Fangs for Nothing (4 page)

She kept swallowing and blinking, and Johnny was actually starting to worry about her. It looked like she was having some kind of aneurysm, which was of course, impossible. “Can I get you a drink? You look like you’re overheated or something.”

At first she started to shake her head, but then changed her mind. “Actually, yes, I would, thank you.”

“Just stand here for a second. I’ll get you a drink and a chair.” She was actually scaring him a little. He didn’t really know what the hell was wrong with her. Vampires didn’t get sick, but she looked feverish.

It occurred to him maybe she needed to feed, but he could only imagine her reaction to his suggesting she have some blood to drink.

Which left him only the shitty sherbet punch to give her. Gag. Even as he lifted the ladle and scooped it, he wanted to hurl a little. But he poured two glasses in case she really was dehydrated, went under the skirt of the table where Stella had left her messenger bag, and pulled a bag of blood out of it. His sister was always prepared. Pouring a little in each glass, he figured it was enough to cut off the urge to feed, but not enough to make Lizette even realize she was drinking it until she had already swallowed. He sniffed it. There was a slight hint of blood, but maybe she would be so thirsty she wouldn’t question it.

When he got back, she was actually leaning on the wall, looking like she might slide down it at any given second. Johnny held out the glass in front of her, and slipped his arm around her. “When was the last time you fed?” he murmured.

“Before I left Paris.”

“Are you crazy?” That had to have been at least three days. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” She frowned at the glass.

“Punch. With ice cream in it.”

She swallowed a huge gulp then promptly started coughing. “The texture is horrible.”

“Just keep drinking, you’ll feel better. Take it back in one whole shot, okay? We’ll do it together.” She looked unconvinced, but he raised the second glass to his lips. He may have been responsible for being a pain in her ass, but he didn’t want her passing out from lack of blood in his presence. “Come on. One, two, three.”

Johnny threw back the drink and let it slide down his throat in one massive, gelatinous glob of gross. He tried not to shudder and gave her a reassuring look. “Mmm. Good, huh?”

Lizette was shuddering and wiping her lips, but her glass was empty and there was already more color in her cheeks. “I am not sure if ‘good’ is the term I would use, but thank you. I do feel slightly better.”

“I’ll get you another glass.”

She nodded, eyes glassy, posture still hunched.

Johnny repeated the process, trying to work around the ice cream, going mostly for the liquid and a healthy shot of blood. He himself was feeling a nice hint of warmth in his extremities from the drink. He hadn’t thought he was particularly hungry, but now he had to wonder, given that he was definitely craving more. This time he had his glass halfway down before he even got to Lizette, and she drank it quickly as well, with no encouragement from him.

Within a minute, she was standing straighter and sighing. “Thank you, I feel much better.”

He wanted to reprimand her for taxing her ability to go without feeding like that. But that really wasn’t his style, nor was it any of his business why she had gone days without blood. Maybe she had her reasons. All he knew was that she looked better, and he was suddenly aware again of just how smoking-hot she was. He normally dated balls-to-the-wall kind of chicks, but that wasn’t Lizette. She was elegant. She was beautiful in an ethereal, nonshowy kind of way. He wanted to trace his hands over her delicate body and see if she would keep her eyes open or close them. He wanted to bite her, gently, suck her blood into his mouth, then smooth over the wound with his tongue while her dark hair tumbled over her petite shoulders.

Johnny blinked, his erection suddenly painfully obvious in his black jeans. Why his thoughts had taken a tumble into the French gutter, he wasn’t sure. But if he didn’t lighten the mood, he was going to end up in more than a disagreement with Lizette. She was going to call the cops on him. Or more likely, her brawny assistant. Johnny wondered where her muscle was tonight. Probably at his apartment, sitting on his couch, wearing his underwear, and downloading expensive movies on his TV. Fucker. Johnny laughed a little out loud, though he wasn’t sure what was really so funny.

When he turned, it seemed like the twinkle lights shifted a little, undulating in and out. Weird. He was feeling a little strange. For a second he wasn’t even sure what he had been doing.

Lizette. Right.

He gestured to the courtyard. “Do you want to dance?” he asked, because that seemed like a totally logical question to ask. Even though he never danced, and he didn’t think Lizette was the bootygrind type. Who had almost just fainted. Yet, he asked.

Stranger yet, she nodded. “I’d love to.”

