it'll be good for him." She hit him lightly on the arm. "You are evil." "Only when it suits me," he said, and the limo rolled to a stop. He looked outside the window. "Ah, good, we've arrived." He held out a hand to her. "Shall we?" She allowed him to help her out of the car, then stopped in her tracks once the limo drove away. The tri-level house was beautifully nestled against a cliff wall overlooking a lake, and was surrounded by what looked like miles of dark forest. She didn't recognize it. "This is not my house." "Astute of you," he grinned, then danced out of the way when she balled her fist. "I wanted you to myself, so I rented a villa at Lake Varese." "All to yourself, hmm?" Her fingertips trailed over his chest before she moved out of reach. Her eyes turned once more to the villa, tracing the levels as she started towards the steps leading to the wrap-around veranda. "Does this mean I can keep you naked the whole time?" She looked over her shoulder with a wicked grin. "I prefer you naked, you know." "Oddly enough, that's my favorite look for you, as well," he replied, and placed a warm hand against the small of her back as he walked with her up the stairs. "I shall do my best to accommodate your every whim." "That's a tall order, considering my appetite where you're concerned." But she couldn't help but be pleased by his words. When she got to the top step, she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck. At this height advantage, she was able to look directly into his eyes. "I don't expect daily updates from you, tesoro. I've always known my place in your heart. But, perhaps, we both need to be better at keeping in touch, no?" "I completely agree." He pulled her flush against him, and she reveled in the feel of his body against hers. "I promise to do better." "Ti prometto." She sealed the vow with a light, lingering kiss. "Now, I would like a tour of our home for the next few weeks." "Of course." He kept her hand in his as he led her along the moonlit veranda to the back sliding glass door. "And you can tell me what you've been up to these last months." "You saw it tonight," she replied, relishing his hand against hers. It was a simple touch, but so natural and unconscious on his part that it thrilled her. "I've been busy with the new lines. The emerald one, in particular, was a royal bitch to complete." "And ironically enough," he said, chuckling, "it's some of your best work." "That's what Zoe said." Distracted, Monica looked around, taking in all that she could see. Modern conveniences and plenty of room. Superb. "She's planning on ordering some pieces." "Zoe was there tonight?" She turned at Harry's startled tone and grinned. "She was. With her fledgling in tow. A very fetching young man." A perfectly manicured nail tapped his chest. "This is what you get for hiding from everyone." "I wasn't hiding." "Mmhmm." "I merely doubted my ability to behave myself around you in public." "Flatterer," she replied, but the honeyed words earned him another kiss. "Zoe and Zachary are in Italy for awhile, if we were up for a lunch with them." "It would be nice to see her again," he said, as he led her up the staircase to the sprawling bedroom that took up an entire level, and had an incredible view of the lake beyond. Oh yes, she definitely approved. "And to meet Zachary under less formal circumstances." "They seemed quite taken with each other. I wouldn't be surprised if we're invited to their iunctum ceremony in a few decades." She slipped off her heels and gave an approving twirl around the room. "You have outdone yourself, amore mio." "All to assure your forgiveness," he replied, taking her into his arms and moving her towards the balcony. "Forgiveness?" She craned her neck to look up at him, feeling small and fragile in his arms. The view of the moon on the water took her breath away, as did the feel of his lips on the nape of her neck. "For neglecting you," he whispered. His arms tightened around her, settling her body even more snugly against his, and she sighed as languid warmth spread through her. "There is nothing to forgive." She placed her hands on top of his, closed her eyes. Truly, she needed nothing more than this. "But don't let that stop you from trying." "That's my girl," he chuckled, and skimmed his lips up to her ear. "Once again, you're wearing far too much clothing." She allowed the smile, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "You don't like the dress?" Sharp teeth nipped at her earlobe. "You look like a goddess in it. But it looked better on the floor." "By all means, then," she said, pressing back and rubbing against him, "let us put it back on the floor." The sound of the zipper was loud in the silence. The dress slithered over her curves, puddling at her feet, leaving her once again in just her stockings. She took a step away from him, stretched, freed her hair from its pins so it spilled around her shoulders. "It's beautiful here," she said, her hands curling around the wrought iron of the balcony rail. "Not as beautiful as you," he said, voice thick and low. She shivered as much from that as she did from the cool air across her breasts that tightened her nipples. Strong hands curled around her hips, held her still, and she smiled. "Flatterer." Harry slid his hands along her waist, then up, cupping her breasts with a touch that was both reverential and incredibly, provocatively, possessive. "Karl would tell you that I wouldn't know how to flatter anyone if given a road map." Monica conceded the point with an incline of her head, then shivered as his thumbs brushed up against her nipples. "You're still wearing too much." He merely lifted an eyebrow. "I believe you know what to do about that." "So