Shades of Gray (31 page)

Once she looked over at him, her gaze catching his, and he felt such a rush of desire it almost brought him to his knees. In little more than two weeks, she would be his.

Dinner was served twenty minutes later. Opulent was the only word for the dining room. Crystal and translucent china and gleaming gold flatware reflected the light from the enormous chandelier that hung over the center of the table.

Grigori sat across from Marisa, sandwiched between an elderly matron with blue hair and a young woman he recognized as a television model. Conversation at the table was lively. There was a good deal of laughter mixed with the lobster bisque and the wine. The matron wanted to know if he was eligible; the model wanted to know if he was available later.

He caught Marisa staring at him and shrugged.
Not my fault.

She grimaced at him, then turned to answer a question posed to her by the matron's portly husband.

The meal lasted over an hour. Grigori was uncomfortable, being in such close quarters with so many people. His senses reeled from the sound of so many beating hearts. His nostrils stung with the cloying scent of perfume and aftershave and perspiration. The smell of so much rich food, so many kinds of food, sickened him. He tried to recall the last time he had eaten, the last thing he had eaten, but the memory had been lost in two hundred years. He could scarcely remember what it had been like to eat solid food, to drink anything other than blood and an occasional glass of wine.

He realized Marisa was staring at him, and then he heard her voice in his mind.
Are you all right?

He nodded faintly.
Yes, but I could use some fresh air.

She looked at him, her eyes alight with mischief as she wondered what her companions would think if they knew there was a vampire sharing their table. But the most fun of all was being able to send her thoughts to Grigori, and being able to read his in return.

You're beautiful,
carissima.

And you're very handsome.

I want to make love to you…

She felt a wave
of
color wash into her cheeks. His words sounded so clear in her mind that she glanced around, certain Mr. Abercrombie and the others had heard every word.
Quit it. You're making me blush.

And it's very becoming.

Grigori…

How long do we have to stay?

Until after dinner. We can sneak out then.

After dinner. He had rarely seen so much food at one meal. It just kept coming and coming, trays and platters and covered bowls. His village in Tuscany could have eaten for a week on the food that passed in front of him.

At last, the meal was over and the guests moved into the ballroom. As they filed out of the dining room, Grigori grabbed Marisa by the hand and led her outside, away from the crush of people.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air. And then he pulled Marisa into his arms and kissed her. And kissed her again. And yet again.

"Oh, Grigori, when you kiss me like that — "

"What?" He nuzzled her neck, feeling the pulse racing there. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair and skin, the fragrance of her perfume.

"Don't you know? Can't you feel what I'm feeling?"

"Yes, love," he replied thickly. He felt everything she was feeling, and more. The siren call of the blood flowing in her veins stirred his hunger. He ached with the need to taste her sweetness, felt his fangs lengthen in response to his thoughts.

She sighed and rested her cheek on his chest. "I'm not sure I can wait two weeks."

Fighting to suppress the dark need within him, he took a deep, calming breath, then kissed the tip of her nose.

"But wait we will," he vowed. "You will be my bride when I take you to my bed,
cara mia,
and once you are mine, I will never, never let you go."

She sighed as he kissed her again, certain that a lifetime in his arms would not be long enough.

Music drifted out onto the balcony as the orchestra began to play. Marisa swayed against Grigori.

"Dance with me?" she murmured, and the next thing she knew, his right hand was at her waist, his left hand was holding hers, and they were waltzing.

He danced divinely. It seemed his feet scarcely touched the floor as he twirled her around. He moved gracefully, effortlessly, leading her though the steps as though they had been waltzing together for years.

It was a glorious night. The sky was like a bed of black velvet strewn with a million twinkling lights. They danced for hours, oblivious to everything save each other.

There was a drum roll as midnight approached and the bandleader began the countdown.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Marisa gazed into Grigori's eyes, wondering if he felt the same magic she did, the same sense of wonder.

Seven. Six. Five.

He stroked her cheek with his fingertip, and she felt the touch clear down to her toes.

Four. Three. Two.

One.

"Happy New Year, Grigori," she whispered.

"Happy New Year,
cara mia."

He kissed her gently. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Close your eyes,
cara."

She waited, excitement flowing through her, as he took her hand in his.

"You can open them now," he said, and she watched him slide a ring over her ringer.

"Oh, Grigori," she murmured. "It's beautiful."

She'd never seen a diamond so big in her whole life. She held her hand up, turning it this way and that, watching it reflect the lights from the ballroom.

"You like it?"

"I love it. I love you!"

"Ah, Marisa, when you look at me like that, I believe anything is possible."

"You're not having doubts about us, are you?"

Doubts? He had dozens, hundreds, but he shook them off. Marisa was here, in his arms. She had promised to be his wife, and that was all that mattered.

They spent the next few days shopping for furniture. Marisa was enchanted by the house Grigori had bought. The rooms were all large, with vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors. There was a large stone fireplace in the living room, smaller ones in all the bedrooms. There was a huge pantry in the kitchen, a solarium with large leaded-glass windows and a skylight, an old-fashioned music room.

Grigori approved of everything she picked out for the house: a beautiful antique oak bedroom set with a four-poster bed, a large round oak table and four chairs for the kitchen, another more formal table and chairs for the dining room, an intricately carved oak sideboard.

They bought sheets and towels, dishes and flatware. Money was never a problem. Several times, she by-passed what she really wanted and picked something less expensive, and every time Grigori insisted she buy the lamp or the table or the chair she preferred.

"You're a wealthy woman now," he reminded her. "Buy whatever you wish."

"You're going to spoil me," she muttered as they left an exclusive furniture store one night.

