by Tamara Hogan
The dressing room was decorated in relaxing shades of plum and green, right down to the hand-painted ceramic tiles around the toilet, sink and shower, and somehow it smelled like a botanical garden despite there not being a plant in sight. There was a generous supply of fluffy towels stacked in a clever built-in shelving unit, along with enough personal care items to stock a small drugstore. To her right was a rolling clothes rack with big padded hangers, and a tall armoire that locked. Straight ahead was a vanity table with a brightly-lit makeup mirror, a dainty padded stool, and more hair and makeup products than she’d purchased in her lifetime. Unzipping one of the backpack’s outer pockets, she removed hair paste, an eyeliner crayon and lip balm and set them on the table.
Her typical beauty routine didn’t require light, much less seating.
Kicking off her wool-lined suede boots, she stripped off her ratty jeans, hoodie and T-shirt, shivering in her panties and socks as she exchanged them for a pair of black low-riders, a plain black baby tee with tiny cap sleeves, a thick leather belt, and her square-toed Frye boots. She needed to blend in, fit in, but not draw undue attention to herself.
Vampire black. It would do.
Vampires were real. A giggle escaped, but she throttled it back before it careened into a full-blown hysterical laugh attack. God, her brain was flooded with information she hadn’t had time to absorb, much less synthesize. If she took the time to think deeply about what Lukas had revealed about he and his employees’ origins earlier that afternoon, her brain would explode.
She quickly smudged some black pencil around her eyes, and then scooped up a small dollop of the hair paste, warming it between her palms. Tugging some height into the crown of her viciously short pixie crop, she swayed to the muffled heartbeat of the music, barely audible through the closed door.
And her hand was moving toward her belt buckle. “Damn it.” Stepping away from the mirror, she stalked to the pedestal sink, washed the paste from her hands, and then reached into her backpack again, removing the small hinged box containing the device that would allow her to access the Sebastiani Security communications band. The tiny unit, with its translucent earpiece, was a marvel of engineering, with a miniscule receiver that clipped to the inside of a pocket and promptly disappeared. She was dying to tear into the specs, but there hadn’t been time.
She donned the flexible earpiece, flicked on the receiver, and—
“Sir, you’ll need to check that blade.” Chico Perez was working the metal detector at the front entrance.
“I need a tow truck.” Winnie. “Some d-bag blocked the alley with their Escalade.”
“Plumbing problem, second floor men’s room.”
So many voices, swirling in her head. She finally honed in on Lukas, his deep voice snapping orders left and right. Narrowed her eyes as she listened.
A…a search? Scarlett’s drummer was missing? She could hear Sasha cursing in the background, and understandably so. Sasha and Jack had worked on the event security plan for weeks, but Bailey was pretty sure that having a band member disappear right before show time hadn’t been on their contingency list.
She quickly stuffed her work clothes and makeup into her backpack, put the backpack and her tool belt in the armoire, locked it, and pocketed the key. Sasha definitely had more urgent problems to resolve than providing her with pheromone intoxication meds. She’d just have to tough it out for a while. Hand on the deadbolt, she took a couple of deep breaths, and opened the door—
Whoa, head rush. She threw out a hand to steady herself. How, exactly, did this pheromone thing work, anyway? Being she’d counted on having those meds, she’d skipped that section of the dossier. “Stupid.” She, a very small human, was about to go into a dark, thumping club filled with nearly a thousand vampires, sex demons, werewolves, sirens, faeries, and Valkyrie, on very little data.
Her throat tightened. Failure was a near-certainty—
She gave her arm a vicious pinch. “Suck it up. You can handle this. Just remember that no means no.” A single syllable, two-letter word. That much she could remember.
Closing the dressing room door behind her, she threw her shoulders back, took a fortifying breath, and made her way to the stairwell that led to the dance floor.
***
The music was a riptide, threatening to knock her down and simply drag her along. Bracing herself, she closed the access door behind her and assessed her surroundings. Not two feet away, pressed up against the carpeted wall and close enough to touch, a couple feasted on each other’s mouths in the shadows, their bodies blending into a single, writhing form. To her right, a trio of women hung on each other, swaying to the slinky Chris Isaak song, balancing their colorful drinks with varying levels of success. Straight ahead, one of the toughest-looking men she’d ever seen stood by himself in the dim light, head tipped back, his face rapturous as the music washed over him.
