Phoenix Fallen (4 page)

No.

Fuck that.

First her voice lured him in off the street, now she was going to tighten the strings with blood? Nope.

He needed to stay away from her. Jules raised his head, staring into his own eyes in the cabinet mirror.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

He shook his head at his own stupidity, but he knew himself too well to try and fight it. Her voice was the only damn thing that settled him since he'd come back from Paris. The only thing that gave him any measure of peace.

Without it, he was afraid he would go from this slow, downward spiral to an out-of-control slide.

He gripped the edge of the cabinet, looking down at the familiar strength of his own big hands and feeling so absurdly weak it made him sick.

He hated this feeling, he hated this life that wasn't a life at all. More than ever, he wished he'd obeyed that demented voice back in Louisiana, the one that still called to him every night from his dreams.

That merry laugh that had followed him as he ran through the swamp, dancing through the ringing screams of his family dying.

"We're all having such a good, ol' time here. Don't ya wanna come in out of the dark, boy? Come on!

"Olly olly oxen free!"

Sunday night Rissa felt Jules enter the club before she saw him. His presence tickled like a warm breath behind her ear. She turned and there he was. The suit was gray tonight. The tie the same red as her hair. She smiled. Rissa was sure he had no idea he kept matching his attire to her colors, but however unconsciously, it pleased her. Her damn vanity was showing again.

He may act all hands-off, but Jules wasn't entirely immune to her charms. She looked at him, remembering that kiss in the woods with a shiver.

Rissa worked through the set, having fun with the crowd. Anticipating Jules' arrival she'd had Benny put two Lady Day songs on their playlist for the night and her encore was a rendition of
Don't Explain
that had him smiling at her in grudging admiration when she took her bows to heavy applause.

On her way to Jules' table to say hello, a man cut her off. Tall and blond, he guided her to the bar while she shot Jules an apologetic look over one shoulder.

The man's name was George Lunden. He made a point of telling her so, about ten times. He was an A&R rep and he
loved
her sound. She was
amazing.

Georgie was effusive and annoying as hell, throwing around talk of studio time and a sweet record deal. Rissa bounced from one heel to the other, finally flashing a bit of fang at him in an attempt to shut him up and make her retreat.

It didn't work, he only paused for breath and continued with an even bigger smile. Then Jules tapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't think the lady is interested, mister."

"Well, listen here—" Georgie turned and almost swallowed his tongue. His head craned way, way back as Jules slowly folded his arms over his formidable chest. Rissa heard Georgie's gulp and suppressed a giggle.

Jules nodded at the door encouragingly and off the man went without another word. Rissa laughed as she signaled Len for her usual whisky.

"Does that always work?"

"Always." Jules unfolded his arms and leaned against the bar, the menace slipping from him like a discarded glove.

"Oh, come on. Somebody has surely had the balls to stand up to you once or twice."

He waved a hand as he slid onto the bar stool next to her. "It's been so long, I forget."

"Ha. You're full of it, Jules Gentry."

"Not as full of it as he was. But if you prefer his company to mine…"

"Don't you dare!" Rissa put a hand on his shoulder as he pretended to get up, the play of heavy muscles under soft wool making her inhale softly.

For a second she wished the fabric between them away, imagining the heat of his skin against hers, the way his body would look if she stripped him down. All dark, chiseled perfection.

Her fingers tightened on him and in a haze she lifted her chin to see Jules watching her.

His rich brown eyes, which had been dancing, had gone still. She took a breath and turned away, reaching for her drink. Cursing the desire licking its way between her thighs, hot and slow. What the hell was wrong with her? He must think she was no better than a damn cat in heat.

Jules settled back in his seat and reached for his drink. She didn't notice the faint tremor in his hand.

“He was right, by the way. But then, you sound amazing every night.”

Rissa gave him a bemused smile, trying to clear her head. “Was that a compliment, Mr. Gentry?”

