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“Light red would be great with salmon.”
“Good.” He turned back to the waiter. “A Beaujolais-Villages, I think. Louis Jadot.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Now, my beautiful Suzanne. You know much about me. What I do. Where I live. What I drive. How I order food.”
Suzanne giggled. “You want to know about me?”
“Aye.”
“I’m an attorney.”
“Pardon?”
“A lawyer. You know, a solicitor.”
“Ah. How long have you been a lawyer?”
“Two years.”
“And that makes you how old?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Twenty-seven. Kind of an old maid, aren’t I?”
His eyes crinkled. “Not at all. I’m thirty-five myself.”
“Have you ever been married?”
He shook his head. “Never met the right woman.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so she changed the subject. “Tell me about your writing. I mean, you must be successful, to drive a Bentley.”
“I’ve had moderate success.”
“Has your work reached the States? Would I have read anything you’ve written?”
His dark eyes glimmered. God, he’s handsome.
“Perhaps. Have you heard of The Code of the Wolf?”
Suzanne’s heart thumped. “The international best seller?”
“That’s the one.” His eyes gleamed at her.
“You’re David Branson?”
“In the flesh.”
“Oh. My. God. That’s one of my favorite books of all time!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed it? I devoured it. Every producer in Hollywood is trying to buy those rights. Why haven’t you sold them?”
“I don’t want a movie made from my work. A movie tends to bastardize the original.”
“But the money, Damian.”
“Do I look like I need any more money?”
Suzanne laughed. “I suppose not. Wow. Amazing.”
He smiled at her.
“Why a pen name? You’re known as a recluse, you know.”
“I am a recluse. As for the name, I didn’t want anyone to find me. And I’m trusting you with my secret.”
“I’ll never tell anyone, not even Isabella. But why? You’ve written a masterpiece. Why don’t you want people to know?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Eventually.”
“Moderate success, you said. Moderate success.” Suzanne glanced down at the bowl of steaming soup the waiter set before her. She inhaled the aroma. “Mmmm, smells good.” She took a spoonful, blew on it, and tasted it. Warm and creamy. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” She chuckled. “Moderate success indeed.”
Damian smiled at her, and his green irises swirled in that unique way she had become accustomed to. One eye fluttered for a moment. Then the other.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Aye. Why do you ask?”
“It looks like you have something in your eye.”
He shook his head. “That was a visual caress. Didn’t you like it?”
“A visual caress?” Suzanne shook her head and laughed. “Don’t tell me. Wooing, right?”
“Aye. You know me too well.”
“You don’t have to try so hard.”
“You told me the wooing was working, love.”
“You are what is working, Damian.”
What a strange man.
Oh, but what a man.
So much for her pact to stay away from him. So much for her rationale that getting involved with anyone this soon after Wade couldn’t lead to anything good.
She sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be interrupted later.
19
Markus left the flat after sundown. He moved with stealth, sneaking past his mother and Rex. They were so used to his scent that he knew he could get by undetected as long as he was quiet.
Very quiet.
Vampire hearing was quite powerful. Almost as powerful as a vampire’s sense of smell.
Although darkness hadn’t completely veiled Padraig yet, his hunger forced his exit. The bloodlust needed sating, and he had a taste for a male tonight. He’d thought of nothing else since he had scented the blond male earlier in Rex’s shop. His stomach growled and his mouth watered as he walked to the Pit.
Standing by the entrance, he spied Gwennie hustling inside, pouring steaming bowlfuls of cock-a-leekie and cups of tea. As he grasped the door handle, another hand touched his.
“I’m sorry. Pardon me.”
American. Auburn hair, nice face, lots of muscle. Markus inhaled. Potent, too. Very potent.
“Not a problem, friend. You’re new here?”
“Yeah. Just got in today.”
“Sure and there’s better places to eat in Padraig than the Pit.”
“The Pit?”
“Café Oxter.” Markus smiled, careful not to let his fangs show. “Oxter is a Scots word for armpit.”
“Oh.” The man flushed.
Markus twitched at the hiss of his blood rushing to the surface of his skin. He needed a taste, and he needed it now.
“Aye. I’d be happy to show you a better place, lad. We can get a pint or two while we wait.”
The man nodded and smiled. “I heard you Scots were friendly sorts.”
“Aye.” Markus touched the sleeve of the man’s sports coat and shuddered at the rush he felt even through the fabric. “Friendly we are, at that. Come with me.”
20
“This is where Isabella and I danced naked the first night we were here.”
Damian’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. The two had returned from Thurso and had taken a moonlit walk around the castle property, ending in the courtyard. Suzanne laughed, throwing her head back, and then she gently pushed his chin upward and closed his mouth. “Watch out for mosquitoes.”
