Disenchanted (6 page)

“Miss Fey?”

The hair on the back of my neck stands as I realized who it is.

“Yes.” I try to sound casual, but it comes out all squeaky. Worse than a damn high school girl with a crush.

“This is Ric Brand.”

Did I detect a note of amusement, or am I reading too much into it as always?

“If there is a problem with your cut you can call the salon tomorrow.”

“No, no problem at all. I wanted to call and apologize for last night. I took liberties that were not mine to take. I would like to ask you to dinner. That is if you have not already dined.”

I nearly drop the phone. Dinner? Was I going to be a main course, or an appetizer?

“Mr. Brand, your apology is accepted, but I have to decline. It’s unprofessional to date clients.”

“Do not think of it as a date, just two people who happen to be sharing a meal.”

Maybe it’s just my imagination and guilt, but I can feel the unspoken words.
You didn’t think it unprofessional to dance with one last night, or to kiss him.

“Miss Fey?”

“Yes?”

“Would you consider sharing the evening meal with me?”

“I’ve already eaten—would you consider a cup of coffee?”

He chuckles. “That sounds delightful. When and where?”

“Say in an hour at Midnite Expresso?”

“I shall see you then.”

The line goes dead with a click, no turning back now. Great, I’m going to have a
delightful
cup of joe with a vampire elf.

***

The rich scent of my favorite caffeinated beverage sends trickles of pleasure across my skin as I step inside. Is there anything better than coffee? Chocolate maybe and sex ranks very close I suppose.

The interior of Midnite Expresso isn’t your usual trendy coffee shop. No tiny tables with uncomfortable chairs, or those long bars with stools and computer jacks. Think of it more like your kitchen with mismatched dining sets, or your living room with chairs you can curl up in with a good book.

I wave to a few regulars and the staff before acknowledging my
date
, sitting at a table with his back to the corner.

“Miss Fey.” He rises from his seat and pulls out a chair for me. “Thank you for joining me.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Brand.” Visions of
Count Dracula
surface with his formal tone and slight accent. What’s with the ancient manners? Not that I’m complaining, I just assumed it a lost art. I force a giggle into a smile and sit down before it can escape.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says, sitting back down.

Two cups of steaming brew sit on the table, the one in front of me the perfect shade of caramel, the other black.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us. I guessed you liked cream.”

Yet another
liberty
he’s taken. I’m starting to get a picture of someone very used to getting exactly what he wants, and not above taking it if it isn’t given, then apologizing after. It’s a little—okay, a lot—unnerving, that he knew how I took my coffee. I wonder if he knows I prefer iced when the Iowa humidity starts to rise.

The smile gracing his face causes the blood in my temples to thud, far too intimate, like someone who knows your deepest darkest secrets. I’m reminded of the invading voice from last night. I have to work on those mental shields. The last thing I need is someone using my own thoughts against me, even if it is just how I take my coffee.

I gulp down a mouthful of my drink in hopes of rinsing away the foul taste of fear. It didn’t work. My eyes water, accompanying the burn I just gave myself. Lovely, two more things I don’t need right now, a lisp and runny mascara.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Candy cleaning a nearby table. She flicks her head in his direction and nods, licking her lips. Okay, it’s a little more than possible that she told him how I take my coffee.

My emotions are somewhere between fear and desire for the man across from me. I’m so wrapped up sorting out the two that I miss everything he’s said. I see his lips moving, but haven’t heard a word.

“I asked if you were alright. The coffee is extremely hot,” he repeats.

Gods, I need to learn to pay attention, but something about this guy gets me thinking with the wrong part of my anatomy. All I can do is nod, my tongue still feeling like a bad case of road rash.

There’s that smile again, accompanied by a gentle pat on the hand. Now I feel like a two–year–old. I don’t know which is worse fear, toddler mode, or the tingling between my thighs that shows up when he smiles.

The pat turns into a caress as he pulls away. I fight like hel to suppress the shiver forcing its way up from the soles of my feet. I need to stay on track.

“So,” I say, fighting the urge to wince when my tongue protests. “What brings you to The Meadows, Mr. Brand?” What I want to ask is why he hid his vampiric nature, but even I’ll admit it’s none of my beeswax.

“After last night you would think you would remember to call me Ric,” his tone is teasing and those hypnotic eyes twinkle.

I so don’t need a reminder of last night. Too late, warmth creeps up and through my body. Great, my face now matches the red of my tee–shirt. “Sorry. What brings you to The Meadows, Ric?”

His laughter causes greater havoc than his smile, a tremor starts in my lower extremities and radiates upward. Blood vessels constrict and parts that should stay hidden in polite company show themselves in all their glory. I can’t tell if it’s a natural reaction, or some kind of compulsion. Either way I need to learn some control. Luckily, he’s either not interested in my
perkiness,
or polite enough to hide it.

“I came to visit a friend.”

“I didn’t realize you knew anyone here.” Duh, as if I know
anything
about him, but I’m guessing this friend is the döckâlfar I saw him with last night.

“My friend does not live
in
The Meadows; he owns property outside the city limits.”

“Do I know him? I mean, has he been to the salon, or could I have met him somewhere else in town?” Not like I can come out and ask ‘gee is he the one I put the lip lock on outside the club last night?’ that would be rude.

“I doubt that. He prefers to keep to himself and lives primarily off the land.”

“Interesting.” I toy with my cup, remembering the feel of that wintery kiss so different from Ric’s and yet not. Both filled with lust and a feeling of being devoured. But one fueled by flame and joint passion, the other by a chilling animalistic hunger. The memory of the dog standing at Ric’s side outside my window flashes through my feeble little brain.

