They were in a little heap when Mary woke up some time later. She was still straddling his legs, but was slumped back against the headboard, her arms draped over it and her head back and to the side in a most uncomfortable position. Lifting it with a grimace, she glanced to Dante and then smiled crookedly. He too had apparently lost consciousness as she recalled him saying they would. However, he’d fallen back on the bed, one arm splayed out, the other falling across his chest. His hair lay around his head on the bed like a dark nimbus, and his face . . . it was perfect in repose. He looked even younger than his normal appearance of about twenty-five without the usual worry that had shadowed his face since she’d encountered him.
Mary stared at him silently, slowly becoming aware that she was hungry again. This time she knew better than to assume that it was for food. Dante smelled just too delicious. She found her gaze focusing on the vein pulsing in his neck, sure she could hear the blood rushing through it, and felt saliva fill her mouth one second before she became aware of a sliding sensation in her mouth and felt something poke her bottom lip.
Her fangs had descended, Mary realized. She needed blood.
Unhooking her arms from where they hung over the headboard, Mary sat up cautiously, grimacing when Dante immediately stirred. He didn’t open his eyes, but reached blindly for her. He caught her arm and tried to drag her down to lie on top of him, but Mary resisted, sure that if she got any closer to his throat she’d rip it out.
“Dante,” she muttered, tugging at her arm to try to free herself.
“Mmmm?” he murmured sleepily, still pulling at her.
“You need to let me go. I think I need more blood,” she said apologetically, almost ashamed of her apparently endless thirst for the red liquid.
Dante reacted as if she’d stuck a tack in his butt at that announcement and was suddenly moving. In a heartbeat he’d lifted her off of him and set her on the bed and then he was gone, crossing the room so quickly he was almost a blur. She watched him open the fridge in the entertainment cupboard, and then he was returning with several bags in hand. Dante handed her one, and set the others on the bedside table, then lay down beside her on his back.
Mary glanced from the bag of blood he’d given her to his supine body and licked her lips as her gaze slid down along his length. His hands were under his head, his legs crossed at the ankles, and he was sprouting an erection as she looked at him, Mary noted with interest.
“Feed,” Dante growled.
Mary hesitated, then tried to emulate his earlier actions and brought the bag quickly to her mouth, relieved when it popped smoothly onto her fangs.
“Good,” he murmured and let his eyes close.
Mary watched him silently as she waited for the bag to empty, noting that now that his eyes were closed, his penis had stopped growing and was only semi-erect. She thought he’d actually dropped off to sleep again, but when the bag was empty and she pulled it from her mouth, he blinked his eyes open, took the empty bag and reached to the table to retrieve a fresh one for her.
“How many times a day am I going to have to do this?” she muttered with irritation as she took the bag from him.
“It is different for different people, but this constant need shouldn’t last long,”
Dante said reassuringly. “I think it is because we did not have an IV to give you blood while you were turning and had to try to feed the bags to you orally while you were thrashing about. I suspect more landed on the bed than in your mouth,” he admitted with a grimace and then added, “That might have contributed to the length of the turn too.”
“We were in the room next door,” Dante said when Mary glanced down at the mattress they were on. “This is Francis and Russell’s room. We moved you here shortly before you woke up so that they could clean up our room and replace the mattress and such.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
“Now feed,” he ordered gently.
The moment Mary slapped the bag to her mouth, he nodded and closed his eyes again. Mary stared at him briefly, noting that his erection was smaller still and then reached out to clasp him gently. She didn’t really plan it or anything. In fact, her hand seemed almost to have a mind of its own as it closed around him.
