Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  “If you’re scared Lenny, you could just leave.” Vicki gave him a baleful stare, willing him to walk away.

  Becca rose from her seat. “Lenny you stay put right there. Vicki and I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  She stormed after her. Inside the bathroom, her traitorous friend stood at the mirror, applying lipstick. She appeared calm.

  “What the hell?” Vicki marched to the sink, looked at her in the mirror. “How can you invite that slimy hack to sit with us? It’s obvious he’s been following me again, trying to get another story for his magazine.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Becca dropped her lipstick into her purse.

  “So, again I ask, what the hell?” She gripped the edge of the counter.

  A grin spread across Becca’s freshly painted lips. “Have you ever heard of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer?”

  “A ruse? Why didn’t you tell me, or at least signal me somehow, so I’d realize you hadn’t completely lost your mind?”

  “Sorry.” She adjusted her blouse, letting the fabric just drape over the edge of her shoulder. “I don’t know any fancy spy signals. We’ll have to come up with something later.”

  “Okay.” Relief coursed through Vicki. She hadn’t been betrayed.

  Becca paused at the door, peering over her shoulder. “Just don’t act too happy, or he’ll wonder what we’re up to.”

  “I won’t.” She touched her arm. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She smiled. “And it’s not like it’s a huge sacrifice. He’s cute enough, and at least I won’t feel like a third wheel at dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Vicki followed Becca out of the bathroom, her heart pounding with dread. “He’s going to dinner with us?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  River paused on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, lust shooting through his veins. Lord, have mercy.

  Vicki stormed down the sidewalk, the little green number she wore clinging to every curve, squeezing in just the right places. Her hips swayed in a seductive rhythm with each step, and the slit up the side gave a hint of what she might have on beneath the dress. Brows drawn down, mouth in a thin line, anger radiated off her in waves, and each frustrated huff raised her creamy breasts just to the point of spilling over the low-cut neckline.

  That blonde hair, those flashing gray eyes, all those dips and curves. Good God. River’s head spun just looking at her. Clenching his jaw, he fought not to grin like an idiot.

  “She told me to keep the enemy near,” Vicki growled when she was three feet from him. “Well, I say this is going too far.”

  River forced himself to focus. “What are we talking about?”

  She waved her hand behind her. “That.”

  Becca and Lenny strolled side by side, smiles on their faces while they talked to one another.

  “It’s just too much.” Vicki sulked. “Becca felt like a third wheel, so she invited the hack to dinner. Why couldn’t it have been the cute bartender guy, Brent? But no. It had to be my own personal stalker.”

  He smiled. “Stalkers are personal by definition.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours.” He ran his hands up and down her silky arms. “Okay, so just sit next to me, and I’ll run interference for you if things get squirrelly.”

  Her features softened, some of the anger dissipating. “You’d do that?”

  “Absolutely.” He gazed down at her, a ghost of a smile grazing her lips. Taking her hand, he waited for the pariah couple to join them. He opened the restaurant door and urged Vicki through, her friend following. “Becca, so good to see you again.”

  “Detective Chastain.” Lenny started through the door, but River grabbed his shoulder.

  “We need to have an understanding here.” He kept his body relaxed, but gave the reporter a hard stare. “You do anything—an off-handed comment, an inappropriate look, anything—and you’ll regret it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Detective.” He raised his brows and widened his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Yeah. You do.” Having dealt with his type before, he straightened, towering over the reporter. “You so much as breathe on her, you’ll find your ass in a jail cell for the night, and I’ll fill out the restraining order myself.”

  Lenny glanced at the door. “Man, you’re stepping all over my First Amendment rights as a journalist. I could yell police harassment.”

  River snorted. “Try it.”

  The guy’s shoulders sagged.

  “We clear?”

  His head tilted in the direction of the restaurant. River hoped the subtle gesture meant the reporter was interested in getting back to his date and not Vicki. They could make it through the meal as long as the two of them played nice.

  “Yeah. We’re clear.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and walked through the doorway. River stayed on his heels.