Outside, he took her in his arms and his lips brushed hers. "That, my sweet, is exactly what I plan to do."

The next few days flew by in a flurry of excitement. Marisa called her parents and her brother and listened patiently to their objections to her marrying a man she had known for such a short time. She spent three lunch hours shopping for a wedding dress; then she spent a Saturday afternoon with Linda picking out dresses for Linda and Barbara to wear. There wasn't enough time to order engraved invitations, so she sent out handwritten ones to a few close friends. She ordered a small cake, made arrangements for the church, made an appointment to get her hair and nails done. She spoke with Mr. Salazar, inviting him to the wedding and asking if she could have two weeks off for a honeymoon. He grumbled a bit, but, in the end, he agreed.

If her days were hectic, her nights were not. Grigori came over each evening and it was then, wrapped in his arms, that she found the peace that eluded her during the day. He never failed to bring her a gift of some kind: flowers
— white roses by the dozen, yellow ones, pink ones, a single, perfect, bloodred rose; chocolates and perfume; a lovely silver filigreed heart on a delicate chain; a diamond necklace that was so beautiful it took her breath away.

"You don't have to bring me a present every time you come over," she chided one night, but he dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand.

"It pleases me to bring you things," he replied. And then he grinned at her, a sly, roguish grin that made her insides melt and her toes curl. "Besides, I like the way you express your gratitude."

Marisa shook her head. "Silly! I'd kiss you even if you didn't buy me extravagant gifts."

"Would you?"

"Of course. I kissed you tonight, didn't I? And you didn't bring me anything."

He lifted one brow. "Didn't I?"

"Did you?"

With a flourish, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small square box. He handed it to her with a wink.

"What is it?" Marisa asked.

"Open it and see."

Stomach fluttering with excitement, she lifted the lid. A key rested on a bed of blue velvet. She looked up at him. "Let me guess. It's the key to your heart, right?"

He laughed softly. "No,
bella,
it's the key to your new car."

"New car! You bought me a car?"

Grigori nodded. "It's parked out front."

Marisa ran to the window, drew back the curtains, and looked outside. There were two cars parked at the curb. A sleek black Corvette, and a red Corvette convertible.

"You don't mean one of those?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Grigori came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. "Which one do you like?"

"Which one? You bought them both?"

He nodded. "I thought you would prefer the convertible, but you can have the other, if you like."

She didn't know what to say.

Grigori put his hands at her waist and turned her around to face him. "Would you rather have something else?"

"No. No. Who wouldn't want a Corvette, but — "

"But?"

"They're so expensive. And the insurance. I could never afford it."

"Cora,
it's all paid for."

"But… it must have cost you a fortune to buy two cars, and insurance and
— "

He placed a finger over her lips. "I have a fortune,
cara mia.
Let me spend it on you."

She looked up at him, wondering how she had ever thought him a monster. He treated her like a queen, spoiled her shamelessly, and not just by buying her presents. He was thoughtful of her wants, her needs. He valued her opinions, listened to what she had to say.

"Grigori, you're so good to me."

He smiled down at her. "Ah,
cara,
it is you who are good to me. It's been so long since I've had someone to care for, someone to take care of. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is."

"I love the way you take care of me," she murmured, and drawing his head down, she kissed him.

As always, the touch of his lips on hers flooded her with heat, made her long for the day when she could be his, body and soul.

"Three more days," she whispered. Today was Wednesday. She had taken Thursday and Friday off to spend with her family and run a few last-minute errands. She had to pick up her wedding dress tomorrow afternoon; tomorrow night they were all going out to dinner so Grigori could meet her family. Saturday morning she had to pick up the flowers and get her hair done. The wedding was at six o'clock at the Methodist church around the corner.

"Three more days," he repeated softly, and the idea filled him with such longing, he thought he might die of the pain.

Three more days. He could wait that long. With an effort, he stilled the hunger within him. "So," he said, "which will it be? The red one, or the black one?"

"What? Oh, the cars." She smiled up at him. "The red one. I've always dreamed of owning a red Corvette." She tilted her head to the side. "But you know that, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been reading my mind again."

"No," he replied. "It just looked like you."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

"My parents will be here tomorrow." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She loved her folks, she really did, but she wasn't looking forward to having them underfoot for the next three days. For one thing, she wouldn't be able to sit up late at night and neck with Grigori on the sofa, not with her father staying up to watch the eleven o'clock news. Her brother and his family would have to stay in a motel. There was just no room in her apartment for Mike and Barbara and their kids, unless she wanted to move out. Which might not be such a bad idea, she mused, if she could move in with Grigori.

She grinned at the thought. Tempting as it might be, she couldn't do it. Her parents would have a fit. They'd only be here for three days. She could stand anything that long. And then she would belong to Grigori forever.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go for a ride."

It was the most luxurious car she had ever seen. The interior was butter-soft leather, and it smelled as only a new car could smell. She fastened her seat belt, slid the key in the ignition, felt a thrill of excitement as the engine hummed to life.
Purred
might have been a better word, she mused as she pulled away from the curb.

"You like it?"

"I love it." It handled like a dream. "But why did you buy two?"

"One for you, one for me."

"I thought you just wished yourself wherever you wanted to go."

"Well," he admitted with a wry grin, "after I test-drove one for you, I sort of fell in love with it. I mean
— " He shrugged. "I've never driven anything like it."

"Typical male," she muttered, and then laughed. There was nothing typical about Grigori. "What'll I do with my old car?"

"Whatever you want. Sell it. Junk it. Give it away."

She laughed then, laughed because she was happy, because Grigori was beside her, because, in three days, she would be his wife.