The girl had moves like Jagger. She swayed back and forth, hips swirling, and Johnny had no sense of time or space or sound. Everything moved in sensual slow motion, a hazy, breezy, and dark erotic dance of their bodies next to each other, not touching, but speaking volumes, the banana trees fanning behind Lizette’s head.

And that was just during the Cupid Shuffle. Johnny could only imagine how she would dance to Usher or Flo Rida.

The problem was, he could only imagine. Because after that, he didn’t remember a single thing.

* * *

LIZETTE TRIED TO
remember why she was at a wedding with Johnny Malone. She tried to remember why she was angry. It had something to do with Johnny not being Johnny and stealing something that was his, if he was he. But then she had felt faint from not feeding, which was odd, because she was old enough to be able to go days without blood. But for some reason, she had felt desperately hungry and that awful sherbet had caught in her throat and she’d been afraid she would vomit in front of Johnny.

Instead, she had immediately felt better. Much better. Like her inner thighs had been laid under a heat lamp and she was alone in a dark room, dancing for herself in the mirror kind of better. Like no one else existed but this charming man in front of her and a soft breeze. Which reminded her that she was actually outside. Wasn’t she? Lizette turned and turned, taking in the fairy lights, and the thick green plant leaves, the rich red brick, and the parade of feathers on women’s hats. Where was she?

Then Johnny Malone handed her another drink and she decided she didn’t care, just as long as she could drink sherbet for the rest of her very long life.

It was the last coherent thought, if you could even call it that, she had that night.

Chapter Four

ONCE . . . TWICE . . . FIVE TIMES A CHER

D
RAKE
had to admit this wedding had suddenly become a lot more interesting. That little caterer was definitely sexy and had fit perfectly in his arms and against his body. And she could kiss—damn, she could kiss. But she was also a spitfire. He could see it, even though he knew she’d been trying to remain calm and businesslike. But her blue eyes had flashed with fire.

A woman who gave as good as she got—now that was hot.

He glanced at the maid of honor, who now chatted with a man in a dog collar who looked ready to drop to his knees at the first flick of her wrists. Definitely a better fit for her. Just like Cupcake was a better fit for him. He liked giving as good as he got, but only when it didn’t involve whips, ball gags, or safe words.

Just call him old-fashioned. Plus you didn’t live for two hundred years and not learn what you like. So now he had something to distract him from the horror of this wedding. He was going to convince the caterer to have a little fling with him. Maybe he should tell Saxon he was going to try a cupcake after all.

Yeah, no. But it was clear that he did need to get laid. That was probably why he was so irritated with all his “in love” friends. And why he was so cranky.

So he was going to go apologize appropriately to the caterer, then work on taking her home for the night.

He smiled broadly just thinking about it, but his grin faded as he watched the kid who worked for the caterer push the slimy tuna around on the slate tiles with a broom. He did feel bad about the ruined food and the mess he’d created.

All the more reason to go give her a very sincere apology. Maybe several. In his bed. In the shower. Maybe even in this courtyard once the freak-show wedding was done.

Another grin curved his lips. Oh yes, he was having a lot more fun.

Then he realized the maid of honor was watching him from the other side of the room, studying him over the rim of her punch glass as she took a sip of the vile Lake Ponchartrain punch. And Dog Collar Boy appeared to be nowhere in sight. He looked at the ground in front of her. Yeah, nowhere in sight.

Great.

She lowered her glass and continued to stare at him, but now she no longer looked flirty and determined. She looked angry and determined.

Shit, maybe a spurned dominatrix was scarier than a horny one.

Yeah, definitely time to go talk to the cute caterer in the kitchen.

The brunette was easy to find. She stood at a stainless steel counter that was littered with dirty dishes, utensils, and trays of food in various stages of preparation. She swiped at her bangs with the back of her wrist, the movement tired and a little agitated, then she started dolloping some kind of sauce onto minicrepes.

He walked up behind her.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle, not wanting to startle her. She seemed tense enough. But his strategy didn’t work.

A small, surprised squeak escaped her, and she dropped the spoon she held. It clattered against the metal mixing bowl, then disappeared into the creamy concoction.

“Damn it,” she muttered as she spun around to face him. Her startled expression quickly transformed to one of utter annoyance, but she quickly suppressed that look behind a mask of stoicism. Although her blue eyes still flashed with irritation.

Such blue eyes. The same bright, vivid blue as a clear summer sky. Or at least as he remembered it.