you're going to make me work for it?" she scoffed, but smiled as she flattened her hands on his chest. Harry just returned the smile and said nothing. Circling one nail around a button, she frowned a little, pretending to be cross. "This is a lovely shirt. It would be a shame to ruin it." "It would." Her eyes flicked up to his. "Fuck it," she said, fingers grasping the front of his shirt and giving a sharp yank that sent buttons flying. "I'll replace it." His eyes flashed, hot and dark, as she pulled the shirt and jacket over his arms. The garments fell to the balcony in an unnoticed heap. She was slightly more careful with his slacks, but not by much. When he finally stood naked before her, she let out a small sound of satisfaction. In all of her centuries, she still had yet to meet the man that rivaled Harry for sheer physical beauty. Although, she inwardly admitted, she'd always been biased where he was concerned. "I won't break, you know," he told her, echoing what he'd told her that long ago night when they'd first met, and she let out a laugh, pleased that he remembered as she did. "Good," she purred, rubbing her hands over him, testing firm muscle, sleek skin. "Because I have many plans for you." "As long as they involve us naked in as many positions as we can imagine," he said, stomach contracting as her nails trailed down his skin. "Oh, they do," she breathed. Then she pushed, guiding him backwards into the room and to the bed. Her eyes roamed over him with each step, greedy for the sight of his body moving, muscles flexing. Another not quite gentle shove pushed him onto the bed. "And some we can't imagine." "Love the way you think, bella," Harry said, hands framing her face as she sank to her knees between his legs. "Ti amo, tesoro," she told him, kissing his palm before allowing him to guide her to his cock. She loved that he was so impatient for her mouth on him. And, if she was being truthful, she was just as impatient. She flicked her tongue out, teasing them both, relearning his taste. And inwardly smiled at his low growl. //Patience, amore mio. As you said to me, I'm indulging myself.// //Indulge faster.// This time, she allowed the laugh to spill free, hummed her delight along his length as she closed her lips over him, slid down slowly, inch by tortuous inch. The weight of him was glorious, familiar, welcome. She wouldn't let so much time go by without this again. One hand curled tight in her hair, pulling hard enough to make her wince. She simply hummed again, taking him deep in her throat before easing back to swirl her tongue around the head. //I won't break, either, you know.// Granted the permission she knew he'd been waiting for, he muttered under his breath and flexed his hips. The action slid his cock back down her throat, and she hollowed her cheeks around him, moving with each shift of his body. Her fingers toyed with his balls, relearning their weight and texture as she lavished his cock with every bit of skill she'd acquired over the centuries. When she finally lifted her head, her throat was bruised and sore and raw. She slid back up his body, kissing and licking over every scar, every bit of skin she could reach, encouraged by his throaty growls and groans of encouragement. He was so beautiful like this, at her mercy, in her control, and, as always, she felt blessed that she was one of the very few people that got to see him thus. "I think perhaps I will keep you tied to the bed for the month," she said, scraping her fangs along his shoulder, tasting sweat and the ever-present faint hint of clove. He skimmed his hands through her hair, along her back. "I wouldn't object." "At least not until you wanted to tie me to the bed," she countered, nibbling on his earlobe as she wrapped herself around him. "There is that." His hands caught her hips, shifted her around until she was fully in his lap. "The idea of you completely at my mercy while I have my way with you does have its appeal." "You wouldn't have to tie me to the bed for that, tesoro." "I doubt you'd stay put, even if ordered. You're far from passive in bed, bella." In one smooth motion, he rolled them both over so that he was on top of her. His grin was positively wolfish as he looked down. "It's one of your more endearing qualities." "Is it now?" She wrapped her legs around him and pushed against the backs of his thighs. "Perhaps you should take the hint." "Perhaps I should." The next moment, he slid deep inside her, started a slow, steady rhythm that was both maddening and perfect. She met him halfway with each thrust, met each kiss, gave him her pleasure, and demanded his in return. He knew every spot to touch - how hard to press, how long to linger - and she returned every caress. She was as familiar with his body as she was her own, and it was an easy thing to spur him on, to drive him into a frenzy, until the slow and steady rhythm was hard and fast, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the room. It wasn't long before she cried out, another orgasm ripping through her, intensified by his fangs piercing her flesh. She could feel Harry's orgasm as acutely as her own, could practically taste her blood on his lips as another sharp wave of pleasure swept over her, left her battered in its wake. Dimly, she was aware of Harry licking the small wounds closed, then nuzzling her neck, but she was too busy trying to draw air into deprived lungs to pay too much attention to much else. It didn't help that Harry was pretty much a dead weight on top of her. Not that she would dream of moving him or telling him to move. //Truly, you'll be the death of me one day.// //If dying of pleasure in your arms is my end, I don't think I'd mind.