Tempt Me (13 page)

She’d handed him an overnight bag when he’d picked her up at Sebastiani Security earlier, but whether she’d actually
stay
overnight after they finished working was still an open question.

“Rafe? Want to taste?”

He started at the sound of Bailey’s voice. “Oh, sorry.” He took a quick sip of the wine, narrowing his eyes as plums, oak, and berries stroked over his tongue. Dark and sensual, it went down like a velvet sunset. “Very good.”

“Excellent.” Wade turned back to Bailey. “Chef wants to know if you’re willing to try an appetizer he’s experimenting with.”

“Sure.”

Rafe scowled as the waiter departed. Chadden never offered
him
anything that wasn’t on the menu. He studied her as she glanced at the phone again. Just how close were Bailey and the debauched vampire chef de cuisine? He knew Bailey had met Chadden for the first time the night of Scarlett’s concert, when she’d been heavily under the influence of the incubus pheromones that had saturated Underbelly like chloroform. Sasha, recognizing her impairment, had come to her rescue, placing Bailey in
his
care.

And he’d had sex with her not fifteen minutes later—before he was certain the pills he’d dosed her with had actually taken effect.

Bailey looked up from her phone. “We picked up a tail when we left Sebastiani Security. Late-model black Accord, parking now. It’s almost show time.” She picked up her glass of wine, her knuckles white as she clutched the delicate stem. “If Wyatt is running true to form, he has a team working the physical side of the job, doing surveillance, tailing, break-ins and such. He usually doesn’t take those risks himself. He doesn’t have to. He’s very skilled at evaluating people’s motivations, at giving them what they want, so he gets what he wants.”

A whiff of guilt again—there, then gone. What was she thinking about that put such a pensive look on her face? Exactly what had Wyatt Cooper given and taken from Bailey all those years ago? In all the years since?

“He usually pays his people with jacked passwords, stolen credit card numbers, or compromised Social Security numbers.”

“How...”

“His technical skills aren’t the strongest, but with the right contacts and tools, obtaining them is a fairly straightforward matter.” She suddenly smiled. “Have you ever heard of DEF CON? The hacker conference?”

“Hackers have conferences?”

“Oh, yeah. Great fun. There are workshops, meet-ups, hook-ups, and you can see all the new toys.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re under siege from the minute you enter the hotel. You’d better be carrying an RFID wallet, because every card you own is at risk. Room keys repeatedly lose their programming. Don’t even think about using the lobby ATM, because someone’s already compromised it. There’s a lot of gamesmanship and one-upsmanship, with people looking to make their reputations, or win some bragging rights. You have to assume that everyone you interact with, no matter how nice, has ulterior motives. They can and will screw with you.” Laughing, she leaned back against the chair again. “It’s a mental workout like you can’t believe.”

He assessed her across the candlelit table. Even during their time together alone at the cabin, he hadn’t heard her string so many words together without a break. Something seemed to spark inside her as she talked about her work.

“In a matter of minutes, someone installs a sniffer on the hotel’s network. Next to the conference registration desk, hotel guests’ email addresses, passwords, credit card numbers, and other personal information intercepted by the sniffer streams by on a huge monitor. The data is partially redacted before it’s displayed, but—” she shrugged “—people very quickly get the point.” She grinned suddenly. “The last time I went, a family values politician was busted ordering pay-per-view porn. Good times.”

His thoughts raced. How many times had he used his computer at a hotel thinking his transactions were private?

“I couldn’t go to the conference when I was on probation. I imagine I could now, but...”

“Your profile is a little too high.”

She gave a tiny half-shrug of acknowledgment. “Yeah. I’d be targeted left and right. I find out what goes down every year, but—” a slightly wistful expression crossed her face “—I miss it.”

She pulsed with an odd excitement, more intellectual than physical. A frightening thought struck. “You want him to come for you, don’t you?”

“What?”

“No need to deny it.” He tapped his nose. “You want to go head to head with Wyatt Cooper.”

“What I want is to protect the Sebastiani and Underworld Council networks from malicious incursion. If he’s stupid enough to actually make a run at it? And I take him down?” She shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but she didn’t quite pull it off. Her eyes blazed, and her chin jutted aggressively, like she was about to march into the ring and take on all comers. “Bonus round.”

