Fangs for Nothing tf-2

by Erin McCarthy

  “Well go talk somewhere else,” Renee said, clearly unimpressed with his sycophantic behavior.

  The man didn’t say anything more as he scurried away.

  “Sorry about that,” Renee said, collapsing dramatically into one of the worn, red velvet chairs. “Donald is a regular here. Such a strange little man. He’s relatively harmless, but his attention can become a bit too much. Even for me.” Then she smiled.

  Then her heavily made-up eyes shifted to Drake, clearly done with the topic of Donald. She leaned forward to give Drake an air kiss on either cheek. Drake accepted the greeting comfortably, which Josie Lynn found kind of cool. Many men would not be comfortable with another man dressed as a woman being affectionate—even in such an affected way.

  “So why are you here, rock star?” Renee said, lounging back against her chair.

  “Do you know of a group of female impersonators who dress as Cher through the decades?”

  Renee rolled her eyes, disdain very clear in her face. “Cher. So cliché. All female impersonators imitate her at some point in their career.” Then she acknowledged Josie Lynn for the first time. “Not me, mind you. I was always too old to imitate her. But then you know I never went for the easy applause anyway.”

  Josie Lynn found herself nodding, although she didn’t really understand why it was any easier to dress up as Cher than any other female. In fact, Cher seemed like she’d be pretty hard to imitate. God knows, she couldn’t pull off that “If I Could Turn Back Time” getup. That took some serious balls and a really great tushy. Not to mention, in reality, Cher couldn’t be much younger than Renee.

  “So you don’t know of any impersonators working together,” Drake said, trying to keep Madame Renee on track. “There would be five of them.”

  Renee sighed. “Not working together, per se, but I do know several here and there. But if I had to guess what place might be doing a Cher Extravaganza, it would probably be the new club down on Royal. Queen Mary’s.”

  Queen Mary’s on Royal, there was something apropos about that.

  Although it was clear Renee did not think highly of this new place. Probably because it was competition. Josie Lynn glanced around, not that any place would have to be much to be competition for this place.

  The waitress who’d been helping them came over and placed a three-olive martini in front of Renee, who didn’t even acknowledge the gesture. Apparently when you were Madame Renee, it was assumed your needs would be met without having to ask.

  She took a ladylike sip, her ring-clad pinky extended, then she patted her ruby-red lips with a hankie she discreetly—or what she thought was discreetly—pulled out of her cleavage.

  “The thing about these new, flashy nightclubs, my darling Drake,” she said, settling back in her chair as if she planned to give a long diatribe on the matter, “is that there is no appreciation for the subtlety of our art.”

  Subtlety wouldn’t exactly have been the word Josie Lynn would have used.

  “These nightclubs are all about flash and glitz, not about appreciating the intricacy of being a true lady. And performing like a true lady.”

  Drake nodded, appearing to be listening with rapt attention, then Josie Lynn noticed he was inconspicuously patting his pockets, looking for his wallet, only to realize he didn’t have it. And Josie Lynn was willing to bet there was no money squeezed into those shiny, turquoise pants.

  Damn, now they were really stuck listening to Madame Renee lament the days of true burlesque.

  But to Josie Lynn’s surprise, Drake seemed to feel something and managed to squeeze his fingers in the tight pocket. Miraculously, he pulled out a twenty. He subtly waved it under the edge of the table for Josie Lynn to see.

  “You know how it was in the day,” Renee was saying. “The talent, the delivery, the elegance, those were the things people came to see. Not just some rote imitation of someone else’s expressions and moves. Any tranny with a mirror and a record player could practice those things until they were passable. True talent is original. Unique.”

  “I know,” Drake agreed emphatically. “It really is a shame.”

  “A shame? My dear boy, it’s a crime.”

  Drake took that segue to place the twenty on the table. “You are so very right, Renee, which is why we have to try to find these Chers. We have every reason to believe they were involved in some illegal activity.”

  Renee perked up, leaning forward in her chair again. “Nefarious deeds?”