Dante’s eyes immediately popped open, air hissing through his teeth as his hips bucked in response to her touch, and Mary stilled, shocked to feel a shaft of pleasure shoot through her as well. Knowing this was the shared passion he’d spoken of, and fascinated by it, she tightened her grip and then slid her hand down his shaft and slowly back up. Her own eyes immediately closed, a moan slipping around the bag at her mouth and her hips shifting where she sat as her body responded. She might have been touching herself, she thought faintly as she continued to caress him. Only touching herself had never felt this good. This was—
Mary gasped and blinked her eyes open with surprise when Dante suddenly rose up, caught her by the waist and lifted her, setting her down on top of his erection as he dropped back to lie flat again. She stared at him over the bag of blood, her eyes uncertain. He’d set her down so that her body held his erection flat between them. She could no longer touch him as she’d been doing, but he could touch her and smiled slowly as his hands reached for her breasts and cupped, then caressed them as she fed.
Mary closed her eyes on a sigh as he played with her. Her caress had brought on sharp, hard pleasure, but this was a slower, milder pleasure. At least it was until Mary shifted her hips against him, her core rubbing across his erection. The hands at her breasts immediately tightened briefly and Dante muttered something in Italian that sounded beautiful, but could have been anything from an insult to a grocery list. He did tend to switch to Italian when excited, she thought as she shifted herself across him again.
“Si, Mary, ride me,” he groaned, his hand dropping to grasp her hips to urge her forward and back along his length again, pressing her tighter to him as he did.
Mary moaned around the bag at her mouth, and did exactly that, helping to move herself over him. But the moment the bag at her mouth was empty, she tore it away and leaned forward to kiss him.
Dante cupped her head and kissed her back almost violently, then turned, rolling her beneath him on the bed. Mary slid her arms around him, and then reached down, trying to grab his butt, but he was already pulling back slightly. He was positioning himself, she realized as she felt him press against her opening, and then he was sliding home and she arched and groaned into his mouth as he filled her.
When Dante suddenly broke their kiss, she cried out in protest, then gasped in surprise when he caught her ankles and drew them up to rest against his shoulders on either side of his head. With nothing else within reach, Mary grabbed at his forearms and almost screamed as he slammed home again, this time seeming to thrust deeper and fill her more fully. She opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and simply watched his face, her mind full of amazement as wave after wave of pleasure began rolling through her, seeming to expand with each surge, and then her eyes squeezed closed and she cried out as those waves all suddenly crashed against her brain at once, carrying her under as they did.
Mary woke to find herself wrapped in Dante’s arms . . . and it felt perfect. In all the years she’d been married to Joe she’d never woken feeling so content or as if she belonged right where she was. Joe had been her husband for the better part of her life. For a while he’d also been her enemy, and then he’d been her partner and best friend, but Dante felt like . . . a part of her. And she was quite sure that she could have lain there forever. At least she could have if she didn’t have to pee so badly.
Grimacing, Mary glanced toward the bathroom door and then at the hand dangling off her shoulder. After a hesitation, she slowly eased downward, trying to get out from beneath his arm without waking him. At first Dante’s arm went with her, but then it dropped away and she quickly sat up, then slid from the bed and rushed to the bathroom door.
Mary spotted the toothbrush by the sink while she was washing her hands afterward. The sight made her slip her tongue around the outside of her teeth and her eyebrows rose slightly when she didn’t find them furry. She didn’t even know when last she’d brushed her teeth. Her last morning as a mortal, she supposed. Which meant it had been . . . what? Dante said she’d been asleep for four days, but how long had they slept this time? She didn’t know, but even four days was a long time to go without brushing. There should be some serious buildup on her teeth, but there didn’t appear to be any. Did nanos take care of that too? Is that why she hadn’t woken up with bad breath and a desire to brush and gargle? Man, if they did, that was pretty super cool. Mary had always hated the dentist.
Adding that to her growing list of things to ask Dante, she picked up the toothbrush, squirted some toothpaste on it and quickly brushed her teeth. She followed that by brushing her hair, then considered herself in the mirror.
