Everlasting Kiss (2 page)

The Crimson Crypt was the most popular Goth club in the greater Los Angeles area, especially on a Friday night. In addition to the ever-growing Goth crowd and LA’s dwindling Undead population, the Crypt had become a popular hangout for up-and-coming Hollywood starlets, producers, musicians, and fans of the same.

Erik Delacourt grimaced as he made his way toward the bar, which was unique in its circular design. Made of polished black onyx, it stood in the center of the floor ringed by black leather bar stools. Three bartenders, all clad in black muscle shirts and tight black leather pants, waited on the customers at the bar; a handful of waitresses wearing black tank tops and short black leather skirts took orders from those sitting at the booths that lined two of the walls. A small square dance floor took up space on one side of the club; half a dozen pool tables were scattered near the back wall. Subdued lighting offered a measure of privacy to the rich and famous who sought anonymity in the club’s dark corners.

Erik found an empty seat at the bar and ordered the house special. Glancing around the room, he spotted several celebrities holding court, as well as the drummer from a popular Irish band. Unlike Erik, the drummer, who was known only as Cougar to his fans, made no attempt to hide the fact that he was a vampire. Instead, he used the inherent charisma of their kind to his advantage. Many mortals, females especially, were drawn to the air of mystery and danger that clung to members of the Undead community.

Erik sipped his drink. It satisfied his physical thirst, but he found no pleasure in it. It was like hungering for milk and being given water, though in reality, he had no taste for either.

He had just ordered a second glass when a woman entered the club. A pretty woman in her midtwenties, with lightly tanned skin and heavily lashed green eyes. Her hair, a deep reddish brown, fell halfway down her back. She wore flat-heeled white boots, blue jeans, and a long white leather jacket over a white shirt. His nostrils flared as she passed by him on her way to a vacant stool not far from his.

Erik frowned. She was human, but she smelled of vampire. No doubt she was one of the dozens of human females who frequented the club, getting their kicks from rubbing elbows with the soon-to-be famous and the infamous. Or maybe she got off on letting vampires feed off her. Drinking vampire blood was all the rage now, though only the very rich could afford it. The thought of her feeding off him stirred his desire; the thought of him feeding off her aroused his hunger. He ran his tongue over the tips of his fangs, imagined himself bending over her neck, licking her skin, tasting her life’s essence.

As if sensing his thoughts, she whirled around to face him.

She was lovely, young, ripe. Erik put aside the glass in his hand, no longer interested in its watered-down contents. Not when there was a possibility he could score something better. Something hot and fresh, directly from the source.

Daisy stared at the man sitting at the bar, felt a rush of heat engulf her from head to foot when his gaze met hers with such intensity, it was almost physical. Dressed all in black, he was long legged and broad shouldered, with thick black hair and the kind of rugged countenance that made a girl look twice. But it was his eyes that captured her attention. Deep, dark eyes that seemed capable of penetrating her innermost thoughts, of probing the depths not only of her heart, but her very soul.

Shaking off her fanciful thoughts, she took a seat at the bar and ordered a strawberry daiquiri. Even though she was no longer looking at the dark-haired man, she could feel the weight of his gaze resting on her. Without moving her head, she slid a sideways glance in his direction, felt a jolt of desire sweep through her when her gaze again met his. Never in all her life had she felt such a strong attraction to a complete stranger.

Her stomach knotted as he rose smoothly to his feet and walked toward her, although
walked
didn’t really describe the way he moved. More like a jungle cat stalking its prey. The thought made her mouth dry and her palms damp. Her gaze darted toward the exit, but it was too late to escape. He was already standing in front of her. He was tall, she thought, looking up. Very tall.

“I’m Erik.”

His voice, as deep as ten feet down, raised goose bumps on her arms.

He gestured at her glass. “May I buy you another drink?”

“No, thank you.” Was that pitiful whimper her voice?

“Are you sure?”

Daisy nodded. What was wrong with her? She was behaving like some teenager who had just met her favorite rock star.

