Vampire, Interrupted by Lynsay Sands Page A

wariness creeping through her. She had, but suddenly didn’t think she wanted to admit that.
    “You have, haven’t you?” Tiny asked. His eyes narrowed on her face and he guessed, “And you don’twant to admit it because you couldn’t read him.”
    Marguerite blew out an irritated breath and glanced away.
    “And you’re eating.”
    She stiffened, and scowled. “That doesn’t mean anything. I told you, I’m out of blood and it helps build my own. Besides I’ve been sitting with you at each meal for three weeks, I have probably just picked up the habit.”
    “You didn’t eat in California when we all did,” he pointed out.
    Marguerite blinked at his words, then sank weakly back in her seat. For a moment horror overcame her, but then she rallied and—positive he didn’t know about the sausage—lied shakily, “It was just one meal, Tiny.”
    “One meal and you can’t read him,” Tiny pointed out.
    Marguerite waved that away as unimportant. “He’s obviously older than me. It’s difficult to read immortals older than oneself. And,” she added grimly as he opened his mouth to speak, “Just because I can’t read him, doesn’t mean he can’t read me.”
    Tiny closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say at that comment. He knew about her relationship with Jean Claude. Nodding in understanding, he let the subject go and sank back in his seat.
    Marguerite bit her lip and was silent for a moment, her gaze sliding toward the men’s room, and then she leaned toward Tiny and whispered, “If it turns out you’re right—about Christian encouraging Julius, I mean—could you…er…run intervention.”
    “You mean interference?” he suggested dryly.

    Marguerite nodded. “I would appreciate it.”
    Tiny nodded.
    “Thank you,” she murmured.
    “Don’t thank me. We work together, and you’re really in training. It’s kind of my job to look out for you.”
    Marguerite blinked at the words as she realized how ridiculous it was for her to even put him in that position. The truth was he couldn’t possibly look out for her against an immortal like Julius. Of course, she didn’t hurt his pride by saying as much, simply sinking back in her seat and forcing a smile as a waitress appeared to take their orders.
     
    “What are you doing?”
    “What do you mean?” Julius leaned against the counter in the men’s room, his eyebrows drawing together as he watched Christian check the stalls to be sure the room was empty.
    Finished with his search, Christian paused and propped his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a parent confronting a naughty child. “I mean what are you doing ?” Christian repeated with exasperation. “You’re supposed to be wooing Marguerite. Getting her to like and trust you so she won’t run when she realizes the two of you are lifemates.”
    “I am wooing her,” Julius said defensively, turning away to peer in the mirror. He didn’t really see himself, he was just trying to avoid having to meet his son’s gaze anymore, but ran a hand through his hair as he watched his son’s reflection.
    “You aren’t wooing her. You’re staring at her. You’ve been staring at her all night. You should havedanced with her when we were at that mortal club.”
    “Danced?” Julius asked with horror.
    “Yes. Danced . Why did you think I was elbowing you on the dance floor? Jesus!” He turned away with disgust and paced the length of the stalls and back.
    “I don’t dance,” Julius said with dignity. “At least not the kind of dancing that was happening there. Marguerite dances well, though, doesn’t she?” he added with a small smile as he recalled the few moments she’d danced before throwing her hands up with exasperation and returning to their table. She’d been incredibly agile, her hips swaying, body undulating, and breasts jiggling as she’d—
    Julius blinked and scowled at Christian when he snapped his thumb and finger in front of his eyes.
    “Snap