I Want You To Want Me

Book 2: New Orleans Vampires

by Kathy Love

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Vampires; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Destiny May Not Be Set In Stone, But At Least He's As Hard As A Rock Erika Todd moved to New Orleans because she needed a change--and, well, yes, because that's what the fortune teller said she would do. Not that she'd admit that to many people. But so many of the psychic's predictions--about her work, even finding that stray black cat--have already come true. Now all the lonely sculptor needs is to meet and fall in love with the prophesized dark-eyed prince. . . Reclusive musician Vittorio Ridgewood has a new neighbor he's been trying to avoid. Sure, she's gorgeous, but she's coming on strong, and the last thing the 200-year-old vampire needs is to get involved with another mortal. Especially since several of his former human paramours have lately been turning up dead. . . Sensing the relentless beauty needs someone to watch over her, Vittorio agrees to sit for a sculpture, and their attraction to one another quickly ignites. But is passion even this hot worth dying for?

Release date: September 1, 2008

Publisher: Brava

Print pages: 321

Sample

“Is there something wrong with the left breast?” Erika Todd asked her friend as she peered at the torso in front of her.

Maggie tilted her head, considering. “Yes. It’s—crooked or something.”

Erika’s head tilted too. “Maybe it needs to be bigger.”

“Or higher.”

Erika sighed, throwing down the clay-encrusted towel she’d been using to wipe her hands, and turned away from the sculpture. “Argh! I just can’t figure out what my problem is. I’ve been struggling with all of my pieces lately. And I’m getting more than a little frustrated.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of getting used to your new surroundings. A lot has been going on for you in the past three months,” Maggie said.

Erika shrugged. “I suppose, but it’s all been good stuff. I should be feeling inspired, not…” She glanced back at her latest creation. “Lopsided.”

“Well, you’ve been pushing yourself,” Maggie pointed out. “Moving is hard. Maybe you just need to allow yourself a little break.”

Erika nodded even though she didn’t agree. She hadn’t found the move hard. In fact, taking the apartment in Maggie and her husband Ren’s building had seemed natural. The right move. She loved New Orleans. It spoke to her creativity.

All signs to the contrary. She frowned at the sculpture again.

“Well, I don’t have much time. My show is in a month, and I’d hoped to have three new pieces done for the exhibit.”

It was Maggie’s turn to simply nod. Her friend knew how important this show was to Erika. The Broussard, a renowned gallery in the French Quarter, was doing a show dedicated just to her work. She needed it to be perfect.

After years of struggling, working jobs she hated, living on macaroni and cheese and ramen, listening to her father tell her she had to think about getting a “real” job, things were finally falling into place for her, and she didn’t want to lose momentum. This was her dream.

But maybe Maggie had a point. Obviously, working continuously wasn’t creating the results she wanted either.

She surveyed the piece again, then sighed. “This piece is supposed to be called ‘Fallen Angel.’ Not ‘Fallen Boob.’”

Erika dropped down onto the worn blue velvet chair she’d just purchased at a secondhand shop on Decatur. Maggie sat down on her sofa—an equally worn, yet lovely gold brocade sofa. Another secondhand find.

“You will get the pieces done, and they will be a huge hit. And you will gather rich patrons galore.”

Erika laughed at her friend’s certain optimism. “We can only hope.”

“You will,” Maggie assured her, with an encouraging smile.

Erika, with her artist’s eye, assessed her friend. Maggie had always been cute—cuter than she ever gave herself credit for. But now, Erika studied her friend’s profile as she’d just done her sculpture, but unlike her creation, she found her friend truly lovely.

Maybe it was the way her loose curls framed her face, accenting the softness of her cheeks and the delicate point of her chin. Or maybe it was the new style she’d embraced, clothes that displayed her rounded curves. Or maybe it was the happiness in her eyes, making them practically dance with unbridled joy.

“So where is Ren taking you this week?” Erika asked, knowing he was the one from where much of that joy stemmed.

Maggie’s eyes brightened, glimmering happily in the lamplight. “I have no idea. It’s a surprise.”

“No hints?”

Maggie sighed. “Not even a tiny one. And believe me, I’ve tried every tactic imaginable to get him to slip.” Then Maggie’s cheeks reddened, giving Erika a pretty good indication what those tactics may have been.

Erika opened her mouth to tease her, when a knock stopped her. Before she could call for the person to come in, Ren strolled through the door from the glassed-in sun porch.

“You’re back early,” Maggie said, rising to greet him. He walked straight to her, pressing a lingering kiss on his wife’s upraised lips. “Is everything set with work? Is your stand-in okay?”

