When he just stared at her, she added, “I can’t remember which dream came next but last night’s involved chains.” When he continued to stare blankly, she added, “But they’ve taken place everywhere. There were others in the office, some here in my apartment, some in yours, some in every room of the Night Club, at the beach, in the dressing room of a clothing store, and some in England I think. At least, it was somewhere I’ve never been before and there were people there with English accents.”
G.G.’s shoulders sagged and Ildaria knew he believed her even before he said, “It was the Night Club in England.”
“Oh,” she said softly, but was recalling the rooms she’d seen in the dreams there and thinking the man had good taste. The Night Club in England was as impressive as this one, if not more. The rooms were more . . . posh, she supposed was the best description. More sedate, old-fashioned class, fit for Lords and Ladies, similar to the room the dream had taken place in last night. But the other rooms here were more relaxed. It made her wonder if there were more relaxed rooms in the Night Club in England as well that she just hadn’t yet seen.
“So . . .”
Ildaria shifted her attention back to G.G. to see the frown on his face.
“You were sharing the dreams but not really contributing to them because you lack experience,” he murmured. “You’re over two hundred years old and still a . . . ?”
“I’m not a virgin,” Ildaria said stiffly. “I’m just inexperienced.”
She wasn’t surprised to see the confusion on his expression, but it wasn’t something she could clear up quickly. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “We need to talk. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”
G.G. hesitated, his gaze flickering downward briefly before returning to her face. “Better yet, I will make the hot chocolate while you change into something . . .” Grimacing, he said, “Just go put some clothes on or talking won’t be what we do.”
Ildaria glanced down. H.D. was cuddled between her breasts, leaving her bra on display. It was a very old bra, embarrassingly old, and it was so thin that—wet as it was—it was as see-through as that veil nightie would have been. Ildaria felt her face flush with heat, but refused to let her embarrassment show otherwise and lifted her chin defiantly as she muttered, “Fine. I’ll be right back.”
Turning on her heel then, she headed for her room. Ildaria had the brief concern that he might flee once she was out of sight, but H.D.’s squirming to a more comfortable position in her arms had her relaxing. The man might want to flee now that he knew they were possible life mates, but he wouldn’t go without H.D. This was an instance where “man’s best friend,” was true. Because that man loved his dog.
The minute Ildaria set H.D. on the bed, the fur ball dove headfirst into the pillows and then dragged himself across her blankets, doing his best to dry himself.
Shaking her head at his antics, Ildaria spared a moment to rub the little beast down, and then straightened to strip off her clothes. She was soaked through, not just her bra, but her skirt and panties had also taken a soaking from the water dripping down from the dog against her chest. She donned a fresh pair of white cotton panties, and an equally boring white cotton bra. This set was as worn and threadbare as the ones she’d just taken off, but they were clean. She didn’t even consider the black lace lingerie set she’d purchased after the first shared dreams. What they had to talk about was not going to lead to anything that would call for black lace.
Mouth tightening, at the thought of the unpleasant task to come, Ildaria pulled out a pair of baggy jogging pants, and an oversized sweatshirt and tugged those on as well. Fully dressed now in the most unattractive clothes she owned, Ildaria stopped to drag a brush through her damp hair, put it up in a ponytail, and then take several deep breaths.
It didn’t help much, but then she doubted anything would, except getting this over with. Turning away from her reflection in the mirror, she patted her leg and said, “Come on, buddy, let’s go see your dad.”
H.D. leapt off the bed and scampered out the door the moment Ildaria opened it. She followed more slowly, half hoping G.G. would snatch up H.D. and leave before she could get to the living room, and half afraid he would.
He didn’t. G.G. was standing by the island with H.D. in his big, brawny arms, petting him when she reached the kitchen. But he stopped to give her the once-over, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
“Only you could make sweats look sexy,” he said with weary amusement as his gaze slid back up to her eyes.
Ildaria frowned. There wasn’t anything the least sexy in what she was wearing. But perhaps it was the effect of the dreams, she thought. With the memories of those dreams crowding the mind, she could probably wear a potato sack and look sexy to him. Just as he would appear sexy to her in whatever he chose to wear. But he wasn’t dressed in unattractive clothes. He was wearing his usual Night Club outfit of black dress pants and black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. Sort of casual dressy, but still very sexy.