Shit, this woman was furious and he was thinking about her eyes. That was as crazy as everything else about the wedding. Or maybe it just further validated that he needed a little adult fun—with a woman like this. Adorable with big, blue eyes, pink lips, a pert little nose, and curves in all the right places.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said stiffly, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Sir? What happened to ‘sugar pie,’ cupcake?” he teased, but if the flash of irritation in her eyes was any indication, she didn’t appreciate his joke.

“Fine, sugar pie, I need you to leave. Only employees are allowed in the kitchen.”

“I understand, but I really wanted to apologize to you and explain my actions. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, but it was an impulse.”

“Well, I’m glad you cleared that up for me,” she said with feigned sincerity. “Otherwise I would have gone through my life thinking you had plotted that out for weeks. Now if you don’t mind, I really do need to work.”

Instead, Drake chuckled at her sassiness. “You’re funny.”

“No, I’m busy.” She turned back to the counter and reached for a new serving spoon.

But Drake wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. This woman really did intrigue him. So instead he moved beside her, leaning a hip on the stainless steel counter.

She attempted to ignore him, probably hoping if she didn’t acknowledge his presence, he’d get bored and wander away. And often he probably would have, but he wanted this woman and as flighty as he could be about some things, he could be very tenacious when he wanted something . . . or someone.

The brunette finally stopped scooping the filling onto the crepes and turned back to him. “I accepted your apology, why are you still here?”

He smiled at her brusque words. She was an interesting combination, physically all sweet and soft looking, but her personality was brisk and blunt—maybe with a hint of sarcasm.

“I wasn’t actually done explaining why I behaved so badly,” he said.

“You know, your explanation worked just fine for me. I’m good.” She lifted the spoon again and returned her attention to her work.

“But I don’t want you to think I’m some creep who just goes around kissing woman unsolicited.”

“Too late.”

Drake chuckled again. She was a delight.

“I did have a good reason. I was actually trying to dissuade unwanted attention from that woman who was standing beside me.”

“You’re right,” she said, not pausing her work to look at him. “That totally makes me think you aren’t a creep. Why not just tell the woman you aren’t interested, when you can create an elaborate lie by grabbing a total stranger, kissing her
and
pretending to be involved with her, thereby dragging her unwillingly into your deceit? Nope, not creepy at all.”

“Well,” Drake said slowly, “when you say it like that, it does seem a little creepy.”

She shot him a sidelong glance, then ladled more cheese sauce onto a crepe.

“Ashley,” she said to the blonde who had been shooting curious looks at them as she struggled to inject pastries with some sort of filling.

“Please take this platter of crepes out to the buffet table.”

Ashley hurried over to do as the brunette asked.

“Watch where you walk,” the brunette added just as Ashley was about to disappear out the door.

Ashley gave her a muddled look.

“I dropped the skewered tuna on the floor,” the brunette explained. “Eric is cleaning it up, but it could still be slippery.”

Ashley nodded, but still looked confused as she left the kitchen.

* * *

JOSIE LYNN WASN’T
sure she really wanted to be left alone in the kitchen with “sweet cheeks” here, but the food did need to get out to the guests and frankly, she didn’t like Ashley being here to eavesdrop on this bizarre conversation.

“Let’s face it, if anyone is going to fall on their ass, it’s going to be that one,” Drake said, shaking his head, still leaning on the counter, arms crossed over his chest, all relaxed as if he knew her well and it was completely normal for him to be there.

She scowled at him. Why didn’t he just leave? Good lord.

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” He said, again in a tone that implied they were old friends. “I know you know I’m right. That’s why you warned her.”

He smiled, a lopsided smile that was endearing and charming and altogether too attractive.

She sighed. “Do you plan to hover here all night?”

“Hover, huh? Well, I could help. You look like you need it.”

Oh, no he didn’t.

Josie Lynn knew what the kitchen looked like. It looked like a disaster, but that comment was the final straw. She didn’t need help. Especially from some pompous jerk dressed like he should be working a kiddies’ pirate ride at an amusement park.

She spun toward him, waving the cheesy spoon in the man’s face. “I absolutely do not need help. I happen to have everything under control.”

“Josie Lynn,” a tentative voice said from behind them. She turned to find Eric standing in the doorway, broom still in hand. God only knew where the dustpan was.

“What?” she snapped.

“Umm—some of the guests are asking for more rémoulade for the crawfish fritters.”

“Okay,” she said, some of her irritation fading. She was overreacting. She knew it. “It’s in the fridge over there.”

