Night's Promise (Children of The Night 6)

Back at home, she had showered, shaved her legs, washed her hair, and been ready to go by eight-thirty.

And now it was a quarter after ten, the club was crowded, and he still wasn’t there. Maybe he wasn’t coming. She had just decided to go home when something drew her gaze to the entrance. And he was there, striding toward her, oozing testosterone. He wore black slacks and a black silk shirt, open at the throat.

Warmth spread through her as she watched him draw closer. And then he was close enough to touch, his smile caressing her as he took her hands in his.

“Sorry I’m late.”

She shrugged. He was there now; that was all that mattered.

“You look very pretty this evening, shining like the sun at midnight.”

Cheeks flushing, she murmured, “Thank you.”

“Not playing the vampire tonight?” he mused, gesturing at her gown.

“No. Disappointed?”

“Not at all. There are enough fake fangs and black wigs in this place already.” He lifted a lock of her golden hair and let it slip through his fingers. “Don’t you know you’re prettier as God made you?”

He guided her to a booth in the back, slid in beside her, his thigh brushing hers, sending little frissons of anticipation rocketing through her. “So, will you tell me your name tonight?”

“If you tell me yours.”

“Derek.”

“Sheree.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady. So, what are you in the mood for?”

You. She bit back the word, the heat in her cheeks growing warmer as her gaze met his. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t spoken out loud, that he couldn’t read her mind.

He lifted one brow, a mysterious glint in his eye. “Can’t decide?”

“I don’t know. I always order a Bloody Mary but I think I’d like to try something different tonight.”

“How about a Vampire’s Kiss?”

She stared at him. “A what?”

“A Vampire’s Kiss. It’s a French martini.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s good.”

She eyed him skeptically. “What’s in it?”

“Finlandia Vodka, Korbel Champagne, Chambord, and a bit of sugar tinted red for the rim of the glass.”

“What’s Chambord?”

“It’s a black raspberry liqueur. It gives the drink its dark color. For a more realistic look, some bartenders drizzle red syrup or grenadine on the inside edge of the glass so it looks like blood dripping.”

“Have you had it before?”

He nodded. “It’s an elegant drink. Really quite good. Are you game?”

She hesitated. Something in the way he said “game” conjured a quick mental image of a fawn being brought down by a hungry lion.

“Sheree?”

She realized the waitress had arrived and was waiting for their order. “I think I’ll just have a glass of chardonnay.”

Derek smiled at the waitress. “Make it two.” He leaned back, his arm resting on the top edge of the booth. “Not feeling daring tonight, after all?”

She laughed, suddenly self-conscious without knowing why. “I don’t think I want to drink anything that looks like blood.”

“Ah.”

Disliking the silence that fell between them, she said, “What do you do for a living?”

“I play the stock market from time to time.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded.

“Seems like a risky way to make a living. Especially these days.”

He shrugged. “I do all right. And I can afford to lose.”

“Oh?”

Leaning forward, he whispered, “My parents are very rich.”

Lowering her voice, she murmured, “So are mine.”

He wasn’t surprised. Everything about her screamed money, from her shoes to her handbag. “You don’t work, then?”

“I used to. I was laid off three weeks ago. You don’t know anyone who wants to hire someone with absolutely no skills, do you?”

“Why do you need a job?”

“A girl has to do something with her time. The only thing is, I’m not really qualified for anything.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “I majored in folklore in college. Not exactly in demand these days.”

“I guess not. You should have been taking classes in aerospace engineering and computer programming.”

“Tell me about it.”

Derek smiled at the waitress when she delivered their order.

Sheree noticed the tip he left was more than the cost of their drinks. A good sign, she thought. She had dated a lot of guys who claimed to be wealthy, but expected her to pay for dinner.

Sheree took the glass he offered her. “Last night we drank to new beginnings,” she said. “What shall we drink to tonight?”

His gaze moved over her, blatantly bold. “Getting to know each other better?”

Everything female within her responded to the heated look in his eyes, the sexual intimacy implied in his suggestion.

With a nod, she lifted her glass, felt his gaze linger on her throat as she swallowed.

Derek glanced at the dance floor. Several couples were locked in each other’s arms, rocking back and forth in time to a low, sensual beat.

He jerked his chin at the dancers, then held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Her hand was small and warm in his as he led her onto the floor and drew her into his arms. Wonderful pastime, dancing, he thought. The perfect excuse to hold her close, feel the welcome heat of her body against his. Being this close to him made her nervous. He knew it by the sudden uptick in the beat of her heart.

“So, I gather you’re really into the whole vampire scene,” he remarked after a moment.

“They fascinate me. Of course, rationally I know they don’t exist, but . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t help believing they do.”

“And what do you think they’d be like, if they were real?”

“I’m not sure.” It was hard to focus when he was so close, when his breath was warm against her cheek. He held her lightly, yet she was aware of a barely leashed power lurking just beneath the surface. “What do you think?”

“I suppose it would depend on the vampire.”

“Oh? In what way?”

He drew her closer, inhaling the fragrance of her hair and skin, the faint coppery scent of the warm red tide that flowed silently through her veins. “I imagine vampires are like people in most ways. Some good, some bad. Some brave, some not. Some happy with their nocturnal lifestyle, some wishing for relief.”