“Pet,” Santo said with a frown, following her. “I am not sure how you—why you are—I have not slept with more women than the population of Long Beach,” he said finally with frustration, and then added, “I have not even slept with six thousand women, and probably not three thousand women either.”
“Probably not?” Pet gasped, turning on him as she reached the sink.
Santo scowled and shrugged helplessly. “I do not know the number. I never counted, and even if as a foolish and prideful young man I had kept count, that was a long time ago and I could not possibly remember now.”
“How long?” she asked at once.
“I have not had sex since 775 b.c.,” he said solemnly.
Pet’s jaw dropped at this news, and then Santo added, “Except to make my children. But that only took two tries in the summer of 1108 to make Cataldo and Romaso, once in 1212 for Dardi, and three in the spring of 1316 for Claricia and Fenicia.”
“Twice in 1108 and once in . . .” She couldn’t remember the second year, so just fell silent and stared at him with amazement.
“Sì.” Santo puffed up a bit. “I am very virile.”
“And probably disease ridden,” Pet snapped. “I’m quite sure they didn’t have condoms back when you were sexually active, but I’m equally sure they still had STDs.”
“I am not disease ridden,” he said a little sharply, and then added more calmly, “I cannot be. The nanos would not allow it.”
“They wouldn’t?” she asked with surprise.
“No, they would not,” Santo said firmly. “The nanos are programmed to keep us at our peak condition. That does not just mean to make us young and strong and repair any injury we might suffer. It means destroying and ridding the body of any foreign invader whether it is a virus, bacteria, a cancer cell . . .” He paused and then frowned suddenly and said, “Did you not know this?”
“No,” Pet admitted on a sigh, and thought that was good news. But then she recalled the whole virile thing and frowned again. Her gaze dropping to the front of his jeans, she muttered, “A large-size condom probably wouldn’t fit you, huh?”
Much to her amazement, the front of his jeans started to bulge outward as she looked at it, and then Santo cursed and turned sideways to lean against the counter.
“Why are you even asking me something like that?” he growled, and she glanced up to see that he was rubbing his head again as if checking for dandruff . . . or as if he were stressed.
“Because you’re virile,” Pet said dryly. “And while I would very much like to have sex with you, I don’t want to get pregnant, so a condom is needed, and I only have large size ones. I suspect you’d take a triple X or something . . . if they even make condoms large enough to accommodate you,” she added with a frown.
“Dear God.” Santo leaned forward and began to bang his forehead on the island top.
Pet reached for his arm to stop him, but the minute she made contact, he jerked up and away until there were a good three feet between them. He then just scowled at her. Sighing, she picked up the glass she’d poured for him and took a drink. Just one, before commenting, “I’m not sure why you’re upset, I’m just trying to be responsible here. I told you I didn’t want to have a baby alone.”
After a prolonged silence, Santo sighed and said, “You would not be alone. But a condom is not necessary. As a rule, immortals cannot impregnate mortals.”
“As a rule?” she queried, one eyebrow arching.
“It has happened twice in my lifetime that I know of,” he said solemnly.
Twice in almost three thousand years with numerous immortals sleeping with probably countless mortals, she thought. Those were actually pretty good odds. Better odds than the pill, which was supposed to be 99 percent effective. Still . . . “So would large fit? Or does one of us have to go to the drugstore?”
“Please stop talking about condoms,” Santo begged, running one hand over his head again.
“Why? We are both grown-ups, Santo. And we need to think of these—”
“Because I want to be a talking penis and not just a vibrator with legs,” he growled. “But discussing condoms and when I last had sex makes me want to strip your clothes away and ravish you.”
Pet stared at him blankly. She had no idea what he was talking about with the talking penis and vibrator with legs business, but the stripping her clothes away and ravishing her business sounded promising. Only, it sounded like he wasn’t likely to do that until they’d “talked” and “got to know each other better.”
That was a problem, Pet decided, and glanced down, then paused when she saw the coffee staining her top. Apparently it hadn’t all gone on the floor. She scowled at the discolored splotches, thinking that probably wasn’t helping her cause. Her outfit wasn’t exactly sexy to begin with, but having it covered with coffee stains probably just made her look pitiful rather than someone he’d want to jump . . . which gave her an idea.
