It brought on an almost pleasure/pain and Abigail cried out, clutched at his shoulders and squeezed her eyes closed in response. She felt him move in the water, but was still startled when she was set down on something cold.
Opening her eyes she saw that he'd set her on the marble surround along the back of the tub. She couldn't see their reflection from there, and was glad of that now that she no longer had bubbles to hide her. But she had no idea why she was sitting there. Abigail glanced to Tomasso with confusion just as he finished situating himself in front of where he'd set her. Even as she looked to him, he slid his hands along the inside of her upper legs to grasp her thighs, pushed her legs wide open on the edge of the tub and buried his face between them.
A scream slipped from Abigail's throat as his tongue lashed her heated flesh. That first one was partially surprise, but the cries and broken screams that followed were wholly a response to what Tomasso was doing as his lips, teeth and tongue suckled, grazed, and laved her eager flesh. Abigail plunged her hands into his hair and held on for dear life as he drove her mad, taking her to the brink and then backing down only to push her to the edge again. Her hands pulled at his hair, and then tried to push his head away in turn and her back was pressing so hard into the wall behind her, she almost feared pushing through it. She tried several times to close her legs to end the torment, but Tomasso held her firmly in place.
Just when Abigail was afraid she'd have a heart attack or something if he didn't stop, Tomasso lifted his head and dragged her off the side of the tub to straddle his lap again. This time he was on his knees, his erection half out of the water, and this time he didn't set her down so that his erection was trapped between them. Tomasso lowered her directly over the tip, held her there briefly, and then eased her down until her bottom slapped the top of his legs. He held her there too for a moment, then lifted and lowered her again.
That was all it took. Abigail heard Tomasso's shout before her own could make its way out of her throat. She opened her eyes to look at him just as her own voice pierced the air, and then felt the darkness claim her.
Tomasso woke up crumpled in the bottom of the tub, with Abigail's foot in his face. He stared at her cute little toes briefly, thinking it was good he'd thought to push the button to let the water out of the tub near the end of their passionate encounter, and then lifted his head to try to get an idea of just what position they were in.
The last thing Tomasso recalled was kneeling with Abigail on his lap in the receding water. Apparently he'd fallen back and then slid to the side, unfolding his legs as he went so that he lay on his back in the bottom of the tub. Abigail had seemingly done the same. She was still on his lap, sort of, but her upper body had fallen so that her back was on his legs and her own limbs were stretched out, her feet on either side of his head.
It was like a case of that Twister game gone bad, Tomasso thought, recalling the time his cousin Zanipolo had once convinced them to play. He'd thought it a stupid game at the time, but then who wanted to be twisted around his brother and three other male relatives while Zanipolo called out colors and body parts? Now, playing with Abigail might be more interesting, he thought with a sudden smile.
Storing that possibility away in his mind for later, Tomasso turned his attention to disentangling himself from Abigail and getting them both out of the tub. It wasn't as difficult as he'd feared in the end, and he even managed it without waking her, which he thought was an amazing feat. Until he stood up next to the tub, bent down to scoop her up and felt the heat radiating off of her.
Straightening, Tomasso tightened his arms around her and peered down at her pale face with concern. He'd thought she'd felt a bit warm that last evening on the beach, and her not waking when he'd gone to collect her to take her to the boat for the trip here had worried him. But when he'd returned from using the office phone to call the Rogue Hunter house, she'd been up, in the tub and apparently fine.
Frowning, he turned to carry her out to the bedroom and lay her in the canopy bed. Tomasso then placed the back of his hand against her forehead.
Abigail definitely felt feverish. He was beginning to think it hadn't been his efforts to be careful that had prevented her waking as he'd shifted her off him and then carried her in here. She was sick. He needed to get her a doctor.
Bending, Tomasso tugged up the sheets and duvet to cover her, and then moved around the bed to the phone on the bedside table. After a quick glance at the labels to the left of the number buttons, he punched in the one for the main desk and waited . . . and waited. Scowling, he hung up, and then tried again. When he got the same results, Tomasso set the phone back with a curse and ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he took in Abigail's pale face. Then he turned to rush out of the room.
