A Taste of Love and Evil (20 page)

“Sure,” Constantine said. “You’ve got it.”

As easy as that? Tony twisted the ends of his moustache, looking amused and pleased, but Jack felt Constantine’s hostility circling like a hawk waiting for its prey to break cover. No, this wasn’t over. They drank their coffee while Jack explained his ideas for the accommodation of the rescues and the education of the kids. Tony seemed interested, Constantine not at all. He kept glancing toward the window, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“For God’s sake, kid, pick up the damn guitar.” Tony drained his coffee and left.

Constantine stilled his hands and kept his eyes on Jack. “You’ve been seen at the Threshold.”

Damn. “Seen?”

Constantine’s mouth quirked ever so slightly, and immediately Jack’s heart warmed: the boy he had known back then—and yet,
not.
“No, not you, only the chaos you left behind more than once. Biff was supposed to be keeping an eye on
things, but you’ve been a hell of a lot more useful. I know why you rescued those people, but why were you there in the first place?” Constantine’s thought penetrated Jack’s brain:
Don’t lie to
me. A threat or a plea? Perhaps both.

“You know why. How could I be sure Bayou Gavotte was safe? You’re not always here to scare the shit out of everyone.”

Constantine again:
Not enough.

Jack sighed. “And I didn’t know what kind of person you’d become. Now go get the damn guitar.”

“You still don’t know.” The rock star stood slowly, fetched his beloved guitar, and sat again, laying it softly, silently across his knee. He was the same boy, and yet…changed.

Jack said, “Jeez, man, I’ve missed you.”

“Consider yourself fortunate. I’ve been a lousy person to know.” Constantine’s fingers curled around the neck of the guitar. “I still am.”

Jack’s childhood grievance reared up. “That may well be, but it was two fucking years before I knew you were still alive, shithead. Couldn’t you have knocked just once to say hello?”

Constantine held the guitar close, his fingers motionless on the frets and strings. His voice chill, his eyes flat, he said, “No.”

Rose tried Miles again a couple more times without success. Perhaps he had spent the day consoling himself in a museum or visiting his wife’s grave. Late in the afternoon, Rose and Zelda were looking at fabrics on the Internet while Violet
leafed through magazines, when a knock sounded on the front door.

Violet picked her way through the sketches and magazines that littered the floor. “Biff, honey,” her voice fluted from the foyer. “What are you doing here?”

Biff? Here?

“I’m busy now,” Violet added. “Come to the club later and have a drink. We’ll talk, and who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind.”

Zelda rolled her eyes and returned to the fabrics. Biff must be a regular visitor.

“I need your help, Vi.” Biff lowered his voice to a despairing croak. “I’m in such deep shit. I fucked up a job last night, and Constantine’s livid.”

Rose’s fangs slotted down. “Oh, honey, no!” Violet cried. “What are you going to do?”

“If I don’t find the guy we were after, there’s no telling what Constantine might do to me.” Their voices told Rose that Violet was taking Biff into the kitchen.

“Tell me all about it,” Violet said. “Maybe I can help.”

Rose bit her lip hard, drawing blood, and yanked the fang back out. She slung her handbag over her shoulder. “Zelda, take notes about what you like best. I’m going to run an errand or two while your mom’s busy with her friend, but I’ll be back.”

“You’re bleeding.” Zelda stared as Rose licked the blood off her lip. “Something’s wrong?”

“Damn fangs,” Rose said with an unhappy laugh. “Always getting in the way.”

But that wasn’t all that was in the way. A Ferrari—must be Biff’s—blocked her into the driveway. She almost gave in to terror. Constantine wanted Jack dead. Any moment now, Biff would tell Violet whom he was after, and she’d tell him where to find Jack, and Biff would go after him.

I’ve got two minutes’ start and no vehicle.
She ducked beside
Biff’s car and let all the air out of one of the front tires, stretching her hamstrings as she did so. Then she took off running.

The distance from Jack’s, which had taken five minutes this morning, took maybe ten minutes at a run, dodging pedestrians and traffic and garnering stares all around. Damn. She swerved a block before the Impractical Cat, detoured an extra block around behind it, and headed toward Jack’s from the opposite direction. She ducked into the alley, dashed across the courtyard, and took the stairs two at a time.

The door was unlocked. She charged inside. Where was he? The shower was on, the bathroom door ajar. She tossed her handbag onto the couch and lunged into the bathroom. “Jack,” she said, her chest heaving. “Jack, you’re in terrible danger. Those thugs—”

He was facing the wall under the shower, his head thrown back, rinsing off. Slowly, he turned.

She wrenched open the shower door. Gaped, catching her breath and losing it again. Swallowed, still panting from the run, or maybe because he looked so damn good. Oh, God, he was
stunning
in his nakedness. Water poured over his muscled shoulders and biceps, ran in rivulets through his chest hair, swirled across the flat delicious plane of his abs, looping his navel. His penis swelled as she stared. Her fangs slid happily down, and she pushed them hard into place, piercing her thumbs. Blood welled out and she licked it, quivering for what she really wanted and needed: Jack’s blood. Jack’s taste and smell and touch, right here, right now.

