Laurie London - Embraced by Blood

As she polished nonexistent water stains, Mel scrutinized him further without making it appear she was. She knew if you looked a reluctant guy in the eye, he’d clam right up. But keep your gaze focused elsewhere, and he’d yap like an ankle-biter when the doorbell rings.

“She a bartender like moi or a waitress?” she asked, somehow doubting his ex was one of the high-priced hookers who frequented the place.

The left side of his mouth twisted up slightly, revealing a fleeting dimple. “No.”

“A cop then?”

“Sort of.”

She was dying to ask him what a sort-of cop was, but didn’t want to continue pressing her luck.

Noticing the time, she flipped the channel on the small flat-screen that hung at an angle on this end of the bar. One of the local stations replayed last week’s high school football highlights at midnight. She was a sucker for anything that reminded her of being younger, and watching those fresh faces who thought they were grown-ups always brought her back. She took a drink order from one of the waitresses and filled two glasses with Jack and Diet, but when she glanced at him again, she couldn’t resist another question.

“Some bad stuff went down over there the other night, but I heard they caught the guy.” What kind of a twisted SOB would have the cojones to kidnap a woman in front of all those people anyway? “Your ex involved in bringing him down?”

“It’s my understanding that she was. The main thing is, he’s off the streets and won’t be seeing the light of day for—let’s just say a long time.” There was that dimple again. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Mel nodded and turned back to the TV, still listening.

“She’s doing routine stuff tonight.”

One of the kids on the highlight reel caught a flea-flicker, broke an almost-tackle, then ran it in for a touchdown. Beautiful. A little thrill shivered down her spine and the guys clustered at the other end of the bar cheered with gusto. Yeah, she wasn’t the only one who vividly remembered those Friday-night games, although from the looks of it, those guys weren’t going to be remembering much of anything tomorrow. She should probably consider cutting them off.

“That place sure gets its share of freaks. Seems like you’re worried about her even though she’s a cop. Can’t she take care of herself?”

He picked at the label on his beer, tearing off little strips and piling them on his coaster like a mound of confetti. “Cop or no cop, it’s no guarantee she’ll be safe. But she can take care of herself. Or at least she thinks she can.”

“And that’s why you’re here. Because you can do it better? Take care of her, that is?”

His bitter laugh surprised her. Clearly having had enough of the nursing, he drained the rest of his beer in one long guzzle. Unlike most of the yokels in this place, he didn’t belch when he set the empty bottle down.

“No, definitely not.” He pushed the stool away from the bar and stood. Peeling off a bill, he plunked it onto the counter and tapped it with his knuckle, indicating he needed no change. Holy criminy. She’d pegged him as a good tipper, but this was ridiculous. “She’s much safer with me out of the picture.”

A bad boy who knows he’s not good for you? Oh, to be young again. “Why? You got loser friends?”

He nodded as he turned to leave. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

THE RED DIGITS ON THE ALARM clock confirmed it was late afternoon, and Alfonso cursed.

A hell of a day this was turning out to be. He’d kept Lily under surveillance most of the night, making sure she did indeed have someone with her at all times. That she wasn’t vulnerable to those responsible for poisoning his life. Not that it was foolproof, he reasoned, but there was safety in numbers. Sure enough, Santiago hadn’t been dicking with him; the entire night, she’d been accompanied by her trainee. He’d watched them head for the field office, confirming with Jackson that she’d arrived safely before he left for home.

He flipped the pillow to the cool side and shoved the couch cushions back into place beneath him. After all these months, he hadn’t expected that seeing her would affect him so profoundly. But hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And because the imported European tiles still hadn’t arrived, he couldn’t get his mind off of her by working on his house.

What had happened between her and her ex that had caused her to move back to Seattle? he wondered. A familiar ache formed in his chest as he thought about her living with another man.

He didn’t begrudge the fact that she’d started seeing Steven again. After all, the man was her daughter’s father. Almost ten years ago, shortly after he and Lily had begun dating, Alfonso’s work within the Alliance had required that he move back to Europe. They’d called things off because, at the time, Alfonso didn’t know whether he’d ever make it back to the States. A few years later, he had come back, only to learn that Lily had been engaged, had given birth to a daughter, and that her relationship with Steven had ended. She’d eagerly accepted the assignment to act as Alfonso’s handler within the Agency and they’d begun their relationship again as if it had never even ended.

And it had been great. While it lasted.

The explosion changed everything.

At first he hadn’t let her know—hadn’t let anyone know—that he’d survived the fire. The Alliance needed to believe that he’d died trying to save the Overlord. His plan was to wait till he recuperated before going back to Lily. During that time, the Alliance would forget about him as various lieutenants vied to become the new leader. Battles would be fought, people would be killed, and he’d be just another vampire who’d sacrificed himself for the cause.

Deep down he knew that part of his decision not to tell Lily had also been motivated by pride. He didn’t want her to see him until he was whole again. And he didn’t want her sympathy, either.

But when he’d discovered that his blood assassin had been activated, that the Alliance knew he was alive, all his hopes for the future had been shattered.

He recalled in painful detail the phone call where Lily had demanded answers. For days, he’d been ignoring her calls and emails, hoping to find a way out of this mess, but he couldn’t. After finally reaching that agonizing realization, he’d watched his phone light up over and over before he answered. He’d known what he had to say to her.

With this permanent knee deformity, he’d never be able to adequately protect her. The assassin would hunt him down and go after her as well. If he’d told her the truth, she would have tried to convince him that she could take care of both of them, that she was tough and a good fighter. But he couldn’t let her take that chance, so he’d lied, told her he’d no longer loved her, and hoped she’d stay away.

And it had worked.

He sighed heavily and flung an arm over his face. Last night, he’d recklessly shadow-moved closer to her than necessary. But he couldn’t help it. He’d decided that he didn’t bloody care if she detected him or not. In fact, if she had, she’d have confronted him then and there. That was her style. Actually, maybe that was why he’d done it in the first place—to speak with her again, to see her up close, even if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands. He’d always loved provoking her.

Reaching down with his other hand, he cupped himself lightly and thought of how she’d looked last night.

With that trademark swagger and attitude that made confident men stand up and pay attention while weaker men shriveled, she had walked out of the Pink Salon, sauntered down the block and climbed into that red Porsche of hers. He’d held his breath, wondering if she’d scent him, but she hadn’t. Her trainee barely had the door shut before she’d peeled away from the curb. He could almost smell the lavender scent of her favorite soap on the night air as her car had sped past him in the shadows.