He wore beige slacks and a pale blue shirt (which I’d picked up for him on my way into work that evening). His hair was gel-free and slightly tousled.
“You look perfect.”
“I look like a pansy.”
“In other words, perfect.” I walked up behind him and stared over his shoulder. “She’ll love it. Just make sure you remember what we talked about.”
He nodded. “No cursing or spitting or whacking anybody and stuffing them into the trunk.”
“What about the basement?” asked a familiar female voice. “Or the crawl space under the stairs?”
I turned to find Mia standing in the office doorway. She wore a black leather vest, black leather pants, and a pair of silver-studded black knee-high dominatrix boots. Her lips were painted a bright blood-red, her complexion a ghastly white.
Vinnie looked ready to bolt for his jacket and the nuclear toothpick stuffed in the pocket when I touched a hand to his arm. “She owns a tattoo shop and she’s just really artsy.” In other words, she’s not a card-carrying member of the undead. “Hey, Mia.” I smiled at my newest client. “You’re early.”
“I finished up with my last customer a half hour ahead of schedule. I did this rad pic of Vincent Price on the inside of his left forearm. It turned out gnarly.”
“That’s great.”
“You do snake tats?” Vinnie asked her, his gaze raking from her head to her toes and back up again.
“Are you kidding? I live for snake tats.” She motioned to the python that wound its way around her neck. “I didn’t actually do the needlework on this, but I did do the design.”
“Not bad.”
“Says you. It’s friggin’ fabulous.” She smiled. “Nice outfit, dude.”
His tension seemed to fade in a rush of insecurity. “Really?”
Her red lips parted in a smile. “No.” She shook her head. “You look like a registered dork.”
Vinnie’s mouth drew into a tight line and he inched toward his jacket.
“The PC term is pansy,” I said, gripping his hand just before it dipped into the coat. “Chill,” I snapped. “She’s human.”
“You sure?”
Hello? Fangs, remember? “I know a human when I see one,” I whispered to Vinnie. To Mia, I said, “Vinnie’s trying to find a woman to take home to mama.”
“You’re a mama’s boy and a dork?”
Mia smiled, Vinnie frowned, and I had a quick mental flash of the carnage about to take place on my very expensive Persian rug unless I did something really fast.
“Vinnie, go.” I pointed toward the door. “Mia, sit.” I motioned to the chair. “Come on, people. Let’s move.”
A minute later, Vinnie was on his way to a tearoom on Manhattan’s Lower East Side and Mia was picking her teeth with my letter opener.
“So?” she asked when I sat down behind my desk and eyed her.
“I think I’ve found the perfect man.” Or at least one to tide her over until Mr. Perfect materialized. “His name is Wes Johnson and he’s a graffiti artist.”
“Creative.” She tapped the letter opener on her front tooth. “I like. Is he hung?”
“Like a horse,” I replied, and Mia smiled. “He’s also well rounded and very in-depth. In addition to his art, he likes listening to heavy metal music and attending thrash parties. He even has a hobby.”
“Knife-throwing?” Mia asked hopefully.
“Body piercing via safety pins.”
“I think I’m in love.”
For now.
Until she realized that Wes wasn’t half the badass in person as he was on paper. He cried during movies and never missed Ellen, both of which explained why I hadn’t dug him up during my first database search for possible Mia matches.
He wasn’t the man for her.
In fact, judging by his emotional state, I wasn’t so sure he was a man, period. He’d been wearing sunglasses the one and only time I’d interviewed him, so my information was limited to what was actually written on the profile—namely, overemotional male desperate for ultra-sensitive female who wouldn’t mind, occasionally, switching gender roles in the relationship.
Namely, he wanted to wear the thong every now and again while she wore the tighty-whities.
I ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and the voice that whispered You are so dead, and held tight to the vision of Mia in her dominatrix boots. Hey, it smacked of gender reversal to me.