She looked good. At least Mary thought she looked good. Her hair fell softly around her face with a natural wave that didn’t need much fussing. She’d already recognized that she didn’t need makeup. She wouldn’t feel at all subconscious going out like this. Well, with clothes on, of course.
Making a face at her reflection, she turned and opened the door and stepped out into the bedroom.
Dante was still sleeping, his beautiful body splayed out on the bed, completely uncovered from the waist up, and one leg also free of the sheet that just draped across his hip and trailing down to cover one leg after tenting slightly over his groin, which didn’t appear to be sleeping like he was. He was a feast for her eyes. And other parts of her body as well, she recognized, as a tingling started between her legs just from looking at him. Mary almost tossed aside her desire for food to crawl on top of the man and settle herself on that morning erection pushing at the sheet, but she was hungry again. Crazy hungry.
Turning from the sight of Dante’s beautiful body, she walked to the closet and eased the door open. Mary immediately spotted the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn the day of the accident among the male clothes inside. Her gaze slid over what appeared to be a dozen pairs of jeans, and twice as many black T-shirts, followed by several more colorful T-shirts, and finally a black leather jacket. Her eyebrows rose. The man was apparently a clotheshorse, she thought, wishing she had more of a selection herself. However, she didn’t.
Retrieving the two hangers holding her T-shirt and shorts, Mary turned away, and then paused and glanced around the room, wondering what Dante would have done with her bra and panties. Mary hung the clothes on the bathroom door, and then made a quick, quiet search of the drawers in the room, but there was nothing resembling panties and a bra anywhere. And then something made her look in the garbage bin. They were there, right on top.
Mary lifted out the two scraps of material, her breathing slowing as she noted their state. Both were ruined, and it wasn’t just because they were so caked with dry blood as well as a more oily substance. It looked like they’d both been cut off of her. She let them drop back into the garbage bin, and rushed into the bathroom to wash her hands, not liking the oily feel to them.
Drying her hands quickly, Mary grabbed the hangers from the doorknob and then closed the door and quickly pulled on the clothes. The first thing she noticed was that they were both now quite large on her. The shorts were at least four or five sizes too big. Although she automatically unsnapped and unzipped them to put them on, she didn’t have to. Mary figured that out when she did them up and then reached for the hanger holding the T-shirt and her shorts dropped to pool around her feet on the floor.
Muttering under her breath, she left the shorts where they were for the moment and pulled on the T-shirt. While it had been almost clingy before her turn, it was now quite blousy on her. Shrugging, Mary pulled the shorts back up and tucked the shirt in, hoping the extra bulk would help keep them up. It wasn’t enough, however.
Holding them up herself, Mary went back out to the bedroom and considered her options. She already knew there was nothing in the closet to use as a belt. That left the room at large. The only thing in there that she might have used was the drawstring from the curtains. She even actually considered that, but it was vandalism, or theft or something, so she let that idea go.
Mary glanced toward the closet, considering using one of Dante’s T-shirts, but then her gaze dropped to her own T-shirt instead. It was longer than she needed, if she cut the bottom couple of inches off . . .
Raising her head, she glanced around until her gaze settled on Dante’s jeans lying in a puddle on the floor by the bed. A lot of men carried pocketknives. Did he? A quick search of his pockets proved that no he didn’t, or at least he didn’t have one in them now.
Grimacing, Mary straightened and scowled as she looked around the room, and then recalled the razor in the bathroom.
It would do, she decided and slipped back into bathroom again. Mary ended up having to break the razor blade casing to get the actual blades out, but decided she would explain to Dante and replace it first thing. Even before she found food. There must be a drugstore somewhere nearby. Or maybe they’d have razor blades in the hotel store. They often carried necessities like that in those places, she thought as she took off the T-shirt and began to slice the bottom couple of inches off of it.
Mary’s next thought was that she hadn’t seen her purse anywhere in the room when she’d been searching for things. Which probably meant it had gone up in flames with the RV. Good God, she had no money! She was completely dependent on Dante!