// She pressed a kiss to sweat-damp hair. "You've become a poet in the last few months." Chuckling, Harry rolled to his side, hand splaying across her stomach. "That's hardly poetry." "It's poetry if I say it is," she said. She managed to give him her best arrogant look, perfected over the centuries, but the effect was ruined when he leaned in and gave her a heated, wet kiss. When he lifted his head, she stared at him, struggling to remember the thread of their conversation. "Something wrong?" "No, nothing...have you eaten?" When he grinned, she put her hand over his mouth and gave him a look. "Real food, tesoro." "Are you offering to cook?" "I could be persuaded." "What do you call what I've been doing?" he asked, giving her a friendly leer. "Incorrigible," she replied, but gave him another kiss before rolling out of bed. "I hope you left instructions for the kitchen to be stocked." "Of course," he replied, and rolled to his back, hands tucked under his head as he watched her. "There are robes in the bathroom." That comment earned him another look. One hand on her hip, Monica swept the other down the front of her body. "And cover this?" "You're right," Harry said, flashing her one of the most lecherous grins she'd ever seen. "I don't know what I was thinking." "Clearly you weren't," she tossed over her shoulder. As she went through the door, she added an extra wiggle to her walk. "If you feel so inclined, you may join me." "Oh, I may, may I?" "I need someone to chop mushrooms and chicken," she told him, then headed down the stairs to the spacious kitchen. It was culinary dream, with stainless steel appliances, mixing bowls and pans, and an exquisite set of Global G-2 chef's knives in one of the drawers. When Monica opened the cabinets and the refrigerator, she was pleasantly surprised to see that many of her favorite staples were in stock. She should have no issue with keeping them well-fed on the days that they chose not to go out. "Do you have everything you need?" Monica turned and watched in appreciation as Harry walked into the room, still naked and absolutely breath-taking. One day, she just might get used to the sight of him. But she sincerely hoped that day was far off. "Now I do," she replied. "Sometimes," Harry murmured, moving to press her against the counter, his arms easily circling her waist, "you are too easy to please." "You only say that when you're getting your way." She playfully pushed at his chest. As delicious as it was to have him pressed against her, there were other things to consider. "None of that. Your job is to chop ingredients for me." A quick kiss and then he released her. "Your wish, m'lady." She watched as he pulled the mushrooms and chicken from the refrigerator, her eyes lingering as he tested a knife and then began to neatly slice the items in front of him. "I see you've taken the lessons I've given you to heart." "I take everything you tell me to heart." "Now I know you're simply toying with me," she laughed, filling a pan with water to put on the stove to boil. She grabbed fresh spinach and a clove of garlic from the refrigerator, then nimbly started going through the spices arrayed on the counter. "On the contrary," Harry replied. "I may not always agree with you, but I always listen." Her fingers paused above a bottle and she slanted him a look from the corner of her eye. Considering his words, she knew he was right. No matter how silly or frivolous, he had never once dismissed anything she'd said. Argued with her, yes -- and often (and, frankly, she wouldn't have had it any other way) -- but dismissed? No. Turning a little, she gave him a frank appraisal. "I can't imagine there are many women you could say that about, are there?" "Liv, my mother, Diane...Lauren." He paused, took a small, telling breath. "Not like there are many men on the list, either." And there it was. The one person she'd been hoping he'd bring up. "You never talk about her anymore." "Who?" She barely resisted the urge to hit him. Stubborn man. "Don't play coy, it doesn't suit you. I miss her, too, you know." He didn't look up as he resumed his task. "I know you do." "Sometimes, I do not think that you do." As much as it killed her to cause him pain, she knew this was needed. It was well past time. Lauren had truly been one of the brightest women Monica had ever met, and she knew, in her heart of hearts, that Lauren would not have wanted to see her beloved father suffering like this. "Sometimes...well, sometimes, I think you would keep her all to yourself. We all feel her absence." Carefully and deliberately, Harry set the knife down. Hands braced on the counter, head down, he took a deep breath. "Monica --" "No, Harry," she said, voice low, moving to rest light fingers on his wrist. "It's been over ten years, and I think you've mentioned her perhaps a dozen times to me. And then only when I bring her up. I've no doubt you do the same with Karl, and he was every bit a parent to her. If you never talk about her, tesoro, you'll start to forget her." He shook his head. His voice was unsteady when he replied, "I could never forget her. She was my daughter." "Then you know that she would hate that you keep her bottled inside. That you never share your memories. That you never want to hear about the memories the rest of us have of her." She continued, relentless, even as she felt him tremble under her hands. This was so much more important than his reticence. "We all loved her. And if we're never allowed to mention her, then we will all start to forget." Wordlessly, he turned in her arms, clutching her in a tight grip. She held him close, soothed him as best she could with soft touches and softer words, letting him know that she was with him, now and always. Finally, after