He tossed back the rest of his Hennessey. “No. You get enough compliments. That was a simple fact. Where’d you learn to sing like that, anyway?”

She contemplated the empty glass between her fingers, twirling it absently.

“In New Orleans, I guess I used to watch the cab singers. You know, when I was still 'alive'. I used to imitate them all in my bedroom, singing into my hairbrush." She laughed lightly at the memories. "I loved them all, but I never dreamed it would
ever
be me up there."

"Then in the late 80s, with all that was going on at the time, I went through a bit of a wake-up call,” her stomach twisted remembering when she'd left Daimen, "…and I figured, what the hell?

"I started on casino riverboats as a backup singer. It was fun. I got braver. When I was offered my first headliner, I jumped on it. And here I am.” She waved an airy hand round the crowded lounge.

“So…
New Orleans.
I was right. I knew you sounded like home.” Jules sounded odd, somewhere between melancholy and wistful.

“You’re from there?” She looked around, surprised. He didn’t have even the hint of an accent.

He smiled at her.

“Wot yah mean,
cher?
" His pronunciation of the old familiar word was perfect; the
sh
at the beginning and almost dropping the
r
entirely. "Yah all aught to clean out them ears of yourn, canna yah hear the swamp in my sugar?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a little over the top."

“Not really.”

“I
don’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Jules agreed, his dark eyes soft on her face. “You’re no Cajun swamp brat. You sound like silk and magnolias.”

Flustered, she wrinkled her nose at him and turned to wave the bartender over. What the hell? Was he
flirting
now? The man didn’t seem to know his own mind when it came to her. Not that she was any better, except that she was damn sure she wanted him in her bed.

“How’d you lose the accent?”

“The Cleaners took care of that. It was part of induction process.” His eyes drifted over her head, though he didn’t seem uncomfortable.  “Strip us down; in every way, shape and form. That was their way. Only our power could stand out, nothing else unique was allowed.”

“They sound awful.”

“They were, but not too much worse than the Ninth Ward orphanage they took me from.
Jesus,
how’d we get on such a maudlin subject, Rissa? Let’s not talk about the past.”

“The future then?”

His lips twisted wryly. “Please no.”

“Alrighty then, so what do you want to talk about?”

He looked around, the house band had broken into a Lou Reed song.
Pale Blue Eyes.
He grinned into hers.

“Music. Music always works.”

"So, okay. I already know you like Billie and jazz. Is there any music you can't stand?"

Jules considered her question very seriously for a moment. "Folk music. Folk music
sucks."

Rissa leaned closer and crooned a few lines from
Where Have All the Flowers Gone
in his ear
.
Jules cringed, leaning away from her for a minute. "Even your voice won't make me like that shit, sweetheart."

She laughed and bumped her hip lightly into his. "Okay, no folk music, got it. What about Big K.R.I.T.?”

Jules stared at her from over his drink.

“Because I’m black, I gotta like rap?”

“I was being facetious, don’t get all butt hurt," she rolled her eyes. "Here’s an idea, let’s forget about talking. Let’s dance.”

She got to her feet, hands on hips. Rissa had decided on her velvet tonight; a simple, but lethal black number with a sweetheart neckline that slithered its way to just about mid-thigh. She'd noticed Jules' gaze fall to her legs more than once. Like now.

He'd never seen her expose so much skin before and it was obvious he was rather enjoying the view.

She smiled and reached out her hand.

“Dance?” Jules’ eyebrows drew together. “I was just messing with you. I love K.R.I.T. Sit your ass back down and talk.”

“Nope. Too late. Come on… or are you scared I’ll show you up?”

“
Jesus.
As if.” He finished his Hennessey and got up, towering over her. He was so big, it was a little scary. And a lot hot. The suit, like all his damn suits, was cut beautifully. She wanted to see him askew, just once. His tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned…

For a second Rissa could only stand there, looking up at him, wondering what it was about the man that pushed her buttons so.

