“Umm…I’ll be back with those salads.” Sadie scurried away, feeling the man’s eyes locked onto her until she reached the sanctuary of the kitchen, where she let out a long breath and tried to calm her heart. He literally made her quake in her sensible black flats. At the same time, he was so beautiful, looking at him provoked this gnawing need to look again.
I definitely shouldn’t be serving that guy.
She quickly went to work making ten plates of salads for several tables and laying them out on a huge tray while the other waiters rushed in and out. She grabbed Steve, a sandy blond preppy type, as he headed for the drink machine.
“Hey, can you switch sections with me?” she asked.
“No way, man. I have a party of ten and the tip is mandatory.”
Dammit. She didn’t want to wait on Mr. Hottie and his date, Snapping Turtle.
She took a quick breath, propped the tray on her shoulder, and set out to the dining room. When she left the salads for the giant, scary, sexy, rude man, he and his date were thankfully busy bickering. Something about demigods being bigger badasses than vampires.
Okay. Weird convo. Keep moving.
After the salads were out, she made the rounds with bar drinks and water. When she got to the last table, her heart made a little flip. The man was staring at her with that hard, sensual gaze. And now he sat alone.
She tried to smile politely, but her mouth didn’t want to seem to go in that direction. “Do you know what your date would like to drink, si-si-sir?” Her hand shook violently as she reached to fill his water glass.
He snagged her wrist. “Who are you?” he asked, but his tone felt like more of an accusation.
She froze with the glass in her trembling hand, the pitcher of water in the other. “I’m s-sorry?” she stuttered.
His thumb made soft little circles on the inside of her wrist. “Why are you shaking?”
“Let me go,” she whispered, liking the feel of his touch way more than she should.
He grinned devilishly and dipped his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “As you like. But tell me your name first.”
“Sadie,” she said.
He released her, leaving behind sharp little tingles over her wrist. She slapped her hand over the spot.
“Andrus,” said the man’s date, returning to the table, her big eyes twitching with anger, “did you order my wine?”
Still staring at Sadie, his grin grew large and cocky. “I would like two fingers of whatever sad excuse for scotch your bar stocks, and please bring my date a glass of Merlot. Thank you, Sadie.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a sexual innuendo.
Dear Lord. What is it with this guy? The way he looked at her made her want to get naked with him. And run away. So weird.
“Be right back.” She went to the bar toward the front of the restaurant, placed their order, and grabbed a glass filled with ice water to roll across her forehead. She’d never in her life felt like this before. But this guy…this guy…fuck, he’s scary hot. And just plain scary.
How would she make it through the rest of his meal?
A few minutes later, it was time to make the rounds with the first meat course: sirloin steaks that were folded onto a long hot skewer for cooking, and then sliced thinly at the table right onto the customer’s plate.
She’d seen it done many times, but had never served the dish herself.
Shit. With her right hand, she tried to grip both the handle of the sharp knife and the top of the piping-hot, three-foot-long skewer while trying to hold on to the slippery metal juice tray in the other hand.
Once situated, she headed out of the kitchen and stopped. Dammit. The passadores were supposed to start at the far end of the room and work their way back toward the kitchen. Fuck. That meant serving the gorgeous, scary man first.
She awkwardly maneuvered the gargantuan kabob and made her way over, almost dropping the entire thing on the floor twice.
“Would you care for some steak?” she asked, approaching the table, trying her best to smile. The man caught a glimpse of her and sprang from his seat in a blur. She fell back, her meat skewer and knife going only God knew where, and landed on the tile floor with a hard thump, knocking the wind from her.
The crazy man pressed her arms above her head to the floor, his entire body covering hers. “What is the fucking meaning of this?” he growled in her face. “Who are you?”
Gasping for air, her body crushed under his weight, she tried to scream but couldn’t. Or didn’t want to. His warmth and hardness on top of her momentarily vanquished all thoughts of reason from her mind. The only thing that seemed to matter was the sensation of his body nestled between her legs, his hip bone—or something hard—pressing right into her, coaxing all sorts of tingles and sexual aches.
