Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  They’d arrived for dinner at the Bistro at near peak time. No tables, but there were two stools at the bar and the hostess assured them they could get anything from the regular menu there.

  Nick looked at Reese with a question on his face. She glanced at the bar. The stools were close together, but she thought that would be better than standing around the lobby in an awkward what-to-say-to-your-stalker-while-waiting-for-a-table way. With a slight shrug and a half-hearted nod, she acquiesced.

  Nick was secretly pleased about the fortuitous development. Not only did the seating arrangements force them to practically snuggle their way through dinner, but the noise meant they would have to lean close in to each other to be heard over the din.

  “You’re not going to run out on me and leave me with the check, are you?” Reese raised an eyebrow. “Because I didn’t bring any money.”

  Nick slanted eyes toward her wearing a sexy expression that should have been outlawed outside the bedroom and said, “I’m trying to stay out of jail. Remember?”

  She nodded. “Just so we understand each other.”

  “What’ll it be, young lovers?”

  They both turned their heads toward the bartender. Reese opened her mouth to tell the guy that they weren’t lovers, but before she could make a sound, Nick said, “Cosmopolitan for the lady. Whiskey neat for me.” Reese turned toward Nick, eyes bulging. “And menus, please.”

  “That is not funny,” she said.

  “What?”

  “That you know I like Cosmopolitans. How would you know that?”

  Truthfully, he knew everything. The only way he could know any more about Reese Braga would be if he was inside her own head which, he had no doubt, would be both an enlightening and entertaining experience.

  He lifted a shoulder ever so slightly. “I’ve been paying attention to you. For a while.”

  “And here we are at creepy once again. You already knew my name, didn’t you?” He smiled. “And what else?”

  “Random things. But I’d really rather learn about you from you.”

  She looked confused and started to speak. He stopped her, gesturing by pulling on his ear to indicate she’d have to get closer because he couldn’t hear. Of course his shifter ears could hear everything, could even separate conversations within the cacophony if he chose, but he would much rather have her leaning close where he could breathe the magic of her scent in deep and feel her breath on his cheek. “I don’t get it. Honestly. I don’t get it. Why me? I mean I know I’m presentable when I clean up, but there has to be more to this.”

  It was his turn to lean. He got close enough to her ear to be heard at the same time he lowered his voice and said, “You have some attractive qualities, Reese. It took courage to march across the street and demand to know what I’m up to. It takes an indomitable spirit to be funny in the middle of a confrontation with a stranger who could be dangerous. It speaks volumes that you were willing to risk dinner with me. As it turns out, it’s not a risk, but you couldn’t know that. So,” adapting what she’d said about him getting points for complimenting her favorite dress, “points for taking a leap. You know your looks are more than presentable. So I’m deducting points for being coy.” She gaped. “But what attracted me to you and had me following you around, trying to figure out how to approach you, was the way you smell.”

  She closed her mouth, opened it, closed it again and finally said, “You can’t deduct points.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… Well… Because it’s against the rules.”

  He laughed. “What rules?”

  She stared for a couple of beats. Their faces were just inches away from each other.

  “Here you go, young lovers.” For the second time they turned their heads in unison toward the bartender as he set two drinks and two menus in front of them.

  “We’re…” began Reese.

  Nick cut her off. “What makes you think we’re lovers, ah,” he looked at the little badge pinned over the server’s heart, “Vince?”

  Bartender Vince smirked. “You wouldn’t have to have mad bartender people-reading skills to tell that. It’s written all over you. I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your order.”

  When Nick turned back to Reese, she said, “We don’t look like lovers.” He said nothing, just picked up his whiskey and hesitated long enough to smile into the glass before taking a refined sip. “Stop it.” She lightly slapped at his biceps. “We don’t.”

  He slanted eyes in her direction. “If we didn’t, you wouldn’t protest. You’d just laugh it off.”

  Pulling her chin back she realized he was probably right. That was not an auspicious beginning to a possible friendship. No self-respecting woman wanted to hook up with a guy who sounded like mister righty pants.

  “Whatever.” She faced the bar and took a sip of Cosmopolitan.

  “You’re mad because we might be mistaken for people enjoying carnal knowledge of each other?” He sounded incredulous and, honestly, he was confused as to why that might be a turn off for her.

  “I’m not mad. I’m…”

  “Know what you want?” Vince said.

  They both turned to look at Vince at the same time. “Give us another minute,” Nick said smoothly.

  “Sure thing.” Vince went toward the other end of the bar.

  “You were telling me why you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Irritated then.”

  “Okay. I’m irritated because you’re right. There. Happy?”

  He chuckled. “Kind of.”

  She grabbed the menu. “Let’s eat and go.”

  He took the menu out of her hands. “No. No. No. No. No.” He shook his head. “The only way we’re going to hurry through dinner is if you’ve committed to a second, third, fourth, and fifth date with me.”

  “This is not a date.”

  He leaned in. “We’re having drinks and dinner so close to each other we might as well be in bed together. And people think we’re lovers. Oh. And I’m paying. Sounds like a date to me.”

