Richelle Mead - Succubus Blues

"Are you ready to go?"

Mild astonishment flashed in his eyes—which were beautiful, by the way. An intense green-blue. To my relief, he played along and returned my serve masterfully.

"You bet." His own arm snaked around me, his hand resting on my hip with surprising presumption. "I would have been here sooner, but I got held up in traffic."

Cute. I glanced at Warren. "Rain check for our talk?"

Warren looked from me to the guy and then back to me. "Sure. Yes. Of course." Warren had proprietary feelings toward me, but they weren't strong enough for him to challenge a younger competitor.

A few of my coworkers also watched with interest. Like Warren, none of them had ever really seen me date anyone. Seth Mortensen busied himself packing up a briefcase, never meeting my eyes again, for all the world oblivious to my existence. He didn't even respond when I said goodbye. Probably just as well.

My "date" and I left the store, stepping out into the cool night. The precipitation had stopped, but clouds and city lights blotted out the stars. Studying him, I kind of wished maybe we were going out after all.

He was tall—really tall. Probably at least ten inches taller than my diminutive five-four. His hair was black and wavy, brushed away from a deeply tanned face that nearly made those sea-colored eyes glow. He wore a long, black wool coat and a scarf with a black, burgundy, and green plaid pattern.

"Thanks," I said as we paused to stand on the street corner. "You saved me from an... unpleasant situation."

"My pleasure." He held out his hand to me. "I'm Roman."

"Nice name."

"I guess. It reminds me of a romance novel."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. No one's really named that in real life. But in romance novels, there are a million of them. 'Roman the Fifth Duke of Wellington.' 'Roman the Terrible yet Dashing and Eerily Attractive Pirate of the High Seas.' “

"Hey, I think I read that last one. I'm Georgina."

"So I see." He nodded toward the staff ID badge I wore around my neck. Probably an excuse to check out my cleavage. "Is that outfit the standard uniform for assistant managers?"

"This outfit's becoming a real pain in the ass actually," I noted, thinking of the various reactions it had elicited.

"You can wear my coat. Where do you want to go tonight?"

"Where do I—? We aren't going out. I told you: you just saved me from a minor entanglement, that's all."

"Hey, that's still got to be worth something," he countered. "A handkerchief? A kiss on the cheek? Your phone number?"

"No!"

"Oh, come on. Did you see how good I was? I didn't miss a beat when you roped me in with that come-hither look of yours."

I couldn't deny that. "All right. It's 555-1200."

"That's the store number."

"How did you know that?"

He pointed to the Emerald City sign behind me. It contained all of the store's contact information. "Because I'm literate. “

"Wow. That puts you, like, ten steps above most of the guys that hit on me."

He turned hopeful. "So does that mean we can go out sometime?"

"Nope. I appreciate your help tonight, but I don't date."

"Don't think of it as a date then. Think of it as... a meeting of minds."

The way he looked at me suggested he wanted to meet more than just my mind. I shivered involuntarily, but I wasn't cold. In fact, I was starting to feel unnervingly warm.

He unbuttoned his coat. "Here. You're freezing. Wear this while I take you home. My car's around the corner."

"I live within walking distance." His coat was still warm from his body and smelled nice. A combination of cK One and, well, man. Yum.

"Then let me walk you home."

His persistence was charming, which was all the more reason I had to end things now. This was exactly the kind of quality guy I needed to avoid.

"Come on," Roman begged when I didn't answer. "This isn't much to ask for. I'm not a stalker or anything. All I want is one walk home. Then you never have to see me again."

"Look, you barely even know me..." I paused, reconsidering what he'd said. "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, you can walk me home."

"Really?" He brightened.

"Yup."

Three minutes later, when we arrived at my apartment building, he threw up his hands in dismay. "That wasn't fair at all. You're practically next door."

" 'One walk home.' That was all you asked for."

Roman shook his head. "Not fair. Not fair at all. But"—he looked up hopefully at my building—"at least I know where you live now."

"Hey! You said you weren't a stalker."

He grinned, gorgeous white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. "It's never too late to start." Leaning down, he kissed my hand and gave me a wink. "Until we meet again, fair Georgina."

He turned and walked off into the Queen Anne night. I watched him go, still feeling his lips on my skin. What an unexpected—and perplexing—twist to the evening.

When he was no longer in sight, I turned around and went into my building. I was halfway up the stairs when I realized I was still wearing his coat. How was I going to get it back to him? He did that on purpose, I realized. He let me keep it.

I suddenly knew then that I would be seeing wily Duke Roman again. Probably sooner, rather than later.

Chuckling, I continued on to my apartment, halting after just a few more steps.

"Not again," I muttered in exasperation.

Familiar sensations swirled behind my apartment door. Like a glittering tempest. Like the humming of bees in the air.

There was a group of immortals inside my home.

What the fuck? Did I need to start charging admission to my apartment? Why did everyone suddenly think they could just go right inside when I wasn't there?

It occurred to me then, ever so briefly, that I had not sensed Jerome and Carter's presence earlier. They had caught me completely unaware. That was weird, but I had been too distracted by their news to pay much attention to anything else.

Similarly, my current anger did not allow me to further ponder that odd piece of trivia now. I was too annoyed. Slinging my purse over one shoulder, I stormed into my home.

"For someone who just orchestrated a murder, you're kind of overreacting."

Overreacting? In the last twenty-four hours, I'd had to endure virgins, scary vampires, murder, accusation, and humiliation in front of my favorite author. I really didn't think coming home to a quiet apartment was too much to ask for. Instead, I found three interlopers. Three interlopers who were also my friends, mind you, but that didn't change the principle of the matter.

Naturally, none of them understood why I was so upset.

"You're invading my privacy! And I didn't murder anybody. Why does everyone keep thinking that?"

"Because you said yourself you were going to," explained Hugh. The imp sprawled on my love seat, his relaxed posture indicating I might actually be the one in his home. "I heard it from Jerome."

Across from him, our friend Cody offered me a friendly smile. He was exceptionally young for a vampire and reminded me of the kid brother I'd never had. "Don't worry. He had it coming. We stand by you all the way."

"But I didn't—"

"Is that our illustrious hostess I hear?" called Peter from the bathroom. A moment later, he appeared in the hallway. "You look pretty snazzy for a criminal mastermind."

"I'm not— " My words died on my lips as I caught sight of him. For a moment, all thoughts of murder and apartment intrusion blanked out of my mind. "For God's sake, Peter. What happened to your hair?"

He self-consciously ran a hand over the sharp, half-inch spikes covering his head. I couldn't even imagine how much styling product it must have taken to defy the laws of physics like that. Worse, the tips of the spikes were white-blond, standing out boldly against his normally dark hair color. "Someone I work with helped me with it."