She blinked and cleared her throat—something, anything to keep her brain in the driver’s seat instead of taking a sultry, sweaty detour to the back.
“Hello.” The man was suddenly at her side. “Would you like to dance?” An intriguing scar bisected his eyebrow, and he smelled like a midnight forest. Flashing a charming smile, he exposed long, pointed incisors.
Fangs. He had fangs.
Vampire.
Run!
No. She couldn’t run. People were counting on her. Jack was counting on her. Steeling herself, she shook her head with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of regret. “Thanks for asking, but I’m meeting someone.” Her voice squeaked on the last word. Damn it, she was a computer geek, not a bloody actress. What delusional thought process had made her think she could simply blend in? She rubbed her hands over her bare arms. Her skin felt like someone had embedded it with a thousand tiny sensors.
“Another time, perhaps.” His voice scratched like fine-grit sandpaper, yet the flesh between her legs throbbed like a beating heart. His gaze dropped to the juncture of her thighs for a split second before taking in the bare slice of belly exposed by her short T-shirt, the erect nipples punching against the fabric, her neck—
His eyes flared.
Go. Now. “I have to find my friend. ‘Bye.” As she made her escape, a breeze caressed like eiderdown. All around her, lights flashed. Bodies grinded and whirled. Bottles clinked, people laughed and hugged. Someone lit a clove cigarette nearby.
“Dressing room hallway is clear—”
“VIP room is clear—”
“Estimating thirty minutes to curtain—”
Voices and music tumbled together in a wild kaleidoscope of sound. She tried to separate individual vocal skeins, but Isaak’s smooth “Lie To Me” croon glossed over everything—
An eerie howl split the air, and her skeleton vibrated like a tuning fork. Her knees buckled, and she careened into the carpeted wall. She could feel each fiber and filament as it brushed against her cheek and shoulder.
A gentle hand grasped her upper arm, steadying her.
She looked up and saw an androgynous creature with coal black hair, snow-white skin, kohl-rimmed eyes, and silver lips. Wearing combat boots, a kilt over black leggings, and a black coat buttoned to the neck, the otherworldly being looked utterly comfortable despite the club’s rainforest heat.
Are you okay?
Male or female? Vampire, werewolf, faerie, siren? Its lips hadn’t moved, but she heard the voice as clearly as if it had come through a pair of noise-reduction headphones. Three simple words, drenched with empathy. Looking into wise, knowing gray eyes, she saw understanding. Communion.
An invitation to touch.
Slowly raising her hand, she stroked the white cheek with her fingertips. Such soft, soft skin. Unmistakably a woman.
A woman who somehow…understood.
Holding her gaze, the woman tipped her head to the side, nuzzling her cheek into her palm. Bailey’s breath caught as the woman lifted her own hand and returned the touch, skimming black-nailed fingertips over her ja
w, cheekbone, and temple. Soft as a butterfly, achingly sweet, the touch reduced the vibration, bringing a stunning sense of relief.
When was the last time anyone had really touched her?
“Bailey, what’s your twenty?”
She jolted at Lukas’s tense voice. She wasn’t anywhere close to where she was supposed to be—at the foot of the stage. “Thank you,” she murmured to the woman, slowly dropping her hand. The words seemed completely inadequate. “I have to go.”
With a gentle smile, the woman dropped her hand. I’m glad you feel better.
Nope, she wasn’t hallucinating. The woman’s lips hadn’t moved. How the hell—
“Bailey?” Lukas repeated impatiently. “Sasha’s looking for you.”
The woman melted into the crowd.
“Damn it.” She fumbled with the receiver in her pocket, turning outgoing audio on. “I’m on the floor, Lukas. On my way to the stage now.”
“Once you get there, stay put.”
“Will do,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms as she walked. Her nerve endings still shimmied and danced, but the maddening vibrations were almost gone. The woman’s touch had definitely soothed her, steadied her out.
