Emeline laughed. "Very funny, Blaze. I'm about the drama. That's why you love me. I'm the girlie girl and always being dramatic. You're the steady, no-nonsense, mess-with-me-I'll-kick-your-ass girl. That's why we're friends. We both can't be a drama queen." She paused, and then lowered her voice. "I love you, Blaze. You're my only family. I can't lose you. I can't. I wouldn't survive. Don't throw your life away."
Blaze clutched the phone tighter, so tight her knuckles turned white. She had been doing that. She was so grief stricken, so determined not to allow herself to even think about those hours before her father had died, that she was willing to put herself in harm's way. She would have--unfairly--left Emeline with no one.
She would be forever grateful to Maksim Volkov and Tariq Asenguard for saving her life. She knew she would have died. She was fairly certain she would have taken at least a couple of the Hallahan brothers with her, but Emeline was right. She had wanted to die rather than face the nightmare of what Sean had gone through.
"I wish I hadn't gone out. I took a class on bartending tricks. Dad took my shift so I could attend the class. Now, it seems so silly."
"It wasn't silly, Blaze," Emeline said. "It's life. We live our life and things happen and we have to deal. We're dealing. Between the two of us, we'll find the best way to take out the Hallahan brothers, one by one. Hell, I'll seduce them if I have to."
"Emeline." Blaze breathed her name. "Don't you dare."
"Just saying. Gotta go, hon. I'm staying at the Mark Charles Hotel. It's kind of run-down, but I thought a down-and out-stripper might live there."
Blaze clenched her teeth. "Emmy, you have to be safe. Are there good locks on the doors? A peephole? Are you protected there?"
"Sean taught me a thing or two, Blaze," Emeline said, her voice serious. "I know how to be safe. I traveled Europe on my own. Just because I can't kick butt like you do, doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention to the things you both taught me. I can do this. I think I'm safer than you are. If you come into the club, hide that hair of yours."
"Yes, mama," Blaze said. "I know a little something about being safe as well. I'll see you in a couple of hours. But Emmy, if you're dancing, I'm closing my eyes so I won't go blind."
Emeline laughed. Blaze forgot how beautiful her laughter was. Emeline had a beautiful voice. She had a beautiful body. Everything about her was gorgeous. She'd been blessed by the beauty gods, but cursed by the gods for that beauty.
"You do that, honey. Be safe."
"Be safe," Blaze echoed and snapped her phone shut. She threw it on the nightstand and covered her face. She'd come so close to dying last night. She couldn't say she regretted a single thing that happened. She wanted Maksim Volkov and truthfully, she wanted him again. But she so wasn't going there. She wasn't the type of woman to mesh with someone like Maksim, nor did she think for one moment that she was his only in spite of the things he'd told her.
For one thing, her hand crept up to her neck again, and a slow flush spread through her body. There was the blood thing. Her face burned. His mouth on her had been erotic and her mouth on him . . . His taste was addicting. She wanted more. Blood didn't taste like that. She knew. She was one of those weird people who, when they cut themselves, sucked at the wound. Blood didn't taste at all like that.
Still, she'd seen him move. Or more precisely, she hadn't seen him move. He was that fast. If his blood could make her that fast, she would be perfectly fine with being a little more like him because she was avenging her father's torture and murder. She wasn't leaving that in a stranger's hands.
Blaze pushed herself off the bed. Instantly she felt dizzy and disoriented. The pounding in her head grew. If heads could explode, she was fairly certain hers would. It was far worse than any hangover she'd ever experienced. She pressed her hand to her rolling stomach and staggered to the bathroom. Every step was difficult. Her feet felt leaden, caught in quicksand.
