Dead End Dating (29 page)

I knew the feeling. My own stomach had staged a rebellion a half hour ago during a conversation with the chairwoman for tonight’s event. Needless to say, she’d sent security out to check the gardens for party crashers playing loud music.

“Since we’re stuck with the shirt, would you mind getting back in line and getting me something to drink?”

He turned and stared at the line of guests that wound around the edge of the dance floor.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m this close to passing out, which means if I bite the dust, you’ll actually have to talk to someone besides me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

I spent the next few minutes drinking in my surroundings as best I could in between blinks.

I have to admit, we vamps knew how to do it up right. While my own musical tastes leaned toward Outkast and Nelly, I had to admit that the lavish orchestra could belt out a mean tango. The dance floor overflowed with designer dresses and pricey suits. White linen-covered tables had been situated throughout the large room. Large gold candelabra surrounded by a ring of fresh red roses adorned the center of each table. Silver fountains flowed with everything from imported champagne to AB negative. The smell of expensive perfume, lots of money, and rich, succulent blood lent a seductive feel to the air.

I scoped out my couples and noted that while only two were dancing, the others looked to be having a decent time. One pair sat at a nearby table, their heads bent toward each other in conversation. Another stood in the buffet line. Yet another stood on the edge of the dance floor and watched Jeff dip Mrs. Wilhelm in a very polished move that had half the room applauding. Bottom line, no one had ripped anyone to shreds.

Even better, I’d yet to run into my mother for longer than thirty seconds. She’d been in charge of checking invitations at the door. She’d given Francis the once-over and me a tight-lipped “Interesting dress, dear.” Which, in mother terms, meant
You should have worn something else.

I hadn’t seen or heard from her since.

Yeah, baby.

“Wilson is here.” The statement followed a tap on the back. I turned to see Nina Two looking very nervous.

And hot.

She’d taken my advice, ditched the conservative image, and worn a bright red dress cut up to here and down to there. It hugged curves I’d never even realized existed. She’d pulled her hair up with a ruby-encrusted comb. A matching choker hugged her slender neck and caught flickers of candlelight when she moved.

“He’s
here,
” she said again.

“You told me to fix him up.”

“But not
here.
Not on the same night that I’m being fixed up.”

“How goes it with your date?” I stared past her to the well-dressed man standing near one of the champagne fountains. He was tall, dark, and totally handsome. I’d met him at one of the health clubs. He was a born vamp who did his best thinking while on the treadmill. He raised his glass to us before taking a sip.

“He’s nice. I guess. It’s so loud in here that we really haven’t had a chance to talk. Not that we would have much to talk about.”

“He’s a tax lawyer and you’re an accountant. What isn’t there to talk about?”

“He does corporate tax.”

“Your father owns a corporation that you keep the financial records for. Smacks of good conversation to me.”

“He doesn’t like opera.” Before I could say
good for him,
she added, “And he isn’t much for personal investing. He thinks the market is too unstable right now.”

In other words, he wasn’t Wilson aka the vampire whom she insisted she didn’t like.

I shifted my attention to Mr. Harvey, who stood several yards away near the bar, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, his gaze hooked on the tax lawyer rather than the attractive redhead at his side.

Ayala Jacqueline Devanti. She was the daughter of one of my mother’s friends and the perfect female vampire. Beautiful. Educated. Orgasm quotient that rivaled even mine (not high enough to qualify her as the record holder, but enough to make her one sought-after vamp). And she desperately wanted to settle down and contribute to the vampire race.

Wilson looked more jealous than interested.

I smiled. “Forget opera. And investing. Go back over there and ask him to dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Even better. Ask him to teach you.” When she looked doubtful, I patted her arm. “You don’t need Wilson. What you need is to have a good time and show him you don’t need him.”

She stared at me a long moment before realization seemed to strike. “You think?”

“I know. Now
go.
And make it good.” I watched Nina Two march back to her date; all the while Wilson watched her.

“Hey.” Francis came up beside me, his hands overflowing with two crystal glasses filled with rich red liquid. “What’s up?”

I glanced at a second gunky splotch on his shirt. “Besides your credit card bill?” He frowned, and my smile widened. “Not much.” I turned toward the dance floor and watched the tax lawyer pull Nina close before sparing a glance at Wilson. His mouth pulled into a tight frown, and his gaze narrowed. “Yet.”

“Uh-oh,” Francis said. “I think we’re in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. He certainly looks ready to explode, but it’s just because he’s coming to terms with his feelings. Once he accepts that he wants her and she’s his, he’ll step in and tell her. The tax lawyer doesn’t have enough invested in the relationship to challenge Wilson, so he’ll bow out.” I eyed Wilson. “A few more minutes and he’ll make his move.”

“He looks ready to move now.”

“That just goes to show why I’m the matchmaker and you’re a client. You have to be able to read people. To decipher each expression, each gesture. Everything means something.”

“What about a stake? What do you think that means?”

“What are you talking about…” The question faded as I turned and followed his gaze to the entrance.

A male werewolf stood framed in the doorway. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and rich brown eyes. He wore a navy Brooks Brothers suit and looked like any other successful, style-conscious wolf carrying a wooden stake—

Uh-oh.

The sentiment echoed throughout the ballroom as everyone seemed to notice him. The band stopped and people turned and silence suddenly hovered in the air.

“Ayala,” he cried. “What the hell are you doing with this guy?” Before she could respond, he shook his head. “This can’t be happening. You’re mine.
Mine.
”

“I am not, James. I’ve already told you that. You and I—it can’t work. You
know
that.”

