Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (28 page)

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

S
t. 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, and 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.

“I've merely been seeking truth in the rumors.”

“There are rumors about me?”

“Now who is being naive?” Her gaze rose a few inches, though she didn't make eye contact. She had not resumed her dancing.

“Actually, I was thinking the word
naive
applied to you.” St. John alluded to her outfit with a pointed finger. “I came down here to tell you so, and to warn you to watch out for yourself, though not quite so directly. I'd hoped to use some tact.”

“Yes, well where I come from, directness is not a flaw. I know what I'm doing.”

“I seriously doubt that, Miss Chase, or you wouldn't still be here talking to me.”

When she used lean fingers to press a strand of hair back from her face, St. John knew he had surprised her with his own frankness and the use of her name. Her heart rate exploded, one loud boom after another visibly pounding against the bare skin of her long, lovely neck.

His gaze hesitated on that stretch of creamy skin longer than was prudent before realizing that two of the vampires in the periphery had also sensed the rise in Madison's pulse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them take several steps onto the crowded floor.

“You know who I am, then?” she asked.

“We Brits aren't as backward as you might think. Some of us even have television sets.”

“What else do you know about me?” Her tone was husky now.

“I believe rumors on this end have you as the bane of anyone's existence who tries to get in your way. Is that a fair assessment?”

He expected her to dash for the exit now that personal truths were being revealed. Instead, she replied with equal candor, “It's a good enough description, I guess.”

“Since you're here alone, and looking for vampires, you know pathetically less about us than you give yourself credit for,” he said.

“
Us,
as in Brits, pick-up artists or vampires?” she countered.

Right after, and as though something had disturbed her, Madison's attention shifted to one of the ravenous rogues. “This has been fun,” she said. “But the question in need of an answer is if you'll help me, now that we've been introduced?”

“Help you how?”

“I think there are others here who are looking at me strangely.” Her expression remained unreadable, with her blue eyes again cloaked by lowered lashes. “Will anyone try to harm me right here?”

Had she somehow sensed the other vampires? Nailed that closest rogue as one of them? She had looked directly at the fledgling.

“Not here,” he said, checking that fledgling out. “No ruffians will harm you here.”

“Why won't they?” she asked with obvious distaste.

“For several reasons, not the least of which is that bloodstains may be difficult to remove from the floor.

She didn't respond to his remark. Didn't smile. Her expression remained unreadable, even for a master like himself, which made him wonder what she might be thinking.

Her heart gave her away, in the end. It beat dramatically, each strike lifting the skin beneath her right ear.

She truly was scared.

Was all that thumping in honor of the presence of the others she thought might wish her harm, though, or due to his nearness to her? St. John couldn't quite get a handle on that, or which Madison Chase was the real one... The dancer, with her loose, inviting body, or the intruding, borderline-aggressive, slightly frightened and very nosey media insider, who might or might not have a nose for vampires?

He decided that the unique mixture of all those ingredients was what had fascinated him, and also what made him unexpectedly excited by their continued closeness to each other.

“These ruffians you mentioned are also vampires?” she asked, and followed that question rapidly with another. “If that's true, or even if it isn't, will you see that I get out of here, or at least as far as the door?”

The way she tilted her head exposed another dewy length of ivory skin. Her tension made the enticing lacy network of lilac veins in her neck stand out like a road map to the source of every vampire's inherent need. And though he wasn't a vampire,
per se,
he had been created by drinking of the blood of his Makers, and was reminded of this now by a treasonous thud in his chest.

“Then again,” she added, “if I'm to be the bane of anyone's existence, including yours, why would you help me at all?”

Since she preferred directness, and was still thinking in terms of vampires, St. John answered in kind. “Isn't it possible, since vampires were once like you, they're not all heathens? If you can't believe this, I wonder about your sources, Miss Chase.”

The spine that had so mesmerizingly taunted him just moments ago snapped straight. The rigidity made the woman beside him seem even younger, and more vulnerable.