“Very, the man has quite the green thumb, grows tomatoes the size of softballs.” He chuckles.

“That’s impressive, but I hope they taste as good as they look.” Iowa is a farm state, but that’s not the kind of living off the land I imagined. If my suspicions of him being the ‘dog’ I saw are right, living off the land would entail hunting. Not of the orange vest variety.

“Oh, they do, trust me. They make a hel of a marinara sauce and with his venison meatballs it is like...let us just say every bite is a delight to the senses.”

A nervous laugh escapes as little four–legged meatballs fuel my imagination. “So spaghetti and meatballs is what brought you to The Meadows.”

“That among other things.”

“Such as?”

“He also makes a great martini. Your coffee should be cool enough to drink now.”

After taking a sip, I carefully set the cup down, wrapping my shaking hands around it. I feel him studying me, but fight the desire to look into those mesmerizing amber eyes.

“Let me ask
you
something,” he says, finally lifting the heavy silence. “How well do you know Miss Kanika?”

What in Hel’s Realm? Why the interest in Dara?

“She works in my salon and we’re friends, have been for some time now. Why?”

His shrug is fluid, noncommittal. “Just curious, the two of you seem...close.”

“I’ve known her since I started doing hair. She rents the basement from me.”

Something in his expression says I'll kick myself later. Amazing how a pretty face can make you stupidly open your mouth and insert your whole leg.

The bells on the door jingle, saving me from having to say anything else.

“Is that not your receptionist?”

In walks Jenny, draped around her escort like the cheap tramp she borrowed the outfit from. If the skirt were any further north and the top any farther south, she would be wearing a belt. From the neck up, it’s still plain little old Jenny, hiding behind a ton of makeup and porn star hair. I could excuse it if it was October, but it's June.

Her companion is another story, a suit clearly not off the rack, sleek, polished. I get the impression of an En, yet not, maybe his Talents are just weak. He looks like the type who would sneer at girls who look like Jenny did right now. There is clearly possessiveness about his stance, yet something tells me he’d toss her in front of a bus if it served his purpose.

My skin crawls. Do I not pay her enough? Has she caught the fever? Jenny hasn’t noticed us, but he has and the way he watches us makes me want to run screaming from the room.

CHAPTER NINE

I allow Ric to walk me home. It is just across the street, and he left me no choice. I draw the line at him coming up, leaving him at the side door. There is no telling what might happen if I let him inside my personal space. The shop I can handle, but not this. My hormones might take over.

Movement at one of the windows catches his attention and I follow his gaze. Just C.C. pawing at the curtains, but I have a feeling Dara was standing there a moment ago.

“Thank you for the coffee, but this is where I get off.” Where I get off? Amazing how stupid I can be so many times in one night.

“And thank you for such an enjoyable evening.” He leans ever so slightly toward me.

Is he going to kiss me? My heart flutters in anticipation as he leans closer. I do the whole head tilt thingy not even thinking about it and he reaches out and grasps my hand. What was that I said about being stupid?

“Goodnight, Miss Fey.” He smiles, one of those I know what you were thinking smiles, and leaves me standing there wanting to beat my head against the building.

I do the only thing any self–respecting woman would do, I stomp my way up the stairs verbally abusing myself the whole way. Childish? Yes. Do I care? No.

“Hormonally challenged idiot, first you get upset when he does kiss you, then you get upset when he doesn’t.” Arguing with yourself is one of those no win situations, it doesn’t matter which side wins, you still lose.

I reach the door still muttering, digging for keys I don’t need. The door is already open, an irritated vampire leaning against the frame. She’s seen my display on the street and probably heard everything I said on the way up.

She doesn’t say a word, making things even more infuriating, just moves out of the way and lets me into my own apartment. Who does she think she is my mother? What is she doing here anyway?

A bottle of wine and pizza sit on the coffee table next to a couple of DVDs. Damn, I’d forgotten movie night.

Sighing, I reach for a glass and the bottle. She holds out the other glass as I pour.

“Hot date?”

I take a sip and shake my head. “Nope, just coffee, but that was hot. Sorry, I forgot movie night.”

She shrugs. “With something that pretty dangling in front of me, I would forget movie night also.”

Unfortunately, she chooses the moment I take a drink to crack a joke. I don’t think snorting wine is the recommended way of assessing the bouquet.

“So was
coffee
informative?”

“Brand is here visiting a friend, I’m guessing the döckâlfar he was with last night. He has a place just outside the city limits. His buddy makes a hel of a marinara sauce and great martinis.”

“Personally, I prefer Chianti with my red sauce, but to each his own.”

“He is also interested in you.” I swear I see a flutter of something cross her face. Fear? Anger? Interest of her own?

“What did he say?”

“Just wanted to know how well I know you.”

“And?”

“I told him the truth, you work with me, we’re friends and you live in the basement.”

Her golden skin turns a sickly jaundice shade and her jaw tightens as she reaches for the bottle to refill her glass. “What else did you talk about?”

“Small talk mostly, then Jenny came in. Gods Dara, you should have seen her. Wrapped around some guy, dressed like, well, barely dressed.” I take another sip and shake my head. “She looked like she was going to be interviewed for that documentary about hookers.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Nope, she didn’t see us, but her date did. The guy was giving off some serious heebie-jeebie vibes. Made me wonder if I was paying her enough. I mean what if he’s a client, or her pimp? I also wonder if working with so many Ens has given her the fever. He felt like an En, but a weak one.”