Being touched helped. Now, wasn’t that an interesting data point. Paradoxical, but interesting.
Flicking audio off, she waded into the writhing mass.
CHAPTER THREE
“Bailey?”
Whirling around at the sound of Sasha’s voice, she lost her balance, face-planting into the muscled chest of the world-class flirt she’d found standing at the lip of the stage.
“Whoa.” He steadied her with a laugh, clamping her to his long, hard body. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Damn it, Sasha wasn’t here; her voice was in her head—in the earpiece—swirling around with all the others. “I’m fine.” She rubbed her forehead and cheeks against his sheer excuse for a shirt, smelling the slightest hint of rosemary. Made sense, because he was a chef.
A vampire chef. Who knew?
A very hot vampire chef. Tall, verging on thin, his well-worn leather pants clung like a second skin, and his dark hair, already damp at the temples, fell to wide shoulders. Somehow the gleam of sweat rendered him more attractive rather than less. He’d kept his fangs very politely sheathed during their conversation, even when she’d told him he’d probably have to move before the show started due to security considerations.
The house lights dimmed slightly, and the house DJ turned up the volume. Tendrils of sound bloomed and twined. His body heat leached into her through the leather.
She swallowed down a moan. She knew he’d gone through the weapons detector like everyone else, but with a body like his, who needed one—
“Bailey?”
Not in her head this time. Not leaving the vamp’s arms, she looked back over her shoulder. Tonight, Sasha wore her short black and fuchsia hair spiked to the heavens, and had paired tight black pants with a black leather bikini top adorned with tiny studs and chains. “Sasha! Hi, Sasha!” When she turned back toward the vamp, her nose grazed…was that a nipple ring? Holy Mother. “This is my friend Sasha.” Craning her neck, she looked up, way up, into his bewitching eyes. “This is...” She blinked. Blanked. “What's your name again?”
“Chadden.”
Thankfully he sounded amused rather than insulted. Her father would be horrified at her rudeness, disappointed in her once again, but The Reverend wasn’t here and would never be here, in this place where beings whose existence he couldn’t acknowledge caressed in the shadows, danced with glee, and touched without guilt or talk of sin.
Sasha eyed her closely. “Sorry, Chad. She’s buzzed.”
“No problem, Sasha.” His arms, looped around her waist, loosened slightly. “Who’s my adorable new pal here?” He grinned down at her, exposing the tips of his fangs. “You'd fit right in my pocket, wouldn't you, tidbit?”
“No, she wouldn't,” Sasha muttered. “Your pants are too tight.”
Bailey nudged her hips against the vamp’s. Nope, just right.
Sasha covered one of her own ears with her hand. “Lukas? Jack? Problem.”
“Go.”
Lukas still sounded crabby.
“Bailey's intoxicated, didn't get her meds.”
And she felt so light and free, the useless guilt floating up, up and away. “Hi, Lukas!” she sang out.
“Damn it.”
“Jack? Is that Jack?” She leaned toward Sasha. “Do you know what the women at work call Lukas and Jack? ‘Beef’ and ‘Cake.’ Beef because Lukas is so big, and cake because Jack is so pretty. Beefcake. Get it? Get it?”
Sasha dodged her nudging elbow. “Yup, I get it.”
She leaned closer to Sasha, lowering her voice. “Don't tell them, but a lot of women at work stare at their butts as they walk down the hall.”
“Jesus,” Lukas muttered.
Sasha grinned. “Okay, Bailey,” she said loudly. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“And Jack helped me get this job. Isn't he the nicest?”
“Sasha?” Lukas barked.
“Sorry, guys.” Sasha swiped at her head, removing one of the two earpieces she wore. “I've got a missing drummer, and two substitutes, who, while very talented, haven't rehearsed dick. The first floor men's room is already out of condoms. We just had a small grease fire in the kitchen. Three cars are being towed from Reserved Parking at this very minute. Scarlett's about to barf up all that water she just drank, and I don't know when the curtain is going up.” Glancing at Chadden, she mouthed a curse. “Bailey’s out of commission until we get her some meds, and I’m fresh out.”
