Archangel's Shadows(79)
“Yes, she can be ugly.” A shrug. “But she only ever has one donor at a time and treats each well. How long did the boy say he’d been with her?”
“A year—implied.”
“So, she’s unlikely to be the one we search for, but I’ll do a little digging, see if her tastes have altered.”
“Why do immortals fixate on sex and pain? It’s sad they don’t seem to see everything else life has to offer.”
“My darling Ashblade, your view is skewed. You see the Made who patronize such places because that is where your work takes you.”
“Vamps in suburbia?”
“Complete with minivans and white picket fences.”
“Flynn,” she said, putting the conversation back on track, “thought our victim may have gone to Hinge at some stage in the past.”
“Adele, who keeps an eye on everything in her establishment, is certain the girl wasn’t a regular, so Hinge it is.”
“You seem friendly with her,” Ashwini said before she could stop herself. Turned out that while naïve Marie May hadn’t set off her jealousy, the gorgeous, experienced Adele had turned the dial to blazing red.
“I am. She is a lush and sensual creature, Adele,” Janvier said, his lips curving as if he spoke from personal, intimate experience.
“If you go for overblown and obvious.” God, she needed to staple her mouth shut.
Open delight in his expression. “I’ve told you, I go for the unique and the dangerous.”
Realizing he’d been provoking her on purpose, she elbowed him.
He touched his fingers to her nape, curled his hand gently around it when she didn’t push him away. “Your body was thrumming with the music the entire time we were in the club. Shall we dance tonight?”
“Let’s see what we discover first.” Dancing with Janvier wouldn’t be like dancing by herself or with any other man. Dancing with Janvier would be a prelude to sex. He’d touch and stroke, whisper things in her ear as he flirted with his body and his mind both. With her resolve already on increasingly shaky ground, Ashwini had no confidence in her ability to withstand him.
He linked his fingers to her own. Stubborn Cajun. This time, however, she didn’t shake him off. When he shot her a smirking grin, she gave him a dark look. “Don’t get too full of yourself.”
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the contact lips to skin since she’d forgotten her gloves tonight. “Did you dance as a child?” At her nod, he said, “What kind of a dancer were you?”
“Ballet.”
He halted on the road. “Dit mon la verite’!”
She gave in to her laugh, he looked so comically stunned. “It is the truth. My mother took me to my first class when I was three. I think it was meant to give me an extracurricular activity to put on college applications later on, but I adored it.”
Janvier shook his head, dislodging several errant flakes of snow that had fallen from the sky. “I cannot imagine you as a tiny sprite in a tutu, but as a long-legged ballerina, yes.”
“I fully intended to become a professional dancer.” Soaring through the air, free and unchained. “But . . .” She shrugged.
His eyes turned solemn. “A professional ballerina cannot always dance alone and must often be in close contact with her partner.”