Not-Ianto smiles, and his Midwestern-blah accent turns into a sexy Scottish burr that makes my girly parts want to play his bagpipe. “He dinnae tell, me bonnie lass. Not his fault I grew up in that part o’ the world.” His smile fades, as does his accent, and his voice returns to a whisper. “My sister-in-law’s name was Eilidh. It means ‘sun’ or ‘radiant one,’ depending who you ask.”
Dammit. That figures.
“Take the rest of the night off, if you wish,” Lucius tells me. “Paid.”
Dexter gently catches my hand before I can pull back, folds the five hundreds in half, and presses the wad into my palm, closing my fingers around them. “I still want you to have this.”
I struggle against a wave of anger. “I’m not a whore,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t say you were. All I wish to do is talk with you—thatwas the bet. I expect nothing more. But I can afford to be a gracious winner. Please?”
“Dexter is annoyingly chivalrous,” Lucius volunteers. “His word is good.” He drops his voice and addresses Dexter. “Do noteverspeak her real name under this roof again without her permission.”
I don’t understand why Dexter’s light blue eyes seem to affect me in a way no other vampire ever has. “Understood.” I don’t even mean he’s compelling me. I mean…
They’re just gorgeous. He’s a gorgeous man. Not the fake kind of pretty man, like so many of the vamps. Real-world pretty, like he’s not so far removed from the human race that he can’t remember what it was like to be one.
There’s a tiny yet noisy part of my soul begging me to let Dexter bend me over a spanking bench and have his way with me.
The rest of me quickly locks that part in a mental closet. I don’t care how hunky he is or how chivalrous. He’s avampire. I don’t shit where I eat. Or, in this case, I don’t let them eat where I eat, so to speak.
I need to stand strong.
Don’t I?
Besides, if hedidknow more about me, he’d likely run the other way. And I can’t afford to lose my heart to a hunky guy who isn’t interested in anything other than taking a few pints out of me and taking my pants off me while sticking his D into me.
Returning the tray to its place, I tuck the bills into my sports bra with the other hundred I earned earlier. Okay, so I made six hundred tonight, cash, on top of other tips and my pay. That’s not a bad night at all. It means I can finally get new tires put on my SUV, which I’ve been putting off.
And all I have to do is talk to Not-Ianto?
I am nothing if not a realist. It’s worth it, I suppose.
Even if that locked-away part of me is pounding on the closet door and begging me to give Dexter a chance.
I tell Carl, the other bartender, that Lucius needs me downstairs. That means Carl won’t feel irritated that I’m bailing. Whatever Lucius wants, he gets. I feel Dexter’s gaze heavy upon me as I walk all the way down and around the far end of the bar. I suspect if I tried to bolt for it that he would blur and appear right in front of me.
It’s not worth embarrassing myself or Lucius like that. I’ll be a gracious loser, even if I’ve never lost the name tag game before.
I walk over to where Dexter stands, waiting.
Dexter Van Sussex is handsome, yes.
The fact that I keep expecting Captain Jack Harkness to pop out of a nearby doorway and lay a sexy-ass kiss on his mouth doesn’t hurt, either.
He offers his arm, and I take it. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that he so easily beat me at my own game and doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested in capitalizing on the bet the way any other vampire probably would.
Just wants to talk and not pop me open like a walking juice box? That’s a true first. Every other vampire who’s ever played the game wanted to get me downstairs to spank my ass and then feed on me.
Dexter also doesn’t seem unnerved by me, despite realizing that he cannot control me the way vampires can control other humans and even weaker shifters.
I sense he’s very old. Maybe not quite as old as Lucius, but at least as powerful. That’s reinforced when every other vampire besides Lucius and Selene act differential toward him, tipping their heads to him as we pass.
My nipples tighten as my arm curls around his. I feel cool, firm muscles beneath the fabric of his blazer and shirt. He’s around six-three, maybe two hundred and fifty pounds, and broad-shouldered.
What thehellhave I gotten myself into?
And what harm would it be to let him—