Ren nodded. “Not me, but he’ll do.”

“Egotist,” Maggie chided with a fond smile. Ren kissed her again.

Erika watched, a pang of envy tightening her chest. Not that she begrudged her friend the happiness she’d found. Maggie deserved it. Erika just wished she could find her own love interest. Her soul mate.

Maggie broke off the kiss, but didn’t pull out of Ren’s hold. Instead, they just gazed at each other for a moment. Watching the adoring looks on both their faces, Erika was struck by the need to capture that feeling, both in her art and in her life.

She quickly reached over to the end table that she’d painted cobalt blue and caught the strap of her digital camera. Before the couple realized she’d moved, she pointed and clicked.

Maggie made a small startled noise, while Ren turned to blink at Erika.

“You never know,” Erika said, snapping another shot, “I may want to sculpt you two.”

Maggie actually blushed. “I would hardly be a good subject.”

Ren snorted, the sound somehow attractive rather than impolite. “You are a perfect subject.”

Erika smiled at the conviction in his voice. Ren was thoroughly besotted.

“I, however,” he added, “could never be an angel of any sort, fallen or otherwise.”

“Well, I’m not sculpting just angels. I’m sculpting whatever strikes me. And you two did.” Erika snapped another shot for good measure. “Maybe I want to capture true love. Or soul mates.”

Ren smiled broadly at that, the curl of his lips giving him a slightly naughty and utterly charming look. “Well, I can accept that description.”

He stole another kiss from Maggie.

Erika breathed a sigh, masking the sound of discontent by setting her camera on the coffee table. She’d never doubted that one day, after already accumulating an abundance of frogs, she’d meet her prince. But lately, maybe because of a dry spell, even from the frogs, she was beginning to wonder.

“Okay,” Ren said suddenly. “Are you ready to go?”

Maggie smiled and shrugged. “As ready as I can be, given that I have no idea where I’m going. But then, I figured I didn’t need to pack much.”

“You, darlin’, have a one track mind,” Ren said, shaking his head in feigned dismay. He looked at Erika. “I think you should have warned me about her.”

Erika shrugged, taking no responsibility for his choices. Although she did feel a little responsible for Maggie taking the initiative to go after him.

“You love it,” Maggie said, and Ren kissed her.

“I love you,” he muttered, his voice rough with emotion.

Another pang of longing pulsed in Erika’s chest. The scene could have easily struck her as nauseating, but between her happiness for Maggie and her own desire for those same emotions, Erika just…wanted. Big time.

“Okay,” Ren said, linking his fingers with Maggie’s. “We’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“Have fun,” Erika said as she walked them to the door. She remained at the window, watching them gather their luggage and cross the courtyard toward the door that led to the street. They really were the image of newly wedded bliss. Of real happiness.

Erika didn’t bother to disguise her sigh this time, there was no one to hear it but her new roommate, a big black cat she’d named Boris. And he wasn’t paying any attention, curled in his usual spot on the back of her overstuffed chair, looking sullen. His usual expression. His only expression, really. Even in his sleep.

She gazed out into the shadowy courtyard for a few moments longer, then turned back to her apartment. Aside from the lopsided sculpture and the necessary mess of wet clay and bits of polymer and caked tools, the place was neat. Well, organized chaos anyway.

She, on the other hand, was another story. Her jeans were smeared with clay, her fingernails caked, her hair knotted back in an untidy and clay-spattered ponytail.

“And I wonder why I only have you for male companionship,” she said, moving to stroke Boris’s black fur. He opened one golden eye, then shut it again, obviously unmoved.

She supposed she should try to fix her sculpture, but she’d been working on this angel for nearly five days, and the poor thing was getting worse with each progressive attempt. Maggie was right. They both needed a rest.

“Although this is what you should be stressing about,” she muttered to herself, inspecting the sculpture again. “Not your lack of a love life.”

Erika knew that. Intellectually, she did. But emotionally, she craved what Maggie had found in Ren. And for some reason, she couldn’t shake that longing, even with all the exciting changes in her life. Maybe because she was seeing her friend’s happiness on a daily basis. Or maybe because so many other things had fallen into place lately. Wasn’t it time for love to join in?

“Does life always have to be one thing or another?” she wondered to the bored Boris. “A trade-off. My career is going well, so now I have to go without a love life?”

Erika pushed that train of thought aside. It sounded like her father’s reasoning. Her father was a big subscriber to Murphy’s Law. She, on the other hand, believed in positive thoughts creating positive outcomes.

