When he had his hunger under control again, he met her gaze. "I want you," he said quietly. "I want all of you."
She took another step backward. "What does that mean? All of me?"
"What do you think it means?"
"I don't want to know." She crossed her arms under her breasts in a timeless gesture of self-defense. "I think we'd better go back to the apartment."
"Do you think you will be safer there?"
"Rourke, you're scaring me."
Unable to resist the way she looked in the moonlight, he moved slowly toward her, hating himself for his weakening control, for the fear that he smelled on her skin.
"Rourke." She stared up at him through fathomless blue eyes. "Don't. Please, don't."
"One kiss." He backed her against a low stone wall. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart, smell the crimson nectar that flowed through her veins, hot and sweet. "One taste."
"You won't stop at one," she said breathlessly. "I know you won't. Please, Rourke..."
His hands folded over her shoulders. Drawing her body against his, he took a deep breath. "I can smell your sweetness."
"Don't." She placed her palms against his chest to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "I'm afraid...."
"One taste," he said again, and lowering his head, he nuzzled her neck, just below her ear.
Kari gasped as his tongue swept over her skin. She felt a familiar pressure, but no pain, and then there was only the same pleasurable warmth she had experienced before. Soul-deep, heart-stopping sensual pleasure.
She surrendered with a sigh, her arms sliding down to wrap around his waist. What had she been afraid of? He had taken her blood before; she hadn't been afraid then. But this time was different. Maybe it had been the eerie red glow in his eyes. Maybe it had been the way he said, "I want all of you." Or maybe it had been the look in his eyes when he said it.
But none of that mattered now.
Rourke groaned low in his throat. Sweet, so sweet. He had tasted the blood of hundreds of mortals, men and women alike, but none had soothed his hunger or satisfied his unearthly craving as did the woman in his arms. The heat of her body warmed his, the fragrance of her hair and skin aroused his desire, making him yearn to lay her down and bury himself deep within her.
With an effort of will, he drew back. He would have her, he thought. One night soon, he would have her. But this was not the time or the place.
Holding her close, he willed them back to the apartment.
Chapter 14
Kari tossed and turned all that night, her mind in turmoil. She was troubled by her growing affection for Rourke, frightened by the fact that his drinking her blood didn't disgust her more than it did, and even more upset by her growing curiosity about what it would be like to be a vampire. She was also worried about his plans to free Ana Luisa the next night, getting the girl back to the States with no one being the wiser, and what they were going to do with the wizard's daughter, assuming they were able to smuggle her out of Romania.
Kari wasn't sure why she was so worried about the girl. Rourke had managed to adapt to the twenty-first century pretty well; maybe she was worrying about the girl's ability to adjust to her new surroundings for nothing.
And maybe, if she was honest with herself, she would admit that she was just plain jealous of the girl. Ana Luisa was young, she was beautiful, she had been intimate with Rourke, and she was obviously infatuated with him.
With a shake of her head, Kari flopped over on her stomach and commanded herself to go to sleep.
It didn't work, of course.
Rolling onto her side, she stared into the unfamiliar darkness, wishing that she had never set foot in the Underwood Art Gallery and never seen that blasted painting. It had turned her whole life upside down. And now, like it or not, she was falling in love with a vampire. And how stupid was that? She didn't know what Rourke's plans were once they got back home, but somehow she couldn't picture the two of them settling down together in a cozy little vine-covered cottage.
She punched her fist into her pillow. It just wasn't fair!
She closed her eyes again and willed herself to sleep. She was drifting when, from out of nowhere, she found herself wondering how many other vampires were wandering around the countryside and since vampires were real, did that mean there were other mythical creatures like werewolves and zombies lurking in the shadows?
It was not a thought conducive to a good night's sleep.
Rourke wandered aimlessly through the night. He had found the museum where Ana Luisa's painting was housed without any trouble. In spite of the rigid security that protected the building, he hadn't had any trouble getting inside. He had stayed only long enough to locate the painting and determine the night watchman's routine.
And now he roamed the darkness, remembering the years he had spent in this city. Though many of the buildings remained, life as he had known it no longer existed. Filled with bittersweet memories, he found himself wondering how long it would take him to feel at ease in this century.
