"By take care, you mean kill."
"Not directly, as that would do as much damage to his reputation as having a whore for a wife. So I shall arrange an accident that she will not survive."
He said it so flatly, so casually - and I don't know why I was surprised, but I was. Maybe something deep inside - the stupid dark part of me that wanted this man so badly it ached - kept blindly hoping that there was some spark of humanity in him. It would have made this thing between us seem a little more palatable.
But I might as well pray for snow in the middle of a desert.
I ripped my foot from his grasp and shifted my legs further away from him. Amusement glinted in his eyes. So did determination.
"You've just admitted to planning a murder. It happens, and your ass will be in jail quicker than I could say 'thank God'."
He chuckled. It was a rich, mellow sound that ran across my skin. "There are, at last count, at least a dozen rich young things attending that club of Dante's. I know of eight that are married and cuckolding their husbands, and three of those drink so much they are accidents waiting to happen. You'll never know my target from a real accident."
Which wouldn't stop me from trying if there was a sudden run of accidents amongst the upper class. "Technically, they're not cuckolding their husbands. Blood whores get off on vampires taking their blood. The clubs cater to that, not sex."
"Most clubs do adhere to the rules. Some, like Dante's, do not. Half the upstairs is given over to private rooms, and the whores pay a hefty price to be fully serviced."
"And that's how you're hoping to catch your client's wife? You have the rooms bugged and are recording events?" It also explained why he was so horny. Voyeurism was a part of the wolf culture - and a huge turn-on for most of us.
"Yes, but she hasn't been there for a few days, hence my hanging about catching all your activities."
"So you were there on stake-out when Grant Haven was beheaded?"
"You already know I was. I reported - or got that woman to report - the crime."
"And yet you claim you didn't see anything."
He picked up his empty wine glass and toyed with it idly, twirling it around his fingers like he had the knife in the warehouse. "You've never actually asked me what I saw that night."
Fucking hell... "Kye," I said, acerbically, "What the hell did you see that night?"
He was silent for a moment, continuing to toy with his glass. I watched the movements, the quickness of his fingers, and wondered what those fingers could do if they played across my flesh.
"Perhaps," he said softly. "It's not so much a matter of what I saw, but what I know."
"What I know is I'm barely resisting the urge to haul your ass downtown, find some nasty murder to pin on you, and throw your smart mouth in jail."
He merely smiled. "Grant Haven was a member of the Melbourne vamp council. The rumor is that the vampire who was beheaded and incinerated the day before Haven was also a council member."
"And Henry Gateway?"
"I haven't been able to find confirmation one way or another, but I suspect he might have been, too."
I frowned considering him, considering the information. "Why would three men from the local council be visiting a place like Dante's when there are more upmarket venues available?"
He smiled. It was a luscious, hungry thing that swept across my senses as warmly as a caress. "As much as there are humans who do not wish their addiction known, there are also vampires who feel the same. Besides, Dante himself is a member of the council. Maybe they felt safer there."
Yet they obviously weren't. But I guess being on the council at a time when the general vampire population was extremely unhappy about the clubs and the laws surrounding them might just make them targets, especially if they were seen as hypocrites for patronizing the blood whore clubs. So was that what was going on here? A bit of retribution from the ranks?
Maybe the fact that all three murders happened near Dante's was some sort of warning to him. Maybe he'd pissed the wrong person off - which, according to Jack, wouldn't have been hard.
Still, if that were the case, why attack the other councilors in the first place? Why not go after him direct?
"How could you know all this?" I said, taking another sip of wine and feeling the mellowness grow. A dangerous situation, given the company. I put down the glass and added, "And why were you even there in the first place? We both know your monitoring equipment wouldn't be anywhere near Dante's."
And even if he'd cut into the feed from Dante's own security cameras, none of them had been pointing into the parking lot.
"I'm interviewing all Dante's regular cliental in an effort to get a clearer picture of my target's behavior." He shrugged, a casual movement that didn't match the intensity of his gaze.