She had the urge to lie back down and pull the covers over her head to block out all light. Instead, she turned on the shower and stepped under the cascading water, letting it run on her face and body in an effort to clear away the cobwebs. If her problems had only been physical, she would have been okay with it, but her thoughts refused to leave Maksim Volkov alone. No matter what she did, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
She fantasized in the shower as she washed her hair, running her fingers through it, remembering the feel of his hands in her hair, the erotic bite of pain on her scalp. So good. So good that even the memory caused a spasm. She remembered the way his skin felt when she touched him. Hot. Hard. So beautiful, if a man could be described as beautiful. Her hands, as she washed her skin, followed the path of his. Her breasts, her belly, her waist, lower still. She heard herself moan and was shocked.
She wasn't a sensual person. Really. She wasn't. She had looked at a few men, but seriously, she just hadn't been interested. It was weird to think she could go from being semi-frigid, to nearly ripping a man's clothes off. There was no doubt she'd done that--and she wouldn't take a single second back.
She also didn't fool herself into believing everything he said to her. Men said things to get a woman in bed. She wasn't naive. Even if he was everything he'd told her--another species altogether and not a vampire--there couldn't be only one woman for a man. It sounded awesome to be a man's only one, but a man as hot as Maksim could have any number of women. And he had to have, or he wouldn't have been so awesome in bed. No one could get that good without tons of experience. Not that she had done so bad herself.
Smirking, she rinsed the soap from her body, wishing the water running over her didn't feel so sensual on her sensitive skin. Maksim had opened the floodgates on her sexuality. There was no doubt about that. She was craving him all over again. His taste. His body. His cock. Every single inch of him. She wanted to hear his voice. See his smile.
"Obsession," she whispered aloud. She was doing exactly what Emeline warned her against. She wanted a relationship with Maksim, not a one-night stand. "I'll settle for sex," she told the hot spray of water. "Lots of great sex with him. And if he really is that fast, maybe a little of that as well."
She rinsed her hair one last time and turned off the shower, reaching for a towel to dry herself off. Touching her body with the velvet softness of the material was a mistake. The moment the towel slid across her nipples, she felt the arc of electricity rushing to her core. Her sheath spasmed. Deep inside she throbbed with need. She clenched her teeth against the flames sweeping through her bloodstream and kept rubbing.
By the time she got the material between her legs where she was sore--deliciously sore--she was on fire. Just touching the towel to her pulsing button sent a shocking orgasm surging through her. She leaned against the sink, breathing hard, wishing Maksim was there with her. He'd given her this gift. She'd never had an orgasm--self-induced--so strong. Imagining his mouth on her, or his heavy erection in her mouth or in her body, sent another wave crashing through her.
Breathing heavily, she tossed the towel aside and caught up another to wrap her hair in before standing in front of the full-length mirror. The sight made her breath catch in her throat. She'd looked at herself hundreds of times, usually a cursory look to make certain her clothes weren't on inside out or something equally as dorky.
Her skin had never glowed so much. Her eyes seemed larger, the green more brilliant, almost dazzling. Her lashes seemed thicker and longer. Her body looked . . . lush. She was cut. She worked out and she was used to her muscles being very defined--and they were--but somehow she noticed her curves. Mostly, she noticed the smudges on her body--the marks of Maksim's possession. There were a lot of them, as if he had branded her, stamped his mark so deep it was in her very bones.
She let out her breath slowly. She looked beautiful. She'd never felt beautiful in her life. She knew she wasn't plain, but still, not like this. Never like this. Maksim transformed her in some way, or at least made her aware of her femininity--something she'd never acknowledged.
She dressed slowly, choosing her outfit with care. She dressed for combat. Jeans that stretched easily. Boots that were lightweight enough to allow her to move fast but would take someone down if she delivered a kick to them. A shirt that emphasized her curves, a vest that allowed her to hide a few weapons. She didn't take a purse, but zipped ID and money in her vest pocket. She slipped a knife in one boot and a gun into the other.
Her hair took some time. She braided it and then donned one of several wigs she kept just for such purposes. Sean had taught her how to keep from being noticed, and the color of her hair had always been a detriment. When she'd shadowed him, he'd spotted her every time, so she'd purchased wigs. With the cheaper ones, he'd made her immediately, but when she paid good money for real hair, she'd managed to tail him a few times without getting caught. She put on a short, black wig, made certain it was secure and looked real before sliding on a pair of sunglasses, because the light was killing her eyes. She hurried out of the apartment. Surveillance first and then she would go into the club when there were tons of people.