  “Yes. So you will have to forgive us for not staying for your second performance.”

  Renee nodded instantly. “Most certainly. I understand if you must go.”

  Drake leaned down and kissed the woman’s rouged cheek. “Thank you for your help, Madame.”

  “Ah, Drake, I’m happy to help any way I can. You know our kind must stick together.”

  The older woman caught his hand and squeezed it briefly, more in a gesture of some unspoken camaraderie than affection.

  Our kind? What did that mean?

  Okay, Drake had been dressed as a pirate when she met him. And now he wore skintight vinyl pants that belonged to a dominatrix. And there were, of course, the assless chaps, but she still didn’t get any vibe from Drake that he was normally a cross-dresser.

  Drake finished his good-bye and Josie Lynn mumbled her own, then followed him back through the narrow bar.

  Once they were back on Bourbon, she asked him over the cacophony of people and music, “What did she mean when she said our kind?”

  Chapter Eleven

  ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE

  J OHNNY remembered when he reached the front door of his apartment that Lizette had changed the locks after he had gone in and taken his drum kit. Or more likely Dieter had. But either way, his key wasn’t going to work. See what happened when you let a woman into your life? She locked you out of your apartment. Okay, so maybe Lizette had locked him out because he’d faked his own death, but the point was, he didn’t like his world being disrupted. Even if he was the one who had started it.

  Damn it. Feeling aroused and annoyed all at once because he was having emotions he didn’t entirely understand, he was fully prepared to break a window to get in, but Lizette held up a key.

  “My apologies for the inconvenience,” she said politely, because Lizette was always polite. When she wasn’t yelling at him. Or letting him kiss her.

  He wondered what she had been like in bed. If she had screamed or if she had been silent in her pleasure. Here was to finding out. “Thanks. I was just going to break the door down.”

  She gave a cluck of disapproval that made him laugh. He pushed open the door, having a momentary fear that the place looked like crap, then realizing it didn’t make any difference. Lizette knew everything he owned, right down to his last pair of underwear. There was no impressing her at this point. Still, he was a little self-conscious about the fact that despite quitting smoking a month ago, there was still a stale lingering aftereffect of the cigarettes in his apartment. The drapes were drawn tightly closed, but he led her across the floor and pulled them open, wanting to see the moonlight spilling into the living room.

  “Make yourself at home,” he told her. “Clearly Saxon isn’t here, and there is no sign he was.” The room was still and everything was undisturbed. Apparently Dieter put things back the way he found them as he check-listed other people’s shit. What a douchebag job.

  “I suppose we should have realized that Saxon wouldn’t be able to enter the apartment,” she said, pulling the sweater off her shoulders one-handed.

  “He would have just broken in if he wanted to crash here,” he reassured her, then realized that probably wasn’t reassuring to a woman like Lizette.

  “There is a lot of breaking and entering going on,” she said, shooting him a long look.

  “Being a vampire does have it advantages.” Lizette looked like she wanted to sit, but he desperately wanted a drink. He suspected he was still dehydrated from the night before. “Can
I get you a drink? Have you had a hurricane yet? They’re the local classic.”

  “No, I have not. What is in one?”

  A crapload of alcohol. “Rum. It’s a sweet drink.” He was a rum kind of guy, though he usually didn’t add fruit juice to it. Drake always gave him a hard time about it, given that it was the guitar player who had been the pirate, not Johnny. But rum had a smoother flow to it than whiskey, and gin tasted like lighter fluid. Every man had his drink, but Lizette looked like she needed some pineapple juice added to her booze to take the edge off.

  “Sure. I am thirsty.”

  “How many rules are you breaking by being in here with me?” Johnny asked, moving into the kitchen and pulling ingredients out of the cupboard.

  “More than I care to consider.”

  “I’m sorry that you got wrapped up in all this, Lizette, I honestly am.” He was. He didn’t dig that they’d been drugged. He could only imagine how she must feel.

