Under a Vampire Moon (5 page)

Carolyn was raising her eyebrows at the strange question when Santo growled, “Gia,” in warning.

“Here we are,” Adam announced cheerfully and Carolyn glanced around to see that they were approaching the front of the main building.

“Thank you, Adam,” she said as he brought the van to a halt.

“No problem,” Adam said as the band began to pile out. “You call for a ride next time. It’s a long way to walk and uneven. We are happy to collect you.”

“Thank you,” Carolyn repeated with a smile and opened her door. She turned on the seat to get out, only recalling that her shoe was broken when it slipped off her heel and to the side before she could plant it on the ground. Carolyn immediately grabbed for the door to keep from twisting her ankle or stumbling and then gasped in surprise as she was suddenly caught around the waist and lifted away from the van.

Clutching the arms holding her, she stared blankly down at the young man carrying her, noting the long, deep auburn hair; the chiseled features; and then the wide, deep black eyes with flecks of some lighter color in them. Eyes very like Julius Notte’s, she thought absently, though this man’s were larger, with an almond shape.

“Grab her shoe,” he growled, never taking his eyes from hers, and it was only when she heard his voice that she realized it was the one called Christian.

Flushing under his intense stare, Carolyn glanced over his shoulder in time to see a man with short, black hair bend to collect her shoe and follow them, and then Christian was setting her down.

He didn’t just set her down though, but eased her to the ground, holding her close as he did so that their bodies rubbed against each other in a long, slow, full-body caress that left her flushed and breathless and completely flummoxed. Her feet finally landing on the cool tile gave her something of a jolt and had her tugging free and then dropping to sit with a little bump on the bench he’d set her in front of.

“Thank you,” Carolyn breathed, looking everywhere but at him. Her gaze slid over the other band members, noting their resemblance to each other and their differences. Zanipolo had long hair like Christian, but his was tied back in a ponytail; it was also black like Raffaele’s, whose hair was shorter. She suspected Santo’s hair would be black as well if he let it grow; at least his eyebrows were black, she noted, taking in the thick metal rings on each of his fingers as he ran one hand over his bald head. The rings looked more like some modern kind of brass knuckles in silver than actual jewelry. Her gaze slid to Giacinta then, a pretty, petite blonde and the only one of the group not wearing all black. Her outfit was a short red skirt and white tank with an open white blouse over it.

Spotting her shoe in Raffaele’s hand as he approached, Carolyn held out her hand, but Christian took it to examine.

“It’s broken,” he said with a frown.

“Yes.” Carolyn risked glancing his way, and felt another flush rise up through her. Biting her lip, she looked away and briefly considered taking the next shuttle back up to the villa for new shoes. But she was already late, and really, she was so flustered and embarrassed all she wanted at that moment was to get away from the man presently holding her sandal.

That left one option, Carolyn decided, and quickly removed the still good sandal. She then stood, snatched the broken sandal from Christian’s fingers, murmured, “Thank you,” and hurried away through the main building on bare feet, aware that every member of the band watched her go. She could feel their eyes burning into her back. They probably thought her a crazy lady for rushing off barefoot like that, but she didn’t care. She—

“Carolyn?”

Sliding to a halt, Carolyn glanced around to see Marguerite and Julius crossing the lobby toward her.

“I’m so glad you made it. I was starting to worry,” Marguerite said, giving her a hug in greeting. She then turned her toward the front of the building saying, “We were just going to check and see that Gia and the boys made it down all right.”

“They have. I rode down with them,” Carolyn said, resisting her pull.

“Oh.” She smiled. “Well then, come, and I’ll introduce you to them.”

“Oh, no, I—” Carolyn grimaced and held up her shoes. “My strap broke and I can’t wear them and I’d really rather just go sit down. Besides, they introduced themselves to me,” she added in a babble, beginning to back away. “I’ll just go sit down. You two—” She paused and gave her head a shake as the strangest ruffling sensation went through her head. Then forced a smile. “I’ll go save us a table.”