He'd go to the reception area and talk to someone himself. He'd probably get a doctor here faster that way anyway.
Abigail woke up in the canopied bed again. And again, she was alone. She was just starting to think she was going to get to enjoy an instant replay of her last dream, when her stomach lurched rebelliously and tried to crawl up her throat. Slapping her hand over her mouth, Abigail stumbled out of bed and hurried for the bathroom. The floor wobbled alarmingly as she went, but didn't prevent her making it to the toilet in time.
What followed was a most unpleasant several hours or so. At least it felt like that much time passed, but it probably only took a couple of minutes for her to toss up the meager contents of her stomach. That was followed by another ten minutes or so of dry heaves.
Once her stomach muscles stopped their violent contractions, Abigail sagged against the toilet with a moan, and rested the side of her face on her arm on the toilet seat.
She felt like hell. She was burning up, but shivering with chills. She was nauseous, her head was pounding, there was a terrible pain behind her eyes, and every joint in her body ached. Abigail hadn't felt this bad since . . . Actually, she couldn't recall the last time she'd felt this bad.
Abigail considered it briefly, but then shook her head. Nope, she'd had the flu several times, suffered colds, even appendicitis, but Abigail was pretty sure she'd never felt this sick in her life. And she was also sure that this time she wasn't dreaming. The pain was too intense, the taste of vomit in her mouth too realistic, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She was awake and sick as a dog.
Oddly enough that didn't really bother her as much as the fact that she was now quite sure that her first waking in this room hadn't been a dream either. It couldn't have been. She'd recognized the bits of food her stomach had tossed out. The grape skin had still been intact, the strawberry recognizable if a little masticated and the cheese had been in smaller chunks but also identifiable.
She really needed to chew better, Abigail thought on a sigh. Grimacing, she raised her head and started to try to get up, but stopped immediately when her stomach shifted threateningly. Apparently, it wished to stay right where it was. Who was she to argue?
Abigail rested her face back on her arm, then wrinkled her nose and straightened enough to sag back against the wall rather than return to her previous position. Closing her eyes, she recalled the interlude with Tomasso that she'd thought was a dream and tried to decide why she was bothered by the fact that it had most likely really happened. It wasn't the first time she and Tomasso had been intimate . . . or even the second.
It was the first time they'd had full-on sex, though, Abigail acknowledged.
As she'd expected, it had been incredible. Mind-blowing. The best sex she'd ever had.
And almost embarrassingly short, Abigail realized suddenly, her lips twisting wryly. The foreplay hadn't been, she thought now, but the man had barely got inside her before they were both screaming their heads off and passing out.
Did it matter if it was short if they enjoyed it? She wondered. And they had enjoyed it. At least she had. Last night, when her orgasm had crashed over her, Abigail had seen stars and--
"Fangs?" she muttered with confusion as
that memory returned to her. Abigail had been opening her mouth on a cry of passion as her body began to convulse, heard Tomasso cry out with his own release and opened her eyes to look at him. His whole body had been as stiff as a rod, his back arched, his head thrown back, his mouth open on a shout . . . and there had definitely been fangs poking out of his mouth. Tomasso had looked like a big, sexy, mostly naked vampire about to chomp down on some neck.
Abigail gave her head a shake. That couldn't have been real. It must have been part of a dream. In fact, she decided now, the whole thing had to have been a dream. Because Tomasso's penis during their interlude had been just fine, and the real one was a ruin. Abigail had seen it. She'd poured antiseptic on it. She'd even rubbed antibiotic on it, and the penis she'd done all of that to was not the one in her dreams last night. Dream Tomasso's penis had been perfect.
"Definitely a dream," she muttered with a short laugh, and then shook her head at herself for imagining otherwise.
Abigail caught a glimpse of the contents of the toilet as she shook her head and froze again. The food she'd thrown up was the food Dream Tomasso had fed her.