Just like he’d been dependent on her at first, she realized. Only she at least had clothes, even if they were too big and had several slits and tears from the accident.
Sighing, Mary finished slicing off the material she needed, then pulled the T-shirt back on and tucked the bottom of it into her waist again. She then strung the strip of T-shirt she’d cut off through the belt loops of her baby blue shorts and tied it up in front. It wasn’t pretty, she decided as she checked out her handiwork in the mirror, but it would have to do for now.
Shrugging, Mary turned and slid back into the bedroom, then simply stood there, unsure what to do next. If her purse had been there she would have simply slipped out, found a store or restaurant and bought herself something to eat. However, her purse wasn’t there.
It was an odd feeling being without it. Mary had been carrying a purse since she was a teenager. She’d never thought about it much, but now realized that the leather bag was freedom of a sort. So long as she’d had her purse, she’d had pretty much anything she might need in an emergency; money, credit cards, keys, usually a couple of bandages, a lipstick, a tiny deodorant stick, perfume, often allergy pills and aspirin, a little packet of Kleenex, sunglasses, reading glasses, her phone, Handi Wipes, safety pins, a tiny emergency sewing kit, and a brush and compact.
Mary could have used several of those items right then, like the deodorant and perfume. Certainly the sewing kit and safety pins might have saved Dante’s razor. If she hadn’t been able to just pin the shorts so that the waistline was smaller and stayed up without a belt, the sewing kit had tiny scissors in it she could have used to cut her T-shirt.
Man, she’d never really considered how much she depended on her purse. Until now, when she didn’t have it, Mary thought grimly and then simply went over and sat on one of the chairs at the table. Her gaze slid to Dante, but he was sleeping soundly and she didn’t want to wake him. She glanced to his jeans, but while she might have used a pocketknife while he was sleeping and then returned it to his pocket, she was not taking his money. Even though she would have returned it the first chance she got, taking it without permission just seemed wrong to her.
Sighing, Mary raised her hands and peered at them silently, then spread them to the side so she could see her legs. It was a new and pretty body, and exactly what she’d often fantasized about having, but really, it didn’t feel comfortable to her yet. She was used to having more bulk and taking up more space; now she felt kind of scrawny.
The thought made her smile faintly. Mary had always bemoaned her figure for being too voluptuous and wished she was smaller. Now that she was, however, she felt like a foreigner in her own body . . . and wasn’t at all sure she liked it. Perhaps that’s why her diets had always failed and she’d never seemed to be able to get down to that more desirable weight the world seemed to insist on. Maybe she’d actually felt more comfortable being larger.
The hotel room door opened suddenly and Mary stiffened and glanced to it with alarm. Her alarm did not ease when she saw two men entering, one fair haired, and one with dark hair, but both tall and strong-looking. Standing, she started to move toward the bed to wake Dante, but was caught by the arm just as she bent to shake his shoulder.
“Let him sleep. He has been without it for days while watching over you.”
Mary turned slowly and stared at the fair-haired man who had somehow crossed the room so quickly. Her gaze then zeroed in on his eyes, noting the golden color and sheen to them and she asked uncertainly, “Are you—?”
“Friend not foe,” he assured her with a smile that made the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle. Releasing her arm, he offered her his hand, and introduced himself. “Russell Renart Argeneau Jones.”
“Argeneau,” she murmured, accepting his hand and shaking it. “Like that Lucian fellow.”
“He is my great uncle,” Russell confirmed. “My grandfather, Ennius Argeneau, was one of his younger brothers.”
“Oh,” she said simply. Mary could hardly tell the man that she didn’t like his great uncle.
“Do not worry. Most people do not like Lucian,” Russell said with amusement as if she’d spoken aloud.