“Don’t be silly,” Marguerite said, suddenly beaming. “We’ll all go down together. We can talk to Christian and the others on their break. Or perhaps even before they start.”

“Right,” Carolyn muttered, suddenly aware that she’d probably have to meet them all again if she stuck with Marguerite and Julius. The idea made her ridiculously uncomfortable and she found herself frowning and trying to come up with a reason to leave. They were almost to the open-air bar when she suddenly realized she was carrying the perfect excuse.

“You know,” she said, coming to a halt, “I think I should probably go back up to the villa and switch my broken shoes for—”

“Don’t be silly, Caro. You’re here already,” Marguerite said with a gentle smile. “Everything will be fine.”

Carolyn stared at her silently as her eagerness to escape the possibility of having to again face Christian eased and a soothing calm slid over her. Then she smiled and nodded and allowed Marguerite to lead her into the open-air bar, wondering what on earth all the fuss had been about. Christian had helped her after her shoe broke. She was making a mountain out of a molehill. Everything would be fine.

“S
he is your life mate,” Raffaele said quietly.

Christian tore his eyes away from the lobby as his parents and Carolyn were swallowed up by the crowds. Turning, he considered the group eyeing him silently, his cousins and band mates. They’d known each other all their lives, but had only played together the last ten years or so.

“Well?” he asked. “What was she thinking?”

“She thought you were a big female at first,” Zanipolo said with amusement.

“Yes, I know,” Christian said dryly. “Gia giggled that into my ear. It’s why I tried to read her.”

“It was dark in the van and she hasn’t our eyesight,” Raffaele said soothingly. “All she could make out was long hair and a large frame.”

“She thought you were very handsome once she saw your face,” Giacinta said, patting his arm as if he might need the reassurance. She then bit her lip and added, “Which kind of horrified her.”

Christian frowned. “Why?”

Gia arched her eyebrows as if that should be obvious. “She’s forty-two.”

Christian’s eyes widened. He would have placed Carolyn in her mid- to late thirties. She carried her age well. Still, he didn’t get Giacinta’s point. “So? She’s forty-two?”

“Well, you look about twenty-five or twenty-six,” she pointed out gently.

“I haven’t been that young for a very long time,” Christian said grimly.

“But you
look
that young,” Gia pointed out and when he stared at her blankly, she added, “She is mortal. She thinks you are young enough to be her child and is upset to have sexual feelings for someone she thinks is so young.”

“She had sexual feelings for me already?” he asked with a grin.

Gia threw up her hands in exasperation. “
Uomini! Idiota, non essere cosi stupido!
”

Christian blinked at the explosive rant of “Men! You idiot, don’t be so stupid!” and then cleared his throat. “I gather this is a problem?”

“
Si, cugino, è una problema,
” Gia said dryly. “I read her. She is not the type of woman who would be comfortable having an affair with a younger man. She will now avoid you to avoid those uncomfortable feelings.”

Christian frowned. It wasn’t a problem he’d considered when he’d contemplated the possibility that his mother had found him a life mate.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you with her. And I am sure Aunt Marguerite will help too,” Raffaele rumbled and then slapped a hand on his shoulder and urged him into the building. “Now let’s go find our equipment and get set up. When you called Bellina, she said Genie had our instruments kept in her office until we arrived,
si
?”

“
Si,
all but the drums and keyboard. She had those set up on the stage.” The words were said absently, Christian’s mind was on the problem of Carolyn, and the disturbing assurance that his mother and cousins would help him woo her. Cripes, he thought with dismay as he imagined that scenario.

“I
hope your friend Bethany feels better soon,” Marguerite said with a sympathetic smile.

“So do I,” Carolyn assured her. They were seated at one of the tables on the edge of the lower deck, the sandy beach close enough to touch if she just slid her foot over the slightest bit, which she’d done several times already, digging her bare toes into the cool sand and allowing it to slide around and between them. “And I’m sure she will.”

