Why These Two (4 page)

Ooh.
It was about time to get un-nice. Reika lowered her chin and trembled with controlling the instant itch. The killing urge. The jealousy.

The fangs.

And Miss Felicity just opened her mouth and kept speaking, completely unaware of how near death she was.

“Yes. You. I want to dance with you.”

“Not happening, Miss Trent. Not my style.”

“You’re my employee.”

“Wrong. I’m your father’s employee. And I’m about to be an ex-employee. You get what I’m saying?”

“All I want is a dance.”

The girl had decided whining might work. Her voice grated on the ears. It also cooled Reika’s urge to rip her throat out, although it took a bit of work and concentration to retract her canines again.

“No can do, kid-do.”

“Why? Because of her?”

Reika had the girl’s attention back; along with wide eyes at Reika’s revealing snarl; and then the girl went pure stupid. A short, thin, switchblade appeared in one of Felecia’s hands. A micro-second later it was in Reika’s possession, and a moment after that, she was yanked off the floor and right into Darryl’s chest, where a riot of issues happened. The voltage he seemed to send raced everywhere, centering finally at her throat where her newly awakened heart had affixed, choking off her cries. Touching him earlier had been electrifying. Direct contact with him was oceans more. A blizzard of shivers coursed her skin, lifting goose bumps to the sensation of air and cool leather. Over and over. Again and again. Her nipples peaked into tight darts, her limbs to quivering appendages; her loins to quivering need.

His hug was probably meant to imprison, securing her with both his arms locked about her torso. It wasn’t necessary. Reika’s body irradiated with the sensation of molding to him. Someone should have been more specific! This mate sensation was incredible! It jolted everything to a new awareness. It wasn’t a hum in her ears anymore. There was a chorus of angelic voices or something. The girl was forgotten. The knife fell somewhere to the floor. And then he spoke. The words went over her head, but the vibration of them resounded through him. Right into her.

“Show’s over. Chuck and Bob and uh…Greg?”

“Chet and Rob, Man.”

“Whatever. Get moving. Do your jobs. See to Felicia. Start confiscating cell phones and deleting video. Double time.” He started walking. She’d say she allowed it, but that was a lie.

“Where you going?”

“Damage control.”

“You’re going outside?”

“Yeah.”

“With her?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s below freezing out there.”

“Good,” Darryl answered, and walked out the door with her.

St. Moritz was known for its snow, its skiing, and its setting. Alpine peaks were silhouetted against a winter sky containing uncountable stars. A half moon. Wisps of clouds. The view was a bit hazy and indistinct due to the frosted air. If she looked, she’d see the frozen outline of the lake. Light from the buildings bounced off pristine snow. It was actually easier to see out here than in the club.

He put her down. Her boots settled into a knee deep snow bank and she shuffled her feet for a bit before finding decent footing. He hadn’t waited. He’d stepped back to the plowed section; crossed his arms over his chest and stood, looking down at her with an enigmatic expression. It was definitely cold. And he was definitely feeling it. She watched his breath fog about his face, while little pinpricks showed his nipples reacting beneath his turtleneck sweater. He should probably have grabbed an overcoat. Or fastened his jacket.

“All right, Lady. Start talking.”

His voice was gruff. But it trembled. Reika sucked in her cheeks and regarded him for a bit before answering.

“The name is Reika.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit.”

So. He was going to try the hard line with her. She’d seen enough cop films and read enough cheap novels to know the ploy when she heard it. It was amusing. She had to force a look of seriousness to her face.

“Fine. My father was a barrel maker. Call me that.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Back when they decided everyone needed surnames, they usually gave the lower classes the names of their occupations. Baker. Smithy. Brewer. Miller. My father was the village barrel maker.”

“Your last name is Barrel Maker?”

“No. I already told you I don’t have one. But if you insist, you can call me Cooper. A barrel maker is a cooper.”

“Fine. Miss Cooper. You wanted me out here. You wanted to talk. So I suggest you start talking. The night is not getting any younger. And it is not getting any warmer out here.”

“You’re a pain in the ass. Did you know that, Darryl Bailes?”

“Never said different, now did I?”