His gaze moved over her face, warming every place it touched. When he smiled, her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Pull yourself together, Daisy,
she chided.
It’s not like you’ve never talked to a handsome man before.
So why did this one have her tongue tied in knots?

“I suppose a dance is out of the question?”

She felt her cheeks grow hotter as she imagined being in his arms. She was about to decline when she heard herself say, “I’d like that.”

He looked as surprised as she was.

And then there was no more time for thought. He held out one large, well-manicured hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his. A shiver of awareness coiled in the pit of her stomach as his fingers closed over hers, and then he was leading her toward the small dance floor, drawing her into his arms. Long arms. Strong arms that made her feel protected and endangered at the same time.

She had watched numerous scenes in movies where couples danced and everything else faded away—Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in
Romancing the Stone
, Michael J. Fox and Julie Warner in
Doc Hollywood
, Amy Adams and Patrick Dempsey in
Enchanted
. As much as she had loved those scenes, she had always found them hard to believe. Until now. She wasn’t aware of the music or the other couples on the floor; she wasn’t aware of anything but the man holding her close. Too close, she thought, but feeling his body brush against hers felt so good, she had no inclination to object. He was tall and dark and decidedly masculine. Being in his embrace made her achingly aware of her femininity, of the delightful differences between male and female, of the way their bodies had been created to fit together, complementing each other.

Her only regret was that the music ended too soon. Or maybe just in time, she thought, because as sure as she knew her name, she knew what was coming next. He was going to ask her to go to his place, and she didn’t think she was strong enough to refuse. Just thinking about being alone with him made her ache in places no man had ever touched.

Murmuring, “Thank you for the dance,” she pulled her hand from his and all but ran out of the Crypt. She knew it was only her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the sound of his amused laughter following her all the way home.

Daisy thought about Erik all the next day. In the shower. In the kitchen. At her computer. At the post office. His beguiling image seemed branded in her mind. The sound of his voice, low and sensual, played over and over in her head, as relentless as the theme from “It’s a Small World” at Disneyland, although there had been nothing childish or fanciful in the way Erik’s decidedly deep masculine voice had caressed her. Just thinking about him made butterflies dance in the pit of her stomach and brought a flush to her cheeks.

Admit it,
Daisy thought,
you’re as giddy as a high school girl with her first serious crush.

She wished her best friend and confidante, Jennifer, still lived in LA, because she definitely needed someone to talk to about Erik, but Jennifer had married the love of her life last month, and after an extended honeymoon in Europe, would be moving to France with her new husband.

Daisy found herself daydreaming about a honeymoon with Erik while she did her laundry. She imagined the two of them in a romantic villa in Italy, walking along the canals, riding in a gondola, being serenaded by a handsome gondolier.

Later, she went outside to water the yard. What would Erik think of her home? It wasn’t a very big place, certainly not very grand, but it was hers, a small two-story house painted white with bright yellow trim. In the spring and summer and sometimes into the fall, fat yellow roses bloomed on either side of the walkway. She didn’t have much luck with other flowers, but her roses made her proud.

She thought about Erik while she ate dinner, and while putting her dishes in the dishwasher. Drat the man; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get him, or the sensual allure of his voice, out of her head. She tried to tell herself he couldn’t be as gorgeous as she remembered, that his voice hadn’t been
that
deep, that his touch hadn’t been any different from any other man’s. But to no avail.

Irritated with herself because she couldn’t concentrate on anything else, she decided the only solution was to see him again and prove to herself that she had exaggerated the comeliness of both his appearance and his appeal. With that thought in mind, she changed into a pair of navy slacks and a white sweater and headed for the Crypt.

The nightclub was even more crowded tonight than it had been on Friday. Every booth was taken; the dance floor was jam packed; it was standing room only at the bar.

Daisy walked around the edge of the club, her gaze sweeping the sea of humanity, when her good sense returned. What on earth was she doing here, looking for some man she knew nothing about? And what if he was as drop-dead gorgeous as she remembered? She had met lots of good-looking men. Even dated a few. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that a handsome visage didn’t always guarantee a pleasing personality.

