Sex and the Single Vamp (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Deacon was a Duke.

Cici stood next to him in the receiving line at the British Embassy, unable to form a sentence in any of the eight languages she spoke fluently.

Her hosts, Ambassador Gareth Richman and his wife, Serena, were currently fawning over Deacon as the people waiting behind them craned their necks to see what the hold-up was.

And he was quite a tantalizing roadblock.

He wore his custom-made tuxedo like a second skin, the silk fabric fitted perfectly to his large, muscular body like a jealous lover. His glossy black hair was loose, the rough tousled mane and his feral grin reminding everyone that while he might look like the gentleman, underneath there was a beast dying to get out and wreak havoc. She shivered, tingles cruising along her spine as she remembered just how good havoc could feel.

“Your Grace,” Serena Richman said with an indulgent smile. “If you had told us you were coming, we would have had you to supper beforehand.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I didn’t know I was coming until just today.” He reached out and wrapped an arm around Cici’s waist, drawing her close and casting a heated look down at her as he answered. “I didn’t know until early this morning actually.”

The heat rose in Cici’s cheeks and she knew the skin of her cheeks and across the tops of her breasts was turning pink; she was reacting viscerally to his suggestive reference. If the Richmans had any question about whose bed she was in last night, they now had no doubt.

“Oh.
Oh
!” Serena gushed, reaching out to pull Cici into a fierce hug. “Cici, I had no idea you and the Duke were…when did this happen? You’ve been holding out on me.” She pulled back, but maintained a firm hold on her arms as her face broke into an even more excited grin. “Oh my God! Are you two getting married? You would be a duchess!”

Whoa. Cici reeled back, only Deacon’s hold on her waist keeping her from toppling over on her three-inch platform shoes.

“Serena, you
know
Deacon isn’t a marrying type,” Gareth said, his expression apologetic.

“That’s just with humans. Cici’s a vampire, too. No problem,” Serena said.

“Umm…” Again her command of several languages failed her as she struggled with her response. One night in his bed had not changed Deacon in essentials, and he’d never uttered one word about a future. It was still the original deal: find the killer and then it was done.

She was a sap and grateful when Deacon took over the awkward turn of the conversation. Her mouth couldn’t be trusted.

“When I find my Duchess, you’ll be the first to know, Serena.” He leaned down to kiss the woman’s cheek and made their good-byes after agreeing to a night of poker with Gareth in the near future.

Cici let him lead her through the crowd and she shook off enough of the surreal haze her life had become to nod to people and exchange smiles and a few words. Some were clients and all were future clients. She was supposed to be at this party to network, an opportunity provided by Gareth and Serena, one of her earliest matchmaking successes. Were-shifter Gareth was crazy about his human wife and vice versa.

Deacon had spent a good portion of his afternoon hacking into the embassy computer and reviewing the security measures for the party while Andy checked the guest list. He’d compromised with her to allow Your Other Half to remain open, with Mya manning the office. She’d been even more surprised when he’d so readily agreed to her attending the event, but he explained she had to be out and accessible if they were going to draw her attacker out and provoke him into exposing himself.

She still wasn’t thrilled about being the bait, but if it brought this nightmare to an end, then she could endure it, especially with Deacon by her side.

“You know, most women would jump at the chance to be a duchess.” Deacon’s deep voice rumbled in her ear, his lips brushing the tender skin of the lobe.

“Well, I would have had to have
known
you were a Duke to try and trap you for a title.” She pulled back and gave him a pinch to his side. “Did it occur to you to clue me in before we got here?”

“Yes, it did, but I like to surprise you. Your reactions are priceless,” he said, completely unapologetic.

“I looked stupid back there.”

“You looked beautiful, sexy enough to make me want to drag you back to my place.”

Oh, she wanted that, too. She leaned into him, letting him brush her mouth with a kiss that ended on a sigh from her and a muttered curse from him.

He pulled her the few steps onto the dance floor and swirled her out before pulling her in against his chest. She laughed, the unexpected discovery that he had this talent making her a little giddy. He was just one big surprise tonight.