Commotion erupted in the restaurant, snapping Sadie back into awareness that she was lying on the restaurant floor underneath this large man, who was actually assaulting her.
“You think you can take me down with a little knife?” he snarled.
“Dammit, Andrus. You barbaric asshole,” barked the man’s date, “she was not trying to attack you, she was trying to serve you meat.”
A moment passed as the man stared into her eyes, still lying right on top of her, his cock nestled right up against her crotch. She felt his heart pounding away in his chest, the rhythm strangely matching her own frantic beats, like two war drums pounding together.
Ohmygod. What am I doing enjoying this?
You are not. You’re offended!
Yes. I am.
His eyes moved to her lips and then a cocky, devious smile worked onto his mouth. “Whoops. Guess I overreacted,” he said in a slow, deep unabashed voice.
He thought this was funny? He’d knocked the wind out of her and everyone was staring while she’d experienced an embarrassingly erotic moment that proved she was nuts or completely hard up for a man. Or into having public sex.
“Fucking asshole,” she snarled, catching her air, “get off.”
A wicked little smile flickered across his lips. “Perhaps later,” he whispered. “At present, I’m on a date.”
“Gah!” She pushed him back.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand while his eyes gave her a smug, knowing look. He knew exactly what had just happened to her: She’d liked it.
She glanced at his hand and that amused smile and lost it. “Take that hand and shove it up your ass.”
“Sadie!” Carlos appeared in a gaucho outfit. “What is going on?”
Sadie got up off the floor and pointed at Andrus. “This man just attacked me.”
Andrus nodded. “Yes. However, it was just a simple misunderstanding. I suffer from PTSD or whatever you people call it these days.” He shrugged.
Carlos looked up at the hulking man. “Sir, my apologies. I assure you this is not the manner we treat war veterans. I will deal with her.”
“What? This jackass just threw me on the floor,” Sadie barked.
Carlos shot her a look. “Kitchen now.”
Andrus interceded. “I assure you, I am fine. No need to scold the tiny meat wench.”
“Meat wench? Someone needs to beat some manners into you.”
Smirking, the man raised one dark brow and then glanced at his groin. “You may beat me anytime you like.”
He did not just insinuate I jerk him off. Where the hell was that knife? “You disgusting pig!”
“Sadie, get out of my restaurant. Immediately,” Carlos seethed.
She held up her hands. “Fine. No problem.” She looked right up at Andrus. “If I ever see you again,” she growled, “I’ll remove your nut sack with my teeth.” Wait. That came out all wrong. Why would she want to put her teeth down there? “I meant…with a butter knife.” Yeah, that sounded more painful. But would also require her to really hold on to those bad boys while she tried to saw them off. Ick. “Or something sharp. I’m not sure.”
The man grinned, clearly enjoying her lame atte
mpt to threaten him.
She shushed him as he was about to speak and left the restaurant. Great. Fucking great. He tries to murder me, and I get fired. Still, a part of her wanted to go back there, tear off his clothes, and kiss the hell out of him. And then kill him. Because now she’d lost her job. She’d never make up what she owed on the rent.
I’m going to have to do something drastic. But what?
CHAPTER FIVE
“All right, big boy. I am officially declaring you a dating crime scene.” Standing over Andrus’s bed, a pair of wide turquoise eyes glared down at him.
“Ugh,” he grumbled and rolled onto his stomach. “Go away, Cimil.”
“Ha!” she laughed. “I will pretend that you didn’t just say that because we both know you didn’t mean it. Just like the time you said you didn’t want to see me naked, but I knew you did.”
Dear gods, please make her leave. He had a raging hangover—two bottles of whisky last night, which was what it took to get drunk given how quickly his body metabolized the alcohol.
“I need sleep, Cimil. And that time you forced me to see you nude left me scarred for months.”
He felt something wet and cold slither across the bottom of his foot. “Holy fuck!” He jumped from the bed, his head whipping from side to side.
