I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love

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      He tried to sense something amiss in the room. But nothing was uncomfortable there. He focused on the other smaller bedroom that she was using to store her art supplies, and the bathroom.

      There was nothing wrong—no residual energy from anyone else being there. Well, except for the cat. And he only had a distinctly disdainful air. Typical cat.

      Vittorio headed back to the living room. Erika was no longer seated on the sofa. Now she paced, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was freezing. Her eyes didn’t look any less haunted.

      “Everything is fine.” He kept his voice low, but laced it with conviction. She needed to believe she would be safe. There was nothing worse than not feeling secure in your own home. He knew that feeling all too well.

      She nodded, but her arms tightened around her and she glanced at the hallway, clearly not believing him. He looked toward the front door, knowing that he shouldn’t stay any longer. But he couldn’t make himself go.

      She pulled in a breath, then paced back to the kitchen counter.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone frustrated, and he knew the emotion was directed at herself. “I know I’m acting ridiculous, but that dream…it was so vivid. So…”

      She shook her head, unable to give words to the horrible images in her head.

      Vittorio watched her a moment longer, her fear making the air heavy. He shifted, uncertain what to do, how to help her.

      Finally, he moved to the sofa and sat. He patted the cushion next to him. “Come. I’ll sit with you until you fall back asleep.”

      She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s going to happen again tonight.”

      He didn’t say anything. He just tapped the cushion again.

      Her eyes moved to his hand, but she didn’t move. Probably not sure if she could really trust him. He couldn’t blame her. But she eventually crossed to the sofa, her movements wooden.

      She sank down, not touching him—for which he was grateful. She was too much temptation even without her body directly against his.

      They were both silent for several seconds, then Erika turned to him, her knee very close to his. He could feel her heat.

      “You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I appreciate you checking out the apartment. I’ll be okay.”

      He knew he should take the opportunity to exit. But he couldn’t leave her looking so distressed, so pale.

      “Just lay down.”

      “Excuse me?” Her brows rose, her expression almost comical. A better look than the lingering fear.

      He felt a smile tug at his lips. “It’s four a.m. You need to try to go back to sleep.”

      “I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

      “Try,” he said, keeping his voice low, and slightly coaxing.

      She considered him for a moment, then turned to arrange the jumbled cushions. She slid away from him, and settled down. Her body was stiff, and her legs were curled up so even her feet didn’t touch him. The position didn’t look overly comfortable, and he thought about suggesting they move to her bedroom, but immediately dismissed the idea.

      He prided himself on good self-control, but being in a bed with her would test even his limits. Who was he kidding? She tested his limits by just breathing.

      “Close your eyes,” he murmured, trying to lull her with his voice. He half expected her to reject the idea. But she did as he asked, her lids fluttering shut.

      Then he closed his own eyes. He started to draw in her energy, then stopped. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right.

      He glanced at her, and her eyes were open, staring straight ahead. She was clearly reliving her dream. He could help her. He could take just enough of her energy to make her relax and sleep. Was that selfish?

      Yes. But he couldn’t leave her this way.

      Slowly, he breathed in through his nose, his eyes never leaving her. Her life force filled him, making every nerve ending in his body pulse and vibrate. The effect on his body was like breathing in pure oxygen, like breathing in the best drug ever made.

      He held it deep inside himself, then breathed it out. Guilt immediately filled him, even as he wanted to do it again.

      He studied her, watching as his first breath calmed her, although she was still awake. He closed his eyes again and breathed in. Euphoria, vivid, intense and so wonderful filled him. He was floating, floating on pure bliss.

      He exhaled, the release of air laced with the hint of a pleased moan. His body quivered. God, he wanted all of this woman. He wanted to be deep inside her when he tasted her life force. He ached with that need.

      He took more of her energy—but not as deeply this time. Hard as it was to deny himself.

      Then he looked over at her. Her eyes were shut, and for a moment, he panicked. He’d taken too much. That was his first terrified thought, then she sighed. He watched as her chest rose and fell, her breathing even with sleep.

      She was fine. Just fine. He released the pent-up breath he didn’t even realize he held.

      “Erika?” he asked softly.

      She answered him with a small, quite adorable, little snore. His lips quirked into a slight smile. Guilt still filled him, but he was pleased to see her calm and peaceful.

      But he didn’t allow himself any more time to watch her. She was far too beautiful, and the temptation was too much. He had to go.

      He eased up off the sofa, making sure not to jar her. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t rouse, but he didn’t want to risk disturbing her. He walked to her room and pulled the thick duvet off her bed and brought it back to the living room.

      Carefully he draped the comforter over her. When he was done, her cat, who’d watched from the back of a chair across the room, jumped down from his perch and sauntered over to take a spot on the puffy cover. He plucked at the velvet material until he’d arranged it to his liking, then settled down behind the curve of Erika’s bent legs.

      The cat regarded Vittorio with condescending gold eyes.

      “I take it you don’t much like me,” he said quietly to the cat. “Good decision.”

      Vittorio turned to leave, then noticed again the plate of sweets on the table. Again, he pictured her coming back from attempting a truce, sitting down, and eating them. All the while disliking him.

      He had to remember that was a good thing. He cast one last look back at her, and started toward the door. Then just as he would have dematerialized to his apartment, he stopped.

      He returned to the table, and stared at the plate of treats she’d made for him. The thick cut squares glinted in the lamplight, the milky glaze holding together each piece of rice crisps. He picked up one of the squares, the coating sticking to his fingers.

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