by I. T. Lucas
It hadn’t taken much to convince her to go out with him, and she sure as hell had gotten all dolled up for the occasion. Her legs looked a mile long in the sequined micro mini and spiky heeled sandals she’d donned, and her braless breasts looked firm and taut under the halter top that left her back exposed—which was Lana’s one wardrobe mistake. If he wasn’t counting the slutty effect of the rest of her getup, that is.
Her back and arms were heavily muscled, but while her arms looked just fine, her back was corded like a bodybuilder’s.
From behind, Lana looked like a drag queen.
Whatever, her front was all woman, even with the short boyish haircut. Gone was the nearly albino complexion, covered with a heavy layer of makeup, and dark eyeliner outlined her pale blue eyes. Her lids were painted in several shades of sparkly blues and silvers, and her lips in glossy pink. She must’ve sprayed her body with a self-tanner, or something like it because her skin was shiny like it was made from gold. The outfit and the paint job made her look like a hooker, but he didn’t mind. She was hot.
With an expression even smugger than usual, Lana scanned the aforementioned males and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tall to begin with, with her high heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. It made kissing her easy. For a change, he didn’t have to bend like a pretzel for a woman.
Fuck, the pretzel analogy got him thinking of Lana’s pert butt cradled in his hands while he had her pushed against the wall—her long legs wrapped around his waist and her heels digging into his naked ass while he drove in and out of her like a battering ram.
“You like other men watch me? It makes you hot for me?” she shouted and rubbed herself against his erection, her sequined skirt catching on his zipper.
He shrugged and tried to release the fabric, but it was stuck. “Look what you’ve done, now we are stuck like this.”
Lana swung her hips to the side, unconcerned with damaging her skirt and the sequins which went flying. “You buy me new, I don’t care.”
He raised a brow. As if it was his fault, but whatever, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to buy her a new skirt. “You got it, baby.”
His response made her happy, and a big grin split her face.
She sure had a big mouth, and with those fleshy lips…oh, boy, she could do some damage with those.
“You good man. You not ask how much it cost. But I tell you so you not to worry. Only twenty dollars. Even you can pay.”
That’s right, she was under the impression that he was a lowly deck boy. He should be more mindful of his cover story and act accordingly.
“For you, baby, anything.”
“You want we sit? I need drink.”
He nodded and wrapped his arm around her waist as he led her back to their table. She felt so different from other women, it was almost like having his arm around a guy, the only difference was her proportions which were definitely feminine. Small waist, slightly flaring hips, and a butt that was small width wise but nicely rounded.
“More of the same?” he asked before heading to the bar.
“Da.” She nodded.
Anandur shook his head. Vodka, and more vodka. It seemed it was true that Russians didn’t consider anything else as alcohol.
Waiting for the bartender to pour their drinks, he thought about how to go about his investigation. So he had Lana interested in him, and he was sure that their date would end up in bed, but he still had no idea how to extract information from her. Or even what questions to ask without being too conspicuous. Another problem was her English, which was limited to the basics. Lana might be a great lay, but she sure as hell wasn’t a great conversationalist. And he doubted she was any better in her mother tongue.
She wasn’t stupid, but she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed either. Which should’ve made his job easy, and perhaps it could’ve if not for the language barrier.
Damn, he should’ve asked Andrew for pointers. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before he’d gone out with Lana, but he’d been too damn proud and cocky to ask for instructions—especially from a human.
Perhaps he should just thrall her. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but combined with the amount of alcohol she was consuming and, hopefully, post-coital bliss he might be able to get something out of her. It wasn’t ethical, but he could chuck it together with the thralling that he was not only allowed to, but forced to do. After all, there was the inevitable biting that had to be erased from her memories.
He wondered how many times that scumbag Alex had already thralled Lana, as well as the rest of the crew, and what was the extent of the damage he had already done. Who knew, perhaps Lana had been a highly intelligent girl before Alex had messed with her brain.
And now Anandur was about to do the same.
Damn, this was a bad idea. The one who should’ve been assigned to this task was Andrew. Rumor had it that he and Bridget had broken off their whatever they had, so Andrew was a free agent again. And as a human and an expert investigator he could get things out of Lana without causing her more irreversible damage.
Fuck, he should call Kian and ask him what to do.
Chapter 46: Nathalie
“Let’s go around the back,” Nathalie said as Andrew parked the car in front of her shop. It was past one in the morning, and chances were that Jackson had fallen asleep in the den. She didn’t want the bells hanging over her front door to wake him up. If she were alone, she would’ve never dared using the back door from the alley in the middle of the night, but with Andrew by her side, she felt safe.
Andrew nodded and followed her into the narrow passageway between her shop and the adjacent house to the back alley. She’d been holding the key out since they exited the car and made a quick work of opening things and getting them inside.
Andrew frowned as she flicked on the light switch next to the door. “You really should have an alarm system here. It’s not safe.”