She laughed. He was starting to shiver. It affected his words. And his tone. Poor man.

“Take me inside someplace cozy then.”

“What?”

“That was your offer, wasn’t it?”

“When?”

“I spare Miss Fancy Pants in there, and you’d take me some place nice. Yes?”

“Maybe.”

“I think you also added in
small
. Supremely…private. And I believe you tossed in cozy. I think I’d like it
very
cozy.”

She drew out each word, adding warmth and watching his trembling increase.

“This is cozy enough,” he replied finally.

She laughed again.

“Look Lady. Start talking or I’m walking.”

“You are a very hard nut to crack, Bailes.”

“Nobody offered…that.”

His teeth were starting to chatter. It sounded through the words.

“Oh come along, Darryl. Stop the hard ass routine. You called the terms. Now live by them.”

“Why do you think I’m standing out here freezing my ass off? I’m still waiting for you to start talking.”

“I’m sorry you’re cold. I know the warmest, coziest, little inn…with the biggest, deepest hot tub…”

“You finished?”

She laughed again. He was very cute. Quick-witted. Stubborn.

“You want to get to the point? Before we both freeze?”

“I’m not remotely cold, Darryl.”

“Yeah. Right.”

He moved his glance to where her nipples were well outlined by the leather bodice. It took a bit before he moved his view back to her face. Reika’s smile broadened.

“That isn’t chill,” she informed him.

“Has to be. You’re wearing half what I am. Maybe less.”

“I know. But you are not a vampire, Love.”

He jerked back. Cried out at the move. And then everything on him seemed to react. Reika watched him tighten into a hunk of muscle and anguish as he handled pain she couldn’t conceive. Reika watched it and evaluated. Stupid man. Wonderful man. She’d have his bullet on a necklace before the night was over. She licked her lips. Studied him. And waited.

“What…do you want…from me?”

He’d sucked in air for the speech. That probably hurt his teeth. Maybe it helped absorb the other pain. The words were harsh. Clipped. Rude.

“I already told you. I want a nice cozy intimate spot. I know the perfect one. So. Here’s the deal. You can accompany me nicely. Sit nicely. Maybe even sip a mug of something warm while we…talk. Or, I’ll force it. And we both know I can. Questions?”

“Why…me?”

“It’s going to take a long time to answer that one, Bailes. A long time.”

“Why…now?”

“You’re flirting with hypothermia,” she told him.

“Is that…supposed to be…worse?”

“Tons. Now come along. Be a sport.”

Reika rose from the snow bank he’d stuck her in; skimmed atop the surface, creating a dust of snow flecks. She did a complete circle about him, just out of reach, while he pivoted to follow her. She finished by lowering gracefully into the spot right in front of him. She wasn’t mistaken. He was cold. And looking at her with very wide, brown eyes.

“Holy shit. You…can
fly
?”

She smirked.

“You’re…real? I mean you’re a real vampire? I don’t fucking believe it.”

“I’ve finished warning you, Bailes.”

“About…what?”

His entire frame was shaking with cold. Maybe if he hadn’t been so recently arrived from a tropic location, he’d be able to handle the elements for longer. Or maybe if he’d worn more layers. Or maybe, if she hadn’t just shocked him. Didn’t really matter. Reika wasn’t letting him do damage to any bit of that body. And that included frostbite.

She launched the distance between them, snagged him to her breast, and lifted him, despite his immediate thrashing and resultant grunts of anger. So then she tossed him over her shoulder and for some reason, he ceased moving.

Men.

Honestly.

CHAPTER FIVE

A warm space on a cold night. A fire burning in the fireplace. Sounds of water trickling. Maybe over a fountain. Or a hot tub. There was probably a good stock of bourbon somewhere, too. A woman started humming as he thought of liquor. Some strange tune. Didn’t matter. This was a great dream. Not much could ruin it.

“You’re awake? Finally?”

Darryl turned his head. Oh. Great. It was the vampire chick. That was a surefire cure to any dream.