Cimil grinned. “Just be glad you’re wearing pants. Minky loves to eat anything that looks like a hot dog.”
He glared at her. “Hot dog? I assure you my penis resembles more of a fine Russian kolbasa.” Yes. The Russians, now they knew how to make cured meats. Just like they knew how to make fearless warriors, like himself. His family had been from St. Petersburg originally, although he’d been living in Paris, attending yet another boring ball, when he’d met Reyna, the queen of vampires and his mate. She’d robbed him of everything he once was, and now all that remained from his past was his iron will.
Andrus noticed Cimil staring hungrily at his crotch. Dear gods, no. “Cimil, you are married now. And even if you weren’t—”
“Oh, you think you get a say, do you?” She talked right at his groin. “You think you can boss me around? I am a deity!”
“I am not bossing you around. I’m asserting my free will. You may not have your way with me.”
“Careful. Or I’ll shove my fist right down that little hole.”
Dear fucking gods. He stepped back, but Cimil’s eyes remained focused on the spot she’d been looking at, not on his crotch.
Thank gods. She was merely having one of her episodes. He did not want to think about the years of therapy he’d require if she molested him.
“Cimil?” He snapped his fingers. “Who are you speaking to?”
Nothing.
“Cimil!” He clapped loudly.
“Wow!” She shook her head from side to side. “Those leprechauns are intense! All that shiny gold.” She sighed. “So where were we?”
“You were leaving.”
“Great. So it’s all settled, then. Since I’ve now demonstrated you can’t do this woo-wooing on your own, and I can’t afford to let you fail, you will graciously agree to work with the tutor I’ve hired. She’s got just the right personality to help you connect with your inner Prince Charming, and she’s seen you in action. Your classes begin tomorrow at nine in the morning. She will be here at ten.”
Seen me in action? So that’s really what these warm-up dates were about. Cimil was having some sort of “charm school” teacher secretly evaluate him.
“What exactly do you think this woman can teach me that I don’t already know?” he asked. “And why would classes begin before the instructor arrives?”
Cimil held up her finger and began sliding her other hand over it in an obscene gesture. “You’ll be wanting a little me time with your kolbasa beforehand because your teacher is very, very hot. So if you don’t prepare properly, you won’t be able to concentrate. Did I not already say that?” she replied.
He growled. “No. You didn’t. And I’m not doing this. Whatever godsdamned bullshit you’ve got going, I won’t be a part of it.”
She wagged her finger. “Uh-uh-uh…Remember poor little Matty. Your future baby-mama is going to be at that mixer, and if you don’t get her to kiss you before she leaves, the window will close. Poof. And then you won’t knock her up, won’t live happily ever after, Matty won’t find happiness, and you’ll end up spanking the Russian salami on your own for eternity. Or until Minky eats you. Or Zac flips out and kills every living creature on the planet. Whichever comes first.”
This was preposterous. “I do not need a teacher. Women like me just fine.”
“We’re not talking about those women; we’re talking about one in particular who you can’t afford to fuck up with: your mate Charlotte.”
Her name was Charlotte. Suddenly, knowing her name made everything feel a bit more real. But not entirely.
Cimil continued, “And your teacher is really an actress. She’s going to teach you to act like a gentleman since we already know you can’t be one.”
“I am a warrior, a trained assassin, an ex-Demilord—”
“You’re an out-of-work manny, and your assassin days are over. There are no more evil vampires.” She took a bow. “Thanks to my evil mastery, they’ve been wiped out. And the Maaskab are pretty much extinct. We left a few around just for shits and giggles. That leaves us only with humans and their dredge of society, which is not your problem, that’s the domain of the gods. So the way I see it, Andrus baby, you. Are. Officially. Retired. Your only remaining purpose is to make the mate plunge.”