“Shh, not so loud,” she whispered. “If Jackson is sleeping, I don’t want to wake him up.”
“I’m going to have one installed first thing Monday morning,” he said in a whisper that was almost as loud as his normal voice.
“Keep your voice down. And fine, I’m not going to say no. I’ve been planning on installing one since I bought the place, but as with everything else, I’ve never gotten around to actually doing it.”
“Consider it done.” He followed her up the stairs.
“Thank you, but I’m paying for it.” She cast him a look over her shoulder.
He shrugged. “The installation is free, and you only pay a small monthly fee.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “Really? Or you just saying it to trick me?”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. “Really. I’m not going to lie to you about something like this.”
She frowned and pulled her hand back. “Oh, yeah? So what are you going to lie to me about?”
He chuckled. “Nothing.”
“You better.” She pointed her finger at him.
He grabbed her hips and turned her around, then smacked her bottom. “Keep going, missy. Apparently sleep deprivation makes you cranky.”
Was it?
Maybe.
She wasn’t a suspicious person by nature, but she had a feeling that there was something Andrew was hiding from her, and it hadn’t started tonight. It’s just that until now she’d been so busy fretting about her own secrets that she hadn’t stopped to think about what was it about Andrew’s demeanor that had been bothering her.
It was dark on the second floor, and as Nathalie entered the den, she couldn’t see if Jackson was sleeping on the couch but assumed that he was.
“I think that he’s asleep,” she whispered. “I’m going to check on my father.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
She jumped, bumping into Andrew, who was standing behind her.
“Shit, Jackson, you sc
ared me.”
“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to. But Fernando is fine. I’ve just checked on him like about twenty minutes ago.”
Nathalie fumbled for the light switch, but Jackson beat her to it, turning on the floor lamp next to the couch.
Even that dim light was hurting her pupils, that had been fully dilated ever since she’d climbed up the stairs and reached the second floor that had been steeped in darkness.
Jackson reached for his sneakers and pushed his feet inside, not bothering with the laces.
“How was he?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer. “Did he give you any trouble?”
“Nah, he was fine, we had a great time together.” Jackson got up.
“Really?”
She found it hard to believe—a seventeen-year-old hotshot having a good time with an old-timer who suffered from dementia wasn’t a likely scenario.
Jackson was probably just being nice. She was curious, though.
“What did you guys do all this time?”
Jackson smirked. “He asked me if I was seeing any young ladies, and we spent most of the time with me telling him stories about my various conquests, and him laughing in disbelief. I’m afraid that I’m guilty of contributing to the delinquency of an elder.”
She didn’t know how she felt about Jackson’s admission. Mostly, though, she was glad that her father had had a good time. And as far as Jackson’s stories went, Fernando would probably forget everything by tomorrow morning.
“Thank you. I appreciate what you’ve done tremendously, and I promise to reward you handsomely. But I think you should stay the night. It’s late, and I don’t want you driving home alone at this time of the night.”
Jackson snorted and so did Andrew. “This is early for me. And don’t worry for me, Nathalie, I can take care of myself.”
“You’re just a kid. You think you’re invincible, but you’re not. Right, Andrew?”
Andrew shrugged. “In his case, I’m not worried. Jackson could probably bench two fifty and punch a hole in the wall with his bare fist. Right, kid?”
Jackson nodded. “Three hundred.”
Men and their overinflated egos. But maybe she was being overprotective. Jackson was a big boy, and despite his oozing charm, she’d sensed something dangerous in him—not towards her but as a potential. When fully grown, he would be a force to contend with.
“Fine, but be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jackson saluted and hugged her briefly.
“I’ll walk you down and lock up after you.” Andrew offered.
“Goodnight, Nathalie, see you Sunday.”
“Goodnight, and thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
With the guys gone, Nathalie walked over to the couch and plopped down. She was exhausted, but she didn’t think she could sleep. She hated the idea of Andrew going home and her sleeping alone in her bed. Maybe he could stay, and she’d sneak him out in the morning before her father woke up. Then he could come back pretending as if he just got there.
She wondered whether she was going about it all wrong. A thirty-year-old woman shouldn’t have to sneak her boyfriend into her room, and if Fernando weren’t sick, she wouldn’t have. But she was convinced that the routine kept Fernando from getting worse, and any big changes would affect him negatively.
On the other hand, Jackson was new in Fernando’s life and yet her father seemed perfectly fine with him, embracing the boy as if he was part of the family.
Maybe she should give it a try with Andrew. If her father threw a fit because he found Andrew in her room, they would reevaluate. But it was worth the risk.
By the time Andrew came back, she had made up her mind. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him down to sit beside her on the couch. “Could you stay with me tonight?”
“I would love to, but are you sure? What about your father?”
“Let’s give it a shot. If he throws a tantrum, we will rethink our strategy.”
