Like…spontaneous combustion, but that’s a myth, right? Just an urban legend.”
He didn’t answer, but settled back in his chair, his head canting as he watched her, staring.
What did he see? Was he one of those people trained to read the truth in her body language? Was she giving him the right signals? Should she glance left or to the right?
Hell, why did she feel like she was the one in the wrong?
“The man who bought me a drink. He seemed nice.” In a sort of oily way, but she wasn’t going to speak ill of the dead. She hadn’t wanted to accept the drink, not trusting its contents since she hadn’t seen it poured. Her mama always harped about the perils of men.
“What were you doin’ in the bar?”
“It was a club, really.” Melanie blushed. She’d been looking for a hook-up. Desperate for one, actually. Too many lonely, battery-packed nights had finally led her to the snapping point. She wanted to be fucked to within an inch of her mind. Why hadn’t someone like Detective Brown been the one she’d met?
Taking a couple seconds, she ran a discreet second glance over him. He certainly looked like he could deliver.
She cleared her throat and hoped like hell he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Now she wished she had a tack in her shoe to crunch down on. Or was that only good for polygraphs? “I, uh, was thirsty?” And hungry. And so sick and tired of being sick and tired, she’d been willing to see if the cure was sex with someone other than the figments in her dreams.
“Thirsty,” he said, nodding, eyes narrowing. “Did you go there alone?”
“I told you a man bought me a drink.”
“But you entered the club alone. The Cavern. Why that place?” He leaned back in his chair.
Because she’d had dreams about it and wanted to prove to herself that the murky images weren’t based on reality. Only she’d scared herself the moment she’d entered the dance club. Everything had been exactly as she’d dreamed the night before. Or at least the décor was. No way could the rest of what had happened in her dream be true.
After all, vampires were fiction.
“I heard about it and was curious.”
“Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”
His gaze swept her, and she felt a tightening in her core. Delicious really, and completely out of context. “Why does the reason I chose that place matter?”
He shrugged. “Just tryin’ to get the details, ma’am.”
“To determine my state of mind?” she asked, lifting her chin.
His lips stretched, the full bottom thrusting forward. Her glance lingered there, wondering what that lush pout would feel like sucking on her nipple. She swallowed hard. Her gaze leapt to his face.
“All right.” His gaze sharpened. “So let’s skip to the drink and the guy.”
“He was just a stranger.” With a scarily intent stare. “He offered me a drink and motioned for me to take a seat at the bar. I was just beginning to slide onto the stool, when he leaned forward.”
“Did he touch you?”
“He pushed the hair off my neck. I jerked back. Then he pulled my hair, forcing me closer.” She shuddered. “The barman was looking away. Everyone around me was laughing. I stomped on his foot.”
“What did he look like? Did anything seem…off about his appearance?”
She blinked, remembering something she’d left out of the report on purpose. “Off?”
“Not natural?”
Melanie’s breaths shortened. “The club was Goth. It was just…makeup and tricks.”
“What was, Miss Bradshaw?”
“His eyes. They were like an animal’s eyes.” She shivered. “You know, when they catch the light in the dark. They reflected. And his teeth. I hadn’t noticed how sharp they were when he first offered me the drink, or I’d have turned him down flat. I’m not into weird.”
“What about his teeth?”
She blushed, knowing how crazy it all sounded and wishing this wasn’t the conversation she was having with this very large, very attractive man.
He didn’t answer, but settled back in his chair, his head canting as he watched her, staring.
What did he see? Was he one of those people trained to read the truth in her body language? Was she giving him the right signals? Should she glance left or to the right?
Hell, why did she feel like she was the one in the wrong?
“The man who bought me a drink. He seemed nice.” In a sort of oily way, but she wasn’t going to speak ill of the dead. She hadn’t wanted to accept the drink, not trusting its contents since she hadn’t seen it poured. Her mama always harped about the perils of men.
“What were you doin’ in the bar?”
“It was a club, really.” Melanie blushed. She’d been looking for a hook-up. Desperate for one, actually. Too many lonely, battery-packed nights had finally led her to the snapping point. She wanted to be fucked to within an inch of her mind. Why hadn’t someone like Detective Brown been the one she’d met?
Taking a couple seconds, she ran a discreet second glance over him. He certainly looked like he could deliver.
She cleared her throat and hoped like hell he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Now she wished she had a tack in her shoe to crunch down on. Or was that only good for polygraphs? “I, uh, was thirsty?” And hungry. And so sick and tired of being sick and tired, she’d been willing to see if the cure was sex with someone other than the figments in her dreams.
“Thirsty,” he said, nodding, eyes narrowing. “Did you go there alone?”
“I told you a man bought me a drink.”
“But you entered the club alone. The Cavern. Why that place?” He leaned back in his chair.
Because she’d had dreams about it and wanted to prove to herself that the murky images weren’t based on reality. Only she’d scared herself the moment she’d entered the dance club. Everything had been exactly as she’d dreamed the night before. Or at least the décor was. No way could the rest of what had happened in her dream be true.
After all, vampires were fiction.
“I heard about it and was curious.”
“Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”
His gaze swept her, and she felt a tightening in her core. Delicious really, and completely out of context. “Why does the reason I chose that place matter?”
He shrugged. “Just tryin’ to get the details, ma’am.”
“To determine my state of mind?” she asked, lifting her chin.
His lips stretched, the full bottom thrusting forward. Her glance lingered there, wondering what that lush pout would feel like sucking on her nipple. She swallowed hard. Her gaze leapt to his face.
“All right.” His gaze sharpened. “So let’s skip to the drink and the guy.”
“He was just a stranger.” With a scarily intent stare. “He offered me a drink and motioned for me to take a seat at the bar. I was just beginning to slide onto the stool, when he leaned forward.”
“Did he touch you?”
“He pushed the hair off my neck. I jerked back. Then he pulled my hair, forcing me closer.” She shuddered. “The barman was looking away. Everyone around me was laughing. I stomped on his foot.”
“What did he look like? Did anything seem…off about his appearance?”
She blinked, remembering something she’d left out of the report on purpose. “Off?”
“Not natural?”
Melanie’s breaths shortened. “The club was Goth. It was just…makeup and tricks.”
“What was, Miss Bradshaw?”
“His eyes. They were like an animal’s eyes.” She shivered. “You know, when they catch the light in the dark. They reflected. And his teeth. I hadn’t noticed how sharp they were when he first offered me the drink, or I’d have turned him down flat. I’m not into weird.”
“What about his teeth?”
She blushed, knowing how crazy it all sounded and wishing this wasn’t the conversation she was having with this very large, very attractive man.
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