For the Bite of It (16 page)

Yeah, if his mother only knew the truth about the two of them.

John went to get up but his mom beat him to it. Before he could move, she was already greeting Vincent at the door, and leading him to the table where he set down the box.

Vincent was all charming smiles, the bastard.

The boys stopped in the middle of their tumbling and a high pitch scream of delight filled the air as Allie flew into Vincent’s arms. The boys ran to the cupcakes and peered inside of the box. Vincent bent down and ruffled Johnny’s hair. Even his dad got into the act, walking up and shaking Vincent’s hand.

John wondered if this was how it felt to be in the
Twilight Zone
. When the hell had his family become pals with the baker? Obviously, they didn’t know he was a gay man and wanted to fuck their son in the ass. They wouldn’t be so friendly if this became common family gossip. After a short wave of his hand to Vincent, John tried to ignore the family scene, focusing instead on picking apart the label on his beer bottle.

Julie stepped into the yard carrying a bowl and glanced his way, her forehead wrinkling. She hesitated for a moment, and then headed for the table where she set down the container. She said a few words to Vincent, and then took his hand, dragging him over to Rob.

Vincent didn’t look his way after the first glance. Good, he didn’t have to pretend to be friendly. He was damn angry with him. Anger he understood, but not these other unsettling emotions making his stomach queasy.

He pulled out his cell phone and waved it at Julie. “Gotta take this,” he lied, then strode around the house to the small alley, where he stopped and paced, then paced some more. He tried to catch his breath. It somehow got lodged in his throat when Vincent had shown up.

He clung to his anger. He couldn’t be with a man who kept secrets. He had enough to go around for both of them.

“John?” A hand settled on his shoulder and stopped him cold.

Vincent’s silky voice made his heart ache. Everything about Vincent made him ache.

He turned and his breath caught being so close to that beautiful lying face.

“Good, you’re leaving.”

“Yes, I am. I know you’re uncomfortable with me here. You’re lucky. You have a wonderful family.”

John heard the wistfulness in Vincent’s voice and the ache in his chest tightened. He reached to stroke Vincent’s cheek. What the hell…he wanted…

He turned away.

God, he wanted Vincent.

“You better leave.”

Vincent gave a short nod. “Listen, I don’t want to come between you and your family, but we’ll talk about this later.” His voice dropped even lower. “You can’t waltz into the bakery, love me like no one has ever done
amante
, and then waltz out of my life again.”

Words stuck in John’s throat as he watched Vincent walk away.

Didn’t Vincent know there was nothing left to discuss?

It didn’t matter that the sun almost blinded Vince. His eyes were already obscured with the fine sheen of unmanly tears. He felt along the sun-flap for his glasses and swerved between lanes when Angelo materialized in the passenger seat.

“
Cazzo
! Give a man some warning, won’t you?”

“Are you completely insane?” Angelo’s voice held none of its easy banter.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That back there.” Angelo jerked his thumb behind him. “There are no white picket fences for the likes of you and me.”

Vince uttered a harsh laugh. “You think I don’t know that? While it may have escaped your notice, I
am
older than you.”

“And still so foolish,” shot back Angelo. “You always fall hard and fast, don’t you?”

“Go to hell.”

“If the
J
finds out about your John, you know his life will be in danger.”

Of course he knew. What the hell did Angelo think all this angst was about?

“Who’s going to tell them? You?”

“For shame. I would never betray you. But I’m not the only eyes and ears they have out here.”

It was hopeless. He’d known this from the start. Then why was he falling apart at the thought of never touching John again? And that was no excuse for insulting a friend who had stood by him at the worst of times.

“I’m sorry. I know you would never harm me, or ones I loved.”

With the simple statement Vince knew he had hit the crux of the matter. Somehow, somewhere, when he hadn’t been looking, he had fallen in love.

The only way to get the
J
off his trail and not find about John would be to agree to work for them.

“Angelo, tell the
Jurisdictio
I want to meet with them.”

