TWENTY-FOUR

Assail started with sopa de fubá, which was a spectacular combination of collard greens and sausage in a thick broth. Then he moved on to three servings of the feijoada, a mix of smoked ham hocks over white rice—with plenty of pão de queijo on the side. Dessert was something they called sobremesa de banana com queijo.

Banana pudding.

He wasn’t the only one who put the goods away, so to speak. Everybody, including Marisol, ate like it had been a year since their last meal. And when they were done, they all pushed their chairs back and just sat there, the effort of moving any farther away from the table too much like work.

But Assail had something on his mind, something that he could wait no longer for.

Looking over at Marisol, he said, “Will you please help me to my room upstairs? I should like a shower and a lie-down before we go to church, and I shall require help.”

Marisol nodded and got to her feet. “Let me just clear first—”

“No,” Mrs. Carvalho said sharply. “I will clean. Then I will rest as well. We leave here at eleven-twenty. I no want to be late.”

Assail stood up. “Allow me to reassure you, madam, that your granddaughter’s aid will be that of a necessary nursing function only.”

“You are good boy. Now, go! Out of my kitchen.”

“You have honored us greatly with this meal.”

This caused all the males to get up and bow low to the diminutive, white-haired elder, and the flush that hit Mrs. Carvalho’s lined face told him that they had pleased her—although she would never say as much.

“Enough of this ceremony,” she muttered as she turned the sink on and got out the Ivory dish soap. “Off you all go.”

Ehric and Evale followed instruction to the letter, taking their stomachs in hand as if they were carrying boulders at waist level, and disappearing down below to their quarters. When Markcus hesitated, Assail had to do him a favor.

Putting an arm around the young male’s shoulder, Assail said quietly, “Go and rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is an argument you will never win. And we shall find other ways to serve her, I promise you.”

As Markcus nodded and followed the descending example set, Assail was free to hold an arm out to Sola and use the excuse of his physical condition to draw her close.

Underneath the soft, thin scrubs he had been given to wear home, he was already partially erect, his sexual drive awakening and resurrecting him even further, the need focusing him and giving him an urgency that was very familiar. He did pause, however, as they rounded the corner to the sleek stairs and he saw into his office.

“What is it?” Marisol asked. “Do you need to sit down?”

“I spent many hours in there.” He pointed through the open doorway, to the slice of hall light that penetrated the darkness and landed on his desk as if it were a portent. “So much time and effort.”

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s not think of anything right now. Let’s get you another shower.”

He allowed her to direct him to the ascent, and he was surprised by how weak his legs were. Even with his weight loss, they struggled to carry him up the stairs.

It was dark in the master bedroom, too, and he willed the dim lights on—

“You installed motion detectors?” Marisol said.

“Ah…yes. I did.” He was going to have to watch that. Vampires didn’t have to use light switches. “Look at this place. I am…back.”

The room was circular and had windows all the way around, the view of the winter landscape extending for miles. Paneled in a buttery burled walnut, everything glowed in the soft illumination, the sleek, contemporary decor a non-competing background to that incredible night horizon.

“I never thought I would see this again.” He went over and stared out at the river, the distant mountains, the city across the water. “I appreciate this all so much more now.”

“Listen, you don’t have to go to church. My grandmother is from the old school, and very devout, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, I will go.” He turned around to his Marisol. “I am not familiar with your customs, but I would like to learn them.”

“So you’re not Christian? Not that it matters to me.”

“No, I am not.” Crossing the distance between them, he stepped in close to her and put a hand on the side of her neck. Rubbing his thumb over her jugular, he murmured, “So tell me, do they offer a forgiving of sins? For I am afraid I lied to that good woman downstairs.”

Marisol’s eyes flared and then her lids got heavy. “What did you lie to her about?”

“I don’t want a shower.” He stared at his female’s lips, watching them part. “And nursing is not what is necessary from you right now.”

Marisol leaned into his body, her hands going around him. “I think we can get this absolved.”

“Do you? That is good news, indeed.”

Tilting his head, he brushed his lips on hers, and the contact caused a bolt of energy to shock through him. So soft, so warm…so vital. It had seemed like a lifetime since he had kissed her properly, and the feel of her mouth made his world spin.

“Oh, Marisol,” he breathed.

He took things slowly, relearning the contours of her lips, asking and being granted permission for entry. Together, they backed up to the circular bed, and as they lay down, he dimmed the lights further.

He did not want her to see too much of him. Far better for her to rely on recollection; it was a more attractive picture.

“So you have a remote, too?”

Assail lifted his head. “What?”

“For the lights.”

Damn it, he was going to have to be more alert about these things.

By way of answering her, he kissed her some more, sweeping his hands down her arm and onto her rib cage. She was liquid gold beneath his touch, arching into him, her body hidden by the veil of her clothing and nevertheless awe-inspiring. And the more he touched her, the thicker the scent of her arousal grew—and soon he became stuck between wanting to hurry to be inside of her…and wanting this to last forever.

Easing back, he looked into her dark eyes and brushed her short blond hair back. He missed its natural color, he decided. His Marisol was an uncontrived beauty, too purposeful and direct to fuss with things like makeup trends and products that would add nothing to what already shone forth. But she was sublime in any way she came unto him.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she took the bottom of her fleece and the T-shirt under it and swept the pair up and over her head.

“Marisol…” he moaned.

Her breasts were just as he recalled, perfectly sized and covered not with lace, but with a simple cotton-cup bra. With fingers that trembled, he stroked over her collarbones…down to her sternum…and then up the edge of the bra, first on one side, then on the other. Her breath caught and released as he did so, her nipples hardening and showing themselves.

