Fangs But No Fangs (20 page)

Instead he released the silken strand and caught her fingers. "Ready?"

She nodded, then turned to toss the Hairdini on the kitchen counter. "Yes."

He led her outside to his car, and held the door open for her. She attempted to step in, but the material of her skirt, which came down to just above her knees, had little give, making the movement difficult.

He watched as she lifted the hemline up a bit more, exposing the tops of her pale thighs, and slid onto the leather seat. She gave him an embarrassed smile, her cheeks coloring to a light pink. He didn't smile back, his eyes drifting back to her legs, which were properly covered by the thick denim. He swallowed, then closed the door.

As he walked around to his side of the car, he told himself he had to behave. But it was as if now that he'd had a taste of Jolee's passion, he couldn't think about anything else. Not that he'd thought of anything else for days now. He even dreamed about her— and he didn't know that vampires could dream in their dormant state. But he had, today, a vivid dream of her spread across the hood of the car.

He nearly groaned at the memory of the dream and especially the real thing. And her pale thighs, hidden under an easily removed layer of denim. He gripped the door handle and tried to calm himself. This was going to be harder than he imagined. He opened the door and slid in under the steering wheel, his erection making the movement as difficult as Jolee's skirt had for her. Definitely very, very hard.

"So where are we going?"

Christian glanced over at her, taking in her expectant expression.

"It's a surprise."

She grinned, her dark eyes dancing, and instantly her excitement was more important than a little discomfort.

He pulled out of her driveway and headed in the direction of the restaurant. Last night, he'd driven around until nearly dawn, looking for the best place to take Jolee.

He'd found several restaurants, but hadn't been impressed until he found West Pines Country Club. The club, by his standards, was not that luxurious. But he had liked the restaurant, which was in an old Victorian mansion situated right on the edge of a lake. He realized at night the view wouldn't be that spectacular, but they had a quaint outside seating area, and they would still be able to hear the waves lapping on the shore and see the stars. He hoped for his first attempt at something romantic, this would be a good choice.

"So how does one become obsessed with home shopping?"

He frowned. "Sorry?"

"Home shopping and infomercials?" He didn't answer for a moment.

"The Hairdini," she added with a little smile.

He shrugged. "I just watch a lot of late-night television."

"A sucker for advertising, huh?"

He nodded. Yes, he was. Though nothing he'd bought had given him the happiness the sellers had promised with their wide grins and perky voices. Well, until the Hairdini. Giving that to Jolee had made him happy— even if a bit embarrassed.

"We're not going somewhere in Shady Fork?" she asked as he drove past Shady Fork's small downtown toward the highway that would take them to West Pines.

"I didn't think there was any place particularly nice here."

"Oh," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was happy about that or not.

"I think you will like the place I found."

She nodded, but didn't comment.

Jolee's stomach began to sink as Christian continued to drive in the direction of West Pines. She hadn't been there often since she moved to this area, but she knew it was a bigger, nicer town than Shady Fork. She also knew she was probably being silly, that he'd just decided to go there because it was a bigger town than Shady Fork, with more choices of restaurants.

Still, she had a feeling he was going to take her someplace really ritzy. And why hadn't she considered that before? After all, he had money. He dressed like a runway model. He drove a Porsche, for heaven's sake. She should have known his idea of a date and hers would be very different.

She should have been clearer on what she expected. Certainly not a five-star restaurant. She just wanted a place where they could sit and chat.

"Here we are," Christian said, pulling the car up to the front of a huge mansion. The building itself was painted gray with white trim and maroon shutters. A huge wraparound porch encircled the lower level, and two turrets rose on either side of the upper level toward the night sky.

It was gorgeous, and Jolee felt nauseous.

"We can't go here."

"Of course we can."

"Look at me!" She pulled at her top, giving him a pleading look. "I'm not dressed for a place like this."

He scanned her outfit. "You look beautiful."

"I'm wearing a denim skirt!"

"I'm wearing synthetic blend, who cares?"

She stared at him for a moment. If any other man had said that she'd wonder about him, but when Christian said it, it didn't sound strange at all. Christian was just aware of the quality of things. Including his clothes.

Why did he want her? Didn't he see she wasn't of his quality? She didn't fit into the classy world he'd obviously left behind. She looked back at the beautiful restaurant. But she wanted to fit, she realized. Desperately.

Christian caught her hand. "If we go in, and you don't want to stay for any reason, we'll leave. I want this night to be perfect for you."

She felt herself melting right there, into a huge puddle of mush. She impulsively leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. She started to pull away to tell him she'd love to go into the restaurant, when he cupped one of his strong hands to the back of her head and drew her back, giving her a deep, thorough kiss that curled her badly painted toes against the worn soles of her pink flip-flops.

When they parted, all she managed was, "Okay."

Christian smiled at her, a quirk of his lips. Then he got out of the car, coming around to open her door. She waited, trying to calm both the delicious aftermath of his kiss and her nerves, both of which made her stomach quiver.

When he opened the door, she managed to ask, "Should I worry that my date actually knows he's wearing synthetic blend?"

Instead of getting the smile or even the feigned insulted look she expected, he frowned, appearing troubled. "Why? Shouldn't I?"

See, it didn't even dawn on him that was unusual.

"Well, let's just say that most men I've known wouldn't know different types of materials from different styles of women's shoes."

"Oh," he said, still sounding a little confused. "Well, I don't know anything about the women's shoes." Then he glanced down at her feet. "But I do like yours, you have lovely feet."

She smiled, finding him very, very sweet. Especially since he didn't comment on her lack of shoes. He caught her hand and led her toward the walkway that led up to the restaurant. At the doors, he stopped.