Everything in Abigail seemed to go quiet for a moment as her brain wrestled with what the contradictory evidence was telling her.
The food she'd thrown up was the food from the dream, therefore if this was real, that had been real too. However, Tomasso's penis had been fine in the dream, while his real penis was damaged. Therefore the sexual interlude had been a dream.
Abigail was scowling over the two contradictory truths when a little voice piped up inside her head with, But vampires are supposed to heal quickly, aren't they?
Her eyes closed on a sigh. Of course they did. At least they did in the movies and shows she'd seen with vampires in them. Give them a little blood and they could heal almost anything.
Abigail had barely acknowledged that to herself when the little voice spoke up again, pointing out, Besides, he has fangs. You saw them.
She was beginning to dislike that little voice, Abigail decided.
Do you think he bit you while you were sleeping and that's why he's all better now while you're sick as a dog? the little voice asked next.
Abigail frowned, trying to understand what her subconscious was suggesting. "What?" she muttered finally with confusion. "Like I'm sick because I'm turning into a vampire?"
Oooh, hadn't thought of that, the voice replied. I was just thinking we were weak from blood loss, but becoming Vampirella makes more sense with the puking and such.
Abigail's eyes widened incredulously. It did make more sense. Blood loss would make her dizzy, maybe short of breath and tired, definitely pale. It would not, however, cause fever and vomiting.
At least it would make more sense if Tomasso had bitten her, she thought suddenly and was immediately moving. Her stomach protested at once, turning unhappily, but Abigail ignored it and managed to get to her feet to stumble to the counter. Leaning forward she raised her chin and examined her neck in the mirror behind the double sinks.
The air left her lungs on a slow hiss as she spotted two puncture marks next to each other on her throat. Abigail raised one shaky hand to touch them. They were about the right size and distance apart to be from the fangs she'd seen protruding from Tomasso's upper jaw.
Dammit! He'd bit her! Abigail thought with dismay.
Was that why she'd passed out on the cargo plane? Probably, she decided grimly. And he'd probably bit her again last night too. Loss of blood was probably why she'd fainted again. The man was feeding off of her like a leech. A big, sexy leech instead of a slimy, slug-like leech, but a leech just the same. That probably explained his finding her attractive, she thought. Nice rich chubby-chick blood was probably loads tastier than weak, stringy skinny-chick blood.
Scowling, Abigail leaned closer to get a better look and frowned as she noted the marks weren't fresh. They had already healed quite a bit. She'd guess they were at least three days old. Maybe four . . . which was about how long it had been since she'd met Tomasso on Jet's cargo plane. At least she thought it was. The days had sort of begun to blur a bit, and she wasn't sure of anything at the moment.
Abigail ran a finger over the healing wounds again, recalling Tomasso standing behind her in the cargo section, his arms around her, hands caressing as he nibbled at her neck . . . and the sharp pinching pain followed by the drawing sensation she'd experienced just before she'd blacked out.
This certainly did explain that blacking out business. He must have been feeding on her every time they--
Her thoughts dying, Abigail twisted her head around, trying to see more of her neck and find other puncture wounds. There weren't any. At least not on her neck or shoulders or chest where she could see them in the mirror. Abigail felt around the back of her neck where she couldn't see, but didn't feel anything there either.
Letting her hands drop, she frowned slightly. If he'd only bit her the once, why had she fainted each time they'd been intimate? This last time in the tub she'd passed out like a light being switched off, but she didn't recall him spending a lot of time around her neck. He'd spent more time--
Abigail glanced down at the apex of her thighs and narrowed her eyes. She needed a flashlight and a handheld mirror. Or a lamp and a mirror, she thought, suspecting she wouldn't find a flashlight in the hotel suite. She probably wouldn't find a handheld mirror either, but it was worth a look.
Turning away from the counter, Abigail started for the door, but slowed when the room began to spin. She stopped and reached for the counter to balance herself, but it was too late, the floor was coming up to meet her.