With a shake of her head, Daisy started toward the exit. For months, her mother had been trying to set her up with “a nice young man.” Irene O’Donnell had met Kevin O’Reilly at the local pub last Saint Patrick’s Day and was convinced that Kevin was the perfect man for her only daughter.

Daisy sighed. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time to leave LA, go back to Boston, meet Mr. Perfect, settle down, and give her parents grandchildren.

And maybe not.

She was almost at the door when a deep male voice sounded from behind her.

“I was hoping to see you again.”

Seven words that made Daisy’s heart skip a beat and stirred a slow heat in the pit of her stomach that quickly ignited an answering fire in her loins. Flushed with anticipation, her handbag clutched tightly in one hand, she turned, ever so slowly, to face him.

He was just as handsome as she remembered. His eyes were just as dark, his smile just as devastating. Tonight he wore a thigh-length black leather coat over a dark green shirt and khaki pants.

Canting his head to one side, he held out his hand. “I think they’re playing our song.”

She hadn’t even realized the band was playing, or that it was the same tune they had performed the night before. With no thought to refuse, Daisy dropped her handbag on a recently vacated table, then stepped into Erik’s embrace as if she had been doing it all her life. The music was slow, with a deeply sensual beat that made her think of sweat-slick flesh and satin sheets.

Erik’s gaze warmed her cheeks, and when he drew her body against his, every rational thought fled her mind. As she had the night before, Daisy followed his lead as if they had danced together a hundred times instead of only two. He was remarkably light on his feet for such a big man. Once, she glanced down to make sure his feet were touching the floor.

Daisy searched her mind for something witty to say to break the taut silence between them, but to no avail. She couldn’t think coherently, not when he was holding her so close. He smelled of sandalwood and leather, two scents she knew she would forever associate with him in the future.

The song ended and another began.

His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. “You never told me your name.”

“What? Oh, it’s Daisy.”

A slow smile spread over his lips. “Daisy,” he murmured with a nod. “A fair flower indeed.”

His compliment as much as his smile brought a warm flush to her cheeks. His hand moved lightly up and down her spine, eliciting tiny sparks of excitement.

When the music ended, he led her off the dance floor. After retrieving her handbag, he led her toward the back of the club, obviously in search of an empty booth. There were none. Holding Daisy’s hand, Erik stopped beside a booth occupied by two middle-aged men in business suits. No words were exchanged, but the men took one look at Erik and practically tripped over their feet as they vacated the booth and hurried away.

Daisy looked at Erik, wondering if she had missed something.

“After you,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“I really can’t stay,” Daisy remarked as she scooted into the booth.

“Sure you can.” His dark eyes glowed with amusement as he slid in beside her. “After all, you came here looking for me, didn’t you?”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Of course not!”

He lifted one expressive black brow. “No?”

“No.”

“All right, little flower. Have it your way.”

“You didn’t come here looking for me, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Flustered by his answer, she could only stare at him. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men. Because she was their only daughter, her parents had always been overly protective of her. The boys had been able to do pretty much whatever they wanted, but not Daisy. They had refused to let her date until she was sixteen, and then only once a week. Daisy had always believed it was due to the escapades of her two brothers that her parents insisted on meeting the young men she went out with. Not only did they insist the guys she dated call for her at the house, but they insisted they pick her up at the door. No honking the horn, or waiting in the car. Not only that, but her parents had given her a stringent midnight curfew. Daisy had argued that whatever she could do after midnight, she could do before midnight, but that hadn’t swayed her mom and dad in the least. They had enforced the curfew until she turned eighteen. She had only had two serious relationships since then. The first had come to a screeching halt when she went to Stan’s apartment and found him in bed with another woman; the second had ended when Blake refused to take no for an answer. Daisy’s adamant refusal to go to bed with him had surprised them both. The night she had gone to Blake’s condo, she had been certain she was ready to bid farewell to her virginity, certain that she wanted Blake to be the one to show her what all the fuss was about, but when the time came, she just couldn’t do it. And it was all her mother’s fault.
If a man really loves you,
her mother had said,
he will never ask you to surrender your virtue outside of marriage. Remember, once the deed is done, it can’t be undone.