SIX
BLAZE DIDN'T EXPECT it to be so difficult to be out in the light. Even behind her dark glasses, her eyes watered and burned. She parked her motorcycle in an alley behind the building opposite the club. It wasn't difficult to leap up and catch the fire escape ladder, pull it down and begin the climb to the roof. Once there, staying low so in case anyone was watching they wouldn't see her, she made her way across the roof to the four-foot-high wall surrounding the rooftop across from The In Place.
She made a face as her binoculars took in the flashing neon sign over the door of the building. The club was popular. The dancers were good. Rumor was, you had to be gorgeous and a great dancer to get a job there. The pay was good and the tips were even better. She could understand why they would hire Emeline on the spot. Emmy was both.
Blaze moved the glasses along the rooftop first, just to make certain the Hallahan brothers hadn't posted guards up there. She quartered the area meticulously, just as Sean had taught her, and there was no one. Clearly the Hallahans didn't suspect that she would come after them. She knew they had dismissed her because she was a woman. They hadn't entered her bar because they clearly didn't want to tangle with Tariq Asenguard, Maksim or any of their men--if they had brought some with them. She had the feeling they had. It had taken more than the two men to clean out the bar in that time frame, even if they could move at warp speed. The thought that there had been others she hadn't seen didn't sit well with her, but now that she thought about it, of course they had probably brought others. Men like them? Different? How many men like them were there?
She continued to sweep the building. It was two stories and took up a third of the block. The top story was mostly offices, but like her building, there was a large apartment above the bar. She was fairly certain the Hallahans didn't live in the apartment, but they used it. She knew that because after they were threatened, both she and her father had done some surveillance. The Hallahan brothers didn't bother to cover the windows; in fact, she was pretty certain they were exhibitionists, or they just liked people to see and maybe fear them.
More than one woman had been brought up to that apartment and shared if the rumors were true, and she was fairly certain they were. They had also brought men here to beat. And they had beat them right out in the open--in front of that window.
Sean told her that Reginald Coonan owned a company that made porn films, so maybe the women auditioned with the Hallahans first before making the films. According to what Sean had found out, Coonan's company was extremely successful. No one knew where his studios were, and it was reputed that he made fetish films as well. She didn't want to know what those were and Sean hadn't told her. Still, she worried that Emeline would catch the Hallahans' eyes. She was truly that gorgeous.
No one appeared to be in the apartment, and she swept the street and parking lot. The parking lot was filling up. The sun had begun to set, turning the sky all different shades of red and orange, bringing relief to her burning eyes. She was surprised that her skin felt burned as well. She was Irish, so she didn't exactly tan, but when she went outside in the early evening she never had a problem.
She didn't see any of the Hallahans' vehicles. They normally parked their very fancy cars in the four spots clearly marked for their use. No one ever dared to park in their places, at least not in the last few months. Rumors of baseball bats taken to the owners and total destruction of vehicles that had crossed them before their reputations had spread kept anyone from taking chances now.
Where are you?
The velvet voice slid into her mind easily. Clearly. That edge to it only made her stomach plunge and then somersault. There was no denying the voice was real and it was Maksim.
You are not where I left you.
She took a breath and decided it was better to answer him. Not the smartest thing maybe, not if she didn't want to continue fantasizing about a relationship with him, but still, a slow burn was starting, the tension coiling deep inside her--a burn only he could sate. No, it wasn't smart, but she didn't want to cut ties--yet.
I have a few things to do. She tried to act nonchalant, as if she were talking telepathically every day of her life to a man she had wild, rough, uninhibited sex with. To a man she wanted to have more wild, rough, uninhibited sex with. He might be the sexiest man in the world and drop-dead gorgeous, but he wasn't going to dictate to her. And she sure wasn't staying in her apartment waiting for him to come calling after he left her bed.
