Tempting Gray - Untouchables 02 (13 page)

Grayson couldn’t believe his reaction to this
new Arabella. Or rather,
Raquel.
His jaw had nearly hit the floor when
he’d seen her. He’d crossed the room to her before he knew what he was doing.
He’d wanted to slide his fingers through her new hair. Not that he preferred
this dark color on her, he didn’t. He’d take her gorgeous sun-kissed golden
hair any day. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? The harder he fought to
resist her in all the temptations she presented, the harder it became to stay
away. Every moment he wanted to reach out and touch her, whether to hold her
hand, stroke her hair, or cup her cheek. They were all personal touches and he
had no right to do any of those things.

Except for tonight, he corrected himself.
Tonight they were attending the underground casino as a couple looking to spend
some cash. Tonight he would kill Jericho Donato, the eldest son, the vampire
responsible for cutting his
bruid’s
head off with a serrated blade.

“You remember the plan?” he asked. She’d gone
quiet on the ride. Her anxiety brought out an answering call inside him to make
her feel safe. One he’d always been helpless to ignore.

“We try to get past the guards, then lay low
and scope out the casino. We gamble and make it look natural while we search
for Jericho.”

“Now it’s possibly Vincent could be there since
this is a family run business,” he added.

“Right, and if he’s there then you’ll try to
take out both—without weapons—which I still don’t know how you expect to do
that.”

“All I need are my hands.” And he carried a
small blade made of silver in his wallet. No bigger than a wrist blade, it
would do in case things got dicey.

She giggled so softly and gently it could lull
a man into a feeling of safety that wasn’t real.

“What?” he asked. Why did she laugh at him? He’d
never been a funny man. His brother, Lucas, and even Vas, had all the humor of
the family. The rest of them were left being humorless bastards.

“You’re funny, that’s all.”

A hard shake of his head didn’t change her
statement any. “I’ve never been funny.” Even now when he thought back on his
life, he couldn’t remember much laughter. Certainly not in the way of him
giving it.

She sighed. “Whatever. Just tell me you’ve fed
so I know you’re still strong.”

She thought him strong? This pleased him far
more than it should.
Remember your mission.
This if for Anita. Like an
ice-cold wave drenching him, he came back to his senses. More and more lately
he found his thoughts straying between Anita and Arabella, between guilt and
pleasure. The guilt he deserved, even needed in a way. The pleasure, he had no
business,
none
, wondering what her skin would taste like. Like he was
cursed, the thoughts of Arabella brought out a painful tight pressure that
pushing down on his chest making it difficult to concentrate.

Another sigh from the passenger seat, this one
less sweet and more irritated. That he could deal with. When he looked at her
he saw her staring out her window at the moon with her arms crossed.

“What is it?” he found himself asking. Unable
to resist, no matter how many lectures he gave himself.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Now he nearly laughed. “Arabella, I’ve been
mated for a very long time. I know when it’s not
nothing
.”

She smirked at him, then shrugged. “I—” her
voice faded. “I don’t know what to say, Grayson,” she said softly and went back
to gazing at the moon.

He wished he could understand why his instincts
wanted him to protect her, to comfort her. That wasn’t his job. Everything had
gone wrong from the moment she kissed him in that car. A moment where weakness
had claimed him an easy victim and he’d willingly kissed Arabella Donahue. A
woman he should have forgotten after so many years. But he didn’t. He never
had. And he never would.

Grayson slowed as they came upon the dirt path
that Arabella had described some thirty-two miles west of the city out in the
middle of nowhere. The road was stuck on the border between two rural counties.
Out here there wasn’t a street light to light the way or brightly lit buildings
or skyscrapers to illuminate the area and most traffic he passed were pickup
trucks and mini-vans. Here in the woods you had only the moon to light your
way.