She
couldn’t
be thinking about sex now. “Jack, you have to leave. Any minute they’ll—”

Those hard eyes caught hers, traveled a tad lower and lingered on her mouth.

Rose’s fangs bucked. Jack’s aroma tantalized her nostrils. Her tongue curled in anticipation of the taste of his skin, his mouth, his blood.

Biff was going to
kill
him.

She stalked straight into the shower, grabbed his hand, and pulled. “Come on! There’s no time to waste.”

“Right.” But he didn’t budge, and his eyes were heavy now, roaming over her breasts as if he could see right through her clothes. Duh. Her nipples jutted against her wet T-shirt. She yanked it away from her breasts, wringing out the fabric.

“Jack, listen to me. You don’t understand.” She shook the water from her face, let go of her shirt, and tugged at him again. “Forget my boobs—”

Gently, he took hold of her T-shirt. Twisted it in his hand. Slowly, inexorably, pulled her under the shower. Water, warm and seductive, ran down her face, coaxing her tongue out to lap at it. He bared his teeth in something between a grimace and a smile. Sucked in his breath in a long, long hiss.

She had to talk sense into him. Into herself. She splayed her hands against his chest and pushed. “Jack—”

He growled. Why must she have this stupid effect on men?

“Jack, there’s no time,” she heard herself saying, but heat flashed through her groin, and she didn’t try to stop him when he peeled the T-shirt up to expose her breasts. She really did have great underwear, but Jack’s dark gaze was intent not on the lush rose satin but what it concealed. Desire fueled desire; a torrent of heat flooded her belly. Her lips ached for his kisses, her fangs for the rich taste of his blood. In a gesture made automatic through years of pleasuring Lou, she cupped her breasts like an offering.

Jack growled again: appreciation, anticipation, haste. He pulled her T-shirt over her head, snapped her bra open, and let it fall, consuming her with his eyes.

What had gotten into her? She’d never be able to stop him now. With a sob, she gave up on controlling her fangs. She pried off her shoes. “We can’t do this now.”

“We can.” He rolled her sweatpants down, pulled off her socks. Licked his way up her belly and between her breasts. “And we will.”

“You don’t understand,” Rose whimpered. “There’s no time.”

“That’s the way I want it.” He hooked his thumbs into her panties and pulled her against him, skin to hot, wet skin. He tugged on the thin elastic waistband, pulled the panties up hard against her crotch, and slid the fabric back and forth across the quivering flesh from her clit to her ass. Rose moaned.

“I like it hot.” Jack breathed in her ear, and his tongue flicked in and out. He pushed her against the Italian tiles and licked a trail down her neck to her throat. “And hard.” He ripped the narrow elastic and let her underwear fall. “And fast.”

Okay,
Rose thought,
fast is good, and then I can talk sense into him.
She reached for his penis.

“Not that fast.” Jack took her breasts one after the other, a hungry suckling and biting, pain and pleasure at war. Rose dug her nails into his shoulders, and each time he raised his head to kiss and lick, she thrust her breasts once again, turn by turn, into his mouth, between his teeth, need and exquisite pleasure overwhelming the pain.

One hard hand ravished her hair while the other possessed her hip, then her belly, its weight sending a brief, heavy glory though her mound before he delved between her legs. Fingers, urgent and sure, slipped into her and out, in and out, spreading the slickness of her arousal up and around, lavishing it this side and that, torturing her into quivers of delight. He dipped inside her again and lingered on her clit, trailed up her belly. He freed her breast and tongued his own fingers, then ran them across her lips and came down for a harsh, demanding kiss.

Rose gripped his hair and responded with so much passion it hurt.
Oh damn,
she thought,
this is not what I wanted, not at all
—

He ended the kiss, and for a terrifying second their gazes locked. Rose groaned again and closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear it: the pleasure, the wanting, the pain, the peril!
Finish this. Get it done.

She raised a leg, locked in onto his hip, arched toward him. He gripped her ass and lifted her, and the tip of his penis nudged her opening…and stopped.

“Come
on!”
She reached for him again, but he shifted away from her seeking hand. “Hurry up!” she cried, grabbing his ass, pulling him to meet her.

His every muscle was rigid. What the hell was going on here? In anyone else, it would look like teasing, it would be fun, but—

She opened her eyes again. Jack’s were shut tight, his teeth clenched, his face a battleground of agony.

“Forget it,” Rose said furiously. “This wasn’t my idea.”

Jack pinned her to the wall and plunged inside her.

She cried out as he filled her, filled her full, filled her tight. She squeezed and savored that blessed fullness, wrapping her legs around him.
Hard,
he’d said. Hot. Fast. If he hated her afterward, hated himself, it didn’t matter. If she hated herself, that didn’t matter, either. She dug her nails into his back and thrust again and again, making every contraction, every movement count. He shuddered, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her ass, love and hate twisted together, hate and love. Stroke for stroke, they met one another and withdrew, fierce and frenzied, over and over again.