"From what I saw in the club, that's a pretty useless exercise. The whores care for nothing more than their next fix."
He shrugged again. "Leaving nothing to chance is a rule I live by."
And something I'd do well to remember. "How can you be sure the three victims and Dante are - were - members of the local council?"
"I'm a siphon, remember, and stakeouts are boring. Let's just say that, when I'm in the club, I amuse myself by seeing how much information I can steal from a vamp's mind before he becomes aware." He contemplated me for a moment. "Haven's shields were nowhere near as strong as yours."
Starke had told me that Haven had been on vacation, and that his first night back was the night he'd been murdered. Meaning either Kye or Starke was lying. But which one? Right now, I had no flaming idea.
"Did you actually see anything the night Haven died?"
"A car taking off in a hurry. A blue Ford, tinted windows. Couldn't see the driver but I did get the plate number." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and slid it across the table to me.
I ignored it for a moment, meeting his gaze, holding it. "Did you kill Grant Haven?"
"No, I did not." There wasn't a flicker in the blue of his eyes. Nothing to indicate a lie. Part of me wanted to believe him - did believe him - yet I knew this man was a professional killer who could probably lie his way out of hell itself.
There was one way to find out for sure, and yet I couldn't force myself to take that step. Aside from the fact that he was a siphon and able to steal the use of my shields, I didn't really want to get into his thoughts and discover what he really felt about me.
I was too much of a coward to face the reality of that. It was far better for my own emotional stability to keep thinking that this was nothing more than a challenge - a game - to him.
The waiter came in through the side door and began clearing the table. I picked up the paper, taking care not to touch Kye's fingers. His writing was neat, careful - much like the man himself. I folded it up and slipped it into my purse.
"Do you wish dessert?" the waiter asked, once he'd finished clearing the dishes.
Kye glanced at me, eyebrow raised. I shook my head. "No, thanks. I really have to go."
A smile twitched Kye's lush lips, but all he said was, "Just make it the usual. Thanks, Joseph."
"Very good, sir." The waiter departed, closing the door softly behind him. Music drifted through the silence, its beat shifting from the gentle, erotic melodies that had accompanied our dinner to something more upbeat and danceable. I found my foot tapping, and stilled it abruptly.
"Anything else I should know about?" As a dangerous - and sexy - glint sparked in his eyes, I added hastily, "Anything else you might have seen or heard and forgot to mention?"
"Nothing I can think of."
"Then I need to go."
I rose and walked over to retrieve my shoe. But as I bent to pick it up, he slipped up behind me, his hand clamping around my hip and drawing me back against his long, strong body.
"Dance with me," he murmured, his breath stirring my hair and tickling my neck.
"No," I said, but it came out breathy as his other hand came around my hip and resting on the flat of my stomach. His touch was so hot it felt like he was branding me, and the fires that had been on slow burn during the meal exploded into life.
Slowly, rhythmically, he began to sway in time to the music, his body pressed against mine, guiding me, teasing me. I closed my eyes, knowing I needed to break away if I didn't want this to go any further and yet unable to stop myself from moving in time with the music and his body.
The sensible part of my nature might not want this, but my wolf wasn't always sensible, and she needed his touch as badly as I needed regularly doses of coffee.
His lips brushed the nape of my neck and my breath caught. He kissed me again, his mouth butterfly light and yet searing deep. Don't, don't, don't, part of me was screaming. And yet I just didn't have the will to pull away.
His right hand eased upwards, skimming the soft material of my dress until it rested underneath the swell of my breast. He paused, his breath quickening against my neck, matching the rhythm of my own. For several seconds, we moved to the music, my body trembling, waiting for his caress to rise, needing it to rise. But instead, he moved his hand down again. The shudder that rolled through me was unfulfilled longing and relief and disappointment all rolled into one.