The place was laid out exactly as she’d
described it. They were next in line. As Grayson pulled up to the gate, he stopped
as he met a line of cars passing through. The cars in front of him were nothing
to sneeze at either—Bugatti’s, Audis, and Mercedes. A set of guards eyed and
questioned each of the passengers before allowing them to pass. That was just
the first checkpoint. The second was still getting into the doors of the
casino.

Next in line, Grayson pulled up to the gate.
The vampire guards stepped up to the car, searching their faces and back seats
like a cop on border control. “Who are you?” one of them asked.

“None of your fucking business,” Grayson
responded.

The guard narrowed his eyes watchfully. Then,
under his intense study, Arabella leaned across the seat, her hand caressing
his thigh with a lover’s familiarity, the other wrapping around his neck as she
smiled at the guard. “It could be your business though. If you want it to be.”
The words were soft and husky, meant to seduce.

What the hell was she doing! He wanted to roar
his anger to release it but he couldn’t. He had to keep his fucking mouth shut.
If he ruined this, he might never be able to get back in to the casino.

Her little seductive act was not part of the
plan. Except, the guard didn’t immediately call them out as Grayson had
anticipated. Instead, the guard grinned back at her with warm approval glowing
in the man’s eyes.
Ah, fuck that.
Without even a thought, Grayson acted.
He grabbed the back of Arabella’s slender neck and turned her face to receive
his kiss. It was a punishing, hard kiss. He was unable to control his reaction
to her seductive ploys, no matter how fake they may be, any more than he could
control the need to claim her in front of this guard. So he kissed her. Only
after her tongue swept back against his in a silken caress did he come up for
air. Grayson could feel her inquisitive gaze burning into him like a laser. The
guard couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“You can go in.” He waved them past.

Grayson parked in the grass lot, then helped
Raquel
out of the car. They headed to the entrance looking to the world like a
regular couple. Everything she’d described about this place was entirely accurate.
Her gift impressed him far more than it had upon learning about it at first.
She’d found this place in the middle of bloody Nowhere, USA, and even drew a
map to it.

Another couple just passed by the guard’s
inspection when they stepped up. The entrance to the facility looked very
industrial. The whole building looked government-run like they didn’t want it
to be found or questioned. A flashy casino wouldn’t do for the Donato’s nefarious
purposes. The location and building made the perfect cover-up to their
illegalities.

The guards barely spared them a glance before
allowing them inside. Arabella gave him a surprised look but didn’t say
anything. So far their disguises had worked. Grayson was also banking on the
knowledge that the Donatos would not expect him to strike so soon. They’d
expect him to wait for the most opportune time. Well, there would never be an opportune
time. That’s why he’d decided on a blunt attack.

Inside they found a white hallway with ugly
linoleum floors that reminded him of an elementary school he’d seen on TV from
the 1970s with its green swirly pattern. No one was in sight; the previous
couple had already gone down to the casino. The building held up the respectable
business image well enough. There was a secretary’s desk with an outdated
computer, a corded phone, and some scattered papers to make it look real.
Grayson would bet it’d never been used once. And there certainly wasn’t a
secretary. They set this floor up to look like a working office for appearances
sake.

At the end of the floor hung a red-and-white
Exit
sign. With Arabella’s hand clasped in his he led her to the door and opened
it. Soft jazz music filtered up from a dark stairway that went down several
floors with the sounds of smooth saxophones and plucking guitars. Her hand
squeezed his like a lifeline, yet her face looked cool and composed.

Grayson found his lip curling into a smile.
Courage and strength came in many different forms. He’d seen many of them over
the years. Right now she was nervous as hell and scared, but to anyone looking
she was beautiful and tranquil. That took skill to master. Her almond-shaped
eyes were lined heavily with black making her gray eyes as bright as a spring
flower. Pretty eyes, pretty hair.
Yeah, I get it already. She’s pretty.
Now
if only he could move past it.

Those pretty eyes rounded. He could see exactly
what she wanted to say written on her face. Such vivid expressions she had.
Before she could say it and break down even more of his composure, he started
down the stairs. “Come on, Raquel.”