Mary’s eyes widened and then she glanced to the man with dark hair as he appeared beside them. His eyes were a deep brown with shiny flecks of metallic bronze in them. Both men were obviously immortals then, she reassured herself as he said dryly, “Lucian is an antiquated ass who has no idea how to be civil.” He wrinkled his nose, and then added almost reluctantly, “Sadly, he is also one of the best people you could ever have on your side.”
“Why?” Mary asked dubiously.
“Because he is frightfully strong,” the man said solemnly. “In character as well as physical strength. He always judges fairly, always does what needs doing, and, if he approves of you or your cause, he will fight to the death for you.”
“Oh,” she breathed and had to admit that sounded pretty admirable, which was a shame; it made it harder to dislike him, and Mary really hadn’t liked him by the time she’d finished the one and only conversation she’d had with him. She did not enjoy being threatened, by anyone.
“This is Francis,” Russell introduced quietly.
“Francis Renart Argeneau Jones,” Francis said, extending his hand now as well.
Mary raised her eyebrows over the shared last names, and as she shook the offered hand, asked, “Are you brothers or something then?”
Russell exchanged a glance with Francis and they both smiled faintly, before the fair-haired man took her arm to urge her away from the bed.
“Or something,” Russell murmured, as he led her to the chairs by the table. There were only two chairs. He urged Mary into one, held the other for Francis to sit down, and then bent to press a kiss to his neck before moving to lean against the window ledge next to the table.
Mary glanced from one man to the other as they shared an affectionate smile and breathed, “Ohhhhh,” with sudden understanding.
Francis chuckled at her wide-eyed look. “You are not scandalized.”
It wasn’t a question.
“And you are not disgusted,” Russell said with equal certainty.
Mary blinked at the comment. “Of course not. Why would I be disgusted?”
Russell shrugged mildly. “Some people are.”
Mary clucked with irritation. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”
Both men blinked briefly, then burst into laughter that they both quickly quelled when Dante murmured sleepily and turned on his side in bed.
They were silent for a moment, each of them practically holding their breath as they peered at Dante, but when he didn’t stir again, they relaxed and glanced at each other.
“I like that,” Francis said quietly, and then echoed her words slowly as if savoring them. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”
“Well, they do,” she said quietly. “Love is love and shouldn’t upset anyone. So what else are they thinking about when they get upset at your partner preferences?” she asked reasonably, and then answered the question herself. “Their minds are in your pants and on what you do. And while they’re welcome to bury their brain in their own pants, they have no business in yours.”
Francis glanced to Russell and grinned. “I like her.”
“Me too,” Russell said with a smile.
Mary blushed and turned to glance at Dante for a minute, but then turned back and asked, “You said Dante hasn’t slept for a while?”
“This is the first time he has slept since the accident,” Russell said solemnly. “He watched over you throughout your turn. We helped of course, but we did take breaks, and we offered to spot him so that he could rest as well, but he refused to leave your side even for a twenty-minute nap.”
Mary turned to peer at Dante again at this news, her eyes traveling slowly over his sweet face in repose. The man must have been exhausted when he’d finally collapsed that first time they had sex, and yet he’d not made a single complaint when she’d woken him up for another go round . . . or for the third one, or the fourth. Mary felt bad about her greediness now. She almost felt like she should apologize to him . . . except she’d have to wake him up to do so.
“There is no need to apologize,” Russell assured her solemnly. “He will be fine.”
Mary turned slowly back to stare at the fair-haired man as another realization struck her. “You’re reading my mind.”
“I am afraid so,” he acknowledged. “I apologize, but it is hard not to.”
“Why? Because you’re so used to reading everyone?” she asked, curious.
“Not quite, although that is a factor too,” Russell allowed.
It was Francis who explained, “Mary, honey, as a new turn and a new life mate, it is difficult not to hear your thoughts. It would be like trying not to hear what someone was shouting in your ear.”
She tilted her head and eyed him uncertainly. “You’re suggesting I’m somehow shouting my thoughts at you?”
