Fangs for Nothing(38)

Lizette grabbed his phone and stared closer. Then the phone tumbled out of her hand down onto the sidewalk. “That isn’t me. That can’t be me. I would never . . . I couldn’t . . . it’s not possible . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes glazed, her free hand fluttered aimlessly over her chest.

After rescuing his phone and making sure it still worked despite the screen kissing the concrete, he eyeballed her, a little worried at her tone. “Do you need to stick your head between your legs or something?”

“Excuse me? How dare you!”

Maybe that didn’t sound right. “I don’t want you fainting!”

But Lizette was tugging at their attached wrists. “I want this thing off of me right now! I want away from you. I want to leave this street, this city, and go back to Paris.”

People were stopping to stare at them. Johnny gave the observers a casual smile. “She’s drunk,” he told them.

“I am not drunk!” She whacked his arm with her giant purse.

“Look, we’re home,” he told her, pointing to the door that led up to Saxon’s second-floor apartment. “Maybe we can talk about this inside. You know, away from total strangers.”

“As if it matters! After last night, apparently there is nothing left to hide!”

Yeah, she was flipping her wig. Johnny debated calling Stella or Dieter for backup, but Stella was busy with Zelda and he hated Dieter, purely on principle. He was on his own. “Lizette, obviously nothing bad happened last night, because we’re still here. No one is in jail or in a science lab, so let’s just go inside and keep it that way, okay?”

“Oh, now you are so reasonable?”

She was fairly quivering with indignation, and she was so tiny and cute that Johnny couldn’t help himself. He bent over and kissed the tip of her petite nose. “Yes. I’m being reasonable, so we should probably make note of this. It doesn’t happen all that often.”

His kiss rendered her speechless. She blinked up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, anger deflated. She murmured something in French.

“I know,” he told her soothingly. At some point he probably needed to confess that he didn’t speak French, but so far, it didn’t seem to matter. The extent of their conversations was about how he was screwing up and her fears of exposure. All he really needed to do was agree.

The nosy partiers had lost interest and had kept walking, so he took her hand, the one attached to his, and held it like they were teen lovers. It felt oddly comforting, and made the handcuffs irrelevant. He held open the door for her and led her into the courtyard. Up some groaning wooden steps and they were at Saxon’s front door. His apartment was essentially just a long narrow room, originally slaves’ quarters to the town house facing Dumaine. It was perfect for a vampire who didn’t want a lot of natural light, but it was too small for Johnny. He felt claustrophobic inside it, and the feeling immediately came over him as he pushed open the door.

“It isn’t locked?”

“Nah. Saxon doesn’t have much to steal and he could defend himself. He may look like a twelve-year-old girl, but he is an immortal.”

“That’s true.” Lizette looked around. “Well, obviously he is not here.”

“Yeah.” Johnny frowned at the empty room. “I am starting to get a little worried. I mean, I could see him coming back here to sleep or get some stuff, but where else would he be on his own wedding night? Everyone wants booty on their wedding night.”

“I think everyone got booty but him.”

Johnny laughed. “It was definitely a wedding to remember. Except no one remembers it.” He went over to Saxon’s tiny fridge. “Want a drink?” There was blood in there, and suddenly Johnny just wanted a drink and a cigarette. But he had quit smoking, so he would have to settle for a glass of red.

“I think perhaps that would be wise.” Then Lizette surprised him by opening her purse and pulling out the wad of cash. “I suppose we should split this, yes? I believe you earned it.”

Johnny grinned, but as he poured them both a drink into jelly jars from Saxon’s cupboard, he wondered if her thoughts were taking the same turn his were—straight back to the image of him biting her neck and drawing her blood into his mouth.

He wanted to bite her again. Now.

“Don’t even think about it,” she told him, proving that not only was she adorable, she could read minds as well.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.





         Chapter Eight

THE RAGIN’ CAJUN

“YOU know, you’d think she’d have something basic I could wear. Sweatpants. Plain old jeans. Hell, a plain pair of black leather pants.”