Andrus blinked at Cimil, feeling like his entire world had been ripped away. She was right. Up until recently, the world had been filled with evil and on an imminent path to destruction. How Cimil pulled it all off was a mystery, or a miracle, but she’d managed to convince her mate, Roberto, to hunt down and kill his evil brother, thereby eliminating that bloodline and all evil vampires. The Maaskab, who’d allied themselves with Roberto’s brother, some becoming vampires, too, were mostly killed off.
He took a breath. “I-I-I have no purpose. I’m…obsolete.”
Cimil stuck out her lower lip. “Now, now. Don’t get all pouty on me. If we’re all still alive, I’m sure there will be another outbreak of evil immortal villains in a few thousand years. Then we’ll dust you off or ask Minky to burp you out.”
He felt like crying. Not that big, lethal immortal men like him actually cried, but he sure as hell felt like doing it anyway.
“Please leave,” he said.
“But—”
“Out, Cimil!” he barked.
“Jeez. Fine. I’m leaving,” she said petulantly. “But don’t forget your teacher’s coming tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” At this moment, he didn’t give a fuck about any of that. He’d been so wrapped up caring for and protecting little Matty, he’d not seen that his purpose no longer existed.
“I gotta go now anyway. Time to water the children.” She headed for the door. “And BTW, the instructor is mortal and thinks you’re an actor and that I am Bob, her agent. Tootles.” Cimil closed the door behind her.
Marvelous. Fucking marvelous. Mortals were on a need-to-know basis only. That meant she couldn’t know what he was. For the record, he’d crossed that line where hiding his immortality from humans wasn’t easy. He’d spent far too many years embracing who he was—which you no longer are—so obeying the unwritten rule of lying low was like asking a monkey not to pick its fleas.
He sat on the edge of his bed and covered his face, not knowing if he had it in him to exist if the only thing he had to look forward to was his mate, who would likely ruin him.
“I can’t believe it. I’m a relic. Obsolete. Useless.”
Just because your life sucks doesn’t mean you have to ruin Matty’s.
He groaned and then felt something wet and cold slide across his cheek. “Fuck. Cimil!” he screamed. “Take your fucking unicorn with you!”
She popped through the door, reac
hed for something, and then headed out. “Oops,” she mumbled as she disappeared. “Sorry about that. Thought Minky was with me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sadie could not believe her luck. Just when she thought she’d have to choose between heading home or becoming a stripper to make ends meet, she’d gotten a call from her agent, Bob.
“They want to pay me how much?” she asked him, standing in her bedroom slash living room slash kitchen, stirring her mug of instant coffee—complete crap, but the only thing she could afford. These days, dollar-store cuisine was on the menu. It was either that or not having enough money for gas. Thankfully, her car was paid for.
“One hundred thousand.” Bob chuckled like the slimeball that he was. “Minus my twenty percent, of course.”
Ugh. Bob had been the only talent agent willing to take her on in a town where aspiring actresses were a dime a dozen, and he gave her the jeepers creepers. Meaning, she sometimes had the feeling he was seriously evil. Why were all of the men she met in L.A. rich, superficial assholes, self-centered actors, or authentic stand-ins for Hannibal Lector?
“Seriously? One hundred? Which movie?” She’d auditioned for the new paranormal shifters remake of Gone with the Wind called Gone Without End—a Southern Tail of Immortal Love; part two of Fifty Shades of Zombie called Fifty-One Shades of Grrraaay; and the slam-dunk blockbuster Double-Oh-Merman—kind of a James Bond meets Poseidon, but with these really mean mermen as the villains. Apparently, the paranormal theme was making a huge Hollywood comeback after a hiatus attributed to Twilight market saturation. But her agent assured her that these were A-list movies.
“Yeah, Sippy,” Bob replied. “That’s the thing. It’s not a movie as much as it is…a coaching gig.”
Why in the world Bob insisted on calling her “Sippy” she’d never know, but it was so damned annoying.
“Sorry? What do you mean by coaching?” she asked.
“The studio needs you to teach the star actor—who’s been hailed as the next Thor—how to act like a gentleman. He’s got one week until the shoot starts.”
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