Dark Nights: Mistress of the Underground / The Vampire Affair. Livia Reasoner
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anymore.”
“Why not?”
“You know,” she scoffed. “You’re too thick with my brother for him to have kept his mouth shut.”
“He said it was your secret.”
She arched a dark blond brow. “And you couldn’t have gotten it out of him?”
He probably could have, but he wanted her to tell him. He wanted her to share her life with him. Shame washed over him at his selfishness. How could he expect her to share her life when he couldn’t share his?
“I can’t believe Sebastian dragged you down here over those flowers,” she said, neatly avoiding his question as he had so many of hers over the years. “He was the one who told me they were nothing—that they’d probably been delivered to the wrong place.”
It might have been what he’d said, but it wasn’t what Sebastian believed. He hadn’t wanted her to call the police because an investigation might uncover the secret society and put everyone at risk. Ben would have preferred that to having Paige at risk. He uttered a sigh of frustration. “He’s probably right.”
She nodded. “There is no other logical explanation.”
Even if she learned the secret, she would never understand it. Paige had never been able to accept that some things defied logic.
“I’m sorry that you came down here for nothing,” she said.
“How could I not?” he asked. “If you need me, I’ll always be here for you.”
Liar. She refrained from shouting at him, from letting all her resentment and pain spill out. He hadn’t been there for her…when she’d needed him most. When she’d left the office earlier, she should have kept running; she shouldn’t have let him stop her. “We both know better than that, Ben,” she gently reminded him.
He flinched as if she had screamed at him. “You’re right. You were right to leave me, too.”
“Oh, Ben…” God, they weren’t good for each other. They had nothing between them anymore but guilt and pain…and a crazy, irresistible attraction.
“I’m not Ben,” he said, with a luminescent gleam in his big, brown eyes.
“Oh, you’re not?”
He shook his head. “Who was I last night?”
“Stranger in a bar,” she said, as if reading a role from a playbill.
“So today,” he said as he ran his fingertips across the granite again, “I’m the lonely bartender.”
Somehow she suspected “lonely” wasn’t part of the role he wanted to assume, but already part of who he was.
“So who am I?” she asked him.
“Last night you were the sexy bar owner.”
“Still am,” she quipped, no matter that no one—including him—thought she belonged at the club.
His mouth lifted into a little grin. “No, today you’re a patron who left her purse here and came back after hours to pick it up.”
“I have a feeling that my purse is not the only thing I’m supposed to pick up,” she said, her pulse quickening with excitement.
“I have your bag back here,” he said, lifting the hinged counter so she could join him, “behind the bar.”
She smiled now. “Did you get this scenario from a country song? I didn’t think you listened to country.”
“I listen to everything.”
Even her? She shook her head. No, she would have had to talk for him to listen; he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t shared all his feelings during their marriage. She hung on to her smile, with an effort. “I thought you were just into that boring elevator music.”
“Come here,” he urged her, “and I’ll show you how boring I am.”
Weren’t they fighting because he thought it was crazy that she’d bought the bar? She’d rather not remind him of their argument. Better to distract him or herself from her fear that he was right.
“You know you should be wearing the uniform,” she said as she stepped behind the bar and walked toward him. She’d love to see him in the black pants and a pleated tuxedo shirt.
“I already changed out of uniform,” he said, gesturing toward the black pants and sweater he wore. The ones that had lain on her office floor just hours before.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing anything at all,” she suggested, reaching for the hem of his sweater. She dragged it up and over his head, tossing it onto the bar.
His chest was bare, except for the light mat of black hair covering the sculpted muscles. Despite his hectic schedule, he somehow found time to work out.
Paige put her hands on her hips. She probably needed to start working out herself, or she’d look as out of place among the club patrons as she’d felt the night before.
“You’re not playing,” Ben admonished her. “You’re thinking.”
Something she didn’t manage very well around him, especially when he had his shirt off. “I’m trying to remember where I left my purse,” she said, slipping into the role he’d chosen for her.
Passion leaped, lighting up his dark eyes. “I have it.” He lifted her purse strap from her shoulder and claimed her bag.
“Yes, you do.” She reached out for the brown leather, but he pulled back. “So, are you going to give it to me?”
“Oh, I’m going to give it to you,” he promised. “What’s my reward for keeping your purse safe?”
She pursed her lips as if considering how much he was worth. “Ten dollars?”
“You’re cheap.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Yes.”
“How about a kiss?”
“Just a kiss?” she asked a bit breathlessly, as she stepped closer to his bare chest. To steady herself, as passion rushed through her head, getting her dizzy, she reached out, bracing a hand against his chest. His heart pounded madly beneath her palm.
“Can we stop at just a kiss?” he asked, dipping his head until his lips were only a breath from hers.
“We haven’t been able to yet.” She wished they could; she wished they could stop before the kiss. But she couldn’t resist him. She rose up on tiptoe and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his.
He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss until he stole her breath away. His tongue mated with hers, sliding in and out of her mouth. His hands were busy, too, pushing her coat off her shoulders so it dropped to the tiled floor along with her purse. Then he slid his fingers up under her sweatshirt, over her bare rib cage.
His breath shuddered out. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
She wore a heavy sweatshirt and hadn’t thought she needed it. His hands closed over her breasts and she trembled. “Ben…”
“Shh…you don’t know my name,” he reminded her as he moved his mouth across her cheek and down her throat. His tongue lapped at her throbbing pulse.
“Then what do I call you?”
“Shh…” he murmured again as he moved his hands, sliding them up and down so that his palms teased her hardened nipples.
“Ooh…”
Her moan must have broken his control because his touch got rougher, more urgent. They began to shed the rest of their clothes, and he pulled the sweatshirt over her head and then dragged her jeans down over her hips.
“You’re