  The two women sat in an oversized corner booth with a red-and-white checkered cloth covering the table. A cylindrical vase held two carnations, and next to that sat salt and pepper shakers. The restaurant lighting had been dimmed to create a romantic atmosphere. Even so, River had no difficulty spotting Vicki’s irritated expression.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Becca announced while the two men slid into the seats opposite one another, “but we went ahead and ordered drinks. Red wine for us. Beers for you guys.”

  “Sounds good.” River took Vicki’s hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  Without preamble, Lenny plunked a four-inch cross on the table and stared at him. “I’m a religious man.”

  River gave him a warning glare. Was the guy itching to spend the night behind bars?

  “Oh my God, Lenny.” A frustrated huff brought Vicki’s breasts heaving dangerously close to the edge of her neckline. River kept his focus on the reporter, but his peripheral offered an enticing view. “I already told you I’m not a vampire. And besides”—she waved her hand about—“we’re in a freaking Italian restaurant. If it’d make you feel better, I’ll order extra garlic on my dinner.”

  “It would,” the guy said, his response deadpan. “And if you’d just hold this for a moment, I’m certain we’d all feel a little safer.” He held the cross out to her.

  Vicki snatched the silver cross and threw her head back. “Oh, the pain! It’s burning. Burning. I’m melting.”

  Grinning, River took the cross, returning it to Lenny, whose calm façade had deteriorated into sheepishness.

  “Well, can’t be too careful.” Brows drawing together in a tight knot, he barked a nerve-laden chuckle. “You had me going there for a moment. I was like, damn she is a vampire. I was right all along.” He nodded. “Good one.”

  “You can put the cross away.” Becca patted his arm, her voice thick with reassurance. “Vicki’s perfectly safe. I’ve known her forever, and nothing’s ever happened to me.”

  Vicki blanched and reached for her wine, her trembling fingers bumping the glass. In a quick move, River grabbed the goblet, keeping the liquid from splashing onto the table. So, I was right. She did have a vision about her friend.

  “Thank you.” A subtle sigh laced her words. Lifting the glass to her lips, she then downed the wine then looked over at Lenny. “Just don’t go throwing holy water on me until after dinner. Okay?”

  The reporter grinned, appearing to warm up to her. “Deal.”

  The waiter approached their table with a bottle, poured a generous portion into Vicki’s glass, and splashed a bit more into Becca’s. “Salute,” he said and departed.

  “There’s something I don’t get.” Vicki took another gulp of wine, her attention fixed on the reporter. “Here you are trying to prove I’m a vampire, but in your UFOP article you referred to me as a paranormal parasite.”

  “Not my idea.” He held up his hand. “I swear.”

  “Good.” Becca scrunched up her face. “Parasite is just gross.”

  He turned his attention to the raven-haired art
ist. “My original title was Paranormal Parasite. But Victoria Vampire? Now, that title just rolls off the tongue. Not to mention it’s way sexier than parasite.”

  A cell phone rang, and Lenny jumped. “It’s me.” He checked at the caller ID. Giving his impromptu date an apologetic look, he rose from the booth. Three steps from the table he hunched over and answered the phone. “I told you to quit calling me. No. I said—” He strode toward the restaurant exit and pushed through the door. “No. It’s over, Jolene. We’re done.”

  Becca scooted to the edge of the booth. “And before you say anything, he already told me all about Jolene.”

  Vicki’s eyebrows rose. “In a two-block walk he told you about his ex-girlfriend?”

  “She’s been hounding him. Warned me she might call and wanted to be clear upfront.”

  “Clear upfront?” She leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”

  “We just sort of clicked.” Becca shrugged. “I know he’s not the usual type I date. But it’s a good thing, I think.” She turned to River. “Don’t you agree?”

  Taken by surprise, he fell back on the adage—if he didn’t know what a woman was talking about, agree. “Sure.”

  Beneath the table, a high heel jammed down on his foot. Grimacing, he shook his head. No way to win this one.

