In lieu of a formal introduction when we first met, I had taken Bruiser down and then burned his boss with a silver cross. Not something any human would likely succeed at. I was screwing this up. I lifted my nose in a self-conscious gesture that felt very Beast-like. "That invitation? The sooner, the better."
But Bruiser wasn't being pushed. "Last time you went to a vampire party, you were under the protection of Leo himself. There won't be anyone to protect you this time."
"You could take me." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The silence lasted longer this time. A lot longer. I broke out into a hot sweat and wanted to babble to cover the silence, but I bit my lips and waited.
"I would need to inform Leo and obtain his permission," Bruiser said very carefully.
Just as carefully, thinking of the way he looked, standing on my porch, I said, "That would be nice."
"I would tell him that taking you to the soiree would be an acceptable way to keep an eye on you, and whatever you were doing."
Taking you to the soiree sounded like a date. I wondered if he meant that. A flush spread over me, hot and needy. "Um . . . yeah. Okay."
After another long pause, during which I heard pages turning and computer keys clacking, he said, "Clan Rousseau is having an event tonight in the Old Nunnery in the Warehouse District."
"Tonight?" I squeaked, lifting a snarl of my hair and getting a good look at my unshaven legs. "After a hurricane?"
"The Warehouse District is quite upscale and power has been restored there."
"I . . . um . . . I have a dress," I said, thinking of my one little black dress.
"Clan Rousseau requires formal attire."
"More formal than my dress?"
"Much," he said dryly. "If Leo approves, I'll send someone over with a selection."
Of dresses? Oh, crap. "I look good in black."
His voice heated. "Yes, you do. I'll call after sunset." The line went dead.
I closed the cell, staring at the floor. "Okay," I said, not sure exactly what had happened.
"Well, well, well," Molly drawled. I looked up from contemplating the floor to see her leaning against the doorjamb. "Big Cat has a daa-aate," she sang out. Smugly she said, "And Big Cat might get lucky."
I dropped back into the covers and banged my head on a pillow repeatedly as Molly laughed at me. I remembered my body's reactions to the sight of Bruiser's butt, and the tattoos of my beasts on Rick's shoulder. I hadn't kept track of the phases of the moon. If tonight was a full moon, Beast's and Molly's hope that I'd get lucky was more probable than I wanted to imagine. During the full moon, Beast was more in control than usual. And Beast hadn't mated in a long, long time. For that matter, neither had I.
CHAPTER 6
I'd rather be shot, stabbed, or chewed on
I grabbed the laptop, stalked to the master bath, and shut the door. Lighting candles so I could see in the dark room, I sat on the toilet seat, thinking. What had I gotten myself into? Crap. Online, I searched calendar sites for one that listed the phases of the moon. The full moon was two days away. Relief poured through me. I was safe.
Mate, Beast demanded.
"No," I said. "Not Bruiser."
Beast sent a rush of sexual energy through my brain and suddenly I had a mental image of Rick, naked, spread out on a bed like dessert. There were claw scars across his chest, pale against his golden skin, and his tattoos almost glowed--a mountain lion and a bobcat on one shoulder and big bloody cat claws on the other. "Not him, either," I muttered.
Thanks to the natural gas, I had a long hot shower, during which I washed my hair and did all the fun things a girl did before a formal party . . . and a date. . . . I followed it with a long cold shower, during which I argued with Beast about my sex life. The conversation ended in a draw, and when I left the bathroom, the walls still steamy because the exhaust fan didn't work, I looked more presentable, nails polished, legs and pits shaved, skin all slathered with good-smelling cream, and brows plucked. As soon as I shifted again, I'd lose all the results of the effort, so I didn't get gussied up often. But it felt really good when I did. As I primped, the smell of slow-cooking steak wafted in under the door, making my stomach rumble with hunger.
I braided my hip-length black hair and left it hanging down my back, wet and still dripping. Throwing on jeans and a tee, I made my way through the house. The sound of a man's laughter stopped me in the entry. Bruiser? No. Rick LaFleur. And Angelina.
Molly, murmuring baby talk, was upstairs and I wondered why she had left Rick with Angie. Then I smelled dirty diaper, and I knew exactly what had happened.
Moving with the silence of my kind, I stopped outside the open kitchen doorway. Rick was turned to the side, so he couldn't see me, and I paused, studying him. Rick hadn't been to the house since he was mauled. Though pale, he looked good sitting in the kitchen, holding one of Angelina's dolls as she leaned against the arm of his chair.
"And I have a redheaded Martha, and a blond Rachael who wears a long dress like a princess, and two brown-headed dolls, Sally and Mary, but Ka Nvsita is my favorite biscause Aunt Jane gived her to me, and biscause she gots black hair like Aunt Jane and is a Indian."