“I didn’t know you liked to dance,” she said.

“I don’t. It gives me an excuse to hold you close without getting disapproving looks. These people are so…British.” He moved them among other couples, deftly maneuvering them closer and closer to the wall of glass double doors that led to a balcony. The balcony doors were open to let in the cooler air of early fall. “And holding you close covers up my boner.”

She pinched him again, her fingers twisting his skin as well as the cool silk of his shirt.

“Ouch.” He tugged her even closer, his grip preventing any more assaults on her part. “It’s your fault for looking damn gorgeous. You blow my mind, and now that I know what’s underneath that dress…well, these pants aren’t made to conceal that kind of reaction.”

Cici shook her head, unsure what to say. She got back to their prior discussion. She’d heard bits and pieces in the past, but after so much time she wasn’t sure how much was true and how much she’d invented to fill in gaps. “So how did the whole duke thing happen?”

“I’m the second son of the eighth Duke of Northam and I came to America as a soldier to make my own fortune.” He twisted his mouth in a grimace as he recalled his story. “It was either that or become a clergyman. My father and I both agreed that was
not
the profession for me.”

“So the beast wasn’t calm even when you were human?”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest rubbing the rock-hard expanse of him against her nipples. She wore no bra underneath the silk corset top, and the sweet abrasion caused her skin to tingle in all her deliciously erotic places. Maybe they should cut this evening short and head back to his place with the huge bed above the city.

“You know that the Turning only makes you
more
you,” he murmured against her neck, just below her ear, as he pulled her lower half flush against his own. Layers of clothes could not dampen the heat of his body or her reaction to it. “I would have still wanted to fuck you until we both collapsed when I was human.”

“Deacon,” she whispered against the warm skin of his neck where his unique smell mixed with soap, aftershave, and the fragrance of fresh linen to create an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

“Too much, sweetheart?”

“Never.” She kept her eyes averted, unwilling to let him see just how deeply she meant it. She needed to keep her head in this game; her heart would take leaps without looking, but the territory beyond the boundaries of sharing their bodies was an unknown land. She couldn’t be certain whether Deacon was the knight in shining armor or the dragon. “So, you came to America?”

“Yes, and five years after landing on this shore, I was turned by a half French/half Algonquin I met in what is now Canada. I couldn’t go home. Ship travel was too dangerous for our kind, so I never saw my family again.”

“And they thought you were dead?”

“According to the empty tomb at Northam Castle, yes.”

“Wait. You have a castle?” She didn’t bother to hide the delight in her voice at this piece of news. “A real life castle?”

“An oversize, impossible-to-heat monstrosity just outside Oxford.”

“I bet it’s wonderful.”

He leaned down, pressing his cheek against hers as he twirled them around. “You’ll have to visit it with me.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered back.

“Yeah, me too.” Deacon spun her out with one hand, tugging her back to him as the song ended. “The line died out and the title lay dormant for years until we were able to live openly. So that is how I became a Duke, and apparently many women would love to become a Duchess.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Yes, but they would have to be
your
duchess.”

“And the problem with that is?”

“You don’t fool me with all this civilized clothing and perfect manners.” She reached up and tweaked his lapel, pulling him close for a quick kiss on his lips. “You are a hot mess and a handful for whoever ends up with you.”

Deacon wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close, his mouth twitching with his amusement. “I think you could handle me just fine. You might be the only one who can.” His expression became serious. “I need to know what this is between us. When all this is over I want to take you to my castle, a place where we can hide away and figure this out.”

“Have you changed your mind about relationships for our kind? You still own Sanctuary. You still oppose the mixing of humans and Others, right?”

“Yes, I do. But I think I might have changed my mind about you.”

Cici stared back at him, mesmerized by the low flare of bronze in his eyes. This was a conversation that rivaled the best scriptwriters in Hollywood, but his meaning of “figuring it out” might be very different from her own. If she let herself go too far down the path of her fantasy it would come back to bite her in the ass. She was a hopeless romantic who flirted with the idea of falling, but in the end could never take the leap because eternity was a long time to spend with one person.