His fingertips brushed down my belly, over the hand that held me against him so firmly, then continued on, skimming my pubic mound, sending another shudder of delight coursing through my body. But his caress didn't linger, sliding on down my thigh. When he could reach no further, his fingers began gathering the material, hitching up the hem of the dress until he could caress skin. Slowly, surely, he began making his way upwards again, his fingertips brushing my inner thigh, the heat of his touch branding me, making me ache, quiver. A moan escaped as he cupped my mound and let his clever fingers play along the silk of my panties.
And still we danced, moving to the music, our bodies molded together, his erection pressed against my butt, as heated as the rest of his flesh. I wanted that heat. Needed it.
No, the inner voice screamed, don't do this. But the voice of resistance was weaker, drowning under the myriad of sensations flooding through me.
I wanted this. I'd come here for this.
And we both knew it.
Even if I hadn't actually admitted it until right now.
The hand resting on the flat of my stomach moved upwards. His fingers found the edge of top and slid underneath, brushing lightly across my erect nipple. I shuddered and arched back against him. He chuckled softly, and kissed my ear, my neck, my shoulder. His teeth caught skin, nipping lightly, playfully. A tremor ran through me and the deep ache increased.
If you can't walk away, that inner voice said. Then seduce him. Don't let him be the aggressor. That way, he wins.
And I couldn't let him win even this small battle. Not on his terms, anyway.
I shifted, drawing his hands away from my body then turning in his arms. Cupping his face in my hands, I brushed my lips against his, tasting him, teasing him. A shudder went through him and his arms tightened around me, dragging me closer, his crotch grinding against mine. I deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth with my tongue, pressing him backwards towards the table.
The back of his knees hit a chair, and I pushed him down into it. I leaned over him, claiming another kiss as I brushed my fingers down his body to the top of his jeans then went further, scraping them down his fly, feeling his cock jump under the restriction of the material. I did it again, harder this time, and heard the hiss of air escape his lips as his body tensed in reaction.
The third time I did it, he moaned. With a satisfied smile, I quickly undid the top button, then the zipper. His cock leapt free, thick and hard, the tip shiny with pre cum. I ran my hands along its length, watching his eyes, enjoying the shudders that wracked him, the urgency I could sense growing in him.
When it neared the point of no return, I smiled and stepped back, my gaze holding his as I reached for the dress zipper and slowly undid it. He watched me avidly, hungrily. Heat and lust swirled all around me - his and mine - making my body tremble and little beads of sweat prickle across my skin.
I slid off the dress then hooked my fingers under the elastic of my panties and slowly slid them down, my body moving in tune to the music. His breathing quickened and his fingers flexed, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for me.
I smiled and tossed my panties next to my dress, then stepped forward and straddled him. I wrapped my arms around his neck then slowly lowered, until the tip of his cock was barely inside.
"Is this what you want?" I said softly, my lips brushing his as I spoke.
"Yes. God yes," he groaned, his hands going to my waist in an effort to push me down.
"How badly do you want it?" My thighs were trembling with the effort of resisting the fierce pressure of his grip and remaining above him. Especially when all I wanted to do was plunge down on him.
"Very." It came out as little more than a hiss of air. It tore at my lips, tasting of hunger and desire and need. Everything I felt, everything I wanted. "God, please."
Those two words tasted very sweet. The man who controlled every little aspect of his world was begging me to finish what he'd started. The turn-around was an incredible turn-on.
I slowly pressed down, shuddering at the sheer pleasure of it. The heat of him filled me, completed me, and yet it wasn't just flesh. As I'd feared, it also became a meeting of souls, a strengthening of the ties between us.
Part of me just wanted to get up and run, but it was already too late for that. So I tried to ignore the heat of him in my mind, concentrating instead on the heat of his flesh and on spiraling pleasure. His breathing was short, sharp, his body rearing under mine. I rode him hard, grinding into him, enjoying the urgency, feeling the pleasurable tautness grow and grow, until my whole body was shaking with the force of it. Then it shattered and I came, shuddering and shaking and moaning at the sheer depth of it - a depth that was body and soul. A heartbeat later he followed me into that sweet oblivion, his body fierce in mine as he came, hard.
