The Raven (The Florentine #1)(74)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

He traced her cheekbone with his finger. “It will be the greatest evening of your life, I swear it.”

Raven closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

The music shifted and her laptop began playing Madeleine Peyroux’s “Dance Me to the End of Love.”

“I like this,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “I never listen to modern music.”

He traced the V-neck of her T-shirt, his finger descending to just above the curve of her breasts.

She grabbed his wrist.

“Are you positive the illustrations you have are original?”

“Yes.” His eyebrows knitted together in irritation. “Forget about them. You’re the only work of art I’m interested in.”

He brought his lips to her throat.

Raven knew she was fighting a losing battle. His touch was light but sensuous, leaving a scorched trail across her skin.

No one had ever made her feel this way before. She felt as if he were drawing away her resolve, little by little, and soon there would be nothing left.

“You have to give them back.”

William lifted his head.

“Absolutely not.”

“You own a lot of beautiful things,” she said quietly. “Don’t you want to share them?”

“No. And I’d rather not discuss them, especially when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“This is the dance of love. Men and women have been doing it for centuries. What did you think was happening between us?”

“No one ever looked at me with . . . desire.” She fumbled her words, embarrassed.

“Because human beings are shallow, ignorant creatures.” He lifted his eyebrows, as if daring her to contradict him.

Her eyes dropped to her hands, which were gripping the quilt. “You don’t mean love, you mean sex.”

He frowned. “I am not capable of love, Cassita. No vampyre is.”

He lifted his hand and ran it through her hair.

“But I am capable of tenderness, I think, at least with you. Can’t that be enough?”

Raven fought the urge to wince.

Perhaps these had been the words William spoke centuries earlier to the woman who jumped from the bell tower. For her, it had not been enough.

Raven had always discounted love, thinking it wasn’t possible for her. She wondered bleakly if William was offering her the best she could do.

She moved toward the head of the bed, putting space between them.

“Let’s not talk about love, okay? It’s ridiculous to have that conversation when we barely know one another.”

William’s expression tightened, but he did not disagree.

“Would sex bond us?” she asked.

“Bond us?”

“You mentioned something once about vampyres bonding.”

He shook his head. “That bond is through the intake of blood.”

“Oh.”

“The sexual act unifies the two, unless the parties will that it doesn’t.”

“So is that what you’d do? You’d have sex with me, but will that it didn’t bring us closer together?”

“I never said that.” His eyes took on a strange light.

Raven didn’t want to consider what that meant.

“Getting back to the illustrations, since they’re original, why don’t you share them with the world? The way the Emersons did?”

William stood, placing his hands on his hips. “Don’t mention the name of those thieves. They stole from me and they’re going to pay for it.”

At that moment, Raven was almost grateful for William’s anger. It was a great deal easier for her to deal with than his hands on her body. But she found his response distressing.

“You’re talking about a man and his wife and child. You wouldn’t harm them, would you?”

His expression remained unchanged.

“The Emersons weren’t alive a hundred years ago,” she persisted. “They didn’t break into your house.”

“That is no excuse.”

“They’re a young family with a baby. I don’t know the professor, but I met his wife. She told me they’re going to adopt a child from the Franciscan orphanage.”

Something shifted in William’s eyes, but he didn’t speak.

“It’s true. They’re going to adopt a little girl who has special needs. I volunteer at that orphanage. I know Maria. No one wants her. If you kill the Emersons, that little girl will never have a family.”

William clenched his jaw.

“That is not my concern. I cannot tolerate thievery. If the others realize I let this go, it will weaken my authority.”

“Can’t you strengthen your authority in other ways? Find out who stole from you originally?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Then leave the Emersons alone.”

“Never,” he said haughtily, moving toward her bedroom door.

“William,” she called. “I need to tell you something.”

“Proceed.” His tone was cold but his eyes radiated concern.

“I think it’s obvious I’m attracted to you. And I—” She struggled for the words. “I feel something for you.”

She held up her hand. “Not love. I’m not sure love is for me, anyway. But if you harm the Emersons, whatever is between us will end. I can’t condone punishing the innocent for someone else’s crime, especially a mother and child.”

“I’ve already decided not to harm the family,” William responded primly. “But Emerson received stolen property. That hardly makes him innocent.”

Raven’s eyebrows knitted together. “Do you think whoever sold him the illustrations revealed they’d been stolen? The Swiss family probably wasn’t even alive when they were taken from you.”

“I want justice.”

“In your justice, don’t forget mercy.”

William’s gaze moved inexplicably to the kitchen, then back to Raven.

He said nothing.

“If you’re intending to hurt Professor Emerson, take this back.” She picked up the gold bracelet from her nightstand and held it out to him. “I don’t want it.”

He scowled darkly. “It’s for your protection.”

“Which I no longer want.”

“You wanted it badly enough a few minutes ago.” William sounded bitter. “I see you return gifts from men with practiced ease.”

“Men don’t give me gifts.”