  Becca angled toward the door. “He’s cute. Intelligent. Charming in an other-worldly kind of way.”

  “Yeah,” Vicki shot back, her tone sarcastic. “If you can get past the Bigfoot, vampire, Sasquatch, and alien abduction thing.”

  “Bigfoot and Sasquatch are the same thing,” she snapped.

  “Oh, wow. A match made in heaven.”

  Becca leveled her gaze on her friend, eyes blazing with fury. “If you’ll remember, you’re the one who told me I should have hot sex to get over being jilted.” She held up her hand, cutting off any further comment. “I’m going to the ladies’ room to freshen up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She stood. “Then I plan to have a wonderful dinner with a charming man, and if we have hot sex later, then that’s my business.”

  Becca turned to leave, paused, and then pivoted around on her heel. Her focus landed on River, and he tensed beneath her dark-eyed scrutiny. “And just so you know, she thinks she looks like a hooker in her dress. I tried to talk sense into her, but it seems you’re the only one she’s going to listen to tonight.” She strode away from the table, her heels clacking on the tiled floor.

  “Pushed her too far,” Vicki muttered. She stared after her friend, regret clear in her eyes, her creamy chest flushed and heaving. “It just weirds me out that she’d hook up with the guy who wrote that awful story about me.”

  Deciding it was safer to keep his opinions to himself, he grabbed his beer and drank.

  “So, do I look like a hooker?”

  He choked on the cold foamy liquid. “God, no.” He set the mug on the table. “I’ve seen enough hookers, and you don’t even come close.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “I mean, no, you don’t look anything like a hooker. Nothing at all.”

  She tilted her head, blonde tresses tumbling over her shoulder.

  Letting his actions speak, he slid toward her, taking in her creamy curviness, inhaling the light scent of her perfume. He trailed a finger up her arm, captivated by the path he made up the side of her bicep to her shoulder. When he reached her neck, she shivered. Her response sent a shock of lust low in his gut. Leaning toward her, he brushed his lips over hers.

  Unable to stop himself, River wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He twined his fingers into the silky strands at the nape of her neck. Her body contoured to his, and he reveled in her softness.

  Capturing her mouth with his, he tasted sweetness and wanted more. His tongue pushed between her lips, discovering a hunger that matched his own. Heart pounding, his body pulsed with need. Oh, man, if he held her much longer, things would definitely get out of control. And having her sprawled naked across the table for anyone to happen by and see was not an option.

  What are you doing, River? You shouldn’t even be considering this. Getting involved with a suspect could get you thrown off the case.

  But the longer he kissed her, the more he wanted her. I’ll just have to keep it under control.

  He broke the kiss and struggled to catch his breath. His gaze dipped to her wet, swollen lips, and lust rocketed through him.

  Yeah, you’re in deep here, River.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “No, Jolene, we’re not going to get back together.” Lenny moseyed down the sidewalk outside the Italian restaurant and stopped by a tree. He fought to keep his voice low, but she’d just about gotten on his last nerve. “Why? Because I’m a scum reporter for a crappy magazine. You deserve better, and you should go out there and find it.”

  Someone strode past behind him, and Lenny jerked around. Holy moly! He hadn’t even heard the guy approach. Like the time he’d waited all night in a tree stand down in Mexico for a Chupacabra to make an appearance, and a bobcat had walked right beneath him.

  He noted the collar-length wavy dark hair, the boxy gray oxford, and jeans as the guy entered the restaurant. Lenny tilted his head, his mind working while Jolene screamed obscenities over the cell. Where have I seen him?

  “I’m sorry, Jolene. Have a nice life.” He ended the call and sighed. He hoped she would realize their relationship was finished. From the moment the article about Vicki had published, Jolene had become jealous, obsessive. If she hadn’t known his location every moment of the day, she’d accused him of having an affair. He couldn’t work under that kind of pressure. By the time he’d reached Savannah, it’d been obvious he needed to end the relationship.

  In the process of tracking Vicki and completing the article Freddy had assigned, he’d seen Rebecca. Good golly, she was hot. And talented. And all-out amazing.