Her fangs ached as the pressure rose.
Time to bring him.
Rose sank one hand into his hair and tugged his head back. “Now,” she breathed. She opened her eyes again.

Jack gasped and arched his neck for her, eyes shut, lifeblood open to her in abandon, and she almost died of sorrow
and love. She sank her fangs into him, drinking his pleasure and his blood, and came hard, and hot, and fast, and Jack exploded inside her.

Jack set Rose gently onto her feet. The aroma of sex unfurled between them. He inhaled deeply, unable to suppress a murmur of utter satisfaction. Rose’s eyes were closed, a tiny smile quivering on her mouth.

He shouldn’t look at her, and yet he couldn’t help feasting on her flushed cheeks, on her parted lips with the tips of her fangs still showing. He pulled her under the shower. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done.

He wanted to do it again. Do
her
again. He cupped the soft swells of her buttocks, teased her waist, let kisses fall on her throat. His prick stirred; he’d be ready again before long. Please, just once more before he started thinking.

“Jack!” Rose opened her eyes and stood away. “Thank you, that was great, I really needed it, but you have to go.
Now.”

Well, what had he expected? She didn’t really want him. Didn’t even like him, for that matter. She’d fucked him because he was naked and aroused. She’d needed sex and he’d delivered. He’d gone into the shower thinking about her, and when his fantasy had charged into the bathroom in solid, delectable flesh, he’d lost his wits.

He blew out a breath. “What’s going on?”

She pulled him out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “Biff works for Constantine. I heard him talking to Violet. He’s in big trouble because he messed up yesterday. Constantine’s furious at him, and Biff sounded terrified. Violet’s probably told him about you by now, told him where you live, and he’ll be here any second.” She dragged her fingers through her hair, tugging at the tangles. “I can’t believe I forgot even for a second, but sex does that to me if it’s really good. It’s like I temporarily lose my mind.”

It was that good?

“I let the air out of one of Biff’s tires, but it won’t take him long to put on the spare. You’ve got to get out of here right now.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jack said. Rose’s breasts heaved as she spoke and jiggled as she moved.

“Stop staring at my boobs, you idiot!” She wrapped the towel around herself. As if he really were an idiot, not just an infatuated, lust-intoxicated, screwed-up male animal, she said, “Biff. Is. Coming.” She paused and drew breath to holler, “To kill you!”

“I don’t think so.” Jack hoped he sounded soothing. “But even if he is, he won’t find me now that I’ve been warned.”

Rose stared. “You’ll make yourself disappear. How convenient. I’m the one who should leave, then. I’m putting you in danger.” She stomped into the living room and bent to unzip her suitcase.

Jack didn’t even try to avert his eyes. He licked his lips. Already he was hardening again.

Rose extracted clothes from the suitcase. She threw him her towel and a look of disgust. “I can’t believe I ran all the way over here to warn such a dumbass. I’m going back to Violet’s, where people pay attention to what I say. You’ll be much safer when I’m gone.”

Jack got a hold of himself, sort of. He wrapped the towel around his waist. “Before you go, we need to talk.”

Rose zipped the suitcase and picked up her clothes. Her ass quivered as she walked to the bedroom. So did her voice. “I’ve said what I came here for.”

Jack followed. She tried to shut the door in his face, but he got in the way. “Rose, this is a lousy moment for a temper tantrum.”

Rose swiveled to face him. “This is not a tantrum!” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you have any idea how scared I was the whole way over here? How scared I still am? And yet
you act as if it’s nothing that they might shoot you again.” She turned away, stifling a small, forlorn sob.

Oh, hell. “Rose, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot and an inconsiderate jerk, anything you like, but please listen to me.”

“No, damn it, you listen to me!” Rose stumbled as she yanked her underpants on. They were much more tasteful than the stuff sold in Blood and Velvet, but he preferred her without them. “I’m not going through this again. If you want to die, fine, but I’m not going to wait here for them to come and kill you.”

“They won’t come to kill me.”
Don’t put on that bra.

“That’s what Lou always said.” She fastened the bra, but that didn’t take his mind off her breasts. It merely gave him the opportunity to anticipate taking it off again. Rose shook out her sweatpants. “He said nobody would have the guts, but they did.”

“Lou,” Jack repeated, temporarily at a loss. “Your mobster boyfriend?”

“Yes.” She pulled on the sweatpants.

“You loved him?”

Rose gave him a bleak look. “I was with him for over six years. I cared about him.”

“Were you in love with him?” What a dumb question.

Apparently Rose thought so, too. “He was old enough to be my father. He was a criminal who killed people without batting an eye. But he took care of me, and we had some good times together.” She turned away. “I don’t know anything about love. Where’s my shirt?”