“Basically,” Francis said with a shrug, and then leaned forward to pat her hand. “Do not worry. It is common among new turns as well as new life mates, and you are presently both.”
“Right,” she breathed, sitting back in her seat as questions immediately began whirling through her head.
“You wish to know more about this life mate business,” Francis said with a smile.
Mary shrugged. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I did,” he admitted with a grin. “I wanted to know absolutely everything when I found out I was Russell’s life mate. And I imagine you do too.”
“Yes, definitely,” Mary admitted sitting forward again and resting her arms on the table as she peered curiously from Francis to Russell. “So you weren’t both born immortal?”
“No. Russell was and turned me,” Francis said, sharing another smile with the man. Turning back, he added, “I was not even gay when we met.”
Mary blinked in surprise at this and he burst out laughing at her expression.
“Sorry, I am just teasing,” he said, patting her hand again. “I was ‘in the closet,’ as they say now, but definitely preferred men to women. It was Russell who had no idea of his sexual preference.”
Her gaze shifted to Russell then to see that he was watching Francis with amused affection. She glanced back to Francis and narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me again, right?”
“Not this time,” he said with wry amusement, and then assured her. “He really had no clue. Russell was just wandering through the centuries with a bad haircut and worse fashion sense, waiting for his dream girl to pop up.” He smiled and added, “But what popped up was no girl.”
“Behave, Francis,” Russell said with wry amusement, and then glanced to Mary and said, “I was old enough by the time we met that I had not bothered with relationships, sex or food for a millennia. And then this annoying fellow,” he said the words affectionately and smiled at Francis to take away any sting before continuing, “appeared in my life and just would not go away. Worse yet, I could not take control of him and make him leave me alone. And then of course, I found I was suddenly eating again and . . . well, other interests were reawakened and . . .” He shrugged.
“I don’t understand,” Mary said slowly. “You weren’t eating or . . .”
“Apparently,” Francis said, taking over again. “When immortals are old and alone for centuries, they become sad old men who lose interest in everything.” Taking on a horrified expression, he added, “Including food and sex. Can you imagine?”
Mary’s eyes widened and she glanced to Russell for verification.
He nodded solemnly. “It is quite common.”
“But Dante was eating and—”
“Oh, he is not old,” Francis said dismissively. “He and Tomasso are just baby immortals. Heck, I am two hundred and I am a baby by immortal standards.”
“Oh,” Mary said slowly. “So Dante was still interested in—”
“Yes, he and Tomasso were both still scarfing down everything and anything, and banging every female from—” He paused abruptly when Russell stuck a foot out to nudge him. Grimacing, he said instead, “He was still active on the dating scene.”
“Ah,” Mary said with amusement. She wasn’t surprised that Dante had been “active on the dating scene.” Between his looks and his size, she was sure women would have been throwing themselves at him left, right, and center.
“But don’t worry, Mary,” Francis said now, patting her hand. “Now that he’s found you, he will want only you.”
She tilted her head curiously. “Why?”
“Why?” Francis asked blankly. “Because you are his life mate, honey.” Frowning, he asked, “Did he not explain about life mates to you?”
“He said something about a life mate being the one person an immortal couldn’t read or control and that they could live happily with or something,” she said slowly, trying to recall his exact words.
“Oh, dear,” Francis muttered and rolled his eyes. “He is a good-looking brute, but not big on talking, that one.”
Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise at that claim. It seemed to her that Dante had talked a lot since she’d met him. Or had she done all the talking? She worried suddenly.
“All right, I shall have to fill you in,” Francis said determinedly, then scooted his seat closer, took her hand, looked her in the eyes and announced, “Mary, sweetheart, you are like the holy grail to Dante.”
She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak her doubts aloud and he continued.
“Now that he has you, Dante will never ever be the least interested in another woman, mortal or immortal.”
“Why?” she asked at once.