Deacon made her think that maybe it might not be long enough.

“Too much?” Deacon traced her cheek with a fingertip, a move so tender it caused her eyes to blur as they misted over with her emotion.

She opened her mouth to reply that it sounded wonderful when a blond woman approached them. She was tall, midsixties, with warm eyes and a smile that automatically prompted your own mouth to curve into an answering grin.

“Ms. Trent?” she asked as she held out her hand in greeting.

Cici extended her own and cast a questioning look at Deacon. He shook his head—he didn’t know her, either. He turned away slightly, speaking in a low voice to Andy on the other end of the communications mic pinned to his lapel. “I am Cici Trent. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t, but I’ve heard so much about the success of your business.” The woman extended her other hand and encased Cici’s in a double grip. Her skin was soft, cool to the touch, and her nails were perfectly manicured. “I’m Beatrice Park.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Beatrice.” Cici attempted to remove her hand from the woman’s grip, but she couldn’t without wrenching it away. Some people were touchers—they needed to maintain contact while they talked to you. Cici wasn’t a fan, but you rolled with it when you had a potential client in front of you.

“Yes, it would be hard to miss your constant media appearances about your business. You’re quite vocal and exceedingly talented at spreading your particular message.”

“Um…thanks?” She thought there was a compliment in there somewhere. Cici glanced at Deacon, his face a blank wall as he regarded their visitor, his body coiled to respond; she was relieved to have him near. This woman gave her the creeps.

Beatrice continued, her voice startlingly loud as she tightened her grip on Cici’s hand. “Now you will return to what you were. Abominations are wrenched from the veil and cast into the wild.”

“What?” Cici tried to yank her hand out of this woman’s grasp, but it tightened into a viselike hold. She was batshit crazycakes and Cici didn’t give a shit about decorum.

“Okay, lady. Wacko hour is over. Time to move on.” Deacon stepped forward, placing his hand over the other woman’s as he tried to drag her away. Cici felt the surge of electricity as it entered Deacon’s body, throwing him back several feet. He jumped to his feet, yelling into his commons unit on his lapel for Andy to “get his ass in here”.

People scattered, putting distance between them and the scene unfolding before them. Just across the room she spotted Andy, bounding down the stairs and hurtling toward her at a breakneck pace. Deacon advanced on the woman again, his expression murderous. But Beatrice kept going, her intonation growing louder and more strident as she rolled though a litany that spoke of deviants and asking someone to rain down locusts, blood, and all kinds of Old Testament shit on Cici.

The words were scary but not as frightening as the tightness in her chest, the pressure closing down on her throat. She didn’t need to breathe, but her body was in agony as something was wrenched out of her. It was white-hot lava pouring through her veins, pooling in her gut, burning her from the inside.

Deacon roared up beside her, his fist coming down on Beatrice’s face in a punch that should have knocked the woman out but she remained standing. Her blood-filled smile was cold and her eyes were black with the hate roiling out of her in waves that were almost visible to the naked eye.

Deacon turned to Cici, wrapping her in his arms as he struggled to get her away from the madwoman, but she couldn’t feel him. It was as if he didn’t touch her at all—as if one of them were fog.

It was her. She was the fog. She was slipping away.

Cici clawed against him, trying to gain purchase and use him as an anchor as she slid down his body to the floor. Her legs were useless, she couldn’t speak or yell, though she could see clearly as Beatrice ended her incantation and cast away Cici’s hand like a piece of trash. Andy, accompanied by two more of Deacon’s crew, grabbed her from behind; she put up no fight.

Triumph shone in her eyes and in her ghoulish smile. The last thing Cici thought as she slipped into the blackness was how Beatrice’s elaborately styled hair was still in perfect condition. The chick hadn’t even broken a sweat as she worked her weird mojo.

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was all the yelling.