The lights and noise bothered her senses. She hurried to the back of the club where it was quieter and dimmer, creating a feeling of false intimacy. The area was crowded, but in the farthest corner was an empty table for two.
She sat down with her back to the wall, not wanting any surprises. Unexpectedly, he plopped down right beside her rather than across from her.
When she arched a brow in question, he shrugged and said, “Don’t want to have to watch my back either.”
Understandable and yet provoking.
His physical presence was difficult to ignore, and his dark brown eyes seemed fathomless in the dim light.
She hoped he would not prove as fascinating as he appeared.
“So you expect me to believe the bouncer was a vampire and that there are other ones here as well?” he said, examining the interior of the club.
There were definitely vampires present. She sensed the push of their undead force, but before she got into proving it, she wanted him to buy her a drink. She was low on cash and most men disappeared once they discovered the truth around them.
The truth about her.
Raising her hand, she signaled a waitress.
When the young woman arrived, Michaela said, “Cuervo shooter.”
Slipping a glance at her companion, she realized he was checking out the waitress, in a vamp way, not that she expected him to pick up on the signs so quickly. She shook her head.
He understood and ordered a shooter as well.
The waitress hesitated and Michaela explained, “You’re new. You’ve got to pay up front.”
He snorted in disgust, but quickly dug into his pocket, peeled off a twenty from a moderate wad of cash and tossed the bill on the scarred black Formica table. The waitress immediately scooped up the money and walked away to place their orders.
“Must get nice clientele in here,” he said as he tucked his money into his pocket. The motion pulled his suit jacket back, exposing the butt of his gun. At an adjacent table, one of the patrons noticed the weapon and quickly scurried away.
Jesus wondered why the man felt compelled to run. In his line of business, it was an obvious sign of guilt, but in here….
For all the patrons’ Goth rebelliousness, they were quite uniform in their manner of dress, lots of black, from the leather and jeans to their hair.
“You said you’d make me truly believe,” he reminded his companion just as the waitress came to the table with their drinks.
The waitress placed the lime, saltshaker and shots of Cuervo on the table. His companion bit into the lime, skipped the salt and then downed the tequila in one gulp before ordering another.
“Thirsty?” he asked as he paid in advance once again.
“Once guys see how things are, most of my dates don’t last beyond the first drink.” She fidgeted with the empty shot glass.
“Didn’t realize that buying you a drink made this a date,” he said, perplexed by her, by the self-assurance on the surface that seemed to hide a well of vulnerability.
“Not your usual type, I suspect,” she said and fully faced him.
Not his type?
He wondered about that as he sipped his shot of tequila and studied her. Her dark, nearly black hair fell in choppy layers against her roundish face. Cerulean-blue eyes bore an exotic slant and hinted at extreme intelligence, while pale, creamy skin appeared to be as soft as satin sheets.
The black leather jacket she wore fit tight against her body, accentuating both her slimness and slightness of stature, but the tank top beneath the jacket exposed the lushness of her curves.
He imagined exploring those curves. Raising that lean, strong body against his and slipping within.
His type, he thought, fighting back his body’s response. Now that they were up close, he guessed her to be at least a decade younger than his thirty-eight years.
“Don’t have a type and I’m not the kind to drink and run,” he said, taking another sip of the Cuervo to quell the desire awakening within him.
She laughed, the tone of her merriment rich and uninhibited. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself that kind of freedom, but she clearly was not one to hold back.
That only intrigued him more, especially when she challenged him with, “You may be the kind to run after you see what goes on in here.”
Elegantly raising her hand, she gestured to the far corners of the club, close to where they sat. He could barely make out the shadows of people engaged in various activities.
Leaning close to him, she said in a hushed tone, “Look carefully if you dare.”
Her warm breath against the base of his neck was sweet. He imagined the kiss of that breath elsewhere and decided it warranted the risk.
“I dare.”
Chapter 4
He followed the surprisingly long line of her index finger, which pointed to a doorway guarded by a muscular bouncer. He was another very pale man who exuded a power that Jesus could feel even across the distance separating them.
Yet one more vampire? he wondered before turning his attention to the door.
In the distant corners, so dark they were almost devoid of light, he finally recognized the activity going on.
Sexual, he thought as he watched one woman writhing against someone, her legs wrapped around a waist. Heat raced through him as he imagined his companion riding him like that, but he quickly tamped down the thought.
Beside that couple was another in an intimate embrace. The woman straddled a man’s thigh, grinding against it, clearly seeking satisfaction. Her companion had one hand tangled in her long blond tresses. Before Jesus’ eyes the man pulled the woman’s head back, exposing the long line of her neck. There was a familiar weirdly bright blue-green gleam in the man’s gaze and a flash of white fang before the man buried his face against the woman’s throat.
