The Prince (The Florentine 0.5)(10)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

“How old is she?”

“She is of age, my lord, as you can see.” Aoibhe’s dark eyes were shining. “I haven’t forgotten your prohibitions.”

The Prince took a moment to examine the young woman in the flickering candlelight. Her hair appeared silky and fell to her shoulders in honey-colored waves. She had perfect, olive-colored skin and her figure, although slight, was decidedly feminine.

She smelled delicious.

His eyes moved from the woman to Aoibhe.

He could feed from the girl, perhaps even delighting himself by fornicating with her. Then he could couple with Aoibhe for the rest of the day. Sex between members of their kind was also explosive and it had been some time since he’d . . .

He found his thoughts reverting to the Emersons and the passionate, affectionate encounter he’d witnessed at the Uffizi. He remembered Julianne’s face and her happy laughter.

The green specter of jealousy reared its ugly head.

He regarded the young woman, noting her vacant expression and unsmiling mouth. Suddenly, Aoibhe’s virgin lost her luster.

“Your offer is generous but I must decline.”

“We could feed from her together. Or you could watch.” Aoibhe stroked the young woman’s cheek before leaning forward to kiss her.

The Prince observed the two females embrace with undisguised fascination, but his mind was already made up.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m in no mood for diversions. Someone sold secrets to our enemies and colluded with those enemies to have me killed.”

Aoibhe pecked the girl on the lips before wrapping her arm around her waist and moving the girl’s head to lean on her shoulder.

“That is precisely why you need a diversion. You need to clear your mind by nourishing your body and finding release.”

“Soon, perhaps.” His eyes searched hers. “But not now.”

“See how pretty she is. How inviting.” Aoibhe began to undo the buttons of the woman’s blouse, exposing her breasts. “She is wholly unspoiled.”

The Prince was treated to a view of the woman’s perfect chest before Aoibhe embraced her once again, kissing her neck.

Inexplicably, his anger flared.

“I said that’s enough,” the Prince snarled. “Ply your seductive wiles elsewhere. I’m in no mood for them this evening.”

Aoibhe froze, eyes wide, as if his reaction truly surprised her.

“As you wish, my lord.” She bowed meekly and redressed the woman. “We’ll be retiring to my home, should you change your mind.”

The Prince answered with a growl and Aoibhe pulled her young charge through the door, closing it quickly behind them.

With a string of Latin curses, the Prince threw the book he was holding across the room.

Chapter 8

“I think this is the most comfortable bed in the world.” Julianne sighed as she looked up at the stars.

It was the evening after the exhibition opening at the Uffizi. She and her husband were reclined on a large, square banquette situated on the terrace outside their hotel room.

“I think the bed in there is much more comfortable.” The professor gestured through the open doors that led to their suite, before rolling to his side.

He rested his hand on his wife’s lower abdomen.

“We’re exposed out here.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze. “Exposed? That never bothered you before. We’ve made love out here more than once.”

Gabriel’s reaction was veiled.

“What is it?” She placed her hand over his and pressed.

He looked at the sky and took a moment to survey their surroundings, pausing as his eyes were drawn in the direction of the roof.

“There’s something in the air. I don’t know. Something—unsettling.”

Julianne laughed and rolled into him, bringing their bodies together. “It’s going to rain. You can feel it, that’s all.”

Gabriel shook his head. Once again his gaze traveled to the roof. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see atop it.

(Even if he could, the vestiges of the attempted assassination had been washed away.)

“Do you think that you can feel darkness?”

Julianne’s delicate eyebrows arched. “Me, specifically? Or people in general?”

His sapphire eyes met hers. “Either.”

“I don’t know. By the time I felt darkness in the past, something bad had already happened.”

Gabriel muttered a curse and drew her tightly in his arms.

“Darling.” She lifted a hand to his face. “I know that something is troubling you. It’s been troubling you since we were in Umbria. But you can’t give in to the darkness. You have to rage against it.”

He gave her a half smile. “An oblique allusion to Dylan Thomas.”

“Which you identified easily, Professor.” She stroked the stubble on his chin.

“There’s something unsettling . . .” he repeated, his voice trailing off.

“Then let me settle you. We have this terrace all to ourselves and this beautiful, comfortable bed.”

She kissed him temptingly, teasing him with her tongue.

“Make love to me beneath the stars, Gabriel,” she whispered.

He pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I would give you anything, just to make you smile. But tonight, let me love you indoors.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, his sapphire eyes serious. “Please.”

She kissed him once again and took his hand, leading him through the terrace doors and into the bedroom.

Gabriel locked the doors behind them and pulled the curtains, proceeding to light candles around the room.

Julia retreated to one of the bathrooms in order to slip into something seductive.

They didn’t always have music playing in the background when they made love. Many of their couplings were spontaneous. But on this night, Gabriel chose to play the series of songs they’d listened to the first time they’d visited Florence together, when she’d given her virginity to him.

Julia heard the gentle voice of Matthew Barber fill the air as she admired herself in the mirror. She’d chosen a long nightgown in black silk. The gown had a slit on one side, which exposed a shapely leg, and she’d added thigh-high sheer black stockings.

Because her husband had a thing for her in high heels, she slipped into a pair of black patent stilettos before she exited the bathroom.

Her husband was reclining on the bed, shirtless, clad only in his favorite pair of worn, faded jeans.