And what of Ana Luisa? What was he to do with her? It would probably be wiser to leave her where she was. Vilnius would know the moment the spell binding his daughter had been broken. Would he also know who had freed her? Would Vilnius come looking for her? Rourke had no desire to confront the wizard a second time, yet, in spite of that, he couldn't leave Ana to her fate, not when he could help her, even when it might mean putting Karinna's life in danger, as well.
Muttering an oath, he stalked the dark streets, inwardly cursing the streak of innate gallantry that refused to let him abandon the wizard's daughter to her fate. Though he hadn't prayed in years, he prayed that he would be strong enough to protect Ana Luisa and Karinna from the wizard's wrath, that he would emerge victorious if he and Vilnius faced each other again.
Kari spent the following day sightseeing. Overwhelmed by the intricate beauty of the ancient buildings, she found herself stopping time and again to admire one edifice after another. She bought a few souvenirs for herself, as well as a delicate teapot and six matching cups for her mother. She also picked up a Dracula shot glass for Mel, a bloodred scarf for Tricia, and numerous postcards of different landmarks, because she'd left her camera in her suitcase.
She browsed a few more gift shops, then ate lunch at a quaint sidewalk cafe, where she spent an hour sipping coffee and people watching. And all the while, she wondered where Rourke was spending the day.
She took a long walk, went to a movie with English subtitles, enjoyed a leisurely dinner, and then drove back to her apartment, her tension mounting with each passing moment.
Where was he? How long would he wait before he freed Ana Luisa from the painting? Was he there, even now? What would the girl's reaction be when she realized that she had been imprisoned for three hundred years? Kari frowned. What if, after all the trouble they had gone to, Ana Luisa didn't want to leave Romania? Would Rourke agree to let her stay here, alone, or would he stay to look after her?
Kari sighed. If he stayed here, her life would quickly go back to normal, as in incredibly boring and mundane, she thought ruefully. Still, it might be for the best.
Sitting by the window, Kari tried to read one of the paperbacks she had brought with her, but she couldn't concentrate on the words, could only sit there, waiting and wondering when Rourke and the wizard's daughter would arrive.
She stretched her arms and back, moved her head from side to side, then settled back in the chair again. She had never known the hours and minutes to pass so slowly. Time and again she glanced at her watch, willing the hands to move faster. She hated waiting. Why hadn't she insisted that Rourke take her with him? At least then she would know what was going on instead of sitting here waiting and wondering.
What would she do if something happened to Rourke? In spite of the complications he had brought into her life, she could no longer imagine her life without him. Yet she had no idea if he intended to stay with her once he freed Ana Luisa. For all she knew, he had plans of his own that he hadn't seen fit to share with her.
Thrusting the thought aside, she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands. She even tried reading it aloud, but it didn't help. She couldn't think of anything but Rourke and the wizard's daughter.
Rourke paced the shadows listening to the footsteps of the night watchman as he made his way from one end of the museum to the other. He had no trouble tracking the man's whereabouts.
Pausing near the back entrance, he wondered idly what it was like to be an old man, to endure the aches and pains of age, to have one's health and vigor slowly slip away. He could no longer remember what it had been like to be mortal, to be subject to physical ailments, or to endure injuries that didn't heal almost immediately.
At midnight, the old man went down into the basement to have a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee. Moments later, Rourke slipped into the museum. He could have entered the building earlier. He could have hypnotized the watchman and sent him away. Now, making his way toward the wing where Ana Luisa's painting was displayed, he wondered why he hadn't done so. Was it because he was in no hurry to shoulder the responsibility for Ana, or because he didn't want to divide his time between Karinna and Ana? Or because, deep down, he knew that, in freeing the wizard's daughter, he would have to face the wizard again?
Muttering an oath, he turned a corner and entered the wing where Ana waited. He stared at the painting for a moment, thinking how lovely she was, remembering how a few drops of her blood had scorched his tongue. He moved closer to the painting. Was she aware of his presence, or was she deaf and blind to the world around her?
Taking a deep breath, he called her by name.
"Ana Luisa, come to me."
There was a sharp crack as the glass broke in two. Rourke stared in wonder as Ana fell to the floor at his feet, a lovely young woman clad in a flowing white gown.
He knew a sharp stab of fear as she lay there, unmoving, and then, with a shake of her head, she sat up.
She stared up at him for several seconds, her expression blank, and then she frowned. "Jason?" Her voice sounded dry, rusty with disuse. "Jason, is it really you?" she asked in Romanian. "Is the nightmare finally over?"