“The fanged bully wants you to try the chocolate.” He brushed it over her lips, once, twice, the heat of his fingers making it melt and the aroma drift up her nostrils, heady, overwhelming. Like him. “Open up.”

“Will you go away if—” Of course, she had to part her lips to speak, and he put the truffle on her tongue. Letting the pad of his finger slide against it ensured she tasted the chocolate that had melted on him. She had a sudden, desperate desire to hold on to it, to suckle on him the way she had his cock the day before.

He bent, pressed his lips to her throat below her ear. “You do not know what a temptation your confused mind is, habiba. But again, I am not Raithe. I will not take advantage of your mind for my sole benefit. Not until both of us would be pleased by me acting on your desires. Enjoy your day with Amara. I’m heading to bed, but will see you later. I will not be far.” In the next blink, he was gone, leaving an emptiness at her back, and the lingering heat of his breath at her ear, the taste of chocolate on her tongue. She savored it, telling herself it was the truffle she was appreciating.

How could she deal with having someone in her head and sorting through the truth or delusion of her own thoughts? With Raithe, she’d gotten to the point she didn’t care. Both became a nightmare, what she could imagine he would do to her, against what he actually did.

For now, with a dearth of other options, she narrowed her focus onto the food, and pushed away anything else she couldn’t face.

Like her foolish craving to believe this was real, that she’d found a sanctuary. Nowhere was safe, but particularly not a place that held a vampire.

After Jessica ate, Amara took her on a tour of the grounds. She was relieved the woman didn’t give her a choice, because while principle would require her to refuse if asked, she wanted to get out and move. It felt marvelous to eat, to walk straight with lithe strides, to know she wouldn’t be exhausted by walking down the stairs of the back balcony that led to . . .

“Oh.” Jessica stopped. Amara came to a halt with her, and a smile curved the woman’s lush mouth.

“Yes, it has that effect. Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Mason’s home might as well be called a castle, though she supposed it would be considered a large estate. Years ago, as a child, she’d gone to Biltmore Estate in the mountains of North Carolina, and it reminded her of that, only this particular castle rested by the sea. Amara had explained they were in South America, on the edges of one of the few temperate rain forests, which explained the deep forest that came within a hundred feet of the front of the sprawling structure. But the back of the estate opened onto an oceanfront view comparable to the gates of Heaven. Mason had a layered series of wide verandahs that artfully led into winding marble staircases, down to a sloping lawn with myriad gardens dotted with fountains and statuary. Those gave way to sand and the ocean shore. In daylight it was breathtaking, but for some reason she imagined it through Mason’s eyes, when everything was bathed in moonlight, giving the water, statues and gleaming leaves in the gardens a kissed-by-silver look.

When she recognized some of the exotic flowers, tears threatened. Their petals had been scattered in Farida’s tomb. He grew them here.

Amara stayed silent, but Jess was aware the woman’s hand brushed the small of her back, a reassurance. The tears weren’t only because of the flowers, Jessica knew. It had been so long since her appreciation for something beautiful hadn’t been destroyed by her justified wariness of it. Because while the vampires she’d known had accumulated beauty, they didn’t understand its value.

They used it as a tool, a weapon or a possession. This . . . Mason had built his estate in a solitary place that spoke of beauty far beyond the power or ownership of human or vampire, and the architecture of house and gardens appeared to pay homage to it.

Yet there was the undeniable sense that it was a home. Amara and Enrique were comfortable here, as were the cook and staff. The kitchen, the bedrooms, all the living spaces, appeared to provide . . . a haven.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on less disturbing details. She saw he had spoken the truth about the renovations. On the western wing, a catwalk construction was happening on the second level. Above that, bundles of shingles were stacked, a roofing job in progress. She narrowed her eyes at the charcoal smudges along the siding, the piles of broken brick and discarded construction material below. “That looks like rubble from an explosion.”

“Yes, it is,” Amara commented matter-of-factly. “The Vampire Council gathering was held here last year. A small army of vampire hunters attacked and blew up this verandah, the ballroom and that western wing. Which, thankfully, is the final area requiring construction. The din has been horrible on some days. They’ll clean up that debris as the last step.” Jessica blinked, turned to look at her. “Vampire hunters attacked a full gathering of vampires?”

“At dusk, no less.” Amara didn’t smile now. “They were of course defeated. Many of the hunters were killed and driven off, though they killed a handful of vampires and many servants. Please do not celebrate that in my presence, whatever your feelings,” she added. “There were many lost that day who we considered friends.”

