Seduced by the Darkling. Lauren HawkeyeЧитать онлайн книгу.
had that feeling again. Unlike the icy prickles that she had experienced at the crime scene, though, this felt warm and soft, like a massage with heated oil, on the back of her neck.
She wasn’t sure what made her look up—she didn’t hear anything, didn’t see even a whisper of movement. But she did look up from the notes that she had scribbled in her little notepad, and there he was, four feet in front of her, big and bold and beautiful.
Though her heart leaped, she didn’t shriek as she had earlier. She stood abruptly, her muscles moving before her brain had given them consent. Her pencil was clutched tightly in her palm—she figured she could at least take out an eye with it.
“Get out.” The words were the ones that she would have spoken to anyone who didn’t belong in her apartment, but she found that she had trouble putting any force behind the words.
The man in front of her was huge, yes, six and a half feet of rock solid muscle. He also looked dangerous, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that with him she was safe.
That was a feeling, though. Her brain had an entirely different take on things.
“Out!” The man hadn’t moved—not even blinked an eye. Jazlyn waited a heartbeat, assessing the situation.
If he’d wanted to overpower her, he could have done so already, when she’d been caught off guard. It didn’t mean she was safe, but it put a different spin on things.
“Okay.” Deliberately she sat, though she kept the pencil clutched tightly in one hand. With her free hand, she picked up the bottle of beer she’d been drinking. The inch or so that was left was warm and unappealing, but she drank it anyway, feigning nonchalance. “If you won’t leave, tell me what you want. And then go, or I’ll kick your ass.”
To his credit, the giant didn’t laugh at her. This was good, because though she was half his size, she was stronger than she looked. She had no hope in hell of overpowering him, but she could put up one hell of a fight.
“I am Zachariah Novak.” He waited, as if expecting her to have some sort of reaction to the news. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue, but he simply stared at her, impassive.
“That’s...nice?” She wished it wasn’t quite so nice, actually. He was big and scary and in her apartment when he had no right to be, and her traitorous hormones didn’t care a whit.
“You know nothing of your ancestry, Jazlyn Adams?” The curiosity that had driven her to become a reporter leaped at the tantalizing tidbit, but she refused to give the stranger the satisfaction of being right.
“I know plenty about it, weird guy. Half Chinese, half French mother. English father. Not that it’s important.” Damn it, now she wanted to know what he was talking about.
No. It didn’t matter. What mattered was letting this man say what he needed to say and then getting him the heck out of her apartment.
“Well.” If she wasn’t mistaken, she had insulted him by calling him weird. He looked wounded enough that she felt compelled to apologize and bit her tongue instead.
“You will write about the woman who was murdered this evening.” He wasn’t asking a question, so she didn’t do any more than nod.
“There is more to the story than you could ever know. More than your media colleagues will be able to find out.” He inclined his head just the slightest bit, and Jazlyn bit her lip, thinking that such a small thing should in no way be so sexy.
“And?” The last of the beer was gone, and she set the bottle on the clutter littering the table with a sharp wooden clack.
She was intrigued, damn it. There wasn’t a reporter alive who wouldn’t jump at the thought of an exclusive.
But an exclusive what, exactly?
“I want you to write about it.”
It was the stillness, she realized. The lack of movement was what made him seem so dangerous. It spoke of control—deadly control.
“Why me?” Still feigning nonchalance, and still clutching the pencil in her hand, Jazlyn rose from her seat and perched a hip on the edge of the table. Her palms were sweating, and she ran her fingers through her hair to dry them.
For the first time since she had met him, Zachariah smiled fully, amused at her words. “You have said that you know all that you need to know about your ancestry, so I think we will leave that unanswered for now.”
Damn it. Jazlyn scowled as she realized that she had boxed herself into a corner. Her insurmountable stubbornness wouldn’t let her take back her words, however.
“Well, you have to give me something to go on. Right now you’re asking me to write a story about nothing.” Zachariah inclined his head at her words, conceding the point.
“Very well.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, considering. Eyes that were the color of pine life pinned her with the intensity of their gaze as he made sure that he had her attention.
“The woman whose body was found this evening was murdered by a vampire.” Jazlyn was left with her mouth hanging open like a guppy as Zachariah reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and extracted a stiff white card. He held it out to her, but she remained frozen, staring at him like she’d just witnessed the second coming.
“You are distressed.” He stepped toward her, but she held a hand out in protest. “You asked for a piece of information. I have provided you with it. Now, since I gather that you need some time to process this, I will leave you this card. Consider my proposal, and contact me here if you wish.” A choking sound escaped Jazlyn’s throat.
Hell yeah, she needed time to process this information. This guy was nuts. Gorgeous and certifiable.
“Keep the card.” She fought to still the trembling in her muscles, trembling due to his increased proximity.
She didn’t know if the trembling was now from fear or from desire. He smelled so good, like leather and whiskey.
“I’m not going to do it. Vampires? I’m no sucker, Mr. Novak. And I’m not going to believe your desperate attempt to keep me interested.” He raised an eyebrow at her again, and Jazlyn felt herself flushing.
This was a man who clearly would have no trouble keeping a woman interested.
“Desperate, am I?” Zachariah took a step closer to her, then another. The pencil fell from Jazlyn’s fingers as he reached toward her with the hand that held the card.
Jazlyn felt herself tremble. She tried to tell herself that it was with fear—it had to be fear, or she was a very stupid woman—but she knew that that wasn’t it or at least not all of it.
Zachariah very softly brushed the stiff paper over her cheekbone, down her face, then over her lips. Jazlyn’s mouth was dry as cotton with a feeling that she couldn’t quite describe.
“I want you to write the story, Jazlyn.” He moved the card from her lips, down to the hollow of her throat and between her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as he tucked the paper into her cleavage.
When she looked up from the paper to gaze into Zachariah’s face, what she saw there made desire coil tightly in her belly.
He looked like he wanted to take a bite out of her. At that moment, she might have let him.
“I want it to be you, but if you won’t, I will find someone else. Think on that.” His fingers trailed lightly over her skin as he released the slip of paper, and Jazlyn felt her breasts tighten at the slight touch.
She didn’t say anything. What could she say? He was a crazy man who thought that vampires were real. He wanted her to write a story about them. And even with all of that crazy, he had her insides tied into knots of need.
She shook her head in refusal, but she knew at that moment that he’d said the magic words. No way would she give a scoop to someone else. She would