Francis’s eyes narrowed on her forehead, and then he clucked impatiently. “You know why. You have experienced the shared pleasure with him. That alone is enough to ensure he remains always faithful. Sex with anyone else simply could not compare. It would be like choosing Alpo for dinner over a gourmet meal.”
“Aside from that though,” he added, “If the nanos put you together, you were meant for each other.” When Mary looked dubious, he said, “I know, I know . . . you have not known each other long, but trust me, you will suit each other beautifully. The nanos are never wrong. Dante is your happy ever after.”
Mary merely nodded, unsure how she felt about what Francis said. On the one hand, she’d like to believe in happy ever after, but had learned through her own marriage and the people she’d counseled over the years since getting her doctorate, that happy ever after really didn’t exist . . . at least, not without work. Mary had been happy the last two thirds of her marriage, but it had been after years of misery and it had taken a choice and a lot of hard work. Even then it hadn’t been perfect. No one was perfect.
Francis patted her hand and said, “You shall see.”
Mary was saved from having to answer by the sudden ringing of a phone. Turning toward the sound, she watched Russell take a cell phone out of his pocket. He looked at the caller ID on the face, and then tapped it and pressed it to his ear.
“Lucian,” he said cordially, straightening from the window ledge and moving to the door.
Mary grimaced at the name.
“He’ll want to know if you are awake yet and that the turn went well,” Francis said quietly as Russell slipped out of the room.
Mary nodded and then movement caught her attention, and she glanced to the bed to see that Dante was sitting up. The phone must have woken him, she realized, and smiled as she watched him wipe sleep from his eyes.
“Sleeping Beauty is awake,” Francis sang out. Getting up and smiling at Mary, he said, “I shall go wait outside with Russell while the Hulk here dresses and then we will take you for breakfast. I know you are starved.” His gaze slid over her as she stood up and he added, “Then we will take you shopping.”
“Shopping?” she asked, reluctantly tearing her gaze from Dante’s naked chest to peer at him uncertainly.
“We need to buy you clothes,” he decided and then pointed out apologetically, “Darling, you are dressed like an old woman.”
“I am an old woman,” she said with amusement.
“Yes, but you look like Barbie. We should dress you accordingly.” He grinned suddenly. “It will be such fun.”
Mary smiled faintly, thinking it might very well have been fun. Unfortunately, she didn’t have her purse, and therefore didn’t have money until she found a bank. Actually, she realized with sudden concern, even then she’d have a problem, since she had no way to prove who she was so that she could gain access to her accounts. She had no ID. Not that that would help since she no longer looked like the sixty-two-year-old woman she was.
“Stop fretting,” Francis said lightly, heading for the door. “The council will take care of everything.”
“The council?” Mary murmured with confusion, but Francis had already slipped out the door and was closing it behind him.
“The council is basically our governmental body,” Dante explained, his deep rumble sounding directly behind her.
Mary turned sharply and he immediately drew her into his arms.
“Good morning,” he growled just before his lips covered hers.
Mary sighed into his mouth and slid her arms around him as they kissed. But when he began to back toward the bed, pulling her with him, she broke the kiss and dug her heels in to stop him. “Francis and Russell are outside.”
“Good. They can stay there,” Dante muttered, his mouth moving to nuzzle her neck.
“They’re taking us to breakfast,” she breathed, tilting her head to give him better access despite her hunger.
Dante paused, then sighed and slowly straightened. “Food.”
Mary chuckled at his expression. It looked to her like he was weighing his different hungers in his mind. Food or her? She helped him out by saying, “I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” he admitted, and then muddied the water by grinding against her so that she could feel the morning erection he was sporting.
Mary moaned, and then pushed herself away from him. “Food first.”
“You are a hard woman, Mary Winslow,” he complained, turning to move back to the bed to grab up his jeans.
“I’m not the one who’s hard,” she said on a laugh and headed for the door.
“Sassy wench,” he said with affection as she slipped from the room.