She sure as hell hadn't figured it out by the time Jules reached for her, taking her outstretched hand in one of his, his other cupping her hip. His palm was heavy and cool through the velvet dress. Rissa couldn’t repress the quiver that went through her as he pulled her into him.

Jules’ eyes were hooded, she couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, or if he had felt her reaction to his touch. Or if he gave a damn either way. One second she was positive he wanted her just as bad as she wanted him, and the next she wasn't so sure.

He
rattled
her.

Then they slipped into the crowd and she forgot all about thinking. For somebody who had acted reluctant to hit the floor, the man sure as hell could dance. Their bodies flowed together effortlessly, following the music, following each other. Hips, thighs and hands moved as one, a magnetic pull between them that neither wanted to break. The current of sound drowning any other concerns. For now, it was only about this. Give, take, push and pull.

Back and forth, round and round, Lou Reeds replaced by Stevie Ray Vaughn and John Lee Hooker. The bluesy soulful rhythms bringing them together and apart, spinning and swirling in the low pulse of the yellow lights. She laughed up at him when he spun her dizzy at the end of
Boom Boom Boom.

He was laughing himself as he pulled her off the floor. The first time she had
really
heard him laugh.

"You are quite the dancer, Rissa."

"I am a multi-talented woman." She said dryly.

He turned to her after signaling the bartender. "I don't doubt that."

They were both slightly breathless, but Rissa lost her air entirely at the look in his eyes.

"You gonna kiss me again, Jules Gentry?"

He'd already reached out, the pads of his fingers stroking her face. "I've thought about it," he admitted, but at her words, he pulled back.

"You think way too much, big guy."

His hand dropped and he gave her a strange look. "You're probably right about that."

An awkward silence fell as soon as he stopped touching her. Then Rissa went and made it even more awkward.

"Have you been back to Spears?"

"No." He stared down at his drink, his gaze turning flinty.

She frowned. "Does that mean you haven't drank since Friday night?"

He lifted his head and took a deliberate swallow of Hennessey, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I am not talking about alcohol, Jules. Don't be an ass." The tension was rising between them, but she didn't know how to stop it. He was being ridiculous.

"I know damn well what you were talking about. And no, I haven't."

Her breath hissed out. "What the hell? Are you trying to kill yourself? Do you still have the card I gave you?"

"I have it." His hands tightened on the empty glass, but he didn't try to catch the bartender's eye for another.

"Then
use
it, for godsakes." The band started up again, music pulsing around them with the wail of Benny's horn. Her hand slipped over his forearm, squeezing through the material. "Jules—"

He yanked away from her.

"
Leave it.
I just came here for the music, goddamn it. Not for a lecture, not from you. I'm none of your fucking business, woman."

For a minute, neither of them said a word, his words vibrating in the air between them like a slap.

              "No. No, you're not." Her tone was cool, but he caught the flash of hurt in her eyes before she could hide it. Her touch slid from his arm.

Jesus.

"Damnit." He grabbed her, holding her firm as she tried to turn away. "Rissa, I'm sorry."

"Why?" Her suede-soft voice was unsteady now and he could have kicked himself. "It was a perfectly honest statement. Your welfare is
not
my business. But it should be someone's." Her gaze found his. "If not me, fine. But reach out to somebody, Jules. Please."

He looked at her for a moment, wanting to touch her face, to cup that jaw she had clenched so tightly, to sooth away the hurt he'd caused. But he couldn't.

She
was
a vampire. So what if she acted like she truly cared about what happened to him? It was probably just that. An act.

He dropped his hands.

Rissa stepped back, her lips trembling.

"Good night, Jules."

He watched her skirt flare around the flash of her silver heels as she whirled away, wishing her good night hadn't sounded quite so much like good-bye.

Jules closed his eyes, rubbing his temples wearily.

Either way he needed to step back from her, to get some space, a little air. Of course, there was the slight problem of her being the only person he seemed to be able to really breathe around anymore…