Marguerite nodded. “Well, we’re here to keep you company tonight, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to recuperate.”

Carolyn smiled, but shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You two are on your honeymoon. You don’t need me hanging around. Besides, I have Genie. As soon as she gets here we’ll move to another table so you two can be alone.”

“Cara,” Marguerite said with amusement. “We like having you here, dear.”

Carolyn smiled wryly, finding it odd that Marguerite always managed to make her feel like a child when she was probably twenty years older than the woman. Her gaze slid to Julius then to note the solemn expression on his face as he eyed her, and Carolyn found herself wondering if he or Christian was the older. The brothers looked like they could be about the same age, but her instincts told her Julius was probably the older one, though she couldn’t say why for sure except that it was something about the eyes.

“Oh, here they are,” Marguerite said happily, and Carolyn followed her gaze to the stage where drums and a keyboard had been set up. Genie was now leading the band members onto the low stage and taking up the microphone to introduce them as they moved to their spots. Santo settled behind the drums, Raffaele stepped behind the keyboards and began to check things, Zanipolo and Giacinta both carried guitars, and Christian was holding a . . .

“Violin?” Carolyn said with surprise.

“Yes!” Marguerite beamed. “Isn’t he clever?”

“Er . . .” Carolyn stared blankly. The men all wore black T-shirts and either black jeans or leather pants, making Gia stand out in her red and white. And their hairstyles were all kind of punk rock. Gia’s hair was now gelled and wild around her head while Raffaele’s hair stood up in shiny spikes all over, like a porcupine. Then there was Santo’s bald head, and Zanipolo’s and Christian’s long hair, although Zanipolo had let his out of its ponytail, while Christian had pulled his back into one. All in all they looked like a rock band . . . except for the violin.

“Christian was trained in classical violin, but he prefers hard rock,” Marguerite said, sounding more like a proud momma than a new sister-in-law.

“Hard-rock violin,” Carolyn murmured, a bit befuddled. She’d never heard of such a thing. She liked modern music, pop, hip-hop, alternative, and some hard rock, but she’d never heard of hard rock done with a violin. This should be interesting, she thought dubiously.

“Just wait till you hear them.” Marguerite grinned.

Carolyn smiled doubtfully as Genie finished introducing them and stepped off the stage to hurry to their table.

“Oh, my God, they are so hot, Marguerite,” Genie gushed as she fell into the chair next to Carolyn’s. “You didn’t mention that they were all gorgeous.”

“I showed you the video,” Marguerite pointed out with a laugh.

“It didn’t do them justice at all,” Genie assured her and then glanced back to the stage. Heaving a sigh, she muttered, “If only I were twenty years younger. I don’t suppose any of them would be interested in a fling with an older woman?”

Marguerite chuckled, “Oh, Christian happens to like older women. But he generally prefers blondes.”

“That leaves me out then,” Genie said with a sigh and then elbowed Carolyn. “But it means you might have a chance.”

Carolyn nearly spat out the wine she’d just sipped. Swallowing it quickly and managing not to choke, she glanced to Marguerite to find the woman smiling at her encouragingly. Carolyn could feel the blood rushing to her face with embarrassment. She shook her head and turned quickly to the stage as Gia stepped up to the center mic.

The young woman stood there for a full minute, garnering the attention of everyone in the room, and then she opened her mouth and released a high pure note that pierced the silence. Her hand crashed down across the strings of the electric guitar she held and the band suddenly kicked to life, all movement and sound. Santo’s body vibrated as he beat his drums to death. Zanipolo was working his electric guitar like a cross between a lover and a submachine gun. Raffaele was pounding on his keyboards, his head bobbing to the music. Gia was alternately making love to her own electric guitar with long riffs, and singing into the microphone with a clarity that Carolyn had never encountered before. And Christian . . .