Jess drew another breath. “Amara, I don’t want to offend. I just want to leave.”

“I know.” Amara’s dark eyes saw more than Jessica was comfortable with. “I wonder if you’ll feel that way when he lets you leave. Because none of the others wanted to go.”

“The others?”

Amara nodded. “Lord Mason has . . .” Her lips twisted, and now amusement flickered in her gaze. “He will punish me for teasing him in this way, but he has an unusual hobby. He has a harem. I will show you a place he has dedicated to them, in a manner of speaking, after we complete a circuit of the grounds.”

“A harem? Here? ”

“No, of course not. I say it that way because they are all very loyal to him.” Amara started down the stairs, drawing Jessica with her. Despite herself, Jessica’s curiosity was roused, though she managed to remain silent, glad when Amara continued without prompting.

“Lord Mason spends a great deal of money, anonymously of course, on educational programs for women in Africa and the Middle East. That, as well as fate and circumstance, has brought women in his path who need assistance to improve their circumstances.

Some have stayed here for a time, to get back on their feet, much as you will do, before he helped them find their place in the world again.”

At Jess’s dubious look, Amara shrugged. “I know you think I’m telling you this to get you to trust him. If he was in my mind now, he’d likely forbid me to tell you any more. But I will still show it to you. While only time will convince you of Lord Mason’s trustworthiness, perhaps it will help. For now, come with me.”

When the servant led her down into the gardens without further conversation, thankfully, Jessica saw the landscapers hard at work, laying the new plantings. Amara explained this was more evidence they were in the final stage of the renovation, for of course the landscaping had been saved until after the main reconstruction, which required material laydown areas and troops of construction workers coming and going over the ground.

As Amara moved on to the statuary garden, Jessica noticed more than one landscaper shot a lingering glance at the two women, the pendulum swing of Amara’s hips, but the foreman quickly barked them back to their responsibilities.

While she tried not to be caught ogling the statuary in the gardens, part of the reason Jess had loved Rome was for the sculpture.

She lost the battle to maintain studied indifference when she reached a fountain topped by an impressive piece depicting three horses. One plunged forward, two others galloping alongside. The curve of head, the dainty nose that somehow meshed with the powerful body, told her the breed. “Arabians.”

“Yes. Lord Mason has a great fondness for them. His two, Hasna and Coman, were brought back to the estate this past week. He boarded them inland until most of the hammering and sawing were done.” Jess turned. “He has horses? How is that possible? They’re afraid of vampires.” The lingering scent of taken blood, the nature of vampires as predators, made most noncarnivorous animals fear them. Of course, she recalled Farida’s words. As if they were one creation . . .

“They are not afraid of Lord Mason.” Amara watched her with those shrewd eyes. “Would you like to see the stable?” Jess bit back her eagerness to say yes, and settled for a shrug, which she was sure didn’t fool the servant a bit. Amara took her hand with a conspiratorial smile and led her swiftly across the lawn, cutting around the eastern side of the estate. The walk took them past a large gazebo with swings and a boardwalk out to the beach, as well as a man-made pond with another fountain in the center. There was a breathtaking variety of flower gardens, scattered with benches for contemplation. Myriad winding paths.

Everywhere she turned, beauty to delight the eye, stir the senses.

The female eye, the female senses.

Brow furrowing, she stopped, freeing her hand, looking at it all again, thinking of the interior as well. “Did . . . Has Lord Mason always lived here alone, except for servants and staff ?”

Amara met Jessica’s gaze in understanding. “No. He built it for her. He wanted to give her a home worthy of a sheikh’s daughter, and he did, even though she was already gone before the first brick was laid.” Jess had schooled herself to catch nuances in speech, slight shifts of body language, a necessary skill to survive. However, it had other uses. “You don’t approve.”

Amara’s reaction intrigued her, because unless the woman was a superb actress, Jessica had caught her in a genuine uneasy moment.

“It is not my place to judge Lord Mason’s actions. He is far older than I am, and sees things very differently. If—”

“But you think this is a waste, him spending all this money and time on a corpse.”

“On a memory,” Amara corrected, her mouth thinning. “I think three hundred years is a long time to grieve. To go without love.” Jess thought of the tomb. The gifts, the way he’d preserved her. Did he think one day she’d come back, and he would have it ready for her? No, that wasn’t it. It was more like he was proving what he would have provided to her, that the promises he’d made had been honored, even if she was gone.