Thirty minutes later, Vince tugged on the thigh-length tunic edged with silver. Light blue for his place as heir. If he ever ascended to the Council, his tunic would be exchanged for one in dark blue velvet.

The young vamp attending the entrance to the Council Chambers gave Vince a nervous nod and opened the ornate doors. Vince stepped inside, the familiar smell of the slightly musty room and the Holy Basil that grew in numerous pots placed around the periphery, assaulting his senses. Loss, sharp and bitter rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders and walked up the podium where the ten
J
members sat.

“Who comes before the
Jurisdictio
?
”
asked another attendant, in the ancient language only used on formal occasions.

“I, Vincent Esposito. I come at the behest of the esteemed
Jurisdictio
.” The old language rolled off his tongue as if he had never stopped speaking it.

“Vincent, we have asked you to come before us on a matter of great importance.”

Vincent stood back and listened to the old vampire drone on and on about the rebels, the safety of the clan, the duty of the Heir apparent to take on this task. At last, he ran out of words or air. Vincent waited for permission to respond.

“Speak, Vince,” said the youngest member, earning himself a glare from a couple of the others.

“I have considered your offer. Respectfully, I cannot do it—.” A gasp interrupted him. Vince paused, then continued. “Unless I am given back my powers.” He looked at the head of the
J
. “All of them.”

Questions flew at him, asking why he needed all his powers, and whether he thought he deserved them. He answered in quiet tones, respect for their position tingeing his voice. He had a purpose here. He wanted his powers back so that, if the
J
ever came after John, Vince could protect him. No way was he going to give them a reason to back off.

Hours later, or so it seemed, they agreed. He checked off his skills one by one, just to be sure. Teleporting, strength, sensing, the ability to cast glamour and influence thoughts. All of it.

The purple and gold clad priest, who had intoned the words that cut Vince off from his power, was summoned. He lit the incense contained inside the oval box with a pattern of circular holes. As the priest walked around Vince, swinging the carved chain on which the incense hung, the smoke curled in grey wisps around Vince. It tickled his nose and he bit his lip to stop his sneeze. What if that one action broke the undoing of the spell that bound his power?

He wanted his powers back so badly he could taste the strength of the desire that had coated the back of throat and his chest and his thoughts for the past year.

The priest began chanting in the old language of the vampire clan. His sing-song tone became louder and louder, rising to the solid wood rafters that help up the ceiling of the ancient hall that had probably seen many a ceremony like this. The singing rose to a crescendo, held, and died away.

“It is done,” said the priest and left, taking his smoking incense chamber with him.

Vince’s pride demanded that he not test his powers in the face of the people who had taken them away from him. Feigning a nonchalance that was as far away as his bakery was from this world, Vince thanked the
J
, promised to report in at regular intervals and teleported back to his home in Arizona.

Rather anti-climactic that it only took minutes to undo the binding, to replace the missing pieces of his soul.

John drank his Middleton Reserve and ordered a second whisky. He had slipped into a non-descript bar that called his name, its garish neon sign flashing a pink flamingo. He should stop drinking or he’d be calling a taxi.

Licking the runaway drops of liquor from the side of his glass, he let his mind wander down the path of regret. Vincent had left him bittersweet memories. At the bakery, he’d lashed out at the man without evidence, only with a gut feeling. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? He wanted a reason to turn away from Vincent, so he could ignore the confused feelings he had for this man. If he stayed angry then he had to admit how much he cared for Vincent.

The stark hurt in Vincent’s eyes had registered but he didn’t acknowledge it until now. Now he felt like a real shit. And at the party, he’d been no better. He had refused to talk about what happened between them.

Oh, but the sex. Man oh man.

Maybe he should go to Vincent’s house and apologize.

No.

That was exactly the wrong action to take. Not if he wanted to forget the man.

A woman fed the jukebox and Elvis Presley blared from the speakers. The crooner’s deep voice asked if it was a sin to love. It was always about some sappy romance gone wrong.

John clenched his glass as he listened to the lyrics. Could two men fall in love? Was it possible to have a relationship with someone of the same sex? He wanted more than a good fuck but he had no idea how to be with a man.