“Like hell. We’re good together.”

“We’re good at sex. That’s our only connection.”

“It’s more than that.”

She looked at him with the same pity and tolerance that I’d seen vampires bestow on humans time and time again. “No, it isn’t.”

“Because of him.” His frown deepened.

“Because of you. You’re a
werewolf,
” she told him. “It was fun. But that’s all it was. You shouldn’t have taken it so personally.”

But he had.

I could see it in his eyes. The total disregard for his own safety (he would be torn into tiny little pieces if he even attempted to hurt a born vampire). The pain and anguish. The undying, ’til-death-us-do-part love.

Okay, so maybe I was reading more into it. Maybe it was more like crazed lust seasoned with just an itty-bitty dash of undying love. Regardless, he felt something powerful for the beautiful Ayala, despite the vamp society’s rules against it, and I couldn’t help but feel for him.

“It’s his fault,” the angry werewolf repeated, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “
Him.
”

As soon as he spoke the word, his eyes fired a bright red. His lips drew back, and he flashed a mouth full of sharp teeth. He lunged forward, the stake aimed straight for Wilson’s heart.

“Wait!” I moved before I could do the math (stake plus angry werewolf equals stay the hell out of it). I stepped in front of Wilson just as the stake came straight at him.

Pain slashed into my shoulder and gripped my entire body. My vision blurred. My pulse pounded in my ears and nearly drowned out the shouts that broke out around me.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion for the next few moments as my knees gave and the floor came up to meet me. A loud
rrripppp!
echoed in my head, and I felt a rush of cool air against my bare skin. I had the fleeting thought that my mother had been right. I
should
have worn something different.

And then everything went black.

“L
illiana?”

The name pushed past the black fog that held me captive.

“Can you hear me? Open your eyes, dear. It’s
Maman.
”

Maman.

Suddenly I found myself pulled back in time. I was eight years old again. My mother was waking me for my lessons with Jacques. My life was simple. It was all about conjugating verbs and playing dolls with The Ninas. No worry. No hassle. No electricity bill.

“The minute I saw her wearing that shrink-wrap for a dress, I knew something bad was going to happen.”

My eyes snapped open. End of illusion.

“There you are,” my mother declared.

She hovered over me and three important things registered. One, I was lying flat on my back on one of the ballroom tables, and two, I was wearing the table cloth. And three, I was wearing the
tablecloth.

The linen had been draped over me, the edges tucked up under my arms. My feet, still clad in the gold Michael Kors, dangled over the edge. My toenails glittered a hot pink in the candlelight.

“W-what happened?”

My mother frowned the same way she’d done so long ago whenever I spilled something on my new petticoats. “You nearly died, that’s what. What is wrong with you? You don’t just run into the pointy end of a stake.”

The incident rushed at me, and I remembered Wilson. And the werewolf. And the stake…

Ohmigod. I got
staked
!

I stared at the folded towel that covered my shoulder. Blood had seeped through, turning the fabric a bright red. My stomach flipped and my hands trembled.

“I…” I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to. But I did have to swallow past a lump the size of Texas.

“You’re a very lucky young lady,” my father told me. He peered down at me, his face a black mask of anger and concern. “A few inches to the right and you would have been a goner.”

I fought for my voice, my tongue heavy. I had to know the worst of it. “My dress?” I managed to croak.

“It split clear up the side and ripped right off when you hit the floor.”

Okay, now I really couldn’t breathe. Forget being naked in front of an entire ballroom full of vamps. We’re talking
Christian Dior.

I struggled to absorb the news for several long seconds as a dozen other questions raced through my mind.

“What about the werewolf?”

“Your brothers escorted him out.”

I’ll just bet they did.

I had the vague memory of Max jumping in front of me and Jack pulling the stake from my shoulder. Rob was in there somewhere, along with Francis.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. OH, NO!”

His voice replayed in my head and I blinked frantically to clear my watery eyes.

“Francis?”

“Your escort?” My father stared toward the left and I followed his gaze to Francis, who sat in the corner surrounded by a half-dozen female vampires. “Your mother and I weren’t so pleased when we first met him—his coloring is a bit off—but he turned out to be one fine strapping young man.” One sleeve of his new Gucci shirt had been ripped clear off, and the rest of the material was in shreds. His arm was scratched and his hair mussed, and he looked about as sexy as I’d ever seen him. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“What did you say he did for a living?”

“He’s in real estate.”

“As in broker?”

“As in France. He owns most of it. He’s Francoise Deville. Of
the
Devilles.”

Both my mother and father smiled.

I struggled to sit up. Pain stabbed at me, and I fought down a wave of nausea.

“Take it easy.” My father reached out and helped me into an upright position while I held the damp towel in place.

I glanced around. The ballroom was a pitiful sight. The band had stopped playing, the instruments abandoned in the face of danger. Tables were overturned. Chairs lay in bits and pieces here and there. The remaining guests clustered in groups and whispered to themselves. The fountains had been overturned. Waiters rushed here and there, picking up debris and cleaning what was left of the lavish room.

My gaze caught and snagged on Wilson and Nina Two. There wasn’t a sign of Ayala or the tax lawyer. It was just the two of them amid the chaos that remained of the room. He lay on the floor, and she knelt beside him. She cradled his head on her lap and smoothed a hand over his forehead.

“Fifty years and the annual soiree has always gone off just beautifully. Until tonight.” My mother shook her head. “I told you this dating business was a huge mistake. I told her,” my mother told my father before turning back to me. “I hope you know that you’re responsible for this, Lilliana. You and that ridiculous business of yours.”