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“I do. It holds some special meaning to you?”
“You read Hanzi?”
“I have a knack for languages. And you, it seems, have a fascination with vampires.”
His thumb was still on her wrist, just beneath the word, and she tugged it back, his understanding of that one little word making her feel weirdly exposed. “My father was into folklore. Paranormal stuff. He passed the fascination on to me.”
That much was true. But the tattoo had come much later. Only about three years ago, actually. She’d been feeling at loose ends for months, unable to get a handle on what was wrong with her. Then she’d stumbled across the Hanzi word in a graphic novel she’d been reading during an afternoon at the beach, and from that moment on, she’d been obsessed by it. An obsession that had only been relieved when she’d finally found an artist to permanently ink it on her wrist.
Strangely, once the word was on her wrist, she’d felt more like herself. Not fully—she’d still wake up crying and grasping for something she’d lost, though she had no clue what it was—but the daily malaise faded. She told herself it was a remnant from her childhood. Her father had been brutally murdered by someone pretending to be that very bloodsucking fiend. Of course she had issues.
True, but that explanation never felt quite right. Eventually, her workload grew, and she’d decided it didn’t matter. There was no therapy in the world better than taking down bad guys, after all.
She finished off her drink. “So tell me why you’ve been watching me.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. Clearly he knew this was her ploy to change the subject. She fervently hoped it worked.
“I already told you,” he said, signaling for Melanie to refill their glasses. “You’re impressive.”
“You were watching me even before this case. I’ve seen you five times, including today.”
He put his hand over hers, the point of contact stealing all of her focus. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and smooth, rumbling through her like a warm caress. “It’s the work that’s impressive, Sara. The passion. Not simply the Stemmons case. You stand as champion for the weak. So do I. And,” he added with just the hint of a smile, “I’ve watched you six times before today in this bar alone. Not five.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, suddenly aware of her pulse pounding in her veins. She told herself his attention should feel creepy, but she didn’t believe it. Strangely, weirdly, it felt right. Even familiar.
She took a sip of whiskey to ease her suddenly dry mouth, and when she spoke, she didn’t meet his eyes. Her, who was usually so bold with men. Something else that was baffling. “Is that all you want?” Her words came out as a whisper, and she forced herself to lift her head and look into his eyes. “To watch?”
His brows rose, and she could tell he was fighting amusement. Her chest felt tight, and she had to work to breathe. She wasn’t certain how they’d slid into this sensual dance, but she was enjoying it immensely.
“No, Sara,” he said. “It’s not.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing her hair as he murmured in her ear. “I want to celebrate with you.”
Her heart stuttered as she remembered the way Petra had used that word, and all the heat that had been building within her settled between her thighs. “I do have reason to celebrate,” she said, pulling back so that she could see those hypnotic eyes. “Big case. Big win.” Her voice was breathy.
“Indeed.”
She plucked an olive from a small bowl sitting beside a single rose in a bud vase, enjoying their flirting. Even more, enjoying the warmth that now flowed through her body and the way her skin tingled with awareness. She lifted the olive to her mouth, then drew it in, her eyes never leaving Luke’s as she sucked, then chewed, then swallowed.
“Do you like olives?” she asked.
“More and more with each passing moment.”
She stifled a laugh, then took another olive from the bowl, this time brushing the slick surface over his lips until they parted and he drew in both the olive and her finger. He sucked, and it was everything she could do not to moan aloud as a ribbon of heat ran from the tip of her finger, through her chest, and all the way down to the juncture of her thighs.
She tugged her finger free, her heart beating wildly. “Luke.”
She’d meant the words as an admonishment to slow down. Instead, it came out as a plea.
His eyes skirted away, skimming over the back area of the bar. When his attention returned to her, there was nothing but panty-melting desire on his face.
She felt lightheaded, and not from the whiskey, although she downed the last of it for both courage and the buzz. She turned to look back toward the entrance. She caught Petra’s amused gaze, and saw Dan’s disapproving frown, but the rest were lost in conversation, heads bent over the table.
After a deep breath for courage, she slid off her stool. “Count to five, then follow me.”
She didn’t wait to see if he’d obey. She simply headed toward the hall that led to the restrooms and storage area. She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, fear that he wouldn’t show warring with fear that he would. She wasn’t a stranger to picking up men—to burning off that energy and need as if she was chasing demons or something—but that was usually all it was. With Luke, it was more. It was tangible. It waswant.Need. A craving like nothing she’d experienced before, and the possibility that he might not show felt like ice in her veins.
She saw his shadow first, and warm relief flooded her body. Then he stepped into the light at the end of the hall, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the space. Now that he was standing, she realized how large he was with his broad chest, massive arms, and muscular thighs. He stood for a moment, and she soaked up her fill of him, the vision alone enough to make her feel a little drunk. Then he was beside her, the speed of his approach almost dizzying. His hands were on the wall on either side of her, caging her in. Their eyes locked, and though she expected a wild, rapturous kiss, he didn’t move. “Luke,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Yes.” The word was the softest of whispers, even softer than the brush of his lips over hers that followed. She wanted more. Harder. Claiming. But his soft tease was even more intimate, and when he drew kisses down over her jaw and to the soft skin of her neck, she thought she would melt with pleasure.
