Venice Vampyr (Venice Vampyr #1)

made a mental note to try not to startle her again.
    Isabella turned and looked at him. Her features were tense as if she’d been thinking long and hard about something. A frown disturbed her pretty face. Her pursed lips were evidence that she contemplated her next words.
    “I’m glad to see that your near drowning seems to have produced no lasting injuries.” While she spoke, her spine remained stiff, as if she was forcing herself to remain formal.
    Raphael nodded and gave a slight bow. “I’m grateful to your servants and would like to bestow the man who pulled me out of the canal with a little monetary gift if you allow me.” Whoever had been so brave as to jump into the icy waters and had the strength to pull his heavy body out of it should be rewarded.
    “My gondolier has already been rewarded by me. No further reward is necessary.”
    He would still give the fellow a handsome sum of money. His life was worth it. But to Isabella, he only nodded, not wanting to alienate her. “I thank you for your generosity. And if I may, I profusely apologize again for my inappropriate behavior toward you. Let me assure you that—”
    “No assurances are necessary,” she interrupted him. “The traumatic circumstances explain your behavior. I’m a respectable widow and have a standing in Venetian society I care not to jeopardize. I trust in your discretion.”
    Raphael bowed and grinned to himself, wiping the grin off his face as soon as he straightened. She’d asked for his discretion? It could only mean one thing: She wanted him for a lover.
    He hadn’t expected her to make an offer like this. Maybe he had underestimated her. Maybe she was a widow who took lovers frequently. The thought disturbed him—why, he didn’t know. “My discretion precedes me, Signora.”
    “Good. Then I bid you farewell. My gondolier will take you home.”
    She’d dismissed him? But hadn’t he just assured her that he would be discrete? That nothing of their affair would reach Venetian society’s ears?
    “Signora? I don’t understand. As I’ve just assured you, my discretion is unparalleled. Nothing of our affair will seep—”
    “Affair?” she shrieked and took a step back. “You thought I was proposing an affair?” Her bosom heaved, and her cheeks colored that beautiful shade of red again. And not only that. He could see the vein at her neck throb. It was a sight that made him want to sling her over his shoulder, throw her onto the nearest flat surface and toss up her skirts before he fucked her and sank his fangs—
    “I advise you to leave my house immediately. I’m a respectable woman, not a trollop.”
    The indignation in her voice gave him pause. It appeared his challenge wouldn’t be as easy to win as he had assumed.
    He bowed again as he retreated. For now. He would figure out a way to win her—sooner rather than later.
    The gondolier was awaiting him at the dock. “Signore, where to?”
    Raphael stepped into the boat and took a seat before he gave the man an address close to his house. He was careful never to disclose his actual location to anybody. His life depended on it.
    “Very well, Signore.”
    Raphael leaned back and let his thoughts drift back to Isabella. Why he’d suddenly thought she was making him an offer to start an intimate affair, he could only blame on what had happened in her bedchamber. Why take him there, undress him, most likely fondle him while he was unconscious, when she had no intention of going through with it?
    And why had she dressed that provocatively when she’d taken care of him? Why not remain in her prim and proper dress? Because all her scandalous attire had done was provoke him into kissing her. Damn that kiss. He couldn’t forget it, no matter how brief it had been. He could still taste her on his tongue.
    “We’re here, Signore.” The gondolier pulled up alongside a dock.
    Raphael looked up at the man. “If you’d wait here for a few minutes for me to retrieve some coin, I would like to reward you for saving my life.”
    The gondolier gave him a startled look. “But, Signore, I wasn’t the one who jumped into the water to pull you out.”
    “Then who was?” He stared at the man, but the gondolier hesitated.
    “I’m sorry, I’ve misspoken,” the man claimed.
    Raphael could see a lie when it hit him in the face. Suspicion crept up his spine. He raised his voice. “Who jumped into the canal to rescue me?”
    The gondolier lowered his gaze. “The