Nine
"Feverish, you say?"
"Si," Tomasso muttered as he unlocked the door to the villa he'd arranged for him and Abigail when the fishermen had let them off at the resort dock here. It was a luxury resort and where the men had been staying, and since Tomasso didn't know the first thing about Punta Cana or what was available here, he'd decided their resort would do. Besides, they were leaving early in the morning, practically at sunrise, so he only had to make sure he avoided them until then to ensure the memories he'd tampered with about their encounter with him stayed buried.
"Any other symptoms?" the doctor asked, following him inside when he opened the door.
"No," Tomasso said, but frowned. He hadn't really examined Abigail before rushing off to find the doctor, and while he felt he probably should have thought to do so, he was glad he hadn't. Doctor Cortez did not live at the resort and had been getting ready to head home after having dinner and drinks here when Tomasso had found the man. It had taken his special brand of persuasion--aka mind control--for him to get the man back here to the villa.
Leaving the doctor to follow, Tomasso led him through the villa to the master suite, opened the door, and then paused briefly when he saw the empty bed. Frowning, he rushed to the bathroom door, calling, "Abigail?"
There was no answer. He understood why when he reached the open door and saw Abigail sprawled naked on the tile floor. She lay on her side with her back to him, her arms and legs askew. She looked like a doll who had been tossed away. Cursing, he hurried forward, calling her name again, aware that Doctor Cortez was following.
Tomasso knelt at Abigail's side and turned her over, only to sit back with dismay when he got a good look at her face. She was as pale as death, the circles under her eyes almost black against her paper-white skin.
"She's vomited."
Tomasso glanced around at that calm comment to see that Cortez had set his medical bag on the sink counter and was now peering into the toilet. After flushing the toilet, the doctor walked over to squat on the other side of Abigail. He felt her forehead briefly, lifted her eyelids to check her eyes, and then pulled her lips back to look at her gums, before turning his attention to her arms. After lifting each one to examine all sides of them, he then returned Abigail onto her side to look at her back.
"She has a lot of insect bites," the doctor commented. "And she appears to
be developing a rash."
Tomasso frowned as he noted that the doctor was right.
"Has she been complaining of a headache?" Doctor Cortez asked, straightening to move to the tub.
"No," Tomasso growled, his concerned gaze sliding over Abigail's face as he eased her onto her back again.
"Achy joints?" the doctor asked, bending to press the button that would set the stopper. "A pain behind her eyes?"
"No," Tomasso snapped impatiently, his eyes now moving over the mosquito bites he could see. Had Abigail had them and the rash when they were in the tub earlier? He hadn't noticed.
Turning the cold tap on full force, the doctor asked, "How long has she been in the Dominican?"
"Four days," Tomasso answered.
"Hmm." The doctor straightened. "Sounds about right."
"What does?" Tomasso asked with a frown. "You know what it is?"
"I will take some blood and have it tested," Doctor Cortez said cautiously as he moved to his medical bag to retrieve several items. Returning then to kneel beside Abigail, he finished, "But my guess would be dengue fever."
"What's that?" Tomasso asked with concern. He was sure he'd heard the name before, but hadn't a clue what it was.
"This is just a band. I wrap it around her arm to make the vein--"
"No. What is dengue fever?" Tomasso ground out with irritation, interrupting the unwanted explanation of what the doctor was doing in preparation for taking blood.
"Oh." Doctor Cortez finished tying the band around Abigail's arm, then slipped a needle into her vein and watched blood begin to pour into the attached test tube, before explaining, "A virus that's quite common here. It's transmitted by mosquitoes."
"Is it bad?" Tomasso asked with concern.
"Unpleasant," the doctor said with a grimace. "But she should be fine."
"Thank God." Tomasso sagged with relief, then stiffened and glanced to Abigail's face when she moaned and began to stir.
Her eyes fluttered open, and Tomasso tried for a reassuring smile when her confused gaze found his. But it dropped away into dismay when she accused in a raspy voice, "You bit me!"