“Age thirty-four.” Really? It’d been so hard to judge his age, he could have been younger or—“Born in New Orleans, he left when he decided to be all he could be.” Military? With that long hair?
“He’s not still serving.” Dee was definite on that.
“No. Looks like he went Merc for a while,” Grace said.
Merc. Mercenary. Yeah, she could see that. A brief hesitation, then she asked the most important question, “Any sign he’s more than human?”
“Negative.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She’d had a demon lover once or twice. They weren’t anything to complain about, for sure, they’d been phenomenal in the sack, but a human—
I can control him.
“There’s…something else, though, Dee. Something you should know.”
Aw, hell. Always something to spoil her party. “What is it?”
“The records show his parents were killed a few years back. It went down as a B and E gone bad, but…”
“But you’re telling me it wasn’t a breaking and entering? It was more?” Often was.
“Jewelry was snatched, the TVs and a computer were missing, and the parents, Janice and Ned Chase had their throats slit.”
A slit throat. The easiest way to cover a vamp attack.
“I made a call to a coroner I know down in New Orleans.” One of the reasons Grace was so good at Intel—the woman had connections everywhere. “Seems there wasn’t enough blood at the scene to match the severity of the wounds.”
Because the parasites had drained them dry. Huh. No wonder the guy knew so much about vampires.
Personal experience.
Just like me. “Thanks, Grace. I owe you.”
Silence, then very softly, “No, you don’t.”
The call ended and Dee clenched the phone tight. He’d passed the screen, and his past was as screwed up as her own.
She swallowed. He was safe.
Or as safe as a lover could be for her.
Her fingers dialed quickly. There was no hesitation this time. No stupid voice whispering in her mind, no—
“Dee.”
Just that, her name. Breathed with need. With the same lust that was tightening her ni**les and making her sex clench.
Oh, boy. Her own breath came out in a hard rush. Course he would have known she was calling. In this techno crazy age, her name would have appeared instantly on his caller ID. No backing out now.
“Where are you?” He asked, a dark demand.
She pulled at her shirt, trying to break it away from her hot flesh. “My place.”
“What do you want, Sandra Dee?”
Her sex quivered. Just that voice, whispering to her in the dark.
He knew what she wanted. Had to know. “Are you alone?” Probably not. Probably had some stacked bimbo crawling all over him.
“What do you want?” A sensual demand.
“You.” She cleared her throat. “Apartment B-6, Groves Terrace.”
His breath rushed over the line.
Then, click.
She knew he was coming.
Dee hung up the phone and paced to the edge of the bed. She lifted the mattress and checked to make sure her gun was close. She always kept her weapons close.
He was coming.
Her gaze darted to her hands. No blood. This time.
Fuck, f**k, f**k—talk about some serious bad timing. Simon jumped out of his Mustang and stared up at the apartment on the left, the one with the white terrace and the French doors open on the second floor balcony.
Dee.
She’d moved fast. Faster than he’d expected, but he wasn’t about to turn away from her. If the lady wanted him, she’d get him.
Screw the dawn.
They had an hour. At least. He’d take more time later. Now, now he’d give her what she wanted.
And make her need him more. Because soon, she’d have to need him more than she’d ever needed anyone. Need him enough to turn away from everything and everyone she knew.
Simon bounded up the flight of stairs. He raised his hand to pound on the door.
Dee wrenched open the door. She stood there, clad in a thin T-shirt that cupped her br**sts, a T-shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her pale thighs, and she stared at him with those dark, wide eyes.
Simon tried to jerk his tongue back inside his mouth. “Uh, Sandra—”
“Dee.” She grabbed him. Her fingers fisted around the front of his shirt, and she jerked him inside.
“Ah, what’s the rush—”
“Don’t want the neighbors to see.”
What? She had neighbors who were awake at four thirty in the morning?
And since when was he the woman’s dirty little secret?
“I don’t want forever.”
His eyes widened at that. Couldn’t help it.
“I don’t want you to tell me that you love me. I don’t want lies or promises that you won’t keep.”
He kicked the door shut behind him. Stared down at her. No bra. Panties? His nostrils flared. Yeah, but they were wet.
Fuck.
She’d said she wanted him and she did, no denying her body’s response, but even before her lips parted, he knew she was going to say—
“I just want to forget.”
Yes, he’d known she would say that, because he knew her. Know your enemy.
But Dee wasn’t his enemy. She was—
She stepped away. Caught the edge of her T-shirt and tossed it to the floor.
His c**k jerked against the zipper of his jeans. Damn. Small br**sts, but perfect. Round, with light brown ni**les. Tight ni**les, ready for his mouth and—
The couch was behind her. He caught her in his arms. Swept her back and dropped her onto the cushions. Then he followed and took a nipple into his mouth because he had to taste. To take.
Time was running out.
His lips closed around the peak and his tongue laved her. Her moan filled his ears and her hips thrust up against him. The woman’s arousal flooded his nostrils. Rich, wet cream.
The edge of his teeth pressed against her flesh and she shivered. Not fear, no, not even close.
Damn her. Damn her.
He kissed his way across her chest. The faint ridges of scar tissue pressed against his mouth. Long, thin lines. Light white now because Sandra Dee was a fast healer.
She could have died.
He knew about the attack. He’d done his research, too.
He caught her other nipple. Sucked her with tongue and lips. Her fingers clenched against his shirt, jerked it up, and then she touched his flesh. Hot, fast fingers that skated over him.
He rocked against her, driving the fully erect length of his c**k against her sex. Dee’s legs were open, spread, and when he’d lowered her onto the couch, he’d pushed between them.