The door cracked open and she stood with a hand on her hip, which was cocked ever so slightly in his direction. He pushed down the satisfied rumble that wanted to leave his chest as he stared at the luscious curve he knew would be pressed against him when he rested later.

“Gio.”

“Hmm?”

“Up here.”

His eyes moved up her body to meet her amused gaze.

“Yes,” he said with smirk.

She only rolled her eyes. “So, what you’re saying is, don’t be afraid to drop names at dinner.”

“Name dropping is an art in immortal society, particularly among water vampires. So no, drop away.”

“Good to know.”

“Happy to tell you.”

She left the door open, and his eyes traced the lines of her body through the form-fitting dress. He darted over to rest his chin on her shoulder as she applied make-up in the mirror. He disliked when she put anything over her skin, but he enjoyed the brush of gold that accented her dark eyes.

Giovanni placed his hands on her waist and bent down to nose along the nape of her neck where she had pulled her hair up in a simple ponytail.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She winked in the mirror and reached back to tug his tie. “You look pretty good yourself.”

Jean Desmarais had controlled the ports of La Havre and Marseilles for over two hundred years. His ruthless ascension on the French coast bore witness to both his canny political skills and his ferocity as a fighter. He was renowned for his business acumen and his negotiating skills; his wealth and connections were some of the best in France.

What Giovanni hadn’t counted on was his charm.

“Surely, mademoiselle, they cannot pretend to make wine in Texas. California, I grant you, may have some passable vines, but Texas? How could a cowboy produce something so fine?”

Beatrice laughed along with him.

“I don’t know, Jean, some of the Chardonnays I’ve had from the Hill Country have been pretty fantastic.”

“Far be it from me to disagree with such a charming recommendation.” He winked and sipped his glass of red from the bottle he had brought for dinner.

Jean was decidedly rakish in his appeal and appeared to have been turned in his mid-thirties. His  brown hair and dark eyes spoke to as much Spanish blood as French, and the ladies at the table seemed to melt when he flashed them his roguish grin.

When Giovanni and Carwyn had wrangled a meeting with the busy water vampire over a month before, he had agreed to come and meet with Terry and Gemma in their home, which was a testament to both Jean’s confidence and his curiosity. The French and the English, like their human counterparts, did not often agree. But since the swarthy vampire had arrived, he had charmed the party with his wit and humor.

Giovanni stared at Beatrice from across the table. She had been nervous at first, glancing at him as if checking for proper protocol, but he only nodded and shrugged, curious how the evening might progress.

In very short order, she had the shipping mogul eating out of the palm of her hand.

“I haven’t seen him eye her neck once.” Carwyn leaned over and murmured into his ear. “He’s playing this very well.”

“As is she,” Giovanni said. “I told you, she has a knack for this. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”

“—so I was riding through the hills and I had my helmet on. Now, granted, it was winter and I was wearing a bulky jacket.”

“Winter? In Hollywood? I thought you only had sunshine and palm trees?”

They both laughed and Giovanni smirked, pleased to see others appreciating her quick wit and humor.

“We get a little bit cold. Nothing like here, of course—”

“My own home is quite damp. Perhaps I need to come to California to see the surfers.”

She smiled. “Perhaps you should.”

“Please, continue my dear.”

“So I was riding my bike and my helmet was down. I pull up to the stoplight and no less than three girls in a convertible—don’t ask me why they had a convertible in December, they were probably tourists—start cat-calling me!”

“Cat-calling?”

“Oh, you know, ‘Hey, handsome, I’ll give you a ride,’ stuff like that.”

“They thought you were a man?” he asked, finally catching on before he started chuckling.

“I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered, Jean.”

The whole table seemed to find the story amusing, and the small side-conversations continued as the roast beef was served. Giovanni bypassed it, never caring much for roast meat, which reminded him too much of his days as a mercenary. He focused quietly on Beatrice and the Frenchman across from him.

“Di Spada,” Jean called. “How were you so lucky to find this lovely woman, and why does she pay you any attention?”

“I must have been born under an auspicious star.” Giovanni winked at Beatrice, smiling when he saw the slight blush on her cheeks.

“Truly, you must have been. Now, Mademoiselle De Novo, if I were to visit Los Angeles, what must I see?”

“Well, it all depends on your interests…”

She continued to explain the various sights in Southern California as the table hummed around him. Giovanni exchanged cautious nods with Jean’s silent enforcer, who sat near the door to the dining room and glanced occasionally at Terry who, he noticed, was also observing Beatrice and Jean. Gemma caught his eye, and he saw a small smile cross her face. Despite their initial dislike, he had seen a grudging respect grow between the two women in the weeks they had spent in London.