Soft, feminine laughter tickled his ears as she
tucked herself close to his side. Grayson wrapped his arm around her shoulders
and he couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together. There was no need
to bend his knees to reach down to her level. In fact with the high heels
giving her added height, his shoulder had to raise to cover her. They stepped
down the stairs and deep into the Donato’s lair almost like a regular couple.

Almost like he wasn’t going down there to kill
a murderer.

Arabella had this.

No prob.

Just an underground casino with some possibly
dangerous criminals attending—she had this in the bag. Once again she found
herself thinking that this plan wouldn’t work. Things never happened how they
did in the movies where the hero barely gets the draw on the bad guy and then
manages to defeat him. No, this was real life. In real life the bad guy killed
you because he’s spent his entire life becoming a cold killer while you’ve sat
on the couch watching re-runs of
Antique Roadshow
on PBS at night. No,
the bad guy earned his killing ability by ruthlessly taking lives without
remorse. Through years of hard work killing those who opposed him. The poor, unlucky
bastards. Point being, she was not safe from being hurt tonight, or decapitated,
which would be most likely. Neither was Grayson for that matter. He bled just
like everybody else.

I could die tonight.

Talk about a mood killer.

The second Arabella took in the sight of Donato’s
underground casino, she had to stifle from gawking. The casino was unlike
anything she’d ever seen before. The casinos she’d been to with Sissy and
friends were loud, bright, colorful places. Dinging bells rang constantly and machines
whirred and clanked to spew out a dismal amount of coins. Elderly couples
hunched over a stool with their cane propped against the slot machine with
their gambling cup in hand. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and old, musty
carpet and alcohol. Arabella had been to a casino a time or two to remember
those details very well. What she’d never been inside was an illegal,
underground, vampire-run casino.

It was like watching a commercial for a
high-end fashion show, but throw in a little fang and extra pretentiousness.

Everywhere she looked the women wore dresses no
ordinary woman could fit her body in to. They were the kinds of dresses that
had been ‘disassembled’ then put back together to look ‘fresh’ and ‘couture’.
Weres and vampires decked out in their finery wagered for high stakes at blackjack
tables.

Some Weres and vampires looked like they had
come together as well, much like Grayson and her. This might not make most
people look twice now, but a year ago, prior to Alpha Zeke becoming president
of the council, mating between vampires and Weres was strictly forbidden. The
same was true for same-sex couplings—Zeke changed that all. A year ago if a Were
and vampire had kissed publicly, they’d have been scorned and bullied. Though,
Arabella couldn’t help but think that probably wouldn’t be true in a place like
this. Surely the rules of society didn’t matter to nefarious criminals. Sure,
it wasn’t unheard of for a vamp and Were to hit the sack together, but rarely
did they ever push for more than physical pleasure. Why would they when both
knew it was fruitless? And if they did so it was a private matter.

However, today that wasn’t the case. If she and
Grayson wanted to they could become mated together. Mated to him. Arabella
sucked in a sharp breath, the sound pulling Grayson’s attention to her. How
many times had she thought of it?

Too many to count surely. The number of times
she’d wondered, fantasized, about meeting him that night never stopped. Not
even as a grown woman. She found herself occasionally having dreams. Those
what-if dreams that made you wonder.

What if she could have swayed him with her
kiss? What if her kiss could somehow make him not mate with Anita of Redenver
house? Childish, girlish fantasies from her youth, or so one would think. Yet
that same fantasy had traveled with her long into adult years, through
generations. It had matured much as she had. The fantasy had taken on different
qualities and warped much like a cushion being sat on repeatedly over the
years. She’d aged in the dream/fantasy and so had he, but his face had taken on
a shadowy quality. Significant, surely. She’d pondered before what his shadow
face meant, and she believed it was fairly obvious. For one, she had no idea
what he would look like when he grew older—some vamps could really let
themselves go—and for two, she believed it illustrated how little she knew of
Grayson Blackmoore. Not that she hadn’t kept up on the news of him over the
years. She wasn’t proud of her behavior, in fact that sort of
crush
she’d
grown for him that night so long ago just never went away. And being around him
now…

Well, at first she thought he was a lost cause.
A man so devoid of happiness that he would forever be bitter and angry with his
failures. He needed to understand that everyone made mistakes. Not that it
would be simple, because nothing ever was. Already she could almost hear his
response as if they were really having this discussion and it wasn’t all in her
mind.