  “Thank you. Though you aren’t ultimately responsible for what happened at the wedding reception.”

  “It was my fault you were there. You were tracking me down.”

  “Good point. So you need to make it up to me.” She leaned on the counter, the front of her blouse gaping a little, her tongue slipping across her lush lower lip.

  Holy hell, she was flirting with him. He liked it.

  “I can forward your vibrator to you when it arrives.” Johnny grinned, pouring rum into two glasses while Lizette blushed. “But that’s for next week. Tonight, I can think of even better ways I can make it up to you.”

  “Is that so?” She propped her chin up with her hand and gazed out at him from under her thick lashes. “You will need to prove it to me.”

  She had no idea who she was challenging. Johnny may not have been well educated or rich, but there were three things he prided himself on—his boxing, his drumming, and his sexual skill. Since he had no intention of punching Lizette and he was off work for the next three nights, he would have to make sure the final one counted. “I can do that.” He lifted the drink to her mouth. “Take a taste.”

  Most women would insist on taking the glass from him, but she didn’t. She let him tilt the glass and she opened her mouth willingly, tilting her head to let the drink easily slide back down her throat. Johnny waited for her to hold her hand up or move her head away, but she didn’t, so when the glass was half empty he pulled it back, impressed. She licked the moisture off her lips.

  “Mmm,” she said. “That’s tasty.”

  “Let me see.” Johnny reached out and flicked his tongue across her bottom lip, the sweetness of the juice and the tang of the rum light notes to the heavy syrup of the blood he had added. It was delicious. Just like her.

  He took a swallow straight from the glass, then offered her the rest. She willingly drank it.

  “It’s making me warm,” she told him.

  Her cheeks had gained color instantly, going from the smooth marble of her vampire complexion to a more human peachy cream. She was still alabaster and unflawed, but with a hint of color to her cheeks and her neck. The tops of her breasts, which were revealed when her blouse shifted with her movements, looked warm and healthy, a vein visible and pumping her sweet blood with hypnotic vigor.

  “Where are you warm?” he asked her, taking his finger and tracing it across that blue trail beneath her flesh.

  “It seems to be settling in my hands and between my thighs.”

  Again, he had to say he loved her honesty. Johnny’s cock tightened in his jeans. “Not a bad place to feel warm.”

  “Not at all.”

  Johnny kissed her, still letting her rest on her hand while he took her mouth, his eyes drifting closed. She sighed against his lips. When he pulled back, she stood up and dropped her hands from her chin.

  “Is this going to be a challenge with these handcuffs on?”

  “No.” In fact, he found it arousing.

  “I suppose I cannot remove my blouse.”

  Oh, no. He was not about to settle for Lizette half-dressed. He wanted to see every inch of her bared out for him. “I can fix that.” Reaching back, he pulled a knife out of a drawer. He didn’t use it for cooking, but the apartment had come furnished and sometimes it came in handy. Like right now.

  Her eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. It will ruin my blouse.”

  “Your blouse is already ruined. There is no way you’ll be able to dry-clean the blood out of it.”

  “But what will I wear after?” But then Lizette shook her head. “Never mind. I did not say that. I’m going to be spontaneous. I am going to enjoy the moment and not worry about the consequences. It will be good for my soul, yes?”

  She looked so earnest, so nervous, that Johnny leaned down and kissed her gently, his own emotional response a little puzzling to him. How was it that he could want to protect Lizette and pound the hell out of her with his cock all at the same time? It seemed weird to want to have rough sex with someone and yet cuddle with her before and after. But that was how he felt, and she was clearly experiencing her own sense of mixed feelings and anxiety.

  “Yes,” he told her. “It will be good for your soul and your body.” He brushed her hair back off her forehead. “It’s going to be good for mine, too, you know. You make me want to be less of an idiot. More respectable. That’s no small feat.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “You make me want to relax.”