  When her mouth parted, he had to stop himself from dragging his thumb across her full bottom lip to see if it felt as soft and plump as it looked. The wolf part of his personality could be both curious and impulsive. Both traits had value, but could also be a pain to control.

  “Well. It’s not. It’s a chance for you to come clean then go and sin no more.” He laughed softly. “What’s funny?”

  “If somebody hangs out at a theater stage door hoping for a glimpse of stardust, that’s not a crime.”

  She blinked slowly. “Are you trying to say you’re just a fan? Of mine?”

  The corners of his mouth pulled at the gleam in his dark eyes. “Ah, she gets it. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

  “Many women would be. Now why don’t we just slow things down? Order an appetizer. If we like it, we’ll order another course. If we don’t, we’ll go someplace else.” Again, she blinked slowly. “What do you like?”

  “I thought you already knew everything about me.”

  “Is this another test? I could make some educated guesses, but only you know what you’d like right now. Tonight.”

  She wasn’t sure how those words made up a sexual innuendo, but somehow, the way he said it, sex was implied. Deciding that occasionally silence was the best policy, she opened the menu. “Okay. Since you’re paying, I’d like to start with either goat cheese quesadilla, shrimp slaw, or mushrooms stuffed with creamed spinach. Which one of those do I want?”

  “How do I know you won’t say something different even if I guess right?”

  “You are so suspicious.”

  “I learned it from you.”

  “I promise I won’t pull the football.” He gave her the tiniest scowl and she could tell he didn’t know what that meant. “You know. Charlie Brown? Lucy and the football?” He looked blank. She shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll ju
st have to trust me.”

  “Mushrooms stuffed with creamed spinach.”

  “Oh my God. How did you know that?!? You couldn’t have known that. It’s not like there’s some database with information on what appetizer I’m going to want to eat tonight. This is damn unsettling.”

  “It’s not a magic trick. It was just a good guess.”

  “Promise.”

  Before he had to answer that, Vince appeared like magic. “We’ll start with the mushrooms and the meatballs, Vince.”

  “You got it. You hanging onto the menus for now?” Vince asked.

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Still haven’t decided.”

  They stayed at the Bistro. It seemed that Nick had a never-ending stream of questions about Reese; her history, what she liked, her job, her friends. She tried to get him to talk about himself, but he would answer a question or two then skillfully guide the query back to her.

  By the time they were finishing the main course, the crowd was thinning out and the bar got quieter. It turned out that, underneath the loud chatter, soft jazz was playing. Reese insisted she was stuffed, but ordered dessert anyway. After that they got coffee with Baileys and, by that time, they were the only people left in the bar.

  “Well,” she said, “if we don’t leave, they’re going to throw us out.” Nick paid the bill. “Thanks for dinner. I mean I know you owed it to me. But it was good. Believe it or not I’ve never been in here. Even though I practically live on top of it.”

  “I would cover your bill every night for the rest of your life.”

  “Nick! And things were going so well. Why’d you have to ruin it by saying something so…?”

  “Something so what?”

  “Crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy to know what I want, Reese Braga. You’re it.”

  She chuffed out an exasperated breath and slid off the stool. “I’m going home.”

  “Alright. I’ll walk you.” He grinned. “I know the way.”

  When they reached the street entrance to Reese’s apartment, she stopped and said, “Well. This is the best stalker confrontation I’ve ever had.”

  “Me, too. I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow night. I have a place in mind. What time?”

  “Whoa. Hold on, sparky. I’ve offered no such encouragement.” She paused. “Although I do have to admit you surprised me. I really expected you to say you wanted to come in.”

  “I do want to come in, and accept if that’s an invitation.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Then I read you right and concluded that sex is not a possibility tonight.”

  She nodded. “It’s not.”

  “But you’ve had such a fine time you don’t want it to end?” He teased. “Would you like to go for ice cream?”

  She laughed and turned toward her door thinking she was going to say good night and that would be the end of her handsome-stalker-confrontation adventure, but surprised herself by turning back and saying, “Sorbet. I like raspberry sorbet.”

  His mouth spread into a wolfish welcome-to-my-lair smile. “I know a place. Not far, but too far to walk. My car is just over there.” He looked to his right.

  “Your… um, car?”

  She seemed suddenly guarded.

  “The passenger doors have handles on the inside. You can check before you get in.”

  She scowled. “And now we’re back to mega creepy.”

  “Just trying to ease your apprehension. That’s your fear, right? That I’m a crazed psycho and that you’ll end up a subject of Special Victims?”

  She studied him. Somehow she didn’t think a crazed psycho would focus his victim’s attention on the worst possible result of an ice cream outing. Somehow she didn’t think a crazed psycho would suggest ice cream. She sighed, knowing she could be wrong.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “I’m going to text my friend and put the fate of ice cream in her hands.”

  Nick Sigil added a mixture of curiosity and amusement to his perpetual expression of aplomb. “While you’re doing that, I’ll go get the car.”