He took another sip of the wine, considering her. Antonia had told him that for all Bailey’s technological acumen, she used technology very sparingly when she wasn’t in full control of the transaction. She trusted the mini-comp lying on the table because she’d personally developed the security and encryption layer, but out in the world, she paid with cash, refusing to generate credit card transactions that could be used to track her purchases or movements. She thought paying bills online was for suckers. Before spending the day with Chico—hell, before hearing her talk about hacker conference hijinks—he might have thought she was paranoid, but he was coming to realize she assessed technical risk in ways that most people couldn’t begin to conceive.

Bailey glanced at the phone again. “Where the hell is he?”

“You seem really excited about this.” He wanted to take a bite out of her pugnacious little chin.

“I’m not excited, I’m anxious,” she snapped. “I just want to end this, once and for all.”

A hush suddenly descended in the room. The reason why walked toward them, wearing a black chef’s jacket and a red bandana lashed around his head, greeting diners along the way yet not stopping. Chadden carried two plates. Apparently Chef was delivering his experiment personally.

“Hello, Tidbit.” Placing the plates on the table, Chadden leaned over and kissed her on both cheeks. “I’m so glad to see you, regardless of the riff-raff you’re with.”

Rafe gave him a deadpan look. “Hello, Chadden.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

No, he wasn’t—not if the unholy glee on his friend’s face was anything to go by.

Bailey brushed the vampire’s blood red bandana with a teasing fingertip. “Is that sweat I see? Caught you actually working.”

“Guilty as charged.” Chadden playfully nibbled on her wrist. “What’s my punishment?”

Rafe fought to stay in his chair. Chadden was a notorious flirt, a cheerful libertine, and completely without personal boundaries. Erasing the lines of propriety was one of his favorite hobbies, and...damn it, his teeth were
way
too close to Bailey’s delicate veins. “That’s enough,” he said as mildly as he could manage.

“Not in the mood to share today?” Chadden said with a mocking smile. “Pity.” With a theatrical sigh, he gave Bailey’s wrist a smacking kiss and gestured to one of the plates. “You might find these useful.”

Rafe looked at the beautifully prepared plate. Tiny oysters on the half-shell. The son of a bitch had brought them aphrodisiacs. His death glare bounced harmlessly off the vampire’s back, because he was talking to Bailey again, not caring a whit whether his insult had hit its target. Bailey listened as Chadden described the basil-infused grapefruit gastrique he’d made for the oysters like a suitor reciting a love poem.

At the next table, a woman sighed. The man she was with shot Rafe a glance of frustrated communion.

Chadden lifted one of the pearly shells, but Bailey turned her head away, wrinkling her nose. “You know I don’t like oysters.”

How, exactly, had Chadden come by this knowledge? Had he plied Bailey with aphrodisiacs in the past, back in the kitchen at his private table? Had Bailey shared her body—her blood—with him?

He sat up straighter in his chair, felt his chest expand.

“See if you like these, darling. It’s a tiny one. Just a bite.”

With a wince, Bailey slowly opened her mouth. Chadden placed the rim of the shell on her lower lip, tipping the oyster in her mouth. She didn’t chew, just held it in her mouth. Finally, with a violent full-body shudder, she gulped it down. “Eww. Sorry.” She shuddered again, reaching for her wine glass.

“Such a Philistine,” Chadden said with a shake of his head. “Here, try some walleye cheeks instead.” Quickly swapping plates, he placed the oysters in front of Rafe with a knowing grin. “Enjoy.”

Heat crawled up his neck. One night, during a boozy pub crawl, he and Chadden had agreed that eating oysters was the closest thing they knew to tasting a woman’s most intimate flesh. “Thank you.” Taking one of the shells between two fingers, he tipped it into his mouth. A blast of citrus bathed his taste buds then quickly receded, letting the brine of the oyster take center stage.

Bailey stared at his mouth. Her pupils dilated, fathomless pools of green-rimmed black.

Chadden straightened reluctantly. “Well, this has been amusing, but I have to get back to the kitchen.”

“Sorry about the oysters, Chadden.” Bailey shrugged apologetically.

“I’ll find a preparation you like. Someday.”

Not if he had anything to say about it. “Thank you, Chadden. Goodbye, Chadden.”

