Donning a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, she had plunged into her usual weekend chores: dusting, vacuuming, changing the sheets on the bed. She cleaned the bathroom, did two loads of laundry, and was done by noon. A quick lunch, and the day stretched endlessly before her.
With hours to kill, she had gone shopping for something new to wear that night. Wanting to stand out from the crowd at the Den, she had bought a long silver sheath with a slit up the side her mother would have found scandalous, new underwear—just in case—and a pair of heels.
Back at home, she had showered, shaved her legs, washed her hair, and been ready to go by eight-thirty.
And now it was a quarter after ten, the club was crowded, and he still wasn’t there. Maybe he wasn’t coming. She had just decided to go home when something drew her gaze to the entrance. And he was there, striding toward her, oozing testosterone. He wore black slacks and a black silk shirt, open at the throat.
Warmth spread through her as she watched him draw closer. And then he was close enough to touch, his smile caressing her as he took her hands in his.
“Sorry I’m late.”
She shrugged. He was there now; that was all that mattered.
“You look very pretty this evening, shining like the sun at midnight.”
Cheeks flushing, she murmured, “Thank you.”
“Not playing the vampire tonight?” he mused, gesturing at her gown.
“No. Disappointed?”
“Not at all. There are enough fake fangs and black wigs in this place already.” He lifted a lock of her golden hair and let it slip through his fingers. “Don’t you know you’re prettier as God made you?”
He guided her to a booth in the back, slid in beside her, his thigh brushing hers, sending little frissons of anticipation rocketing through her. “So, will you tell me your name tonight?”
“If you tell me yours.”
“Derek.”
“Sheree.”
“A lovely name for a lovely lady. So, what are you in the mood for?”
You. She bit back the word, the heat in her cheeks growing warmer as her gaze met his. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t spoken out loud, that he couldn’t read her mind.
He lifted one brow, a mysterious glint in his eye. “Can’t decide?”
“I don’t know. I always order a Bloody Mary but I think I’d like to try something different tonight.”
“How about a Vampire’s Kiss?”
She stared at him. “A what?”
“A Vampire’s Kiss. It’s a French martini.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s good.”
She eyed him skeptically. “What’s in it?”
“Finlandia Vodka, Korbel Champagne, Chambord, and a bit of sugar tinted red for the rim of the glass.”
“What’s Chambord?”
“It’s a black raspberry liqueur. It gives the drink its dark color. For a more realistic look, some bartenders drizzle red syrup or grenadine on the inside edge of the glass so it looks like blood dripping.”
“Have you had it before?”
He nodded. “It’s an elegant drink. Really quite good. Are you game?”
She hesitated. Something in the way he said “game” conjured a quick mental image of a fawn being brought down by a hungry lion.
“Sheree?”
She realized the waitress had arrived and was waiting for their order. “I think I’ll just have a glass of chardonnay.”
Derek smiled at the waitress. “Make it two.” He leaned back, his arm resting on the top edge of the booth. “Not feeling daring tonight, after all?”
She laughed, suddenly self-conscious without knowing why. “I don’t think I want to drink anything that looks like blood.”
“Ah.”
Disliking the silence that fell between them, she said, “What do you do for a living?”
“I play the stock market from time to time.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Seems like a risky way to make a living. Especially these days.”
He shrugged. “I do all right. And I can afford to lose.”
“Oh?”
Leaning forward, he whispered, “My parents are very rich.”
Lowering her voice, she murmured, “So are mine.”
He wasn’t surprised. Everything about her screamed money, from her shoes to her handbag. “You don’t work, then?”
“I used to. I was laid off three weeks ago. You don’t know anyone who wants to hire someone with absolutely no skills, do you?”
“Why do you need a job?”
“A girl has to do something with her time. The only thing is, I’m not really qualified for anything.”
“No?”