  As she pulled out her phone he walked away. Not fast. Not slow. With just the right amount of confident swagger. Since he was no longer standing over her, she decided to call instead of text.

  Melanie answered right away. “Reese. Why are you calling me? Where’s your date? You’re supposed to be busy on the way to busier and busiest.”

  “Shut up for a minute and listen.”

  “Okay.”

  “He wants me to go get ice cream. No. Not ice cream. Sorbet.”

  “Yeah? That’s different.”

  “I know. He’s gone to get his car.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you hearing me? My stalker wants me to GET IN HIS CAR and go for ice cream. I mean sorbet.”

  “What have you been doing since you sent me his driver’s license?”

  “Having dinner.”

  “You do realize that was three hours ago.”

  “Uh, no. I hadn’t been watching the clock.”

  “Well, if you spend three hours having dinner with a guy, he’s not your stalker. He’s your date. If he wants to go for ice cream after, he might be your boyfriend.”

  “Will you stop? I’m calling to find out if it’s stupid to get into a car with a stranger.”

  “He’s not a stranger anymore. And I have his picture. So. No, it’s not stupid.”

  “I’ve gotta go. He’s here.”

  “Wait! What’s he driving?”

  “Melanie.”

  “Come on. Throw a girl a vicarious bone.”

  “Guess.”

  “Very shiny burgundy Porsche,” Melanie said.

  “Old beat up Jeep Wrangler.”

  “No way.”

  “Bye.” She slid the phone into her purse just as Nick rounded the Jeep and opened the passenger door for her. “You’re pretty sure she said yes.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t she?”

  Reese smiled and got in. The inside was clean and newish looking. Surprisingly so.

  After closing the driver’s side door, he looked across at her and said, “I wasn’t expecting a beautiful and delicate passenger tonight or I would have borrowed a smoother ride.”

  Reese snorted. “Delicate? Hardly.”

  The Dreamy Dip was a tiny grab and go establishment with fabulous frozen fare and a line out the door. It was a neighborhood favorite flanked by a few square blocks of upscale shopping that people walked to, with dogs. There were four tables outside and all were occupied.

  When they got close enough to read the blackboard menu, Reese leaned slightly into Nick. “Did I mention that I like passion fruit sorbet even better than raspberry?”

  After what sounded like a contented sigh, he said, “No. Maybe I’ll have that, too.”

  “I also like,” she was reading from the board, “lemon, strawberry, and kiwi.”

  “But not coconut.”

  “No. Well, I mean I like coconut in other stuff. Fruit salad. Suntan lotion. Just not sorbet.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What’s your favorite?” She drew her eyes away from the fascinating blackboard to get his reaction and found him staring. “What?”

  “What do you mean what?”

  “You’re staring at me like I’m…”

  “Special?”

  She looked away abruptly, afraid she might be blushing. Before she had to think of what to say next it was their turn. She got a scoop of passion fruit and a scoop of raspberry in a paper cup with a small plastic spoon. He got a scoop of lemon and a scoop of strawberry so she could try them as well.

  They decided to walk and window shop. “The thing about sorbet,” she said, “it’s like that old Jello commercial. There’s always room for sorbet.”

  He nodded. “I see that.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Goes without saying.”

  “You’re kind of a mystery. Your clothes say GQ, but your ride says lumbe
rjack.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I guess both things are kind of true.”

  “You’re a lumberjack?”

  “No. I’m not a lumberjack, but three or four days a week I live up in the mountains. It’s pretty remote and in certain weather the roads can be challenging.”

  “And your business? What did you say you do again?”

  “Cannabis distribution.”

  “Is that profitable?”

  “If you do it right.”

  “Do you do it right?”

  He chuckled. “Want to see my bank statement?”

  Reese stopped in her tracks and gaped, turning red from embarrassment. “Oh my God, no. I…” She stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He laughed, scooped a bit of the lemon, and held the spoon close to her lips. “I’m not put off. Here. Try the lemon.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he shoved the spoon in. She let her tongue swirl it around her mouth. “Hmmm.” She nodded. “It’s good. I’ll get that next time. Maybe. But about this other thing. Please let me and my big mouth off the hook. I’m not a gold digger.”

  He smiled and held a spoonful of strawberry up to her. As she took it, he said, “I don’t think a tactful inquiry about my circumstances is a bad thing.”

  “You don’t? I mean, you’re some strange stalker I’m having ice cream, I mean sorbet, with. But for some reason I’m feeling like I don’t want you to think I care about money. At least not in that way.”

  Nick shrugged and continued walking. “Why not? When a female is evaluating a potential mate, whether or not he can take care of her should be one of the biggest considerations. Everything takes a backseat to basic needs, security, and safety.”

  She couldn’t believe she was being pulled into a conversation about ‘mating’. And who used that word anyhow? But she couldn’t seem to get control over her mouth. “First, I’m not evaluating you as a potential, um, mate. But if I was, I would say what about feelings?”

  “Feelings?”

  It was her turn to chuckle. “You say that word like it’s not part of your vocabulary.”

  “Well…”