“Hey, Sasha.”
God, that voice. It rumbled into her body, setting off tiny depth charges. What was Rafe doing on the Sebastiani Security communications band?
“Meet me back at the soundboard,” he said. “I'll take Bailey up to your office, get her some meds, babysit her until they hit. She'll be back on the floor in a half hour, tops.”
A half hour alone with Rafe Sebastiani? Oh my God.
There was a long pause. “Do it,” Lukas finally said.
Do what? Lukas’s words were innocent enough, but her mind quickly filled in the blanks with images so hot they scorched.
After promising Chadden she’d stop by his restaurant sometime, she and Sasha said their goodbyes, wading through the crowd toward the soundboard. Music throbbed, lights pulsed, and time slipped away. Wrapping her arms around Sasha, she nuzzled her cheek against the other woman’s soft leather bikini top. Everywhere Bailey looked, people hugged, danced, laughed, and touched, in duos, trios or groups, regardless of gender or species. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations—the Vulcan credo in action—and she and Jack had been chosen to bring humanity into the mix.
She’d been chosen.
“There he is.” Sasha slowed to a stop. “Hey, Ugly.”
She rolled her eyes. Even his sister had to realize that Rafe Sebastiani was a gorgeous specimen of manhood. She’d lost count of how many orgasms she'd had with his face in her mind, his imaginary hands on her body, his phantom tongue—
“Hello.” Rafe bent down to kiss Sasha’s cheek, and after a slight hesitation, kissed hers, too.
Her eyelids drifted to half-mast. His body smelled spicy and exotic, like Bedouins striding over desert dunes.
“So, what kind of trouble are you two getting into tonight?”
His low voice dragged over her skin like suede. She couldn’t stop her reflexive shiver.
As he and Sasha talked, she unabashedly stared. Rafe wasn’t built on Lukas-sized lines, but he wasn't a small man by any means. Tall, lean, and perfectly proportioned, one didn’t realize his true size until you stood right next to him. Skimming up his black-clad, narrow-hipped frame, she stared at his hair, at the outrageous, wheat-colored waves tumbling to his broad shoulders. The style should have looked feminine, absurd, but it most emphatically did not. If anything, the soft hair emphas
ized his sturdy jaw, strong cheekbones, and slashing eyebrows.
Hell, he made her hormones do the tango even without an assist from the second-hand pheromones flooding the room. He was really too attractive for his own good—or for hers. The sex demon and the preacher's kid? Yeah, right. It would make an excellent pitch for a wacky TV comedy, but in real life? Yeah, right—
“Bailey?”
She jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice.
“Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
She slapped her hands to her burning cheeks, remembering what Jack had revealed about their abilities. He could probably smell her feeble, pitiful yearning. “Sasha, can you—”
“She’s gone.”
She glanced to the place where Sasha had just been standing. “Damn it.” Sasha had disappeared, leaving her alone with her delicious sex demon brother.
Bending down, he brought his mouth closer to her ear. When his hair swished over her bare arm, she almost swooned. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” he said. “What did you say?”
Even his breath smelled fabulous—not overly minty, just fresh and clean. “Nothing.” She swatted at her earpiece. The voices swarmed in her head like pesky mosquitoes. “Too many—”
“Where’s your receiver?”
“Front pocket.”
“Lukas?” Rafe spoke into his own headset. “Bailey and I are going offline for a bit.” After turning off his own receiver, his long, clever fingers dipped into her front pocket, found her receiver, and flicked it off.
Flicked, too close to her—
The orgasm slammed into her like a rogue wave, heaving her up, holding her suspended, and tossing her willy-nilly over the edge. As she tumbled, strong arms reached for her, plucked her from the whitewater froth, holding her steady while time eddied and swirled.
A nearby howl brought her back to the here and now. Blinking owlishly, she locked her wobbly knees and tried to focus. All she could see was a sea of black—Rafe’s tailored shirt. Oh my God. Utterly mortified, she dropped her forehead to the soft cotton, trying to hide her face.