Pet had no idea if the coffee would stain the top but was quite sure Santo wouldn’t know either, so murmured, “Oh, damn,” and set her glass down on the counter as she raised her other hand to touch her top where the worst of the stains were. “I’d better go change and put this in the sink to soak before the coffee sets and my shirt is ruined.”
Pet didn’t wait for him to respond, just moved around him and headed for her room.
Santo released his breath on a long sigh as Pet disappeared up the hall, then shook his head and walked back out to the living room. This talking business was more difficult than even he had imagined, and since he disliked talking to begin with, he’d feared doing so would be pretty damned hard, but—good Lord, her reaction to his age had been dismaying! And that business about how many lovers he’d had . . .
The truth was, Santo had been born and raised in Greece, where the people had been anything but prudes about sex. He’d had many lovers during the almost two centuries that he’d been sexually active before growing bored with it. But he’d never kept count and couldn’t even guess at the number.
Sighing, he relaxed back in the overstuffed chair and gazed up at the high ceiling as he considered what he should talk about next with Pet. Obviously, just blurting out everything from his birth to now was not the way to go about it. He needed to be more circumspect, and to that end, he started going through his history, deciding which things he should probably leave out.
Santo doubted she would appreciate learning of the many centuries he’d spent as a warrior, first in Greece and later in Europe. While he would surely tell her about them someday, now might not be the time since, if he were to judge by how the conversation about sex had gone, Pet might ask if he’d killed anyone and then how many. He didn’t want to upset her with the knowledge of just how many men he’d killed in battle over the last three thousand years. Not that he’d kept an accounting of that either, but . . .
Pushing the thought from his mind, Santo decided he would simply tell her about his day-to-day life outside of battle. As a history professor, she’d no doubt be fascinated by what he could tell her about life in ancient Greece.
But, Santo decided, he would have to stay away from the lustier aspects, like the celebration of Dionysius where the people had paraded through the streets carrying giant phalluses. Probably he should avoid talking too much about the symposia he’d attended too, at least the ones that had turned into all-out orgies when high-class prostitutes had been hired for entertainment. Keeping the conversation away from sex altogether seemed a good idea—
Santo’s thoughts died as a whisper of sound caught his ear. Lifting his head, he turned to see Pet approaching the living room, and sat up. But as he noticed what she was wearing, he stiffened, his mouth dropping open with shock.
When Pet had said she was going to go change and soak her shirt, he’d expected her to change into another top or . . . something. Not the sexy, dark purple slip of a nightgown she was wearing. Pet had also put on a matching robe, but since it was just as short as the gown and she’d left it undone and open, the only things it covered were her arms. Everything else . . .
His gaze slid hungrily over the dark lace bodice that didn’t really cover much of the breasts they were encompassed so lovingly, and then trailed down over the purple silk that did cover the skin beneath until it stopped high up her thighs. The gown and robe were so short that he was sure if she turned around and bent over, he’d get a lovely view of her panties. If she was wearing any.
Dear God, she wasn’t wearing panties, Santo realized with dismay when Pet swung toward the couch and the gown swung with her, flaring out and lifting enough to give him a peek at the bottom of her bare behind before it dropped again.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Pet murmured. “But it seemed silly to dirty another shirt so late in the day and it’s not like you haven’t seen me in my pajamas before.”
Santo blinked and shifted his gaze back up to her face as Pet settled on the couch. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she was a little embarrassed or uncomfortable and she was wringing her hands a bit nervously. He supposed his trying to devour her alive with his eyes had done that, and quickly looked away, managing little more than a grunt in response to her words. But she was right, of course. He had spent a good deal of time with her last night and earlier today while she was in her pajamas. But while the boxers and cropped T-shirt she’d worn then had been sexy in a cute way, this was . . .
His gaze drifted down to the lace hiding so little of her breasts and he swallowed thickly.
“Now . . . you wanted to talk?”
“Talk,” Santo growled, grasping desperately onto that reminder. Yes. Talking. What was it he’d wanted to talk about? He searched his mind a little frantically, trying to recall what he’d been thinking about as he’d waited for her, and spat out the first word to enter his mind. “Sex.”