Julia stuck out her right hand. “Deal.”
“So, do you want to get out of here?”
“Let’s go.” Julia got to her feet and headed out of the room and down the corridor. She’d gone about three feet when she stopped in her tracks. “What about your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Julia grinned. “If he’s not your boyfriend, then why do you keep making googly eyes at him?”
Claire blinked. “I do not— Never mind.”
“What was his name again? Rafe? I love that name. I bet it’s short for Rafael. Oh, Rafe?” she yelled down the length of the corridor. “Which room are you in?”
“Julia!” Claire whispered loudly and made a grab for her arm.
Julia pulled away. “Oh, Rafe,” she singsonged, peeking into a door that was half-open.
Claire hurried to catch up to her. “Julia, you’re infringing on people’s privacy. We can wait for him in the lobby.”
A door on her right opened and Rafe stepped out into the hallway not two feet from where she stood.
Claire sucked in a breath. He was disheveled, unshaven, deliciously rumpled. He wore only his low-slung jeans. His left arm was in a cast and held with a sling against his chest. His very bare chest. All that bronze skin and hard muscle. She licked her lips. He exuded heat and she wanted to rub up against him and purr.
“Ooh, I love your tat. What is it?” Julia asked. She raked her gaze over Rafe from head to toe and Claire had to suppress a strong impulse to step in front of the man and yell, “Mine!”
* * *
HE LOOKED DOWN AT HIS chest and then back to meet Julia’s gaze. “It’s tribal. It means Risen from the Dead.”
Claire remembered what he’d told her of his parents dying when he was just a kid. And it hit her, vampires were immortal. His bar, his tattoo... Rafe had been exposed to death at an early age in a horrifically up-close-and-personal way. Maybe the tattoos were his way of dealing with it.
She wanted to hug him and hold him and comfort him the way he’d comforted her after rescuing her from the tomb. She wanted to drag him back inside that treatment room and push him down onto the examining table and crawl up and over him and unbutton his jeans—
“Excuse me.”
Claire snapped out of her fantasy. A nurse wheeling a hospital bed transporting an elderly lady stood in front of her. What was she doing? Blocking an emergency room hallway while daydreaming about a sexual encounter? What was wrong with her?
“I’m s-sorry.” She sidestepped out of the way and the nurse wheeled the bed past her. Rafe stood next to her. She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. The spell had been broken. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. If she tried to speak she’d stutter again.
“Ready to go?”
Without thinking, Claire looked at him and got caught in his eyes. “Yes,” she breathed.
He nodded and disappeared into the room.
She glanced at Julia. “Would you please bring the car up to the doors?”
Julia nodded and winked, and strode off.
After a couple of minutes Rafe reappeared. This time he had his boots on and one arm in the sleeve of his black leather jacket, the other side just draped over his shoulder. She didn’t think it possible a moment ago, but he looked even sexier now.
He checked himself. “They had to cut my T-shirt off.”
Oh. She’d been staring at his chest again. Her cheeks burned.
He turned and made his way down the maze of corridors to the exit. Claire trailed behind.
Julia sat in the driveway waiting at the wheel. He held the door and folded the front passenger seat up for Claire. She climbed into the back, her knees almost to her chin.
“I’ll say this for New Orleans—no shortage of sexy men down here.” Julia wiggled her brows as Rafe got in.
Rafe gave her a lopsided smile and verbal directions to his place, and Julia headed out of the hospital parking lot, chattering away.
He took Julia’s flirting in stride, no doubt accustomed to women falling all over him. Before Claire. And after.
Why was she feeling so possessive? He wasn’t hers. She wasn’t his. And she could list a dozen reasons why they never would be. Yes, a list. That’s what she should do. She’d make a mental list. To remind herself why she was returning to Boston.
One: Rafe was a consummate player. What had Rowena called him? The King of Flings.
Two: Her home and her job were more than thirteen hundred miles away.
Three: She had only known the man six days. Not even that. No rational person could fall in love with someone in such a short length of time. Relationships took months—years sometimes—to develop. Theirs was merely a bond forged during an intense situation. It couldn’t last.
“So, Rafe.” Julia shifted gears and sped up onto the highway. “How did you know Armand wasn’t who he said he was?”
Yeah. How had he known?
Rafe shrugged. “I’ve known plenty of guys like him. Con artist. Chooses his marks well, lonely, needy—no offense—” He glanced at Julia.
“Hey, if the shoe fits me...”
“Anyway, he convinces them to hand over their ‘worldly’ possessions, including bank accounts, and then skips town before anyone fingers him as a fraud.”
Julia shook her head. “I got so sucked into his head game. I really thought he loved me.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.
Claire leaned forward, put her hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Do you think he got access to your bank account?”
Julia sniffed, and then shrugged. “I’ll have to check.” She twisted to glance at Claire and flashed her famous mischievous grin. “But I want to go to the police and press charges after we drop Rafe off.”
She saw Rafe stiffen. Right. They’d be dropping him off, and he’d go back to his life and she’d go back to hers. Claire sat back, studying the fringe on her poncho and trying to ignore the lump in her throat.