Only…

He narrowed his eyes and blinked a couple of times to bring her into focus. She’d been around water. Her hair was darker blond and fashioned into a long braid down her back. She’d also found a change of clothing. Although calling the gossamer gown she wore clothing was being generous. She had the best body he’d ever seen. Especially when glimpsed through light purple material that molded to her, held in place by a knot at each shoulder, and belted with a purple ribbon right beneath really nice sized…

His body reacted, despite the order not to. And that’s when he knew she’d stolen his clothes, too.

“Where am I?”

“My place.”

Not good. And very good. No. Definitely not good.

“This was not in the deal.”

He worked at sounding stern, using his disciplinarian voice from the service. The one every sergeant possessed. It didn’t seem to do much on vampires.

“Oh…I don’t know. It’s warm. Intimate. Cozy.”

His body was reacting to each word, sending signals to his dick. And his back injury was actually allowing it. He’d wonder about that later.

“We had a deal.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just change it.”

“You were unconscious. How was I supposed to ask?”

“No way. Me? Unconscious?”

“Yes. You. Call it a faint, if that sounds better.”

“No, that doesn’t sound better.”

“It was my fault, I think. I shouldn’t have carried you that way. It cuts off blood to the brain. Or something. I don’t know all the particulars, but trust me. You were unconscious. Made it easier to carry you that way. Garnered less uh…interest.”

“Oh hell. Don’t tell me somebody saw that.”

“Only my landlady. And she advised me to have fun tonight before waving me in. By the way…I intend to.”

Darryl frowned. It didn’t match anything else on his body. And if she were a little nearer, he’d be proving it. And that idea had to end. Now.

“Who undressed me then?”

“Oh. I did. It was my pleasure, too. Truly. You are a very well-developed male. Strong. Big.”

Her voice held a bit of awe. He almost flexed his upper body at what sounded like praise. That was more stupidity.
Get a grip, Bailes
. This bitch is a vampire. She’s dead. Having sex with her is out of the question. End of story.

“You put your skin through a lot of trauma, though. Is that a military thing?”

“Trauma?”

“You have a lot of…tattoos.”

“You don’t like my ink?”

“I didn’t say that. I find them…interesting. Visually stimulating. Physically stirring. Especially the one on your…right side. Beneath your arm. That one.”

Just the thought of her looking and maybe tracing the rose-wrapped sword design added something more to the scene. He should be shuddering with revulsion and horror, not tensing with excitement and something very close to desire and want. Why the hell didn’t his body listen?

“Where are my clothes?”

His voice was gruff. Thick. Hard. It matched the rest of him. He’d have pulled the hand-made, pieced quilt to his chin, except the wad of material at his groin was good camouflage.

She walked through the space between him and the fire, the light molded on creamy flesh and really ripe breasts. Darryl rolled onto his side, ignoring the twinge of his old injury, to keep her in view. She reached a large, carved, free-standing wardrobe. Opened both doors, pulled out a dowel holding a row of shirts, another dowel appeared to hold a selection of large sized jackets, and then she slid out a drawer to lift pair after pair of slacks before replacing them.

He couldn’t tell. Something in there might be the outfit he’d been wearing.

“I just need mine, Lady,” he said.

“These are all yours.”

“Bullshit. With a capital B.”

“I bought them just for you. Trust me.”

“Look. Lady.”

He sat up. That was probably a mistake. He hadn’t kept the quilt for protection, he hadn’t lost his six-pack from the service – if anything due to his extreme physical therapy sessions it was more defined, and he hadn’t counted on going on display in the firelight. He watched her eyes narrow and then she licked her lips. And then she shuddered. All of it extremely visual. And stirring. He should probably look at something else. And if he trusted her, he would.

“They don’t carry my size in any shops around here.”

“Oh. No. Not up here. I had these special ordered. Express delivered.”

“Special ordered. Express.”

“Yes. From that night in Columbia. Where we met…”

Her voice took on a dream-tone, going lower. Softer. Sending signals his body didn’t have any trouble deciphering. He pulled muscles taut to stop the flow of blood downward. It didn’t work. He was elongating and hardening, and finding sexual stimuli from where the quilt cradled him. He almost shoved deeper into it. No wonder Grandmas put these on their own beds. He had to clear his throat to get his voice to work.

“You don’t know my size.”