And the positive thoughts she needed to work on now were about her art show.

“Focus on the now and the rest will fall into place.”

Her mother had once said that to her in a letter, and Erika had tried to live by it. She was her mother’s daughter, after all.

“So I think now what is required is a nice, long shower and a glass of wine.”

She glanced back at the sculpture that looked more like a Picasso than an Erika Todd.

Maybe she just needed to start over. She wandered to her fridge, and poured a glass of wine. And maybe a nice, long bath and two glasses of wine was the way to go.

 

Something woke her.

Erika struggled upright, blinking around, trying to get her bearings. She was in the living room on her brocade sofa. Brushing the tangle of hair from her face, she fell back against the cushy, body-warmed pillows.

She must have dozed off as she’d been studying her work, analyzing, again, what might fix it. She glanced at the coffee table, where her second glass of pinot noir sat, half-empty.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift. Sleep was often as much a creativity sparker as work. Or at least she was going with that theory for now. The warm, enveloping couch felt lovely.

Then she heard it. A distinct bang directly above her head. Her eyes popped open, and she stared at the ceiling she’d painted sky blue when she’d moved in. She remained still, listening.

Just when she’d decided that she must have imagined the loud clunk, another noise echoed from above her head. The scrape of something being dragged across the floor.

She glanced over to her cat. Even Boris stared intently up at the sound. His ear twitched.

For once the grumpy cat was giving a definite reaction, but of course it was when she’d much rather have seen his usual bored or apathetic demeanor. She sat up, her eyes still locked on the ceiling as if someone was going to suddenly manifest from the floor above.

There was an apartment over hers. But it was empty. Empty and neglected, since Ren no longer rented the other apartments in his building—liking the privacy it gave him and Maggie. Erika knew she was lucky he conceded to letting her rent.

Her heart leapt, pounding in an uneven, breath-stealing way as she heard more sounds. The distinct creak of feet on a hardwood floor. A sound she easily recognized, because the old hardwood in her apartment squeaked the same way.

Careful to make no noise herself, she rose from the sofa and moved to the front door. Her apartment and the upstairs apartment shared the glassed-in front porch.

Her heart still pounding, she peeked out her window. Light from the courtyard illuminated a swath of the porch, leaving the corners shadowed in darkness.

Behind her, she heard footsteps. She spun, expecting someone to be right behind her. She jumped as she saw a figure in the center of the room. Then she realized it was her distorted creation. Before, she’d considered the sculpture to be frustrating, disappointing, and mostly a disaster. Now it looked almost ominous.

She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her rocketing pulse. Calm down. Calm down.

More footsteps. But overhead—not in the same room. Nothing was going to hurt her. The assurance didn’t persuade her heart to stop hammering against her rib cage.

She looked back out the window, trying to angle her head so she could see up the staircase to her right, which led to the upstairs apartment. The stairs, as much as she could make out, just ascended into pitch black.

Hesitantly, her hand went to the doorknob. She turned it slowly and eased the door ajar. Sticking her head out, she squinted into the darkness. And she listened.

Nothing. Not a sound.

She glanced around the door to Maggie and Ren’s place, a carriage house across the courtyard. Aside from a dim glow from a lamp in the living room, their house was dark too.

She looked back up the staircase, debating whether she should go up and investigate. Peering into the menacing blackness, she decided that was a colossally stupid idea. Instead she pulled the door closed, carefully clicked the lock into place, and went in search of her cell phone.

“See,” she said to Boris as she rummaged through her purse, then among her art supplies, only to find the phone buried under a pile of clay-caked rags. She grimaced at the grimy phone, then turned back to Boris.

“See, I’m not that foolish woman in the horror movies, who traipses off to investigate the noise from the attic.”

Another creak sounded directly above her head. She quickly swiped off the worst of the filth and flipped the phone open only to see the faceplate wasn’t illuminating. She pressed the On button. Nothing. She pressed again, harder. Still nothing.

She stared at the useless phone, knowing that even if she plugged it in, the battery would need a while to accept enough charge to even turn on.

“Okay, so I am apparently the foolish woman in a horror movie who has an ancient cell phone that never holds a charge.” She snapped the phone shut. “Crap.”

Now would be the time to regret not getting a landline turned on. She glanced toward the windows. She could go to Maggie and Ren’s and use their phone. She debated the idea of leaving the security of her apartment, then decided she really had no choice.

“It’s dumber to stay in here, listening to someone robbing the place,” she told the cat. He blinked, but she wasn’t sure if that was in agreement or not.

