by Michele Hauf
Any other woman.
She didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense, or for anything other than this one dance. It was after midnight, and she’d be on camera in the morning. Plus, finding this guy observing her so intently, her inner warnings about him automatically upgraded to full alert.
He was staring at her rudely. Something in his expression made her imagine he possessed the ability to read her mind, and that what he found there was amusing.
Blinking slowly to break contact and announce to him that she had no intention of accepting his unspoken invitation, Madison ignored the rise in her pulse that he was causing. No one on the planet was that good-looking. She should know; she had interviewed a lot of movie stars up close.
What would Stewart have said about him?
Maybe this guy’s beauty was unearthly because he actually was unearthly?
Though that seemed ridiculous, she took Stewart’s reasoning one step further.
Maybe one of her brother’s secretive research subjects had just crystallized, and the awe-inspiring male exterior encapsulated something not so fine at its core. Hidden inside that full, slightly insolent mouth of his, could be a pair of long, pointed teeth.
Thanks, brother.
Madison now regretted the drinks, and vowed to never touch another one. Defiantly, she whispered to the man on the balcony, “If there are such things as vampires, though, there’d be no doubt about you.”
Disturbed that her brother’s extraordinary inner world had folded into her own, she gave herself over to the dance, keeping an attentive eye on the other men that were ogling her as if she were an appetizing after-dinner snack.
* * *
St. John settled his shoulder against a pillar and stared down from the balcony, his gaze riveted to one particular woman on the dance floor. He had found the woman in silver. When a sensation long dormant in his chest stirred, he hardly recognized it as a bead of honest interest.
Her hair was bloodred. A brilliant, fiery riot of untamed curls that glowed like bonfire flames in the dimness. Hair like that was the colorful embodiment of passion, intelligence and sex. Moist with sweat, several silky strands clung to her pale neck like crimson streams leaking from a puncture wound as she danced, dead center in the room and in the middle of the fifty other gyrating bodies, on the gritty stainless-steel floor.
St. John had never seen anything like her, or the way she moved. She waved bare, slender arms over her head sinuously, with her eyes closed, as if caught up in a trance. Her hips swayed in time to the heavy bass beat of music in a fluid, seductive display.
As she wove intricate patterns with her body in the tight area she’d carved out for herself, heat rose from her in visible waves. All that heat and flame in one sleek outline made it easy for him to assume he wasn’t the only male in this club whose gaze was fastened on the sultry redhead. Certainly not the only one with fangs.
No being with functioning genitals, either dead or alive, could have failed to be drawn in by Madison Chase’s enticing performance. This close, he would have recognized the American newscaster anywhere.
His fangs remained lengthened and ready for action, which meant that the rogue vampires were here, and nearby. A subtle scent of well-turned soil pervaded the area below, underscoring the rising drifts of sweat and expensive perfume.
The five bloodsuckers he’d seen on the street had been lured from the anonymity of the crowd and onto the outskirts of that dance floor. He sensed them as cold spots in the overheated room. They were bits of darkness broken off from the night outside, misplaced black holes with no perceivable pulse of their own. Deviations among the world of the living, and nothing at all like him, though their eyes and instincts were also trained on the redhead they had followed here.
Bloodsucker presence in this club was unacceptable. Problem was, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on that situation. His body had already started pulsing in time with Madison Chase’s.
Rather than searching out the specifics of the creatures he had tracked here, he continued to stare down at her. The sexy femme’s solo performance was an added bit of trouble. The fact that rogues had also zeroed in on the lithe dancer leaned toward a notable multiplication of the problem.
That nagging something he’d sensed in the back of his mind while outside, on the street, had reappeared in the form of a woman. He wasn’t sure why her presence affected him, beyond the obvious fact that Madison Chase was nothing short of magnetic.
His reaction to her was visceral and soul-stirring. But he had seen Chase on broadcasts and heard her on the radio, and knew why she had come to London, along with all the other television crews from around the globe.
Madison Chase, famous for her determined attitude of withholding nothing newsworthy from the public, could turn out to be a royal pain in the backside if she persisted in nosing around where she didn’t belong. It would be even worse if she were here to track vampires and their body counts, taking up where her brother had left off.
Damn, though, if she wasn’t a tantalizing half-naked problem, and keen to his well-honed senses.
The parts of her that weren’t bare were skimpily covered in a mesh concoction of silver sequins and spandex that was anything but modest. Calves, knees and most of her shapely thighs were exposed. She wore impossibly high-heeled shoes that sparkled and made her long legs seem endless.
He supposed nice girls might be allowed in public underdressed like that in the States, in the current decadent decade, though for this particular woman to call so much attention to herself here was an act approaching suicide. The world wasn’t as safe as it once had been.
Tonight, because of her sumptuous looks and moves, Madison’s appearance was a health hazard. Her way-too-personal, provocative dance was raising not only the room’s temperature, but some of the room’s occupants’ hormone levels, taking those things precariously close to the critical zone.
