His soft laugh sent little shivers of delight traipsing up my spine. Good Lord, I had it bad.
“Trust you to quote my own damn words at me,” he said.
“That’s not answering the question. As usual, I might add.”
He gave a slight nod in acknowledgment of the barb. “There was no one in my life that I wished to take to this function.” He paused, then added with a slight glint of mischief, “Sometimes, going solo is better than settling for second best.”
“Says the man who can afford nothing but the best,” I said dryly, totally ignoring the intent behind the words.
“Ah, but there are some things you can’t buy, no matter how much you try.” He raised his glass slightly, as if in salute, then took a drink before adding, “It’s a lesson I’ve learned recently, actually.”
“Who’d have thought ancient vampires could still be taught things,” I said lightly, even as I wondered whether he had learned anything, or if it was just another one of those lines, easily said but never really meant. There’d been a lot of those moments between us, too.
And I guess, to be fair, it hadn’t been all one-sided. He might have been playing me right from the start, but I’d never really taken what lay between us too seriously. He was a vampire, after all, and he could never give me what I’d spent half my life wanting—kids, and a family of my own.
Except that was all out of my reach now, anyway, thanks to the vampire half of my soul and the experimental drugs that were forced upon me.
He swung around and offered me his arm. I hesitated, then slipped my arm through his. It wasn’t flesh-on-flesh contact, but it was still contact, and the desire that rushed through my body left me giddy and breathless in its wake.
He didn’t say anything, even though we both knew he was aware of my reaction. He was a vampire, after all, and he’d sense the acceleration of my heart, if nothing else.
We walked across to a table that held a prime position on one corner of the dance floor. He released my arm then pulled out a chair, seating me before sitting down himself. I shifted so that I was sitting side-on in the chair and facing him. My knees were inches from his thigh, and the heat of his body caressed my skin as warmly as any touch. And I wanted to be touched so badly.
I blew out a silent breath and tried to get a better grip on my hormones. I might as well have tried to put out a bushfire with a wet towel. “So tell me what you know about bakenekos.”
“There’s actually not a whole lot to know, because they’re so rare.” He took a sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. “They are cats—real cats—who somehow gain the ability to take on human form to revenge the death of a much-loved master or mistress.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Then they’re generally not responsible for the first death?”
“No.”
“So why do the legends say that bakeneko are known for eating their masters?”
“Because they do eat flesh. Apparently, it allows them to take on that person’s human form—a handy thing if they intend to track down and kill those they perceive as responsible for the death of their master.”
“All of which the one we have here is doing.” I paused to take another sip of the fizzy drink. It was actually a bit too sweet for my liking. “Do they normally have sex with their victims?”
“I’ve only heard of one or two instances, when the cat has been in heat.”
Trust us to get one of the randy ones. “Why would it be scratching the necks of the men it’s killing?”
“That could be a form of territorial marking.” He shrugged. “Remember, you are not dealing with something that thinks like a human. It may be out for revenge, but it is still a cat, and reacts like a cat.”
“A very smart cat.”
He made an eloquent motion with his hand. “Of course. Is she just killing men?”
“No. She’s been killing women and taking over their identities.”
“Which suggests that the bakeneko believes the women played a part in her owner’s death. Unless they’re cornered, they don’t do random.”
“Well, the only connection between the ladies seems to be the fact that they belong to a group collectively known as the Toorak Trollops.”
“Ah, the high-class hookers themselves.”
I raised my eyebrows at the hint of scorn in his voice. “I was told they weren’t.”
“That depends on your definition of hooker, doesn’t it? If they sell their bodies for the high life and gifts, is that not a form of prostitution?”
“They might just enjoy sex. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there’s nothing wrong with it, even if such wanton indulgence does sometimes offend the stiff sensibilities of very old vampires.”
“I’m glad you said that.”
“If I didn’t, you probably would have.” He smiled another sweet smile, unraveling a few more threads of control. “However, these women ask for their favors first. That, in my opinion, makes them pros.”
Well, yeah, if you were intent on defining prostitution, asking for payment before the act would definitely be one of the criteria. “So you’ve had personal experience with the Trollops?”
He shook his head. “Not personally, but I have friends—”
“No,” I interrupted, feigning surprise. “You actually have friends? How shocking.”
His laugh was soft and warm, filling his dark eyes with mirth and causing that flame of desire to burn even brighter. “Yes, even the control freak has friends.”
I smiled. “I’m glad.”
“So am I.” He reached out again, and this time, the palm of his hand cupped my cheek as his thumb lightly brushed across my lips.
One touch.
One single, solitary touch.
And it felt so good that tears briefly filled my eyes. God, how long had it been since anyone had caressed me with any sort of feeling or gentleness? I may have voluntarily restrained my more sexual nature, but a lot of that had been the simple distaste of not wanting just another hand on me. I’d wanted more—had needed more. And with that one simple caress, I knew that I could not let it end here tonight.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
For the briefest of moments, he didn’t react. Then his other hand came to my cheek, holding my face gently, tenderly, as he deepened our kiss.
And it felt like I was tasting heaven. Felt like I was coming home after a long, long absence. And the part of me that had died when Kellen walked away came to aching life, fueling the desire that burned around us to even greater heights. Yet despite that fire—despite the urgency that sung through every fiber of my being—our kiss was slow and tender, and so very, very thorough.
After what could have been hours, he groaned—an almost demanding sound that vibrated through my soul. A sound I understood completely. Because, like him, I wanted more than just his lips. I wanted him, all of him. Wanted to feel him in my mind, in my body, in my soul.
Which would be a little hard to achieve, given our current location.
He opened his eyes and stared into mine. “What do you want, Riley?”
“I want you.” My voice was little more than a breathy rasp of sound, but it didn’t matter. He would have heard it had there been a mile between us.
“Just this once? Or do you want more?” He gave me a lopsided smile that made my heart do happy little cartwheels. “I can’t change what I am any more than you can. And I prefer not to go any further if this is all there is. I can’t do casual when it’s you and me.”
My gaze searched his for a moment, then I raised my hands, capturing his and lowering them to my lap. “I haven’t done casual for months. I stopped having sex after Kellen left.”
Surprise crossed his features, but I was relieved to see that there was no incredulousness. He believed me, when so few others had when I first told them. “How did you get around the moon heat?”