I gave Mia the details of her upcoming coffee date. Once she left, I spent a half hour matching up a few other clients—a stewardess with a high school gym coach, a financial analyst with a bungee-jumping instructor, a construction worker with a fledgling architect. After that, I poured myself a cup of coffee and started Googling local exorcists.
I’d just scribbled down the info for two possibilities—a retired Catholic priest now residing in Connecticut and one Dr. Zoombababazoom, a voodoo high priestess from Jersey (ya gotta love the Internet)—when Remy Tremaine walked into my office.
He looked as scrumptious as ever in jeans and a black Ed Hardy T-shirt.
If my heart hadn’t already stalled thanks to last night and a jumble of feelings that I had no desire to examine too closely, it would have definitely skipped a few beats courtesy of Ed and my weakness for designer everything.
“Nice,” I commented.
His gaze zeroed in on me as I sat behind my desk. While I knew I was, for the most part, hidden by lots of chrome and glass (he was a vamp, not Superman), I couldn’t shake the feeling that Remy Tremaine saw much more than I wanted him to, from my blond highlights to my hot pink toenails, and everything in between.
“You’re not looking so bad yourself.” He stared at me a few more moments before shifting his attention to his surroundings. He swept a gaze around my office. “Nice place.”
“It’s not the penthouse of the Trump Tower, but it’ll do.” At least as far as I was concerned. “My folks think I should stop slumming it and report to the nearest Moe’s.”
He grinned. “My parents felt the same way when I decided to forgo the family banking business and start a security service. But they finally came around. So this is where you do your thing.”
“This is it.”
He sank down in the chair opposite my desk and leaned back, his casual stance belying the blatant interest in his gaze. “What exactly is it that you do?”
“Well, it all starts with one of these.” I showed him the multi-page profile and went through the basic steps that clients followed to sign up to find their dream mate. “Then they write a check, I do my thing, and they live happily ever after. So, um, what brings you here?”
“I need a date.” His gaze collided with mine. “See, I had one last night, but she split before we had a chance to get to the really good stuff.”
Oh, boy.
I swallowed. “About that…” I licked my lips and tried to ignore the way his gaze riveted on my mouth. “I’m sorry, but I really did have a life-or-death dating situation. I’m sure you can understand. You probably have emergencies all the time.”
He nodded. “There are always drug deals that go wrong or robberies that turn sour or the occasional officer who needs advice on whether or not to kiss on the first date.”
“Very funny.”
“Actually”—he grinned—“I was going for charming and/or irresistible.”
“I’ll give you charming, but the irresistible needs some work.”
He stared at me and I stared at him and the tension thickened.
“So,” he finally said. “How about it? You up for a drink or something?”
My body trembled. Boy, was I ever. “I can’t,” I blurted. As physically attracted to him as I was, there was just something that kept me from ripping off my clothes and propositioning Remy right there, right then.
Something, or someone.
“I’m really busy,” I rushed on. “Swamped.”
The ring of the phone punctuated the senten
ce and I gave him a what’d-I-tell-ya? shrug.
“Dead End Dating, where your pathetic love life is our livelihood.” It wasn’t even close to “Where’s the Beef?” but at least I was trying.
“I heard that a certain born vampire was spotted at a certain club in Times Square where a certain demon is rumored to be hanging out,” Ty’s deep voice rumbled in my ear. Suddenly I forgot all about Remy Tremaine.
My heart gave a frantic double thump and the blood started to pound through my veins. My legs trembled and warmth stirred low in my belly.
“Um.” I shifted in my seat and searched for a comfortable position. “Is that so?”
“You don’t happen to know which born vampire I’m talking about, now would you?”
“Let’s see…born vamp? Times Square? Lesbian nightclub? Nope, I’m afraid I’m drawing a great big blank.”
“I never said it was a lesbian club.”
Uh-oh. “I just assumed?”
“You’re lying. Dammit, Lil. What part of ‘Stay out’ don’t you understand?”
