Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

She’d dismissed him? But hadn’t he just assured her that he would be discrete? That nothing of their affair would reach Venetian society’s ears?

“Signora? I don’t understand. As I’ve just assured you, my discretion is unparalleled. Nothing of our affair will seep—”

“Affair?” she shrieked and took a step back. “You thought I was proposing an affair?” Her bosom heaved, and her cheeks colored that beautiful shade of red again. And not only that. He could see the vein at her neck throb. It was a sight that made him want to sling her over his shoulder, throw her onto the nearest flat surface and toss up her skirts before he fucked her and sank his fangs—

“I advise you to leave my house immediately. I’m a respectable woman, not a trollop.”

The indignation in her voice gave him pause. It appeared his challenge wouldn’t be as easy to win as he had assumed.

He bowed again as he retreated. For now. He would figure out a way to win her—sooner rather than later.

The gondolier was awaiting him at the dock. “Signore, where to?”

Raphael stepped into the boat and took a seat before he gave the man an address close to his house. He was careful never to disclose his actual location to anybody. His life depended on it.

“Very well, Signore.”

Raphael leaned back and let his thoughts drift back to Isabella. Why he’d suddenly thought she was making him an offer to start an intimate affair, he could only blame on what had happened in her bedchamber. Why take him there, undress him, most likely fondle him while he was unconscious, when she had no intention of going through with it?

And why had she dressed that provocatively when she’d taken care of him? Why not remain in her prim and proper dress? Because all her scandalous attire had done was provoke him into kissing her. Damn that kiss. He couldn’t forget it, no matter how brief it had been. He could still taste her on his tongue.

“We’re here, Signore.” The gondolier pulled up alongside a dock.

Raphael looked up at the man. “If you’d wait here for a few minutes for me to retrieve some coin, I would like to reward you for saving my life.”

The gondolier gave him a startled look. “But, Signore, I wasn’t the one who jumped into the water to pull you out.”

“Then who was?” He stared at the man, but the gondolier hesitated.

“I’m sorry, I’ve misspoken,” the man claimed.

Raphael could see a lie when it hit him in the face. Suspicion crept up his spine. He raised his voice. “Who jumped into the canal to rescue me?”

The gondolier lowered his gaze. “The Signora.”

Shock coursed through Raphael’s body. Isabella had braved the cold waters of the canal to save him? “Signora Tenderini?”

“Yes, Signore. She was the one who saved your life.”

***

Isabella sighed deeply. She hadn’t been able to go through with it. More than anything, she’d wanted to ask him to conduct an affair with her, a very discrete, very short affair, just so she was reminded of what it was like to sleep with a man’s arms around her body. But the thought that they would be discovered at some point had made her hold back.

Her late husband’s cousin Massimo was keeping close watch on her, always trying to find a way to take from her what her husband had left her: his merchant business. As a male relative, he’d expected to inherit after his death. Yet, her beloved Giovanni had had other designs. He’d always seen her for what she was: a strong and intelligent woman more than capable of running a business by herself. His will had said as much.

After being left out in the cold, Massimo had taken it upon himself to pry into her personal life and dig up any dirt there was to find. There was none. She’d been virtuous before her marriage and remained virtuous after Giovanni’s death. If she slipped only once, Massimo would be there to take advantage. He’d spread the gossip amongst Venetian society and make certain not only she but also her business was shunned. She knew it was his plan. Once she was down and cast out of polite society, he would take the business off her hands for a pittance.

No, she could never let herself slip and give into the desires that had started boiling up in her. Only another marriage would do. However, she’d not met any man since Giovanni’s death who she even remotely wanted as a husband.

And the scoundrel who’d just left her house? He was not the kind of man who’d make an offer for a decent woman like her. She had seen it in his eyes: the lust, the passion, the heat. All he wanted was to satisfy his carnal urges, to tumble her. And even if she hadn’t seen it in his eyes, his words had made it clear. He’d expected an affair.