Jesus imagined he could hear her sharp gasp of surprise. He saw the jerk of her body, confirming that he wasn’t imagining the attack. When the man shifted his head for the barest of seconds, a dark line of blood became visible against the woman’s skin.
Instinctively Jesus began to rise, determined to interrupt the assault, but his companion laid a hand on his arm.
“Don’t get involved. She came here for that and the vampire knows the rules.”
Vampires did not exist and what he had seen so far that night could be explained by….
He didn’t know what would explain it, but surely there was a rational reason somewhere.
“The rules?” he asked, sitting back down and picking up his shot glass. He hoped her answer would provide a more plausible explanation for what he had just seen.
“No siring the humans in public. I’m even surprised he put the bite on her like that. Foley—”
“Foley?” He finally downed his shot, wincing as the heat burned down his throat.
“Foley’s the owner of this place. He usually has a ‘no public biting’ policy,” she replied easily, but a furrow of worry was etched in the middle of her forehead.
“Not good that they’re getting so bold,” she added.
The waitress came over at that moment with their next round of drinks and he placed another order.
“Not running?” she asked as she picked up the wedge of lime.
“Not sure. But before I make up my mind…Who are you?” He dragged the shot glass close and slowly shifted it between his hands.
She wiped the lime juice from her hands against her jeans and then introduced herself. “Michaela Ramirez.”
He eyeballed her hand, then shifted his gaze back to her face as he took her hand in his much larger one. “Jesus Hernandez.”
Raking her gaze over his attire, she said, “Special Agent Hernandez?”
“Assistant Director in Charge,” he corrected.
“The boss man.”
It explained the air of power about him and confirmed what Michaela had already suspected—he was the kind of man who knew how to take care of himself. But it
also meant he was the kind of man who would not understand the mission to which she had dedicated her life, and her eventual death.
He played by the rules. Her existence defied such constraints.
Arching a brow upward, he asked, “And what is it that you do? You know, your job when you’re not busy staking the undead.”
She didn’t have an answer she thought he would accept, so she took her time, perusing him once again.
His suit was expensive and well tailored to his big muscular body. Despite his age, thick dark brown hair showed not one hint of gray. The few wrinkles on his face were the smile lines at the edges of his very sensual mouth and dark brown eyes.
Eyes that twinkled with amusement at her inspection, at her stalling tactic.
Surprising.
“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, wanting to shift the focus back to him.
“Maybe starting to believe.”
He downed his shot of tequila just as the waitress brought the third round.
When she reached for the lime and shot glass, he covered her hand with his deliciously warm one. His palm was rough against the back of her hand. She imagined that roughness rubbing other parts of her body and a hot flush erupted within her, dampening the spot between her legs.
“Sure you can handle another? You’re kind of…small,” he said, dragging his gaze over her figure.
His look lingered at her breasts, yanking a more obvious response from her. Her nipples beaded into tight points, which only convinced her that it had been way too long since she had last satisfied herself.
Way too long, she thought as she turned her hand and grasped his, running her fingers along the fine hairs on the back of his wrist. She stroked his bare skin, edging beneath the cuff of his shirt.
“You’d be surprised at how much I can handle.” She grinned when she felt the tremor beneath her fingers.
Jesus held his breath as her simple touch jerked his body to life. It had been so long since he had done this little dance with a woman. He wanted to confirm that he wasn’t misreading the signals.
“Just need to make sure you know what you’re doing in a place like this,” he said and half turned in his chair to be certain that he didn’t miss a millisecond of her reaction.
“What I’m doing?” She looked down to where her hand still stroked the sensitive skin at his wrist.
He took her question as an invitation and grasped her hand in his. He noticed the slight chill of her skin and wondered at the reason for it, but he thrust aside the niggle of concern.
“Nervous?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to read her reaction. If anything, she’d been assured, strong and complex so far. He was anticipating experiencing more of the same from her.
“Just…cold,” she answered and twined her fingers with his. “As for where this is going…Are you sure you’re ready to handle all of this and more?”
Jesus shot a look around the club and then back at her. She seemed so much a part of this place and yet removed from it. That might explain the hint of loneliness he had sensed in her.
“If the ‘and more’ involves the two of us alone together somewhere, I’m ready.”
Shaking her head, she smiled, but there was no mistaking the sadness in her voice as she said, “You may be sorry you said that.”
He cupped her face with his free hand and explored the soft skin of her cheek. He shifted his thumb downward over her full lips. Her warm sweet breath exploded against his finger, as if she was shocked by the intimacy of his touch.
“If I promise not to be sorry, can you do the same?”
She sucked in a shaky breath and he saw how her pupils widened with desire. Against the pad of his thumb, her lips quivered before she worried her bottom lip with her perfectly white teeth.
Perfectly white fangless teeth. The thought brought some relief that he wasn’t about to engage one of the supposed undead in what he hoped to be some very satisfying sex.
“Well?” he prompted, her delay both worrisome and frustrating.