Eric looked reluctant to enter the room, but came in anyway, heading to the large stainless steel refrigerator that she pointed to with her spoon. Yeah, she didn’t look like she needed help. Totally in control here.

Eric located the bowl of rémoulade, without further guidance, and even moved rather quickly to exit the kitchen.

“You might want to leave the broom here,” the pirate commented when Eric passed.

Eric looked slightly startled that the pirate had spoken to him, but then he leaned the broom against the wall and left.

“You might want to consider a little bit sharper staff down the road.”

Josie Lynn glared at him. “Why the hell are you here? Honestly? Can’t you see that I have a lot to do?”

She raised her hand to stop him as he opened his mouth to answer her.

“You know what, that was a rhetorical question,” she said. “I don’t give a rat’s rear end why you are here. And I know I have a lot to do here. I know I could use more staff. Better staff. But I can do this, and frankly, I don’t need or want your help—aside from you just leaving.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and just when she wondered if he’d just chosen to completely ignore her, he finally nodded.

“Okay,” he said, calmly. “I know you are busy.”

Thank God, he was finally just going to go away. Yes.

“But—”

Josie Lynn fought back a groan. Really? Was this some kind of joke or something?

“I still don’t feel like I’ve given you an appropriate apology. So let me take you out for a drink when the wedding is over. Then you can relax and we can just talk.”

She gaped at him . . . clutching a cheese-caked spoon straight up in the air in front of her. Was he really that thick? Didn’t he see she was annoyed with him? Beyond annoyed. She was a woman perilously close to the edge.

But instead of saying any of that, she simply said, “No.”

He still remained rooted in the same spot, ass to edge of the counter. “Really? Because I think we’d have a great time.”

“No.”

“Not even just one dri—”

“No.”

He stood there a moment longer, then shoved away from the counter. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He studied her for just a few seconds longer, then he bowed. The gesture should have looked silly, or patronizing, but Josie Lynn found his movement oddly elegant. Oddly appealing.

He straightened. “I do wish you would reconsider, but I also realize I overstepped proper etiquette and put you in an awkward and unfortunate position, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Josie Lynn stared at him. He looked sincere—and even stranger than that, his way of speaking seemed from another time, yet utterly natural to him. And maybe stress and anxiety had taken what was left of her mind, but had he suddenly acquired an English accent?

Then he smiled, that mischievous, roguish grin that she was already far too familiar with, and Josie Lynn immediately felt like a fool for being sucked in by his charm—even for a moment. It was an act. Like all men’s charms.

The costume made total sense. He was dashing and dangerous and totally out for himself. And she wasn’t about to let her emotions get ravished again. Even by a very pretty pirate.

“Great,” she said with forced detachment. “Now please leave.”

“Okay.” In that one word all of his affected gallantry disappeared. In fact he sounded as if her rejection didn’t matter in the least to him, and even though she didn’t have any intention of going out with him, she was still hurt by the idea that he’d come on so strong, then was ultimately so apathetic about her rejection.

Don’t worry about it, Josie Lynn. He did you a favor. He just reminded you why you are out of the dating scene for now—and possibly forever.

The pirate gave her another nod of his head and then sauntered out of the room.

She watched him leave, willing herself to not feel bad.

She refocused on her work. She needed to finish up two more platters of appetizers. She immediately went to the large fridge to pull out the spinach-and-feta turnovers that needed to be put in the oven now. And she needed to get the yogurt-dill dipping sauce into a serving bowl.

She checked the oven temperature and slid two baking sheets full of pastries inside. Then she returned to the refrigerator to get the sauce.

Where was her help? Eric was moving at the pace of a drowsy snail, no doubt. And God only knew what Ashley was doing. Probably flirting with one of the wedding guests.

An image of the pretty blonde smiling sweetly at the pirate popped into her head. She stirred the yogurt sauce with a little too much force, and some of the white mixture slopped over the side of the mixing bowl.

Okay, she needed to let this go. Who cared if the man was out there flirting with half the women in the room? Better them than her.

Yep. Better them than her.

She had just reached for a sponge to wipe up the glob of sauce on the counter, when she heard a sharp rap from across the room. She paused, surprised by the sound. Someone was at the back door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Another knock sounded. This one louder than the first.

She grabbed a paper towel, wiping her damp hands as she headed tentatively toward the door. This was New Orleans, after all, and she wasn’t sure if she should even answer it. Who knew what unsavory character could be on the other side? She paused, listening, not that she could hear anything over the din of voices, laughter, and the beat of “Gangnam Style.”