The sound of a throat clearing drew my attention, and my gaze collided with Remy’s. He arched an eyebrow at me and I murmured, “Could you hold just a sec?” Before Ty could grumble hell, no, I clamped a hand over the mouthpiece. “Can I take a rain check?” I asked Mr. Tall, Blond and Perfect.
“Tomorrow night?”
I thought of Evie levitating in my bedroom. “What about next week? Or the week after that?” I held up the phone. “It’s my busiest time of year, but I’m sure things will calm down soon enough.”
He nodded and pushed to his feet. “I’ll call you then.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Can’t wait for what?” Ty’s voice drew me back to the phone in my hand.
“Nothing.” I watched Remy disappear. The bell on the outer door jingled and my nerves relaxed for a nanosecond.
“Who were you talking to?”
“A client.”
“Since when is Remy Tremaine one of your clients?”
“How do you know I was talking to Remy?”
“Because I’m standing across the street from your place and I just watched him walk out.”
“You’re spying on me?” No sooner had the question burst past my lips than I reached the front door. I stared through the glass at the vampire who lounged against the opposite building.
He was all lean lines and hard muscle, his face partially hidden beneath the brim of his black Stetson. He wore black jeans and a black leather vest with nothing else on underneath. His heavily muscled biceps gleamed in the moonlight and an excited shiver worked its way down my spine and back up again. “You are spying on me.”
“It’s not called spying. It’s called watching your back, and someone has to because you sure as hell aren’t covering it on your own.” He frowned, his grip going white on the cellphone in his hands. “I know for a fact that you were at that bar last night.”
“So what if I was?” I stared into his bluer-than-blue eyes and my tummy hollowed out. “It’s a free country. Last I heard, I didn’t need special permission to go drinking with my friends.”
“Unless there’s a dangerous demon on the loose who’s hunting new victims.”
“I seriously doubt he wants to hack me up. He has a history of slicing and dicing humans. As in living, breathing. I’m much too dead for him.”
“Or way too stubborn.”
“Either way, I’m safe.”
“And what about your friends?”
“I’m perfectly capable of protecting Evie.” Guilt stabbed at me as I said the words because I knew it was my fault that she was floating in midair and sliming innocent shoes. I’d sent her into room A to deal with Earl Hubert Stanley armed with nothing but a Lysol can and some attitude. Why, I’d practically hung a raw T-bone around her neck and shoved her into the lion’s den.
“You’re just a vampire,” Ty said, as if sensing my sudden remorse. “There’s only so much you can do. Any human—male or female—is fair game for this demon. Even Evie.”
Especially Evie.
“Just do us all a favor,” Ty went on, obviously mistaking my silence for deep thought rather than mucho guilt. “Go barhopping down in SoHo or Greenwich. Hell, head for Brooklyn if you have to. Just steer clear of Times Square.”
“Are you done?”
“That depends. Are you going to listen?”
“Don’t I always?” I gave him a smile and a mock salute. He grinned and the slow, sexy slant made my legs quiver.
Bad legs.
“So what’s with Remy?” Ty finally asked, his expression fading into a tight frown, as if he’d just remembered something. “What was he doing here?”
“He wanted a date.”
“With you?”
“Does it matter?”
It did. I could see it in the sudden flare of his neon-blue eyes.
At least, I thought I saw it, but then the jealous light faded and I was left to wonder if I was reading more into Ty’s feelings than what actually existed.
Maybe the reason we had no relationship wasn’t because he couldn’t have one, but because he didn’t want one.
Maybe he didn’t feel anything more for me than a great deal of lust and I was just imagining the rest.
Maybe…
And maybe it didn’t matter one way or the other. Regardless of the hows and whys, we weren’t together and we never would be, and there was no sense crying over what I couldn’t have.
Right?
Right.
“I really have to go.” Before he could say anything, I punched the OFF button and turned away from the doorway.
You can’t get away from me that easily. His deep voice whispered through my head and I stiffened.
Just watch me. I gathered my courage and put up the biggest mental block I could summon. Granted, I couldn’t permanently sever the emotional link that connected us, but I could sure as hell put a crimp in the wire.