She rifled through her purse again, looking for her voodoo-doll keychain, which held Maggie and Ren’s spare key. Then she tiptoed to the door.

“Wish me luck.”

Boris had already curled back into an indifferent black ball of fur. She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been a stray dog that showed up at my door, could it? At least a dog would care if I was going out to greet my imminent death.”

She took a deep breath, then unlocked and eased open the door. Everything was quiet, but she didn’t take the time to survey the murky corners. Instead she stepped out and rushed to the porch door, which led into the better-lit courtyard.

“Hey.”

Erika’s already tensed muscles reacted on instinct as soon as she heard the male voice close behind her.

She spun toward the faceless voice and hurled the object in her right hand. Without waiting to see if she made contact, she shoved open the porch door and propelled herself out into the courtyard, her legs pumping under her as she raced toward Maggie and Ren’s carriage house. She fumbled with the keys, even as she ran. Thank God those weren’t what she threw.

“Wait! Erika!”

The words, called out from behind her, took a moment to register in her panicked brain. But gradually she realized that the disembodied voice had just used her name. She stopped, the key poised to open the lock of the carriage house door.

Slowly she turned.

At first she couldn’t locate the speaker in the shadows and greenery of the courtyard. Then a figure stepped forward into the glow of the courtyard’s dim garden lights.

Erika squinted. “Vittorio?”

He strolled closer, giving her a better glimpse of his lean frame, languid movements, and the sheen of golden hair.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, answering her question.

Not that there had really been any question there. She’d have recognized Ren’s younger brother anywhere. She’d thought of this man innumerable times over the past several months. Yet now she could think of nothing comprehensible to say to him. Not even, hello. Not even, you scared the crap out of me.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” he was saying, his words almost unintelligible through the still-thundering beat of her heart echoing in her ears. Although that wasn’t just fear now.

She could only gape at him. What was he doing here?

“Do you have a towel?” he asked.

Erika frowned, not following that line of questioning at all. Then she realized his hand was pressed to his brow.

“Are you okay?” she managed, still feeling like she’d just stepped off the world’s most frightening roller coaster only to discover her heart’s desire at the bottom of the exit ramp.

Her heart’s desire? She was more shaken than she realized.

“Aside from the blow to the head?” he asked, dryly. “Sure, I’m good.”

She squinted at him. “Blow to the head?”

He held up an object. Erika blinked.

“That’s my cell,” she murmured, staring at the scratched black phone with its dead battery. Then she realized that was what she’d flung in her utter terror.

“Yes, I gathered that it was yours when you threw it at me.”

Erika cringed. “You scared me. I didn’t expect anyone to be in the upstairs apartment.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in the downstairs apartment.”

“I’ve been renting it for about two months now,” she said automatically, then she realized that she sounded apologetic. Which she had no reason to be.

“So a towel? Do you have one?”

Erika immediately started. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

She stepped down from the carriage-house steps and headed back toward her place, making sure not to get too close to Vittorio. Something about him still made her feel wary—even as her body reacted to him. How was that even possible?

She was aware of him right behind her. She could feel him there, as if he were pressed against her, rather than a couple of feet away. The sensation surprised and unnerved her, although she wasn’t sure why.

Vittorio had made the same impression when they’d met nearly eight months ago. Her body had never reacted to a man like it had when he’d touched her. A mere shake of hands when Ren had introduced them. But the electricity from the brief contact had been knee-weakening and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. Well, at least for her. She had no idea if Vittorio had felt the same axis-tipping chemistry.

She pushed open her door and entered her apartment, letting him follow. She didn’t look back as she headed to the small kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels.

“Here you go,” she said, managing a small smile, despite her body’s current reaction to him. Her heart still pounded. She felt breathless.

He snatched the paper towels from her grasp, before she could even hold them out to him. He removed his hand from his forehead to pull one of the paper squares off the roll.

Erika gasped as she saw the gash on his temple, and realized he was bleeding, a lot, just above his left brow—the blood a deep red, vivid and horrible looking.

“My God, that looks terrible.” She moved closer to inspect the wound. She gently pressed her fingers to his cheek, rising up on her tiptoes to see the cut better. “You should go to the doctor. I’ll take you.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, jerking back from her and pressing the wadded-up towel to the cut.

“It doesn’t look fine,” she told him, sinking back on her heels and dropping the hand that she’d pressed to his cool cheek. A wave of rejection filled her. Ridiculous given that he was hurt. And by her, no less. He certainly had every right to be distrustful of her, and irritated too. “That looks like it needs stitches.”

“It’s fine. A bandage will take care of it.”

