“You do know that one of the reasons it took so long for you to seduce me is that I just couldn’t believe that anyone as beautiful as you really wanted to date me, and not just make me another notch on their bedpost.”

   He smiled and some tension left him, so at least part of what was going on in his head was a need for reassurance from me. I’d come into this relationship believing that someone who had been a ladies’ man for centuries wouldn’t need any reassurance. Jean-Claude had taught me that everyone needed it.

   “There are no notches on my bedposts, ma petite.”

   I grinned at him. “The bedposts couldn’t survive all your conquests.”

   “There are not so many as that.” And then he laughed.

   I felt a bubble of eagerness in my stomach, like happy butterflies. It wasn’t me. “Nathaniel is almost here,” I said.

   The bodyguards gave a businesslike knock and opened the door for our other half, or would it be our other third, or our fourth? Nathaniel walked in wearing a pair of silky lavender sleeping shorts that fit him very nicely, so nicely that the view from the front distracted me for a minute from the rest of him, but I recovered, because it was all a nice view. His shoulders were wide, his arms well muscled, his chest deep, and his stomach flat and fit. He’d started to get a six-pack of abs, but every time he got truly cut across his abs, he lost too much of that great ass of his, and Nathaniel just didn’t look right below a certain weight. He had the Adonis belt where the line of his waist did that soft square line down along the hip, now hidden inside the silky shorts. The muscles of his thighs were impressive and so were his calves. He’d actually had to cut down on his weight lifting because he’d started to muscle up more than he wanted to for dancing onstage. Genetics would have let him muscle up in a way that the other two men in the room couldn’t. Jean-Claude and Damian both looked great, and Jean-Claude hit the gym for the same reason Nathaniel did, so he’d look great taking his clothes off onstage, but he was built long and lean like a long-distance runner or a basketball player as opposed to a football player.

   Damian didn’t hit the gym as hard as the other two, but then he got to keep all his clothes on at Danse Macabre when he danced with customers, or his dance partners. Knowing you’re going to get nude in front of strangers was a great incentive for working out more.

   Nathaniel’s hair was still damp from the shower, so it was a darker brown than its true red auburn color. He’d tied it back in a braid still wet, because when your hair reaches to your calves you have to braid it to sleep or you strangle yourself and your partners by the end of the night. He had an even-better-than-normal smile, so for once that dominated his face rather than his eyes. His driver’s license listed blue as his eye color, but that was only because they wouldn’t let him put down lavender or purple. The normal color was pale like lilacs, but depending on his mood, the lighting, and the color near his face, they could darken to the true purple of violets. They were almost that dark now, which meant his emotions were running high, but happy; if they’d been grape dark it would have meant he was angry. His eyes rarely got that dark.

   His happiness was contagious, or it was to me. I felt myself smiling back at him like a mirror, and maybe there was more to that analogy than I wanted to think about since he was my moitié bête, my animal to call. He nearly bounced across the room to wrap his arms around me and lay a very thorough kiss on my mouth. I responded to that eagerness with some of my own so that the kiss grew into my hands tracing the warm muscled smoothness of his back. His hands smoothed over the silk of my robe and pressed hard enough that he probably knew what I was wearing underneath it.

   “I’ll give you all a few minutes alone,” Damian said, and started to move toward the door.

   We broke from the kiss and Nathaniel said, “Why do you want to leave?”

   “Not everyone is as comfortable with physical affection as you are, notre minet.” Which meant “our kitty,” or “pussycat.” It was a term of endearment, though you had to be careful which French word you used for “cat,” because some of them in French slang meant a very different kind of pussy.

   “I thought you might want some privacy,” Damian said.

   Nathaniel looked genuinely puzzled.

   “Nathaniel is an exhibitionist and a voyeur, Damian. He’s not going to understand why the kiss made you uncomfortable.”

   Damian gave a smile that was more sad than happy. “I guess that’s true, but if you want to have sex, then I can come back.”

   “I always want to have sex,” Nathaniel said, laughing a little as he said it, because it was pretty much true, “but I can control myself even around Anita. We’re here for you tonight, Damian, and what you need.”

   Damian smiled, then almost laughed, and shook his head. “That means a lot to me, Nathaniel, because I know you mean it.”

   Nathaniel stepped away from me, just trailing his hand down my arm so he kept our fingers entwined as he moved toward Damian, trailing me behind him by just our fingertips. “Of course I mean it, Damian. You’re the other third of our triumvirate. Just tell me what I can do to help you feel better.”

   Damian gave a little laugh that seemed more nerves than anything. “If I asked you to wear something else to bed tonight, would you understand what I meant?”

   I didn’t have to see Nathaniel’s face to know he was frowning. I could feel his confusion. “I can take off the shorts and sleep nude, but I thought you’d be more comfortable if I slept in something.”

   Damian shook his head and smiled. “That’s not what I meant, Nathaniel. I don’t want you to wear less to bed. I’d prefer if you wore more.”

   “More?” Nathaniel asked.

   I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind so I could lay a light kiss on his bare back. “He means that he’d like you to wear more than just the shorts to bed tonight.”

   He turned in my arms so he could see my face, and his expression was completely There must be some mistake. When he realized I was serious, he turned back to Damian. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything that covers more of me that’s pajamas.”

   “If you are protesting Nathaniel’s shorts, then you must be deeply offended by what I am not wearing,” Jean-Claude said from the bed, where he lounged like some sex god waiting for the cameras to roll. I’d have said that was just the fact that I was in love with him talking, but he really was as sexy as I thought, so said everyone else.

   Nathaniel called out, “Jean-Claude,” as if he’d just noticed him there. He let go of me and ran to the bed. He literally launched himself into the air and landed on top of Jean-Claude, catching himself on his hands and toes so that he didn’t smack into the vampire, but was almost in a push-up over him. Only someone with Nathaniel’s dexterity could have done it without the romantically exuberant gesture going horribly wrong. I couldn’t have done it with practice runs.