  He’d been upfront with her right from the start. Told her how he’d ended things with Jolene, but she hadn’t let go quite yet. Rebecca had smiled. Told him about how her fiancé had ditched her days before their wedding.

  Lenny shook his head. What idiot dumped a woman like Rebecca? Anyone who looked at her knew she was unique.

  He patted his jacket, found the distinctive lump of his camera pen beneath the fabric. He’d been assigned to write another story about Vicki. When she’d taken the cross and put on her melting witch act, he’d snapped half a dozen pictures. It’d been too good to pass up. Guilt tugged at his conscience. Was he willing to risk a shot at an amazing woman like Rebecca for a story?

  He opened the restaurant door and dodged the dark-haired dude who’d entered moments before. In his hands, he carried a paper bag. Take out. Lenny nodded at the guy, catching a whiff of what was in the sack. His mouth watered. If the aroma was any indication, dinner would be delicious.

  “What’d I miss?” He slid into the booth.

  The detective and blonde vixen resembled two kids caught stealing fresh-baked cookies from the cooling rack.

  “Becca went to the ladies’ room.” Vicki glanced at Detective Chastain then back at him. “She should be back in just a minute.”

  Lenny grinned. Yeah, something had happened between the two of them while he was outside. He grabbed his beer and drained it. When he set his mug down, her lashes fluttered a few times then stopped.

  The cop leaned toward her, laid his hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” Concern filled his face.

  “Yeah.” Irritation underlay her calm demeanor. She heaved a sigh, snatched her wineglass, and drank. “Perfect.”

  Chastain stared at her a long moment. Picking up his beer, he eyed Lenny over the rim and emptied the mug. Signaling for another round, he turned toward Vicki, who shrugged. “Well, hell.”

  “Okay.” Lenny tightened his grip on his frosty mug. “I don’t understand this telepathic mind-meld thing you two got going, but let me just say, it’s freaking me out. Either of you care to share?”

  Chastain�
�s face turned to granite. “Nope.”

  Lenny scrutinized them, first Vicki then the detective. What’s going on between them? Maybe a lover’s quarrel? If that was the problem, he wanted nothing to do with it. Jolene was enough drama.

  Rebecca returned to the table, and Lenny leaped up so she could slide into the booth. She smoothed her skirt and smiled at him—like he was the only one in the restaurant. Good gosh, she’s beautiful. What does she see in a guy like me? A quick lay, one night of hot steamy sex that ends at daybreak? Or something longer, more in the relationship arena? He drank his beer. Who cares? I’ll do whatever she wants.

  Dinner arrived. Spaghetti, lasagna, chicken Parmesan, garlic rolls. Lenny took a bite and moaned, the food melting in his mouth. “Oh God. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Detective Chastain choked, and Vicki banged her hand against his back. “Sorry.” He took a swig of his beer. “Went down the wrong way.”

  After that, Lenny realized the strange vibe between the detective and Vicki had vanished. Maybe they’d needed to eat. Maybe it was a full moon. Who knew? And by the end of the meal, he’d laughed so much his sides ached.

  Across the table from him sat his ticket to a legit magazine.

  Guilt oozed over him.

  He liked his psychic vampire—well, once he got past the whammy factor. But overall, Vicki was an interesting, funny person. He would dump the pictures from the camera pen and tell Freddy the story had dried up.

  The waitress approached. “Anything else I can get you?”

  Rebecca kicked Lenny’s foot beneath the table. He turned toward her. Jeez, those eyes, that sultry smile.

  “I think we’ll skip coffee.” Lenny rose from the booth, held his hand out to the beautiful artist. He looked down at their dinner companions. “Vicki, Detective. We had a wonderful meal, but it’s time Ms. Carlson and I said good night.”

  He led her from the restaurant. Out on the sidewalk, he turned to her. “What now?”

  “Mmm.” A hint of mischievousness glinted in her eyes. “Dessert.”

  He grinned, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “A woman after my own heart.”