“I have a Band-Aid in the bathroom. I think. And maybe some hydrogen peroxide.” She turned to go search, but his deep voice stopped her.

“I’m fine.” He sounded almost irritated now.

She ignored it. “It’s no bother.” She headed down a hallway which led to her bedroom and the bath.

 

Vittorio watched Erika disappear down the hallway. He gritted his teeth at the fact that even for just the briefest moment, his eyes had dropped down to look at the fit of the pastel plaid pajama bottoms she wore against her rounded derriere.

He wasn’t here to be checking out Maggie’s friend’s rear end. He’d do well to remember that.

Lifting the paper towel from his wound, he inspected it to see if the bleeding had lessened. Damn, head wounds bled a lot—even for vampires. But the bleeding was already stopping. And he certainly didn’t need a Band-Aid. The cut would be healed by tomorrow night. Something vampires didn’t share with humans.

He jammed the towel back to the wound, irritated with himself. Of course, being a vampire, he shouldn’t have even been hit. His reflexes were usually impeccable. Hell, he could literally dodge a bullet. Yet he’d gotten beamed in the head with a frantically flung cell phone.

But the truth was he’d been stunned to see Erika dashing through the darkness. Stunned and unreasonably thrilled.

He’d not allowed himself to think about Maggie’s friend since meeting her at the small jazz bar and restaurant where Ren had introduced them months earlier.

Oh, she’d popped into his mind at random and inappropriate times, but he’d shoved all images of her aside. He had no room in his life for her.

He’d returned to New Orleans with only one task in mind, and Erika with her pretty smile and intelligent blue eyes and totally perfect rear end….

He groaned. Do not let your thoughts head in that direction. Don’t. He’d be a fool to go there—even in fantasy.

“I have one Band-Aid,” Erika said, materializing out of the dark hallway. “And I couldn’t find any hydrogen peroxide. But I do have antibiotic ointment.”

Vittorio, despite his little mental pep talk, drank in the sight of her. Her dark, almost black hair was piled onto her head in an untidy knot, escaped tendrils looking like swirls of ink against the pale skin of her long neck.

She walked straight up to him, her fingers capturing his, easing the paper towel away from the cut. Again she rose up on her tiptoes, and as before the position brought her close to him, her breasts almost brushing his chest.

He fought back a groan.

Her heat and her energy did touch him, spreading over his body as if her long limbs were curled around him. For the briefest moment, he absorbed it, letting himself take that energy into himself.

Her fingers stilled against his, and she made a small noise in the back of her throat. Not a noise of distress, but one of pleasure.

Abruptly he stepped back, jerking his hand from her.

What was he doing? He didn’t take a person’s energy. Not like that. Not just a single person’s. Damn, he had to create some space between them. Real space, not just the fluctuating expanse of physical distance.

“Erika,” he said, then added, “It is Erika, right?”

Erika’s face changed, a small show of disappointment, the slight pulling down of her beautifully shaped lips.

“Yes,” she murmured, glancing down at the towel that had slipped from his hands to hers when he’d pulled away.

“I appreciate your offer to help,” he said, keeping his voice cool. Pretending he wasn’t aware of everything about her.

“It’s the least I could do. I did hit you.”

“True,” he said, amazed at how condescending he could make the one word sound. But he did come from royalty—even if that was long, long ago and even if his father was only the fifth son of an earl. “Which is why I think you have done more than enough for me tonight.”

Instead of looking cowed, which was what he’d expected from her, she frowned at his dismissive tone.

“Did Ren know you were coming?”

Vittorio raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by her coolly asked question. “No, but I am his brother. I hardly think I need a formal invitation.”

“True,” Erika nodded. “But if you had told him, he probably would have told me. And thus, I wouldn’t have been scared out of my wits, and I wouldn’t have pitched my cell phone at your head.”

“You could have asked before you pitched.”

Erika laughed at that, the sound derisive, but it still managed to stroke over his skin. A shiver steeped with longing threatened him, but he suppressed it.

Do not react. He’d spent years practicing his lack of reaction. But despite his warning, his muscles tightened as he struggled with his body’s response to her laugh, her voice, her lovely eyes. Her lips.

“Spoken like a true man.”

Until she continued, he was at a loss as to what she was referring to. Although she was right, other parts, aside from his mouth apparently, were indeed acting like a true man.

“If I had taken the time to inquire who you were, lurking in the shadows, and you had intended me harm, you would have had the time to do so. The cell phone reaction still seems far more sensible to me—despite your injury. Of which I am sorry.” She no longer sounded sorry, however. . . .