I looked for my woman in her bed where I wanted to put my mouth between her legs until she was screaming my name and then have her ride me wild like she does until she screamed it again. Then I wanted to ride her rough, hard and deep until both of us were exhausted. The bed was empty.
A shiver went through her body. It wasn't just his voice. He talked sexy. No one talked like that, did they? She wanted his mouth between her legs. She wanted to ride him wild. And she really wanted him to ride her rough, wild and deep. Screaming would be optional, but good. She moistened her suddenly dry lips and tried not to fog up her binoculars with heavy breathing.
You didn't leave me a note. I had no idea you were planning to come back.
There was a silence. In that silence, she felt a glacier pouring into her mind. She shivered, trying not to let his disapproval matter to her.
You had no idea I was planning to come back? What does that mean? You thought I used you and walked away?
Okay. That was exactly what she thought and clearly she was wrong. She caught a flicker of fire-engine red in the parking lot and turned the binoculars on the convertible that drove fast into one of the sacred Hallahans' spaces. Jimmy Hallahan. The oldest of the brothers. He jumped over the door of his convertible and walked with long strides to the side door of the club that no one but management used, disappearing inside.
Well. Yes, she admitted, because there wasn't much else she could do. I went to sleep with you and woke up without you. I don't have tons of experience with men, so I thought maybe that was your MO.
The chill factor went to subzero. My MO?
Clearly she was not getting the better of the conversation. It was time to retreat. I can't talk about this right now. I'm really into something here and it's demanding my entire attention.
"'Here' would not be The In Place, would it?"
His voice sounded soft and silky. In her ear, not her mind. She was so certain she was alone she didn't react at first, and then she felt his warm breath in her ear. Instantly a thrill went down her spine. She drew in her breath sharply and turned her head to look over her shoulder.
Maksim was close. Too close. He was beautiful. Gorgeous. Dressed casually in vintage blue jeans that clung to his body, and a tight black tee that stretched across his thick chest, showing the multitude of muscle, he was even hotter than she remembered--and her memory was really good. Her mouth went dry and she had to swallow a lump that had formed in her throat.
Her heart
began to pound--hard. He looked more remote and ice-cold than he had when she'd first met him. His black hair spilled down around his face. It was thick. Luxurious. Her fingers itched to run through all that wild hair and tame it just as a part of her wanted to ignite the fire in him and melt all that ice away.
"I left you sleeping in your bed. What are you doing here?" he persisted.
The velvet rasp of his voice slid over her, both a demand and a caress. She had no idea how he managed it, but the tone was very effective. She shivered and sat back on her heels. Every breath she drew took him deeper into her lungs until she felt surrounded by him. She had no idea why, but she was relieved to see him alive and breathing. A part of her, from the moment she had awakened and found him gone, had been tense and worried. She put it down to secretly wanting a relationship she'd told Emeline she wasn't looking for.
"Blaze." He said her name softly. A warning.
"Was there a question in there?" She fell back on her attitude because, really, who could think when he was looming over her, looking so . . . yummy.
He reached down and took her wrist, forcing her to her feet with casual strength. Not stopping there, pulling her up against his body. He might look ice-cold, but the heat emanating from his body was anything but. He pulled her wrist around his neck, took the binoculars out of her hand, floated them--yes, floated them--down to the floor and wrapped her other arm around his neck.
"What are you doing here?"
He murmured the question against the side of her mouth, his lips skimming hers, sending a series of little quakes ricocheting through her pussy. Instant liquid heat dampened her panties. In reflex she threaded her fingers together at the nape of his neck, her body melting into his.
"Working," she answered, turning her head just enough so that her lips brushed his. Seeking his kiss. Needing the feel of his mouth on hers. Right there out in the waning light on the roof of the building across from the nightclub she was reconning. She wasn't a woman who went for public displays of affection, but she needed his mouth more than she needed air--and she had no idea why. Only that he was necessary to her.