“Oookaaay,” Julia said. “How ’bout them Saints, huh?”
Claire sank farther into the backseat. She should continue her list. Where was she?
Four: Rafe was all wrong for her. She needed someone steady, reliable, normal. Geez, that sounded mind-numbing. And from the moment she’d asked him to help her, Rafe had been reliable, hadn’t he? He owned his own business. A person didn’t get much steadier than that.
Wait. This was supposed to be her list of reasons why they would never work. She chewed her thumbnail.
Julia exited the freeway and stopped at an intersection. “Which way?”
“Left.” Rafe was staring out the window.
They weren’t far from Once Bitten. Claire used her cell to call the cab company she’d been using, and asked them to pick her up outside the bar. She noticed Rafe’s jaw muscle twitch, but he didn’t say anything. Did he not want her to go? He’d asked her to stay one more day yesterday morning. Did he still feel that way?
If he did, he didn’t say anything.
Silence had never felt so awkward. Claire tried to think of number five and gave up. The list seemed silly now. And pointless.
Before she could accept that it was really over, Julia had pulled into the parking lot behind Once Bitten, and she and Rafe were climbing out of the car and shaking hands goodbye.
Then Rafe turned to her. Claire stared at him. It was the middle of the night. It was cold and all he had on was his jacket draped over one shoulder. He should be freezing. But she could feel the heat radiating from him.
Julia cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll...wait for the cab over there.” She pointed vaguely toward the street and then tossed Rafe his keys.
He caught them without looking her way.
Claire swallowed. Her chest felt as if it’d been invaded by flesh-eating microorganisms. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and extended her right hand, then withdrew it. She remembered how he’d mockingly kissed the back of it last time she’d done that.
>
“Well, cher.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “It’s been...interesting.” He stepped close, crooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “You have a safe flight back to Boston, now, you hear?” He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.
She opened her mouth and leaned into him, but he lifted his head and stepped back. His gray eyes were the color of the ocean during a crackling storm, and just as turbulent.
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Hard to believe she’d never see him again. Hard to believe that thought could hurt so much after knowing him less than a week. She wanted to say something important. Something profound. Something. At the very least she could tell him how grateful she was for all he’d done for her.
She drew in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Rafe.”
As she got in the cab and it pulled away, she turned to stare out the back windshield.
He was still there, watching her.
* * *
AFTER THE CAB PULLED AWAY Rafe clenched his fists and finally let himself into the bar.
Usually at this time of night—or rather, early morning, the bar would be hitting its stride. The music would be blaring, the crowd would be calling for more beers and he’d be making a date with some hot chick for later.
Tonight it was silent. Empty. Dead.
And he was alone.
He’d feel better tomorrow night. Once the bar was open, and the music was blaring and the lights were on and people were lined up to get in. This bar was his dream. His life. He didn’t need anything else.
Except a new assistant manager.
And maybe a quirky brunette to seduce every night.
Whoa. Every night?
Claire had mentioned she wouldn’t be pressing charges against Ro. She still could, he supposed. He wouldn’t blame her. Even now when he thought about how upset and vulnerable she’d been after he let her out of that tomb he wanted to smash something. She’d felt so good in his arms. He’d liked being the good guy for once. Liked the glow of admiration in her eyes after he stopped Banks from making off with all that cash. He’d felt more alive in that moment, hell, in the past week with Claire, than he’d ever felt. More a part of something bigger, more...important.
He wandered behind the bar, gazed out at the only thing he’d ever thought he wanted. And it seemed...not enough anymore.
And what did he think he could do about it? If he called Claire up right now and asked her to stay, she’d think he’d lost his mind. Her life was back in Boston. She barely knew him.
And what would they do, even if she lived here? Did he really think he could sustain a relationship for longer than twelve hours?
Damn it. He grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey and a tumbler and splashed the amber liquid up to the brim.
16
“CLAIRE!” FINGERS SNAPPED an inch from Claire’s nose.
Claire blinked and brought her attention back to Julia.
The past few hours Claire had felt as if she were wandering around in a soupy fog.
Julia had taken charge, as she usually did when the two of them were together. Except where normally Claire would’ve worried about the arrangements and double-checked the details unbeknownst to Julia, she didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter.
After the cab dropped them at the police station, they’d spent a couple of hours filing the charges against Jed Banks, giving a detective separate detailed accounts of the events at the asylum tonight before they were finally allowed to leave.
The detective had a squad car deliver them to the Les Chambres Royale and asked them to stay in touch.
That was more than Rafe had done. Claire tried to put that thought out of her mind.
As Claire retrieved her luggage from the concierge, Julia turned to her. Did she want to get a room and shower and sleep for the rest of the night and find a flight later today?
Claire shrugged. She’d been in the same outfit for two days, but she didn’t care. Whatever Julia wanted to do.
Julia asked the concierge to check flights to Missouri and Boston. There was a charge to change the dates on their return tickets, but both cities had flights departing around 7:00 a.m. They could just go to the airport and get some breakfast there, Julia suggested. Get the heck out of this city.