He didn’t know how to be with a woman either.

It came down to his family. He couldn’t imagine explaining to his brother-in-law he liked dick. And his niece and nephews, he didn’t even want to go there.

Ever.

If he didn’t want to hide in the shadows then he needed a girlfriend, and that wouldn’t be fair, to a woman or to him. So he was fucked no matter which path he chose.

When did he become so hopeless, not being open and honest with people? He’d let a man make love to him. Or that’s what Vincent called it. They hadn’t fucked but they’d been about as intimate as two men could get.

The stark truth was Vincent intrigued him with his sharp mind, his wry sense of humor, and god…his accent sent John over the edge. In bed, Vincent had been gentle at times, his sensual touch making him beg for more. And he
never
begged.

Vincent had been all about making sure John had been aroused and ready to be touched.

Kind.

Yes, Vincent had been kind.

Yet the nagging distrust persisted. Vincent had lied to him. Was it something insidious, or so deep it’d shock him? Something he wouldn’t want to know?

John drank the rest of his scotch, tempted to order another shot.

He thought of Vincent’s intense gaze, almost hypnotic. Those cool silver-blue eyes mesmerized and yet they were haunted. Something very dark and dangerous lurked in them.

A shiver crawled over his skin.

Vincent’s wry manner didn’t fool John. There were shadows in his eyes. The same shadows John had seen in his grandfather’s expression, after losing his wife to cancer.

The bartender wiped the counter and asked if he wanted another whiskey. He shook his head and paid his tab. If he didn’t leave, he’d drink until he couldn’t stand, and there was someplace he needed to be.

And that someplace turned out to be Vincent’s driveway.

Vince appeared in his back garden beside the carob tree. He raised a hand and held onto a low-hanging gnarled branch, the velvet of wet grass scratching his bare feet. His fingers traced the circle of chips in the wood made by the Gila woodpecker that usually visited.

He had done it.

He had just teleported from his kitchen to the yard. He threw back his head and laughed. Closing his eyes, he focused on his study. He felt his consciousness shift, splinter in two, heralding the transport. His body dissolved—sort of like ice cream might dissolve over a cone on a summer day. He lost his hold on his mind. Everything went blank and dark.

Seconds later his feet touched the cool, hard, tiled floor in his study. Opening his eyes, he waited for his vision to clear. The books on the slanted shelf before him took shape, the spines on the ancient texts with their copper and gold tone lettering becoming visible. He closed his eyes and focused on his bedroom where his piano took up a whole corner. Teleporting into the room and appearing beside the sliding glass doors, he watched the polished Bösendorfer come into view with its music sheets. Not moving a step, he lifted a hand and using his power, turned the page on the upright songbook. Page after page, he used telekinesis to flip the paper.

His chest swelled with emotion. Unable to hold it in, he turned to the best way he knew to express himself. Pulling out the stool with a foot, he seated himself at his beloved instrument. Prokokiev’s piano concerto number one came to mind, and he ran his fingers over the black and white keys. The sounds of the
Allegro brioso
in D flat filled the room as his heart overflowed.

Staring at the adobe-style tan house with ten-foot walls around it, only the entrance and a big bay window were visible from where he sat. What the hell was Vincent trying to keep out? The bakery had to be making a profit for Vincent to afford this house.

A man of action, he got out of the car and followed the lighted path. Once at the door, he peered through the side window. A tall figure sauntered past once, then back again in the opposite direction. He refused to skulk on the porch when he could be inside having the most amazing sex he’d had. Ever.

John leaned on the doorbell. The sound of a deep gong echoed.

The door opened and Vincent stood there. John clenched his hands into fists. Not just any Vincent. A to-die-for-Vincent in loose, khaki linen pants tied at the waist in a careless knot. And no shirt, his olive skin glowing in the light of the lamp inside a scrolled metal holder. Dark waves of his hair skimmed his shoulders. He looked like a model in a European ad. He looked…lickable.