How to Discipline Your Vampire(82)

            I didn’t know how people drank this stuff. It tasted like paint thinner.

            I took another sip of Scotch, and then my eyes caught sight of her.

            God, she was stunning.

            Cerise was wearing Harvey’s black minidress—emphasis on the mini—and a pair of strappy sandals that crisscrossed up her shapely legs. Her long blond hair rippled down her back in cascading curls with a shock of red here and there, and her face was adorned with the tiniest bit of blush and mascara, although she didn’t need a drop of it.

            She was a vision.

            And the most difficult thing about my situation was that I couldn’t let her know it immediately. I waited for her to speak to me.

            I checked my stocks again, and she leaned over to see what I was doing.

            “I have an insider tip, you know,” she said to me, and hailed the bartender.

            I looked over at her, and tried not to betray my feral attraction. “Oh yeah?”

            She nodded, and crossed her legs toward me. The body language, so far, was working in my favor. “Don’t order Scotch if you’re going to make that face when you drink it,” she joked, and ordered two sidecars.

            I drank the rest of the Scotch as a shot, and regretted how it would be sloshing, unused, in my stomach for hours. “In my business, if you don’t drink Scotch, you’re not invited into the boys’ club,” I explained. “I’m trying to get used to the taste, but it’s just not working for me.”

            She took a sip of the sidecar and smiled. “Taste this; it’s better.”

            I put the drink to my lips, and she watched in awe as I drank. She was probably wondering why I could drink something other than blood. I can drink alcohol; it just has no effect on me, so that must be why she’s gawking. Or she was so into the scene that she forgot I was a vampire and not a businessman.

            “Much improved,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m Will.”

            She shook my hand and said, “CeeCee.” I smirked at the different twist on Cerise.

            I took her hand and planted a soft kiss on her wrist. “Pleased to meet you,” I said smoothly.

            I heard her heartbeat increase and watched a small bead of sweat form just under her ear. “It’s mutual,” she purred.

            “I haven’t seen you here before,” she said, adjusting the hem of her dress and leaning closer to me. “Are you from Portsmouth?” Cerise ran her fingers through her curls idly, flirting.

            I took another excruciating sip of the drink, but this time pretended it was refreshing. “Chicago,” I answered. “I’m here on business. Staying at the Four Seasons for a conference.”

            She smirked, and I knew she was imagining going back and seeing what the suites there looked like. “Really? What sort of business are you in?” she asked, intrigued.

            Darn. I hadn’t got that far in my head. I just knew there were stocks involved. “Trade,” I answered vaguely, and tried to add on. “Mostly international. Imports and exports,” I clarified, albeit poorly.

            “Like Art Vandelay?” she asked with a laugh.

            I smiled. “A Seinfeld fan, eh?” I answered, somewhat embarrassed that she was making fun of my scene.

            “Absolutely,” she said. “So sad when it ended. Do you ever watch Curb Your Enthusiasm?” she asked, and I nodded vigorously.

            “It’s physically painful to watch,” I said truthfully. “I just hate seeing people embarrass themselves, and Larry David is the King of all Assholes.”