She was playing Russian roulette with her life.
“The gun’s chamber might be empty this round, but it’s only a matter of time,” St. John said to her from his observation perch. “Surely you can hear the fangs gnashing?”
She looked up right at that moment, as if she’d heard him. Her eyes widened. When her lips moved, St. John knew he had been right about the trouble. He’d heard what she said.
“If there are such things as vampires, there’d be no doubt about you.”
“Such a pity,” he said, because it wasn’t his business to warn Madison Chase about anything. Nor was it his job to rescue her from herself or anyone else. She wasn’t supposed to be on his radar at the moment. There was only room for one Chase twin at a time.
All he had to do was turn his back, lure the rogues outside and take care of them. If he didn’t do this soon, it looked as if the mindless monsters might make a move on Madison right here. They were stalking her in public, in one of London’s busiest, most successful clubs owned by a consortium of ancient immortals—beings who wouldn’t condone misbehavior of any kind. Though the Ancients were themselves old vampires, they hated the fanged fledglings as much as mortals would, if mortals truly believed vampires existed.
“Do you believe it, I wonder?” he said to the feisty dancer stirring things up, and who had the potential to become a thorn in every vampire’s hide if she were a believer like the brother who looked almost exactly like her, minus the good parts.
“I guess you haven’t been paying enough attention to the roadwork your brother laid about the danger,” he said to her conversationally, as if they were side by side.
Actually, she probably had no idea how far and how deep the creatures she’d called vampires had long ago dipped their fangs into London society. Likely she hadn’t a clue that immortals owned more land in England and had stockpiled more cash in this country than the Queen.
It also had
been made abundantly clear, by her reputation as an aggressive television personality and by her visit here tonight, alone, that Madison Chase might be as tenacious as a vine in digging out newsworthy scoops.
No doubt she was here to find her brother.
“Ah, but you are so interesting. So tempting,” he said. “It would be a shame to let the monsters have you. Not to mention how quickly your disappearance would become an international incident. I suppose, in that case, I’ll have to intervene.”
Descending to the dance floor by way of the stairs, instead of taking a graceful, telling leap down, St. John added, “All that glorious, disturbing heat...” as like a wave of barely disturbed air, he edged himself through the crowd.
Chapter 3
St. John came up behind Madison Chase on the dance floor, eyeing two of the vampires who quickly turned away from the sternness of his gaze. He spoke to her in a husky tone that he willed her to hear above the music.
“You’re alone?”
“Not anymore,” she replied over her shoulder. “Though you might want to choose a better opening line.”
St. John hadn’t been fully prepared for the deepness of her voice, or that it might rival her sultry exterior. As the surprise washed over him, he grinned.
“Also, there’s a rule about having to dance while on a dance floor,” she said, swiveling side to side so that her hips lightly brushed against his thighs.
His reaction to the unexpected touch came in the form of a jolt of pleasure that streaked through his body. Her life, her energy, and all that fire in such a fragile body, were heady draws that for a fleeting moment made him remember what it was like to be a man, aroused.
He quickly compartmentalized the sensation.
“It’s crowded here. Would you like something to drink?” he asked, hoping he’d get her to stop this indiscriminate sexual display and back her temporarily into a safer corner, while at the same time hoping she’d go on dancing. She was so very good at what she was doing.
“No, thanks,” she replied. “I never drink while I’m working.”
Working? Yes, she was working it hard. He’d attest to that. And she had lied about not drinking. The sugary fragrance of an alcoholic beverage emanated from between her lush, parted lips.
This woman, he decided with mixed feelings, was sex on legs. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her wrist with a quick stroke of his fingers, desiring to touch something so fine, but backed off before doing so, satisfied that she really was as hot as she looked. Heat to someone like him was the ultimate turn-on, and so very dangerous for the mortal radiating this much of it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the two disgruntled, freshly christened vampires circle the floor, checking him out. He sent them a second silent warning.
“You’re still not dancing,” Madison said, looking at him with slightly dilated, incredibly lovely blue eyes.
Aware of the fact that he was beginning to stand out by standing still, St. John matched his rhythm to hers. As he started to move, he searched her, head to toe.
Madison was indeed genetically gifted. She had a fine-featured, delicate face, with flawless skin. Small nose. High cheekbones. Arched brows. The damp red curls clinging to her cheeks were darker than the rest of her hair and a stark contrast to her skin’s paleness. Her mouth was glossy with a scarlet lipstick so dark, it had a blue cast under the lights. Much like dried blood.
Only the force of his willpower kept him from grabbing her. The urge to lay his lips on hers, to taste that red shine and run his fangs over her pretty, pale cheek, was close to overwhelming, and an affront to his monk-like existence.
He couldn’t recall the last time he had been so taken with a woman’s appearance that he’d allow one to lead the direction of a meeting. And if he was so affected, the young monsters nearby had to be in a state approaching frenzy.