“Your cocoa,” G.G. said quietly, nodding toward the two cups on the island. “I had a sip of mine. It doesn’t taste as good as yours, but I just followed the directions on the can. I suspect you do something different.”
“I add a little cream,” Ildaria explained, moving past him into the kitchen to fetch the cream Marguerite had brought with the groceries two weeks ago. It was nearly gone now. She’d have to buy more soon, she thought as she carried it back to add a little to both their cups.
“Thank you,” G.G. murmured, setting H.D. down and taking one of the cups as she replaced the cream.
When she returned, he was standing to the side of the table, waiting for her to take a seat. Ildaria picked up her own cup, and then chose the nearest end chair. She wasn’t surprised when he chose the opposite one, as far from her as he could get. Now that he knew they were life mates, he would avoid touching her at all unless he decided to agree to be her life mate. She had no doubt he knew enough about life mates to realize how highly combustible they were. One touch could be enough to set them off and have them tearing at each other’s clothes.
They were both silent at first. Ildaria had no idea what G.G. was thinking, but she was fretting over where to begin her explanation for her lack of experience. In the end, she just admitted, “I don’t know where to start.”
“Just start at the beginning,” G.G. suggested.
Ildaria nodded. “I guess it starts with my mother then. She was apparently something of a wild child. My abuela—my grandmother—said my grandfather was very strict, and my mother was always rebelling against his strictness. At sixteen, my mother decided she’d had enough and ran off with her boyfriend, telling my grandparents they’d never see her again.”
When G.G.’s eyebrows rose dubiously at that, she smiled wryly and said, “Yeah. Famous last words. She popped up a year later with me in tow. I was six months old. She’d been three months pregnant when she left, but too ashamed to tell them.”
“Ah,” G.G. murmured with understanding.
Ildaria nodded. “Anyway, had my grandfather still been alive, my abuela thinks things might have turned out differently, but he’d suffered a massive heart attack and died six months before. The same day I was born as it turns out. My abuela always thought that was important for some reason.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Abuela took us in, and agreed to help raise me, but only if my mother stopped drinking and partying and got a job.”
“But she didn’t,” G.G. guessed.
Ildaria shook her head. “I gather she was there for less than a month before she found a new boyfriend to move in with. My abuela begged her to leave me with her, but she refused and dragged me along. It was the first of many such moves. I guess it was the same pattern over and over. New boyfriend, she’d move in, taking me with her. They’d drink and party and fight and fall apart, and then she’d land back at Abuela’s with me three to six months later. I don’t remember any of that, but Abuela says the first couple of men were mean drunks and verbally abusive, which was bad enough, but then my mother moved on to men who were physically abusive.
“Same pattern,” she added with a shrug. “She just came crawling back to Abuela with bruises and whatnot rather than in a high dander about whatever the latest boyfriend had done. My abuela tried to talk to her, worried about her but also about me. I hadn’t been hit yet by any of the boyfriends, but she felt it was just a matter of time. She begged her to not move in with these men. Just live with her and date them. But my mother was headstrong.”
Sighing, Ildaria turned her cup slowly on the island before continuing, “And then one day, when I was four, she didn’t crawl back to Abuela’s. Instead, one early morning, one of my mother’s neighbors brought me to my abuela, explaining that my mother was very sick and asked that she please look after me for a couple of days. Once she felt better, she would come fetch me back.
“Abuela wanted to go speak to my mother, but had to leave for work and the neighbor assured her my mother was fine, just under the weather and unable to look after me properly. So, in the end, my abuela decided she would check on my mother after work and since she didn’t have time to find someone to babysit me, she took me to her job with her.”
G.G.’s eyebrows rose at this news and he asked, “Where did she work?”
“She was the head cook on a large plantation owned by Ana Villaverde,” Ildaria explained.
“And this Ana didn’t mind her bringing you to work with her?” G.G. asked.
Ildaria smiled at the suggestion. “My abuela was an amazing cook and sought after by rival plantations. I think her boss pretty much let her do what she wanted.”
“Ah,” G.G. murmured with understanding. “Good employees are hard to find.”
“Si, so anyway, she took me with her and kept me in the kitchen while she cooked. Apparently, everything was fine until late afternoon when her boss, Señorita Ana, came into the kitchen to meet me. It came out then that my mother wasn’t sick, she’d been beaten very badly.”