"Do you want to go inside? I don't want to make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

She studied the front door, decorated with beautiful stained glass. She did want to go inside. She wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere this elegant. And with this man at her side.

She nodded. "Yes. I want to."

He nodded back and they entered the foyer.

Christian watched Jolee's expression closely as she walked through the front hallway that led back to the restaurant proper. Her eyes cast around the place, as if she were trying to take in everything at once. He glanced around, finding the wainscoting and flowered wallpaper to be quaint, but hardly anything exceptional.

"This is beautiful," she murmured, reaching out a hand to touch the ornate molding around one of the windows. She traced the detailing with her fingertip. "Can you imagine living in a place like this?"

She smiled at him. "I bet you have lived in places this nice."

He had lived in places far fancier, but he couldn't even recall any of the larger details about them, much less being fascinated by the intricacies of the molding around the windows.

He nodded absently, lost in her lovely smile, wishing he could share all those places with her. See them through her eyes. Appreciate them with her. Shame filled him. He'd squandered so much, in his life and in his undeath. He'd taken for granted things that Jolee had never even had.

"Can I help you?"

Both of them turned to see a lanky man with thinning brown hair and glasses smiling politely at them.

Christian felt Jolee stiffen at his side as if she fully expected this man of accusing them of trespassing. Then he noticed her fingers went to the seam of her skirt, tugging self-consciously at the material. Christian caught her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Yes, I have a reservation."

The man nodded. "For two?"

"Yes, under the name Young."

The man nodded again. "Certainly, right this way."

Christian continued to hold her hand, noticing her fingers were cold despite the warmth of the evening. The maître d' stopped by his podium to pick up two menus, then led them through the main dining room toward the French doors, which exited to the outside tables. From the corners of his eyes, he could tell Jolee was still gaping about her, amazed at everything. What amazed him was how simple things like holding her hand and taking her to a restaurant filled him with such contentment. He'd forgotten small pleasures, having existed for nothing but extreme excess.

Once outside, the man led them directly to a table along the railing. He held out the chair, waiting for Jolee to sit. She hesitated, but then smiled at the man, moving to take the offered seat. The man still appeared a little dazed by her lovely smile, even as he told them that the waiter would be right with them and excused himself. He had barely managed that, much less taken notice of her denim skirt. But as soon as he left and it was just the two of them, Jolee seemed to relax, gazing around her with an awed expression.

"This is just absolutely beautiful." She sighed, settling back in her chair.

"I'm glad you like it." He wanted to please this woman as she pleased him.

The waiter arrived, asking if they wanted anything to drink. Christian scanned the wine menu, finding an acceptable wine on the list.

"Do you drink Domaine Serene?"

Jolee smiled, raising an amused eyebrow. "I don't even know what it is."

"It's a pinot noir."

"Oh. No," she said, then she thought better of it. "But I'd like to try a glass."

He nodded, ordering two glasses. "Do you care for red wines?"

She shook her head, giving him a cute, unsure look. "I don't know. I've never had one." She shrugged. "Since the bar doesn't serve any wine other than wine coolers, I've never tried it. And I don't really drink anyway."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that wine coolers weren't really wine. Plus he was more intrigued by her last comment.

"But you own a bar."

"Kind of ironic, huh?" She laughed. Her laughter seemed to warm the air.

"So why a bar?"

She smiled. "Well, I know how to tend bar. I've been mixing drinks pretty much since I could walk."

He frowned. "Why on earth did you mix drinks as a child?"

She paused, dropping her gaze from his as if she just realized she'd said more than she intended. The table was quiet for a moment, and he was about to change the subject when she spoke.

"Well, when my mother was too drunk to make her own, someone had to." She met his gaze almost as if to challenge him, daring him to look down on her, daring him to feel bad for her.

He did feel bad, but more than that he felt angry at a parent who would do that to a child. But he didn't show her either emotion, afraid she'd stop talking. And he wanted to know everything about her.

"Does it bother you to serve drinks now?"

"I don't serve drinks now. I have this really hot hunk doing that." She nudged his leg under the table with her foot.

His chest swelled at both her description of him and her touch. And that her mood had lifted again. But he didn't allow himself to get distracted from his original question.

"But why a bar?"

Her smile faded, but she didn't look upset by the question. Instead, she appeared thoughtful.

"It's something I can do." She shrugged. "Plus, I made peace with my mother's drinking years ago. She did the best she could, given the hand she was dealt. Besides, I don't necessarily want Leo's because of the bar."

"So what do you want?" But as soon as the question was out, he knew the answer.

"I wanted the karaoke," she said, confirming his own guess. "My mother drank to escape. And I sang. Growing up, I listened to the radio all the time, using music to forget everything else that was happening in my life. I used to imagine I was a famous singer, touring the world."

"So why not go for that?" He could picture her up on a stage, entrancing audiences with her sweet, mellow voice and amazing smile.

She sighed. "Well, first of all, I'm too chicken. And secondly, I know that I'm really not good enough to be a star. I mean, just look at Leo's, every night there are so many talented people up there, singing their hearts out."

"And some not so talented people," he added wryly.

"That's true, too. But I actually like just doing karaoke. It gives me the same escape. And not just me singing, I find the same escape in watching other people sing. Even the bad ones." She grinned. "It's therapeutic.

"And," she added, "I really want to prove to myself that I can be a success at something. That I can run my own business."

"That's really important to you, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Yes."

The waiter returned with the two glasses of pinot noir. He sipped his, watching her over the rim to see what she thought of the dark, richly ripe wine. She took a small sip, her face contorting only slightly at the new taste.