He had to get her out of there for her own good, but in spite of the danger edging closer, he wished for more time with her.
“Perhaps you don’t like meeting new people,” he suggested when she tossed her head, raised her taut, toned arms and continued to sway in time to the beat.
“I like men,” she said, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
When viewed in silhouette, her body was slender to the point of sleekness. Her shoulders sloped toward fragile arms and small, firm breasts. No hint of a bra covered those breasts beneath the mesh dress, which led him to focus longer than he should have on a bit of pale pink nipple. Hell, he actually was aroused. His aching fangs weren’t the only parts stimulated by the woman.
The reactions to this sensational dancer had hit surprisingly hard, as if he had dived back in time to when those kinds of physical reactions mattered. He nearly smiled again, though keeping his fangs hidden was imperative. Some people might consider him a monster, but he liked to think of himself as a gentleman, when all was said and done.
“You like men, just not this one?” he persisted. “You might prefer a darker complexion or a smaller frame. Maybe you only like Americans.”
She shook her head, sending her red curls flying. “You’re too good-looking. Hurtful to the eyes. I don’t need more pain in my life.”
St. John accepted the unusual compliment with another burst of unfamiliar pleasure. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Madison was more naive than her brother had been if she didn’t understand how easily he could make her do whatever he wanted with one whisper in her ear. No self-respecting centuries-old immortal hadn’t mastered such a basic trick, and he’d had more opportunity than most to use them.
“Is that a compliment and a rebuff, all in one?” he asked. “Also, it’s a strange comment, since I believe you haven’t really looked at me yet.”
“The truth is,” she said, stopping so suddenly, she bumped into the person next to her, “I saw you on the balcony. You’re hard to miss. Besides, you’re not really affected by my comment anyway, are you, since you’re not actually a man at all?”
St. John’s eyebrows went up out of sheer curiosity. She had pegged him as a vampire, though she wasn’t acting as if she truly believed it—which meant he had to consider the possibility that she wasn’t serious, and merely engaging in an unusual bit of titillating fantasy foreplay.
He had heard about vampire fans and groupies of popular horror fiction pretending to be bloodsuckers, playing with the concept without confronting the downside. However, this was Stewart Chase’s sister, so he had to take care.
“Not a man. Damn. That’s probably not good,” he said, eyeing her carefully, trying to decipher what she might be up to.
“Not good for the unsuspecting people here,” she agreed, exhibiting an outward calm, though he sensed her heartbeat had begun to rev inside her chest, and the pink buds of her nipples had hardened. Her beautifully bare, formerly fluid shoulders became tense and riddled with chills. Long lashes veiled her eyes.
“If not a man, what do you suppose I am?” he asked, his concentration dropping to the dazzling net of sparkling silver mesh encircling her frame like a garment composed of pure, unobstructed moonlight.
“Don’t you know?” she countered with a lilt of cynicism far too worldly for one so young. “Don’t you know what you are?”
“For all I know, this could be some kind of test.”
“Vampire. You’re a vampire,” she said. The nonchalant way she stated this set his fangs on edge. The comment also increased his interest. Possibly the Chase twins had done their research together, after all.
“You believe in vampires?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“If you believe I’m one, why aren’t you running?”
“You’re bigger than the other monsters here and have twice the presence. You outclass them by miles, so I’m guessing you’re a lot older, have more experience, an
d that if I stay here, on the floor, doing what I came here to do, you won’t hurt me. At least not in public.”
Unable to help himself, St. John let out a soft bark of laughter. Madison’s idea of foreplay was exotic and chancy. For him, sexy, brazen and intelligent were characteristics adding up to a deadly irresistible mix.
Yet she had also proved herself to be somewhat enlightened about his breed, and this was cause for concern. And she was scared. The metallic tang of fear seeped from her pores, adding texture to her woodsy perfume and telegraphing to him that there was a fair chance she might actually believe what she was saying.
“You said work. Do tell me what it is that you came here for, exactly, given that dancing isn’t the only objective,” he said.
“One of my goals was to find you,” she replied with a further outward calm containment of nerves that St. John supposed could have earned her an award.
“Find me, personally?” he said. “You know who I am?”
She nodded. “And what you can do.”
St. John sobered slightly. “Should I be flattered?”
“Are vampires vain enough to accept truth as flattery?”
Now she had even more of his attention, if that was possible. “Of course,” he replied. “Some of us, anyway. It’s so rare that we deal directly with mortals who aren’t sprinting in the opposite direction, you see. So, if you came here to find me, and saw me watching you, then your dancing might have been to lure me to the floor? To you?”
“It worked.”
He grinned, conceding the point. Her intention had, in fact, been accomplished to perfection. He had felt in his bones that she’d been dancing for him, and had been drawn to her light and heat like the proverbial moth to a flickering flame. This was an interesting deviation of his character, and one to be considered carefully.
“Now that I’m here, do you want to tell me why you were looking for me?” he asked.