  “Win-win, baby. Now hold still so I don’t cut you.” It was just a matter of slicing down the one sleeve, then letting her slip out of the other, and Lizette was free of the bloodied fabric, her black lace bra displaying her small breasts damn well. She had a slender body, and the skirt she was wearing accentuated her narrow waist. Johnny had never thought he had a particular type with women—if he did, it was for big-breasted, ballsy blondes. But Lizette was nothing like that, and yet, there was something so intensely feminine about her that he decided she was definitely the most beautiful woman he had ever met. The delicacy of the bra, the hourglass waist, the smooth pale arms, and the red nails that matched her red lips, it was all turning him on a whole hell of a lot.

  Time seemed to be standing still, and there were no distractions, no noises from outside, no light to take away his focus from her. There was just a moonlit room and a beautiful woman who was crazy enough to get it on with him. One who was not wearing panties, if he remembered correctly.

  As they kissed again, he let his hands wander, up her soft back, over her shoulder, to where he peeled her bra strap off, then back down to her waist. The hands that were still cuffed together were clasped, fingers interwoven for ease, and her free hand splayed across his chest. She seemed as intrigued about exploring his body as he was about hers, though neither of them was in a particular rush. Johnny didn’t want to wham-bam her. He wanted to take his time, ensure she was enjoying herself, stretch it out as long as possible so that he would really have something to remember her by.

  Once Lizette went back to Paris, he most likely would never see her again, and he wanted to savor the moment. He stripped his T-shirt off as much as their cuffs would allow and let it dangle, wanting his skin on hers, wanting to be as close to her as possible.

  It felt like they were dancing, Lizette thought. Like they were engaged in a sensual tango in a dank basement a hundred years ago. Though she would have never done something like that. Since the death of Jean-Baptiste, she may have had sex rarely, but she had never been intimate. She had never taken the physical and the emotional exploration of a man and blended them together the way she had Johnny were doing here. His eyes were glassy in the moonlight, and he looked at her like he thought she was beautiful. She felt beautiful. She felt not reckless, but confident in her capitulation. Maybe it was lack of quality sleep, or having been drugged and the knowledge that she had already slept with Johnny even if she didn’t remember it, but she didn’t feel nervous. She didn’t feel tense or awkward.

  She felt aroused, eager, languid. It was a glo
rious feeling, and as his hands wandered over her flesh, she explored his as well, admiring the muscles in his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. There was evidence in the muscular strength of his mortal days spent in the boxing ring, and she tried to imagine him sweaty and intense, bouncing on his feet. Never would she have imagined she would be attracted by that thought, but she was, and she had been intrigued when she’d read his history in the VA dossier. Running down his arms, she gripped the belt loops of his jeans as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to mate with hers. The thrust and retreat made the warm ache between her thighs grow more urgent, and she shifted restlessly, well aware of her lack of panties. There was no protective barrier between her desires and the cool rush of air-conditioned air.

  Johnny seemed to pick up on her subtle nonverbal cue, because suddenly his hand was strolling up her leg beneath her skirt as he kissed her, and she instinctively turned her knee out to give him access. It was forward for her, but she never even hesitated. If she were going to have sex with a case subject in an apartment he was not allowed access to, she was damn well going to make the most of that decision. That way, when she removed herself from the case, she would at least have gotten the pleasure for the pain of stepping down.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, his hand pausing on her inner thigh, charming her with the thoughtfulness of his question.

  He clearly wanted to make sure they stopped before the point of no return if she wasn’t sure, and she appreciated that. But she had no intention of denying herself at this point.

  “Yes, please continue.” Lizette tilted her head back, then gave a little moan when he simultaneously cupped her sex while nipping at her ear. It wasn’t a bite to draw blood. It was a questing, teasing gesture, possibly to test her tolerance, or maybe just because he wanted to play. Whatever the reason, Lizette enjoyed the foreplay, her body humming with anticipation, moisture deep within her spreading over Johnny’s finger as he stroked inside her.

  “I don’t mourn the loss of your panties at all,” Johnny murmured into her ear.