a long while, he lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, voice gruff with unshed tears. "It's been so long, I've forgotten how to share her." She knew what the admission cost him. "Then I'll help you remember how," she murmured, hands framing his face as she held his gaze. A warm smile curved her lips. "Tell me of her first steps." He blinked, and a soft chuckle escaped her. "Her first steps?" "You must start somewhere," she said, gently turning him back to the cutting board, "and where better than one of the best loved memories of any parent?" She watched as he started to smoothly chop the garlic. "I...I wasn't actually in the room." "You told me you were." "No, Karl told you I was." He flashed her a mischievous smile. "I simply never bothered to correct him. I think he felt guilty that he was there and I wasn't." She shook her head. It didn't surprise her. Karl was notoriously protective of everything about Harry. "So, tell me what really happened, then." "I was going over some papers with my solicitor," he said, knife flashing as it moved across the board. "Karl was in the other room with Lauren, keeping her occupied after she woke from her nap." "Baby-sitting," she chuckled, and he grinned again. "Something like that. He told me later that she'd screwed up her little face into the most determined look he'd ever seen and then let go of the chair. She made it three steps before she lost her balance." He paused, looking up at Monica with a more serious look. "As fast as I was, I missed those steps. I got there in time to see her push herself up and try again." "Then you were there for the most important part," Monica replied, with equal seriousness. "You were there when she needed you and your encouragement most." Harry offered a rueful smile, and pushed the cutting board her way. "Needless to say, both Karl and I were fighting back tears the entire time. And Lauren...she couldn't have been more proud of herself. You should have seen her." "She did have both of you wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born," Monica acknowledged. She'd never met a more devoted set of parents. Both Harry and Karl had been so determined that Lauren would never feel her mother's absence. "From the moment Diane told me she was expecting. You know how rare it is that we're gifted with children of our blood. She was a miracle from the start." "I know." And if Monica still felt a slight pang that she'd never had a child of her own blood in all of her centuries, it was fast buried. She had a blessed life. It was best not to dwell on what would never be. "You know..." Harry paused. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him this hesitant. "Orlando's asked why...if I've thought of doing it again." Her breath caught in her throat at both the words and his small, sad smile. A quick flick of her tongue over suddenly dry lips, and she forced herself to take the cutting board and slide the ingredients into the waiting pan. "And you told him what?" "I told him that you've offered to try, but that I'm not ready." She allowed herself the small, brief flash of disappointment, but ruthlessly suppressed it a moment later. She knew how he felt. She knew better than anyone. But still... "It's alright," she told him, forcing her lips into a small smile. "It's a big step. You should be certain before taking it." His eyes, alert and bright, seemed to see into her core. "I know you want biological children, love. You shouldn't let me stop you from trying." All of the air in her lungs left her in a single breath. "Am I so obvious?" "Not to the rest of the world, no." He stepped behind her, wrapped strong arms around her waist, and she leaned back into him. "But, I know you better than the rest of the world." "Infuriating man," she said, feeling his answering chuckle vibrate through her body. "Anyway, after all this time, I've come to accept that it may never happen. It's not like we've ever been careful, tesoro." "True, but we've never really tried, either," he conceded. "You know there are steps that should be taken before a female vampire tries to conceive." "I know the steps. And the risks." And she knew that she could have had her pick of men willing to father her a child, if she chose. But she didn't want just anyone's child. The various mortals she'd adopted as her own over the centuries – each one loved, each one mourned when their time came – would have to be enough. "Easy, love." Gentle lips brushed the side of her neck, then Harry turned her to face him. "If you want a child of your own --" "Harry --" A finger touched her lips, silencing her. "You know I may never change my mind about this." Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin and his finger fell away. "Never is a very long time, my love," she replied, voice soft and firm, "and time is something we have plenty of." "I never knew it meant so much to you." "That's a good thing, no, that we're still able to surprise each other?" She finally turned back to the stove. "I think now, however, we should speak of other things. Our first night together should be joyous, not a solemn affair." She felt fleeting fingers on her back as Harry moved away. "As the lady wishes." "The lady," she said, as she began to stir the mixture in the pan, "wishes for food. So she has the strength to tie you to the bed and have her way with you." "Is that right?" "Yes." A quick glance over her shoulder and Monica nodded. "So chop." Harry sketched a salute, and she had to fight back giggles over how silly he looked, standing there naked, knife in one hand, saluting with the other. Truly she could be happy with just this. Onto Slumming
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