When I fuck up, people die.

There, that was the gist of it. She didn’t even
need him to open his mouth to say anything. The pretend discussion need not
ever happen. She already knew what he was going to say. The responsibility of
his job as a bodyguard posed greater risks. When she messed up on the job,
someone’s car keys might not be found—worst-case scenario would be if she
couldn’t find a lost person. Thank God that hadn’t happened. But the risk with
her job was relatively low for anyone involved. Obviously her recent entanglements
with Grayson had upped the danger level. Still, when compared to Grayson’s job,
hers was fickle.

When he fucked up, people died. And that had
never been more apparent to him than in the past month of his life where he
lost not only a client, but his wife too, and because of his first failure.
Talk about compounding events: the first action of Domico Donato showing up at
that carnival and shooting Winston set things in motion like dominos falling.

Two horrendous events of which Grayson blamed
on himself, and Arabella understood why. She would probably be doing the same
thing in his situation. Luckily though, her father and her best friend, Sissy,
and her friends around the pack would be there for her. Whether she wanted them
to be or not. They would be there to tell her exactly what she would tell
Grayson—it wasn’t your fault.

His brow furrowed questioningly. She’d gone
quiet for a minute. But she couldn’t tell him her thoughts. Not yet, not here,
not now. Too many
nots
. She made a silent oath to fix that. She’d always
been a happy woman, someone who strived for laughter and smiles in lieu of
frowns and disdain. She didn’t do that out of any pretentious morale attitude
but simply because with one of those ways she felt good and the other she didn’t.
Maybe this was the time. Her chance to finally learn about the man she’d been
intrigued about for ages.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded and he led her into the casino. As
planned, he took them on a stroll around the casino so they could scope the
place out. The first room was quite large and dark. An assortment of tables
were set up with different games from Russian roulette to Texas Hold ’Em.
Lighting was dim save for over the tables. Several adjoining rooms were
attached to the larger one which had other games and a bigger bar. The room
smelled of expensive, musky colognes and blood-wine. Vampires walked around with
glasses filled to the brim. It made Arabella wonder if they received their
supply of blood here legally or not. God, she hoped it was legal.

In one of the other rooms they found a heavy,
metal door blocked off by guards. Only one man passed through after whispering
something to the guard. You had to speak to them in order to pass. Arabella
wondered what secrets they kept hidden behind those doors. There were bars
aplenty and lavish furniture and tables where people congregated to talk. They
had made a circuit of each of the rooms freely available without any problems.

“Thirsty?” Grayson asked.

Actually, she was. “Yes, and if it has alcohol
in it all the better.”

He steered her toward one of the bars with the
fewest people near it. “You’re not drinking tonight.”

Sigh. “Fine, party pooper. Water will work.”

He ordered her water and a glass of blood for
himself. He never touched it though. “Did you get anything?”

They were touching they were so close, the
left side of her body tucked against his chest. He was warm, his masculine
scent so fetching she had to remind herself of the reasons why she couldn’t
turn into him and bury her face in his neck like she wanted to. Every time his
hand squeezed her arm to guide her, her stomach fluttered and between her legs
tensed.

“He’s not here.”

“How certain are you?”

Her eyes widened with surprise. He wasn’t
doubting her outright as he had been doing before. “One hundred per cent.”