Andrew smiled and leaned to kiss her lightly on the lips. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”
“I certainly do.”
“Okay then. I hope you don’t mind me sleeping in the nude.”
“Not at all. But my father will if he finds you in my room. It might be too much of a shock for him.”
“How about we just cuddle on the couch, then?”
That sounded wonderful. “You don’t mind?”
“Are you kidding me? I would love to.”
Chapter 47: Andrew
As Nathalie got busy taking the big back cushions off the couch to make room for them to lie down together, Andrew went downstairs to brew them some coffee.
His girl was in the mood for cuddling, and he didn’t want to disappoint her by falling asleep.
After brewing a full thermal carafe, he put it on a tray and added two cups, sugar, creamer, and a couple of leftover brownies Nathalie had put in the fridge instead of throwing away—for energy.
When he came back upstairs, the couch was ready, outfitted with two pillows and a woven blanket Nathalie must’ve brought from her room.
“This looks very inviting.” Andrew put down the tray on the coffee table and kicked off his shoes.
“Coffee, Madame?”
“Yes, please.”
He filled the two cups, leaving his own black and mixing in a little creamer and one packet of sugar in Nathalie’s.
“Thank you, it’s just what I need.”
He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her closer. “What you really need is to get some sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Want me to sing you a lullaby?”
She chuckled. “Do you know any?”
“Not any that are suitable for children. But I know an obscene one.”
“Oh, yeah? Who taught you that?”
“My grandfather.”
She laughed. “Get out of here, really? Your grandpa taught you a lewd song? How old were you?”
“He came to babysit me one time by himself without Nana. I was thirteen and deeply wounded that my parents still thought I needed a babysitter. My granddaddy agreed that I was too old and that they were babying me. That’s when he sang me that song. He said I was old enough to have some fun, but to never let Nana or my mother know about it.”
“Do you still remember it?”
“Vaguely. But it’s one of my fondest memories of my grandfather. He was such a hoot.”
“Did you ever tell your mother?”
“No, my father and I had a good laugh about it, but we decided that it was too crude for her. It was kind of vulgar. She wouldn’t have liked it.”
“Is she the prim and proper type?”
Was she? Andrew couldn’t remember his mother ever cussing, not even something as innocent as shit or darn. But she had never made a big deal out of someone else cussing once in a while or telling a dirty joke.
“I guess you can say that she is proper but not prim. My Nanna, on the other hand, was definitely both prim and proper, God bless her soul. But this was how women of her generation had been raised, ladylike.”
Talking about his mother presented him with the perfect opportunity to ask Nathalie about Eva. She never talked about her mother, only her father. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought that she’d been raised by Fernando alone.
“How about your mother? You never talk about her.”
Nathalie sighed and lay back, scooting sideways and patting the space beside her. He lay down, threading his arm under her and bringing her head to rest on his chest.
“It’s complicated. I was very close to her when I was little, and she spoiled the hell out of me, but the older I got, the more distant we became. For some reason, I was more comfortable with Papi. Perhaps it had something to do with the baking. My mom couldn’t bake if her life depended on it, she could only waitress or work the register.”
Nathalie chuckled. “Which was probably the only reason we made any money at all. She
was so beautiful that I’m sure most of the male customers became regulars only because of her and not the tasty pastries. Once she and Papi got divorced many of them stopped coming.”
Andrew ran his hand up and down Nathalie’s back as he thought about what she’d told him. “Was your mother jealous of your relationship with your dad?”
Nathalie shook her head. “No. It was mostly my fault. My dad was an open book—easygoing, always smiling, and it was fun to be around him and do things together. His love for me was unconditional. My mom, on the other hand, was aloof. I always felt as if she was keeping secrets from my father and me. And the way she looked—it was kind of disturbing, to me at least.”
“What do you mean?”
Nathalie snorted. “Besides making me feel like an ugly duckling? But that was only part of it. Not only was she striking, but she looked like my older sister, not my mother. Which wouldn’t have been so strange if she’d had me when she was very young, but she’d been freaking forty-six when I was born and yet looked no older than thirty when I was fifteen. If not for the unmistakable resemblance between us, I would’ve suspected that I was adopted. Papi was younger than her by two years but looked like he was her father. It didn’t make sense.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“I did, and so did others. She would say it was good genes, artful makeup, even admitting to having done plastic surgery.”
“Well, perhaps that was it?”
“Trouble was, I knew she didn’t. She had never even been to a dentist let alone undergone surgery. And the makeup? I think she was putting it on to make herself look older, not younger. She used to wear those long skirts and puffy blouses that made her look thirty pounds heavier. When I asked her about it, she said she liked the style and that it was comfortable.”
Andrew had trouble stifling his excitement.
The evidence for Eva being an immortal was circumstantial, but it was strong. How had it happened? And why? Those were still a mystery. But immortality was the only plausible explanation for Nathalie’s description of her mother.