Fury Calls. Caridad PiñeiroЧитать онлайн книгу.
she asked before downing the contents of her shot glass. As she had done before, she winced after the drink went down.
“New to this, love?” he teased.
He picked up his own glass and tossed back the drink, the strong liquor dragging a grimace from him, too. His preferred beverage—blood—generally went down smoother and had a far different kick.
She chuckled at his reaction and shook her head. “Seems you’re new to this as well.”
The liquor warmed his belly, but not as much as the thought of taking a nip out of her luscious flesh. Scooting to the edge of his bar stool, he leaned toward her, brushed aside her shoulder-length hair and whispered in her ear, “Cat definitely doesn’t have my tongue.”
To prove it, he licked the shell of her ear, and she couldn’t control the shiver that traveled over her body before she moved away from him.
“Fast, aren’t you?” she said, but her words lacked sting. An amused expression slipped across her cute Girl-Next-Door features before she resumed the scowl she had worn when he had first noticed her.
“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”
She arched a perfectly waxed brow. “So you think you and I are alike somehow?”
He eyeballed her from head to toe again before signaling the bartender for another round. The man sneered and ignored his request until Blake reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a hard-earned twenty onto the bar. After that, the bartender deposited the shots with little finesse and snagged the payment quickly.
Blake raised his glass and slugged down the drink, as did his companion. After mutual grimaces, he motioned to her with the empty tumbler. “I think that getup you’re wearing is borrowed and the shots are for courage, love. I think you might even be a cheerleader in another life. Am I wrong?”
Meghan crinkled her nose in response.
“A cheerleader?” she said, but damn, did she resent that he had nailed it on the head. Deciding a little payback was in order, she pointed at his getup with a perfectly manicured finger sporting blush pink polish. “That look is so carbon-dated. Besides, a cheerleader beats a bad Billy Idol clone any day.”
To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. When he faced her again, that damned sexy grin and dimple were back, flushing her body with a warmth that had nothing to do with the liquor.
“Care to test that theory, love?”
“Test?”
He leaned close once again. The sharp scent of tequila wafted around him as he nuzzled her cheek with his nose and said, “You asked what I wanted before.”
“The tequila, right?”
“Wrong.”
He closed his mouth over hers, his lips surprisingly tender as he moved them against hers, inviting her to understand just what he wanted.
Possibly what she wanted as well, she thought, as she opened her mouth and accepted the sweet slide of his tongue. She shivered as he slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and cradled her close.
“Get a room, Blake.”
She jumped away from him at the abrupt command coming from beside them. A lean rail of a man, with skin so translucent and pale that he almost seemed like a ghost, slipped his hand between them and slapped it on the bar.
The specter jerked his head in the direction of the barkeep, and the shoulder-length strands of his nearly white hair barely shifted, hanging lankly around a thin, long face. “If he hasn’t got the cash, get him out of here so a paying customer can sit.”
“He’s flush tonight, boss. So’s his girl,” the bartender responded.
“Is there a problem?” Meghan snared the sleeve of the boss man’s suit and daintily pulled his arm out of the way.
The man’s cold gray eyes searched her face before he turned that condemning gaze on her companion.
“Take your little adventures to one of the back rooms, Blake.”
Blake. The name suited him somehow. Short and to the point, but a little pretentious, much like his punk getup.
Annoyed by the man’s attitude, and recalling that earlier sweet kiss that he had interrupted, she laid her hand on Blake’s thigh and said, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
Her touch on his thigh, a combination of natural innocence and practiced seduction, burned through the denim.
“Are you sure, love?” he asked, not quite believing his luck.
“Chicken?” She eased from the bar stool and held out her hand.
He slipped his hand into hers. Her warm, silky skin awakened imaginings of how the rest of her would feel pressed against him. He suspected that tonight he would finally satisfy both the demon and the human.
Eagerly he followed her to where Foley’s vampire guard blocked the hall leading to the back rooms.
The vamp barely glanced at him while he rubbed together his thumb and index finger. Blake didn’t hesitate to reach into his pocket for his last twenty. He handed it to the man, who shot him an annoyed look and grunted, “Last one on the left.”
The smallest of the rooms, Blake knew, but it would hopefully do for whatever was going to happen with Little Miss Cheerleader.
She led the way, the sharp staccato of her high-heeled boots setting a rhythm as they walked to the farthest room on the left and paused before the door. He detected her hesitation then, in the slight hitch her breath gave and the waver of her hand in his.
“Nervous?” He cradled her cheek, his touch meant to soothe, but as his gaze met hers, he sensed her sudden reluctance.
Her eyes were an amazing emerald green and as her gaze swept over his face, she said, “I have a confession to make.”
“Kind of cliché at this moment, don’t you think?”
A hint of bravado flared to life in her eyes, bringing a plucky twinkle there. “Actually, the confession is that I’m kind of glad I accepted my friend’s dare.”
“A dare? Is that what I am, love?”
She shocked him by rising a bit on her tiptoes and kissing him. Her lips were warm and alive as she swept them across his mouth, then she cradled his cheek with her hand. When she finally broke away, she trailed her thumb across the slick wetness her lips had left behind on his, bringing to life an intense desire with that seductive touch.
It had been way too long since a woman had been able to reach that part of him.
“What do you think?” she said and with a wink, she opened the door, but stopped short at the sight of an assortment of whips, chains and cuffs tacked to the far wall.
He slipped in behind her and laid his hands at her waist. Bending, he whispered in her ear, “I don’t think we’ll have need of those.”
“At least not tonight,” she said, striving for a bravado that she wasn’t feeling. This definitely was not the kind of thing she had expected to encounter.
Nervously Meghan placed her hands over his as they rested at her waist. His hands were chilled. With the same reticence she was suddenly experiencing? she wondered.
“Having second thoughts?” she asked, as she faced him.
Wordlessly he moved his hands to cradle her back. His movements were sure and yet surprisingly tender as he swept them up to her shoulders. With a deft touch, he slipped her jacket off and let it fall to the ground.
“That’s better,” he said.
He ran his hands across the skin of her bare arms and the exposed expanse of her shoulders. Stroking her softly, the palms of his hands felt slightly