He cursed. “We have no idea if he’ll even show
tonight. After they spotted you he could be staying far away from this place.”
They spoke with their heads bowed close. She could feel his warm breath tickling
her cheek. Strange how it made her want to turn in to him so her lips could
meet his.

“Speaking of spotting people,” she said and
poked him in the belly. Shit. His stomach was surprisingly hard with muscle.
She supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that he kept in prime physical shape,
but it did. It was like finding a cherry at the bottom of an already delicious
milkshake. “You didn’t really try for a disguise, did you?”

Where he held her against him at the waist, his
hand flexed. “Let’s keep focused,
Raquel
.”

“No, no, no. I won’t have you dissuading me
now. I’m on to something and you know it,
Jeremy
Answer me. You never
really cared about the disguises part of the plan, at least not for yourself.
That’s why you showed up here in a suit, hat, and sunglasses for heaven’s sake.
You do know you don’t look different from the brown leather jacket wearing guy.
If anything, you look infinitely hotter.”

He’d been watching her as she spoke, his eyes
furrowing one moment, then rising in the next before dipping even lower.
Speaking of stomach fluttering, the way he was looking at her made her stomach
go haywire.

“I-I didn’t mean…to say that,” she said lamely
as her heart thumped so loud in her chest surely he heard it.

His gaze held hers for another searing moment
before dropping down oh so slowly. He watched the rise and fall of her chest
with her rapid breathing. Surely he couldn’t miss the way her breasts strained
against the material with each heaving gasp. The hand around her waist
tightened. Unmasked hunger transformed his usual dismal eyes into something
purely arousing.

“You shouldn’t say such things to me.”

She had to know. “Why?”

He looked surprised like he hadn’t expected her
to push. Well, he could join the club because she was surprised too. “You know
why,” he said at last.

She considered his words. “Do I?”

His thumb began idly stroking her through the
dress where he held her at the dip of her waist. Her breath fluttered at his
caressing touch. He made her knees feel weak and buttery. And when he looked
upon her with hunger it made it very difficult not to lean forward and kiss
him. Very suddenly, she wished she had the courage to say such thoughts to him.
If only… But to chance his rejection… Ouch. She didn’t think she could withstand
rejection from this man who she’d fantasized about for so long. She liked him
in all his broken ways too much as it was.

“Yes, I think I know why.” It had everything to
do with Anita of Redenver house. It would always have to do with her. Her
tragic death left gaping holes in the people around her who loved her. Those
like Grayson, who it must have been hit the hardest.

A prickling sensation swept up the back of
Arabella’s neck making her head twitch.

“What is it?” Grayson asked, alert to the mood
change.

The previous playfulness vanished as she
cautiously looked around the room for the cause. “Someone is here I think.”

“Donato?” came his harsh whisper.

She called forth all of her ability. It was
like she could turn lower the volume over the rest of her brain while raising
the dial on her
gift.
She’d always thought of it as a meditative focus
that opened her mind and senses to the power of the gift.

“No, I don’t think so.” She searched face after
face in the crowd waiting for the feeling to strike her when she found the
right one. But, to her shock, that gut-churning sensation didn’t happen. Had she
missed him? Did they just leave the room, whomever it was she’d sensed.

Then, as she gazed across the room it happened—the
burning sensation swirling in her stomach. Her focus landed on a person who was
the picture of androgynous. The face was neither feminine nor masculine but a composition
of both. It was a face one had to look at slowly in order to absorb the
nuances.

About six feet and slender, the person wore a
flannel shirt with the frayed sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a half-Mohawk.
One-half of the person’s skull was smooth and creamy white; the other side was
buzzed short around the side and back but hair stood tall and thick off the
top. The person wore loose-fitting jeans that gave the individual no
discernable shape. Were there breasts making it a woman? Over the flannel he or
she wore a blue-jean vest hiding any hint of femininity. No obvious Adam’s
apple was discernable because of the high collar of the flannel. The jacket
covering it didn’t help either.