I put all of my thought into powering off my computer, straightening my desk, and NOT thinking about Ty or how blue his eyes were or how much I really, really wanted to kiss him again.
Or how, even more than kissing him, I wanted to talk to him. To tell him about Evie and how I was just a teensy, tiny bit concerned (that’s concerned, mind you, NOT scared) that I might not be able to actually save her.
I mean, really. What did I know about exorcisms?
I shook away the question and busied myself with several file folders. By the time I grabbed my purse and headed home, it was a half hour later and Ty had given up his post across the street.
Thankfully.
I had more important things to worry over than what Ty did or didn’t feel for me. I realized that the moment I climbed out of a cab a few blocks over to find half my closet littering the street in front of my apartment.
I ducked as a pair of Chanel pumps sailed past my head and whacked into the concrete.
What the hell…?
I twisted and caught a glimpse of Evie framed in the open window, her eyes a bright yellow, before a black patent Mary Jane nailed me smack-dab in the middle of the forehead.
And just like that, everything went black.
Nineteen
I didn’t actually black out.
Yes, one minute I was staring up at Evie and the next I was stranded in total darkness, but it wasn’t because I’d lost consciousness.
Come on. I’m a vampire, for Damien’s sake! I’m made of stronger stuff than that. I wasn’t going down just by getting whacked in the head with a hot-looking shoe.
Rather, it was a hot-looking coat—wool with silk lining—that had me flat on my back, fighting to peel the stifling material off my head.
There. I stared up at the sky and drank in a deep draft of oxygen to get my bearings.
It didn’t work, for obvious reasons, and I scram bled to my feet. My gaze shifted to Evie, who stood in the window ready to chunk my all-time favorite black sequined Bergdorf Goodma
n—Noooooooooo!
It hit me square in the face. A split second later, it was raining scarves and undies and—oh, no! Not my bras, too!
“Nice skivvies.” The comment came from a bum parked near the curb. He reeked of alcohol and bad decisions. A grin split his face and revealed several missing teeth as he held up a purple lace bra. “You fill this out with the real thing or are those fake boobies?” He motioned to my chest.
“Real.” I snatched the scrap of lace from his hands and started scooping up everything she tossed. The faster I scooped, the faster she tossed until—
Enough!
I could slip on my preternatural Nikes and spare a few seconds to hightail it up five flights of stairs, down hallways, and through doorways, or I could cut the bullshit and put a stop to this right now.
My gaze swept my surroundings. Since I didn’t have a nearby phone booth (think Underdog), I had to settle for crouching behind a fire hydrant.
Kapow. Shazam. Shimmy-shimmy-cocoa-pop!
Just like that, I went from pissed off vampire to determined pink bat.
“Holy shit,” the bum’s voice echoed in my tiny ears, but I was too far gone to worry about him at the moment.
My sight shifted from Technicolor to night-vision and I headed for the window and the red blob holding my prized Chanel boots.
The blob dangled one precious leather creation over the edge. I gave a high-pitched scream and dive-bombed through the open window. My wing hit her cheek. The frantic fluttering drove her back until she collapsed on the bed. Just like that, her body went limp and her eyes rolled back in her head, as if the effort of destroying my life had exhausted her.
Uh, yeah.
Meanwhile, I landed in a flapping heap in front of my now empty closet. I focused my gaze. My breathing slowed and my limbs grew heavy. The steady beat of wings faded into the pounding of my own heart and I was once again Lil the vivacious vamp instead of Lil the lean, mean bat machine.
My first instinct was to cry.
I glanced at the upside-down shoe boxes and empty hangers and my gaze narrowed.
All right, already. So maybe my first instinct was to kick some demon ass.
But since said ass still belonged to my loyal assistant, who was now an unconscious heap on the bed, I kept a tight rein on my temper. I forced myself into the kitchen to retrieve the spray bottle of leftover holy water.
Just One Bite Page 14
