My Immortal (2 page)

Chapter Two

Stevie stared at Storm and tried to process his simple answer. The heat in his hazel eyes pinned her to the spot. If she didn’t know any better, it almost looked like molten hunger. She shoved that thought aside. He didn’t want her half as much as she needed him. He was talking like this just because he couldn’t handle losing a bet.

“You’re Jacob? I thought you were Storm.”

Marriage?
The night air must have gotten to him. He couldn’t mean marriage—like, forever together. True, the idea of being Storm’s wife appealed to her more than being with Ace ever did. She stared at the brickwork of the building to gather her thoughts. Something didn’t jive. How had he known about the split from Ace? He called it a lucky guess.
A presumption, her ass.
So why did the fact he knew and cared appeal to her? She wanted to tempt him.

She sighed as his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, and he urged her forward. The touch felt platonic, not wanting or raging with desire. She chided herself. He meant to advance them in line, not turn her on! And yet, his thumb caressed her skin in soft swipes that penetrated all the way to her core. Maybe she needed quick, meaningless sex because Storm—or Jacob, or whatever his name was—didn’t fall for women like her. Men
fell
prey to perfect women with long legs, flawless makeup, shiny hair, and no fat on their waiflike bodies. Women like her sister Gypsy.

As much as she wanted to back out and concede defeat, a tiny part of her wanted to immerse herself in Storm.

Besides, a bet was still a bet.

A blonde clad in nothing more than a bandage-sized skirt and a thin black tube top approached on spindly stilettos. Stevie gritted her teeth and considered tripping her.

Here we go.

The woman shoved Stevie out of the way and pressed herself against Storm. “Do you have a date tonight?” she purred. She tossed her over-processed hair over one shoulder to reveal her golden fake-bake tan.

Every time Stevie and Storm went out, some woman grabbed his attention. Stevie rolled her eyes. She wasn’t surprised, more disappointed than anything. She folded her arms and watched the traffic zip by in an attempt to block out her frustration. If the woman didn’t back off, Stevie would have to add her two cents.

“I happen to be here with someone.” Storm’s words came out in a growl. “Please disengage your hands and leave us alone or I’ll alert the bouncer.”

Stevie forced herself not to turn. His authoritative voice always made her panties wet. He snaked an arm around Stevie’s waist. She didn’t feel much like a girlfriend, but she wouldn’t show a crack in her composure as she switched her glare to the intrusive woman.

The woman cackled, no doubt knowing that Stevie wasn’t his lover. “When you’re done with the time killer, come find me.”

“Thank you, but I’m not interested.”

Stevie rolled her eyes again. Why did he insist on being a gentleman? Why didn’t he just wuss out of the damned bet and stroll off with the bimbo?

Because he didn’t want to lose any more than she did.
She bit back a grin. His king sized bed with the Egyptian cotton sheets became more appetising by the minute.

Storm turned her around in his embrace. “Stevie, I believe I owe you something.”

She refocused her attention to the man who kept her warm with nothing more than the sound of his velvet voice. “You didn’t lose the bet.” She tried to ignore the way he made her feel. He smelled like clean linen and danger. Like sin and sex.

Storm brushed her hair off her face and stroked her jaw with his middle finger. His lips, not too full but luscious enough for kissing, were inches away from hers. No stubble marred his chiselled jaw. Just perfect, though a bit pale, skin. No wonder the women flocked to him in droves. He was romance hero/cover model gorgeous.

He cupped the back of her head and tightened his other arm around her waist. She sucked in a ragged breath as her heartbeat thumped in her ears and liquid heat swirled between her legs.

Good Lord, this man was good.

“I don’t care about the damn bet.” He crushed his lips against hers.

Fuck, she tasted good. Like sugar, honey and sex wrapped up in a saucy little brunette package. Her tiny moan thrilled Storm. He pushed the kiss further, tangling his tongue with hers.

Their teeth clashed once or twice, but neither relented. Her taut nipples pressed against her thin blouse in an attempt to rub against his chest. He cupped her breast and kneaded the supple flesh. The clothes needed to go and soon.

Who the hell had decided they needed to work tonight anyway?

Her nails scraped his shoulders through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. His nerve endings sizzled. Would she scream as he pumped within her body? Would she allow him to drink from her vein? Or would she see this as nothing more than an attempt to fake everyone into thinking they were a couple?

Her scent—a mix of flowers, roses or violets, and sheer Stevie—swirled around him. She wanted him. For the first time in many years, he felt alive. She made his cold heart warm again. They could have a future, if the demons from his past stayed in the past.

The vision of his nemesis Jamison O’Toole flicked across his mind. Stevie wasn’t a pawn for O’Toole to change and destroy when he felt the need as he had Storm’s last true girlfriend, Erin.

Storm forced the mood-breaking thought out of his head and refocused on Stevie. Her throaty groans stirred him. She responded like no other.

A whisper interrupted his euphoria.

Mate.

Storm forced his eyes to remain shut. This couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen. It was too soon for the voice to reveal his mate.

Mate.

Each time he smelled the sweet essence of her need for him, he fought off his own overwhelming desire. Was it possible that Stevie was his true mate? She suited him in every way he knew.
Sexually…
Well, he intended to put that unknown to rest tonight. She moaned and wriggled closer. A ripple of excitement shot through him as doubt fizzled away. The rest of the world
be
damned. Stephanie Persing was
his
mate.