“Never mind my hurt feelings,” Chadden said with elaborate, injured politeness. “Really. I’ll be fine.” Kissing Bailey on both cheeks again, and once on the tip of her nose for good measure, he finally left.

They sat there for several humming seconds. Bailey cleared her throat, picked up a fork, and speared one of the succulent pieces of fish. When her phone vibrated, the fork clanked back onto the plate. Picking up the device, she read. “He’s here.”

He forced himself not to look for the other man. “Where?”

“He just sat down at the bar.” Though her expression didn’t change, the needle on her emotional barometer took a wild swing as she sent a quick text back. The response came back almost immediately. “Winnie said he’s got a sightline.” She looked at him. “Showtime.”

He reached for her hand, twining their fingers together. She’d painted her nails a pale mermaid green. “It’s not a show. Every touch, every stroke, every look. Whether he’s here or not, I want to eat you alive.”

Her sea-witch eyes locked onto his. “Same goes. So let’s get this show on the road.”

Wade appeared back at tableside as if by magic. They ordered their entrees. His food, when it appeared, could just as well have been sawdust for all he tasted it; he was too busy watching Bailey enjoy hers. He fed her bites of Lake Superior Trout from his plate, and she offered him lobster on the fork her butter-slick lips had touched. He completely forgot about Wyatt Cooper, and if the other man entered Bailey’s mind at all during their meal, he couldn’t sense it.

He could sense nothing but her dark, humid need.

Wade removed their plates and offered them the decadent dessert menu. “Crème brûlée? Chocolate Raspberry Bombe?”

“None for me, thanks,” he said. “Bailey?” If she wanted dessert or a cappuccino, he’d find the self-control to sit through more torturous edible foreplay. Somehow. 

“No thanks. Just the bill, please.”

Wade smiled and shook his head. “Compliments of the chef. May I call the valet for you?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take care of it.” A short delay in the restaurant’s foyer while they waited for the Jeep to be driven to the door would give him a chance to get his hands on her—and for Wyatt Cooper to observe it personally. After Wade left, he slipped a hundred dollar bill under the empty wine bottle, and walked with Bailey to coat check.

“Don’t look into the bar,” Bailey reminded him after he handed the Jeep’s claim ticket to the valet. They walked to coat check, and he helped her into her long wool jacket. “Remember, we’re completely oblivious to him.”

Not really. Something he couldn’t ignore tugged at the edge of his consciousness. After slipping on his own coat, he escorted her to the entrance. Not caring whether Wyatt Cooper had a sightline or not, he lowered his head and kissed her, softly, so softly...a prelude to the evening to come.

Her eyes drifted closed as she sank into the kiss. “Your place,” she whispered against his lips. “Let’s go.”

As he whisked her out the door, he chanced a look back. Wyatt Cooper sat on a barstool, chatting up a woman with his back to the door, but their eyes met in the mirror hanging the length of the busy bar.

A jolt of recognition speared through him.

Wyatt Cooper was an incubus.

––––––––

“A
n incubus,” Bailey muttered. The Jeep was dimly lit, but not so dark she didn’t notice how often Rafe glanced at her—probably to see how she was reacting to the bomb he’d dropped as soon as they’d closed the car doors at Chadden’s.

Wyatt, an incubus? It explained so much.

As he drove, Rafe took slow, deep breaths, probably trying to read her. His elegant nostrils didn’t dare flare, but she could see his chest expand and contract, even under the heavy layers he wore. Not long after Lukas had received the Council’s permission to share the secret of their people’s existence with her, he’d also started teaching her how to identify potential members of their species through observation.

She choked back a bark of wild laughter.
Better late than never.

“Are you okay?” Rafe reached for the visor, pressing a button on the automatic garage door opener clipped to its underside. A block ahead and to the left, a garage door slowly rose on a beige brick building.

“Yeah.” She’d known Rafe lived on the West Bank—she’d Googled his address long ago—but...Chico was right. Once you turned off Cedar, drove away from the bohemian pubs, cafes, art galleries and clubs, the neighborhood turned a wee bit sketchy. Chico had mentioned that upgrading the security in Rafe’s tall, thin slice of the subdivided building had been a fairly straightforward matter because of its layout: private garage on the first level, studio space on the second, and living area on the third and fourth.