There was a front clasp.

Which, in his current frame of mind, was a clear sign that the Creator was a benevolent force in the world.

“I have to see you,” Assail groaned as he released the fastening.

The cups fell off to the side and he gasped as he ran his palm down the center of her body. His mouth was a greedy seeker as he pleasured her, sucking her tips in and giving himself up to the sounds she made, and the taste of her, and the fact that that scent of her sex was making his head hum—in a good way.

She was wearing blue jeans and he took his time stripping them and her panties off her long, muscled legs. His hands traveled the length of her, stroking her as he went back to attend to her breasts. And he stopped only when she tried to get under the loose scrubs that covered him.

“I don’t…I want to keep those on,” he said in a rough voice.

“All right. But not on my account.”

He shook his head, thinking about what he’d seen in the mirror at the clinic. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s you.” She smiled up at him, and touched his face. “It’s still you.”

“Fates, Marisol, there is so much more that I want to do with you—but I do not know how long I’ll have my energy.”

“Don’t worry. Anything with you will be amazing.”

A sudden wellspring of emotion made him tear up, but that was so not sexy. Just like his body, his bald head, his…

And yet Marisol was lying back in his pathetic, scrawny arms, staring up at him as if he were a god.

That was love, was it not.

When he couldn’t speak and didn’t move, her brows tightened. “What is it?”

Assail cleared his throat. “There are so many ways to tell someone that you care for them.”

“Yes”—she stroked his face some more—“there are.”

Marisol brought him to her mouth, pulling him on top of her. As he settled between her thighs, he could feel her heat, and he fumbled to get the waistband of the scrubs down over his erection. His sex kept getting in the way, however, the one thing on his body that had not been subject to shrinking size.

Thank Fates.

“Goddamn it—”

“Here, let me help—”

The two of them went for the tie on the scrubs like the thing held the key to the gates of paradise, their hands tripping and tangling, him leaning back until he fell off of her. Sometime along the way, the absurdity of it all hit him and he started to laugh—and then she joined in.

“What did you tie this with?” she said. “A winch and a crane?”

“Scissors!” he a-ha’d. “We need scissors!”

“Where?”

“Bathroom?”

Marisol scrambled naked off the bed, and he twisted so he could enjoy the view as she went into that bathroom on a mission from God. He had an impulse to will the lights on over the sinks to help her, but he caught himself. Besides, watching her naked body move was the most beautiful dance he’d ever seen, whether it was in the light or the shadows.

When she came back, triumphant, he smiled. “You know, I suddenly am glad I didn’t do a bow.”

Marisol straddled him at his thighs. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. And I can assure you, I am enjoying this.”

Placing his hands behind his head, he had a momentary lapse as his palms got a tactile reminder that he was now bald—but then she was using those sharp, steel scissors on the tenacious fabric knot.

“This is a huge turn-on,” he drawled.

“I agree.” She winked at him. “Almost got it—there!”

As she stretched to put their rescuer on the bedside table, he took the opportunity to find her nipple with his lips—and she ended up dropping the scissors just short of goal.

“Do we care they’re on the floor,” she gasped.

“No,” he said around his mouthful.

This time, when he went to push the scrubs out of the way, they went without a problem, and Marisol sat back.

As they both looked at his erection, he said dryly, “May I just point out that my weight loss appears to have had no effect on that portion of my anatomy?”

Marisol laughed, and then she took him in hand—and now he was the one gasping and rising up for more of her touch.

“Please…” he groaned.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Straddling his hips again, she angled his arousal…and sat down, impaling herself in the most marvelous way.

Assail’s eyes rolled back, and his body drank in the sensation of completeness. “My Marisol…”

---

It was true, Sola thought as she began to move up and down. Assail had most definitely not lost any girth or length. He filled her and then some, the stretching so incredible, the possession so total, her body was alive in the pleasure.

But she was gentle with him. She kept the rhythm a slow rocking—it was more than enough, though. And he was right there with her, moving to the pace, his arousal sliding in and out of her, the friction so good, it made her pant.

“Marisol…” he said again, his fingers biting into her thighs. “Oh, God…”

His orgasm reverberated up through her and she was not far behind, her own release rippling outward, coloring her with a joy so great she wanted to weep.

When they both stilled, she was careful to settle herself off to the side, so she wasn’t directly on his body—and she was going to remember the happiness on his face for the rest of her life. He was resplendent, transformed, younger and more vital than ever.

It was hard to say who wrapped whose arms around the other first, but what did it matter. Next thing she knew, they were lying heart-to-heart, her head tucked into the crook of his arm, the heat drifting down from the ceiling keeping her warm even as her naked body cooled on top of the duvet.

“Assail?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to convert.”

“What?”

She inched back. “If my vovó goes on the hard sell tonight, I just want you to know that I accept you exactly the way you are. We don’t have to be the same to be together.”

“That is good to know.” He brushed her mouth with his fingertip. “But I am not worried.”

“My vovó can be persuasive.”

“She approves of me, already.” His smile was as she remembered, sexy, a little dark, very appealing. “After all, she and I are alike. We both appreciate the way things should be done.”

“This is true.”

“Shall we shower the now?” he said. “I can help you with the soap.”

“You can?” Actually, that sounded like a great idea. And not only because she liked being clean. “You would help me? Well, what a kind gentleman you are…”

Leaning in, she kissed him. And kissed him some more.

Eventually, they made it to the hot water. But it was a while.