Someone shrieked and the line surged forward, signalling the opening of the club. Stevie broke the kiss. The hungry fires in her eyes and the swell of her well-kissed lips spoke volumes.

How much longer until they could get horizontal within the privacy of his home?

“Come on. The faster we catch him in the act, the faster we can deal with the bet.”

She shook her head and whispered, “Yeah.”
Confused and on the brink of allowing him into her wildest fantasies.
Damn, she was sexy.

God, he wanted her to fall for him in the same elemental way he desired her.

Storm paid the cover charge and led her to the corner of the bar where their voices didn’t carry. “Get a drink and meet me on the dance floor in half an hour. If you see Bruce, tell the bartender. Allan knows the signal to get my attention.” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Once my work out in the parking lot is done, I want to dance with you—only you.”

She balled both fists into his chest, barely denting into his heated skin. “Okay.” Her playful mood soured. “I think I see Cherylyn over by the DJ and she looks pissed.”

Storm edged her around so he could take in the scene. Bruce’s lover stood by the DJ stand, waving her hands. “I’ll be back ASAP. She’s hip to something and we’d better find out what.”

His heart thudded against his ribcage. He didn’t want to leave Stevie. “I know you can handle yourself, but I still want you to stay here in case I need backup.”

Stevie rolled her eyes and a slight pink cast streaked across her cheeks. “Then go.”

He shouldn’t, but Storm pressed another kiss to her lips. “I’ll make this up to you.” With that, he snuck away to case the parking lot.

At the side door, he paused to take a look back at Stevie. She sat perched on the barstool, sipping a mixed drink and bopping her head to the techno beat. In that moment, she was the sexiest woman alive.

The door beeped and he took his leave. In the mass of Detroit steel, Bruce Tripp’s slate grey sports car with the license plate ‘TRIPPY’ stood out. Cherylyn’s miniscule teal hybrid model took up a parking space about halfway across the lot. Storm engaged the camera feature on his personal data assistant and snapped a few quick shots of the cars. “Now back inside, where I can watch everyone at one time.”

Within moments, he returned to Stevie. The drink melted in her glass, but the smile on her lips never faded. He angled around the dance floor to sneak up behind her. She cocked her head and wound a lock of dark hair around her finger. Allan leant forward on his elbows to speak to her before a blond man with a crooked grin and sultry dark eyes stopped next to her. Stevie dipped her head and turned towards the dance floor. The man took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

Despite the rumble of the crowd, Storm zeroed in on the man’s words.

“Dance with me, drink some wine, and accompany me to the private rooms.”

Storm’s fangs burst forward, ready to rip the man limb from limb.

Thank whoever or whatever watched over her that Allan leant forward again. “She’s not interested, buddy, so back off.”

Stevie yanked her hand away and waved to the throng of people. “I don’t want to dance. I’m waiting on someone.”

The man leant forward to speak in her ear. “A saucy little thing like you shouldn’t waste time by the bar. It makes you look desperate. Are you desperate?”

At that moment, Storm saw red and surged to her side. No one stepped in on his woman or called her foul names.

He reached around her and grazed her breasts. She gasped.
Her nipples spiked, taut and ready for
his
caresses.
No others. He grinned. “Hello, beautiful.”

Stevie angled to cup his jaw and planted a kiss on his lips. Was this part of the charade, or honest interest? Based on her body’s response and the sugary scent of her arousal, he’d bet the latter.

“You never mentioned a boyfriend,” the man grumbled.

Storm glared at the blond interloper. “You never gave her a chance.”

“You can have her.” The man shrugged. “She’s a bit chunky for my tastes.”

As he walked away, Stevie turned to Storm. “It’s funny. Most women would trip over themselves to get a chance with a guy like him. After that comment, I’d rather claw his eyes out.
Arrogant ass.”
She took another sip of her melted drink. “Thanks Allan.”

“Yeah, man, I owe you.”

Allan nodded and pointed to the other end of the bar without a word. “I’ll be down there.”

Once his friend strolled away, Storm wrapped his arms around Stevie and kissed her temple. “You didn’t need it, but I had your back. I’ll always have your back, your front and every other inch of you.”

“Thank you, although that was a bit over the top.” She shook her head. “I think everyone in the room knows I belong with you.”

“Or the other way around.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder and laughed. “Good call, but on to more important things. You missed the Bruce and Cherylyn show. They’re fighting.”

Stevie frowned and toyed with the crimson strap of her dress to untwist it. He caught a whiff of her hair.
Flowers.
Who cared about the clients?
“A bad argument or just a quick spat?”
In other words, how long until he could get her alone without the worries of the job barging in.

As he surveyed the crowd, he caught the flicker of someone watching them. He peered into the direction of the voyeur and his blood ran cold. Jamison? Shit. No. He wasn’t about to let his sire ruin the evening. When he took a second long look, the man disappeared. Storm made a mental note to keep a better eye out. With Jamison on the prowl, hell would definitely break wide open. Stevie’s voice broke through Storm’s thoughts.

“They’re having a quick spat, but it’s like watching a volcano. You know it’s going to blow eventually. She found out about his wife. Cherylyn wants him to divorce Edie.” She rubbed her nose along his jaw en route to his ear. “Allan noted when they came in—together.”