She released her bottom lip and finally said, “I won’t be sorry.”
Chapter 5
“Good.” He rose and stood by the table, obviously waiting for Michaela to choose where they would go for their tryst.
“Where” definitely not being the flophouse where she was staying while she completed her mission. She suspected that Jesus, too, would not volunteer where he lived for their encounter.
Which left only one immediate choice—one of the backrooms at the Blood Bank.
She stood and inclined her head toward the rear of the club. “We can pay for a private room in the back.”
Jesus narrowed his eyes, seemingly doubtful, but he didn’t hesitate to follow her as she led him to the bouncer by the door. He stood with tattooed and muscular arms across a broad chest barely covered by the metal-studded leather vest he wore. He kept an unwelcoming glare on his face until Jesus reached into his pocket and extracted some cash.
“What will it be for the best room you have?” Jesus asked.
The bouncer looked at her and replied with a snicker, “I guess such a fine lady only deserves the best. A hundred dollars until dawn.”
“Dawn?” he asked, even as he peeled off the bills and handed them to the man.
“A virgin, are you?” the bouncer said with a sneer, but Michaela shot her hand up to silence him.
“The key is all we need from you.”
When he held out the large brass key, she snagged it from his grasp and rushed into the hallway containing the private rooms.
The hall was narrow and relatively short. The walls were painted black and seemed to devour the light from the dated wall sconces located near each door. The floor beneath their feet was carpeted with a thick shag rug in deep crimson. It was matted down in the center, testifying to the traffic that passed this way.
Jesus followed Michaela as she checked the number on the key against the ones on the wooden doors of the rooms. Finally, at the door farthest away from the club and all its noise, a brass number eight marked the room as theirs.
“What did he mean that we had the room until dawn?” Jesus asked, towering over her. His physical presence rattled her calm, causing her to falter while she tried to unlock the door. He immediately covered her hands with his and helped steady her as she turned the key and opened the door.
She had heard about the Blood Bank’s private rooms, but she had never been in one. The room was surprisingly more than what she had expected.
A queen-size four-poster bed took up one side of the space, the bed’s surface lushly appointed with a satin comforter, an assortment of pillows and remarkably clean sheets.
But it was the accessories on the opposite side of the room that subsequently snared and held both her attention and Jesus’.
He walked to the wall where an assortment of whips, chains, cuffs, knives and other toys were conveniently displayed. Running his index finger along a pair of fur-lined wrist cuffs, he shot her a half-lidded glance as he once again asked, “Why dawn?”
“Why do you think?” She removed the wrist cuffs from the wall and examined them more carefully, even going so far as to undo the strap on one of them.
“It’s when the vamps go home after a night of play,” he said.
A rough edge tinged his voice. Was it from fear or from imagining their own night of play, fur-lined wrist cuffs included?
“It takes a lot of trust, don’t you think?” she asked, slipping on one cuff and holding out her arm the way one might do when examining a bracelet.
It would take a lot of trust, Jesus thought. More trust than existed in their newborn relationship. He reached out and slipped off the cuff, tossed it aside, encircled her fine-boned wrist with his hand and urged her close.
“Tell me what you want, Michaela.” He enjoyed the contradictions she presented, but he needed something concrete on which to begin this night, on which to—perhaps—build something more. Because
he suspected that with a woman as complex as Michaela, one night just wouldn’t do it.
She laid a hand on his chest and stepped so close she had to tip her head back to peer up at his greater height. Softly she rubbed her hand against the fabric of his shirt and said, “I want normal.”
The longing in her voice was unmistakable. His own yearning responded in sympathy.
It had been way too long since he had done normal.
Gingerly, aware that she was a little skittish and might bolt, he eased his arm around her waist. Slowly he urged her to move that last little bit, until her body brushed his. But he moved her no farther, not wanting to intimidate or overpower. Somehow, he understood that Michaela needed equal footing.
She needed a partner, he thought as he bent from his greater height to put his face level with hers.
“I think I can do normal,” he teased, a playful grin on his face as he sought to begin her night of respite.
Their evening of pleasure.
A smile crept to one corner of her mouth. She cradled his cheek and traced the lines of his mouth with her thumb, shifted it to the dimple beside his lips.
“You have a nice smile. You’ve done it often during your life,” Michaela said. At his puzzled look, she slipped the pad of her index finger across the faint lines on his face.
His grin turned wickedly sexy. “There’s something to be said for maturity in a man.”
Dipping one hand while bringing the other upward, she placed both on the cotton of his shirt, exploring the gloriously sculpted muscle beneath. As she closed the final distance between their bodies, the hard jut of his impressive erection pushed against the flatness of her belly.
She pressed against him, shifting her hips back and forth. “Maturity doesn’t seem to have affected your ‘something,’ because it’s definitely saying—”
Honor Calls Page 2