Claire nodded. If that was what Julia wanted to do, that was fine. Why was Julia acting all exasperated?
“Hello? Earth to Claire.” Julia waved a hand.
“What?” Claire snapped. “Just do whatever you want. I honestly don’t care.”
Julia’s eyes bulged. “Do you hear yourself? What is going on?”
She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “I guess I’m just tired. Let’s get a room and leave tomorrow. What’s one more day?” She slipped her glasses back on and headed for the registration desk.
Julia grabbed her arm. “Hold on. You don’t feel the urgent need to get back to work as soon as possible? After you’ve been gone almost a week longer than you planned? Isn’t your boss going to be upset?”
“Oh, Beckley can go suck a lemon.”
“Oh. My. God.” Julia kept hold of her arm and led her to a comfy seating area off the main lobby. Julia pushed down on her shoulders till she sat and then pulled up an ottoman to sit directly in front of her.
Claire met Julia’s questioning gaze. But she had no answer. She shook her head. She shrugged. And all of a sudden tears welled in her eyes. No. She couldn’t be crying. Not again. She never cried. In twenty-nine years she could probably count the number of times she’d cried on one hand before this week. And they had all been before she’d turned ten.
“Oh, Claire.” Julia wrapped her arms around her and Claire lost whatever control she’d had. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Okay, let’s get a room. You need a hot shower, some breakfast and a long sleep, I think.”
She stood and walked briskly to the registration desk and came back within minutes, gathered Claire up and walked her to the elevator.
She took care of their luggage, pushed Claire into the bathroom after starting the shower running and by the time Claire stepped out of the steaming bathroom, a tray from room service waited on the table.
Numb, Claire ate, and then crawled into the double bed closest to the window. But her eyes wouldn’t close. When she rolled over, Julia was sleeping like the proverbial log. She felt the inexplicable depression settling over her again.
She grabbed her glasses off the side table and sat up. Distraction. That’s what she needed. She found the remote and turned on the television. Infomercial. Click. Infomercial. Click. Cartoons. Click. Ah, a movie. The hero had his left arm in a sling with only one arm in his jacket. Just as Rafe had. The heroine was telling him goodbye and boarding a plane. The plane started to take off. Through the window, she watched him standing there.
Then the heroine called out to the pilot to stop the plane. As it screeched to a halt she bolted out and ran into the hero’s arms. Even one-armed, he held her so tight, and as the music swelled they kissed with such passion it made Claire’s stomach ache. But they could never be together. Their worlds were too different.
Claire lost it. She pulled a pillow to her face and cried and cried. At least the singer had kissed him goodbye and told him she loved him. At least she’d had a moment of truth before returning to her lonely apartment in Boston and her coworkers she barely spoke to, and the excitement of ordering Chinese takeout every Saturday night and eating alone— Wait. She wasn’t thinking about the heroine anymore. She was picturing herself running back to that vampire bar and throwing herself into Rafe’s arms.
She clicked the TV off, lay back against the headboard and tried to picture herself actually doing that. Not as the actress in the movie, but in real life. She tried to picture what Rafe would do.
Then she squeezed her eyes closed.
He wouldn’t catch her in his arms and kiss her as if tomorrow was the apocalypse. He’d laugh her out of the bar.
No. He’d be nice about it.
And that would be worse. He’d give her a look that was the equivalent of a pat on the head and gently push her away. Love me? he’d say. You’re just grateful I helped you save your friend.
Was that all these feelings were? Gratitude?
It had to be. Now that the excitement of the past several days was over, it was only natural there might be some sort of emotional letdown. Right? She took her glasses off and forced herself to concentrate on relaxing her body.
It seemed she’d just closed her eyes when someone jostled her awake. “Claire. Come on, sleepyhead. I booked us flights and they leave in three hours.”
Claire opened her eyes and sat up.
Julia yanked open the curtains and bright sunlight blazed into the room. Claire moaned and squinted, reaching for her glasses.
Shoving down all the nonsense of last night, she dressed and packed, and checked out and got in a cab and checked in at the airport. Julia chattered most of the way, which was normal. Claire was always the quiet one in the friendship. And it helped her to keep ignoring the tumor of irrational emotion that seemed to be growing no matter how determined she was to push it down, deep down.
The airline attendant checked their boarding passes and they settled down to wait for their flights to be called. Claire stared out the bank of terminal windows, unseeing as she listened to Julia talk about coloring her hair red.
Her stomach hurt. She dug in her purse for an antacid or an aspirin. Anything. Her fingers touched Julia’s pendant necklace and she pulled it out, thinking she’d give it back to her.
As she looked up, her eyes focused on the windows and beyond them to a plane taking off down the runway. She shot to her feet and spun to Julia. “Here.” She extended the necklace dangling from her fingers.
Julia gasped. “My necklace! How’d you get it? After I woke up from spending the night with Shadow, I realized it was gone and that he’d probably stolen it. I was too ashamed to tell you.” She took it and clasped it around her neck.
“Sheer luck. A long story. Listen.” Claire grabbed her suitcase and overnight bag. Everything she’d been shoving down came boiling up and if she didn’t do something she was going to burst.
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