Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

close, chest-to-breast, she was so much smaller than he; yet the effect she had on him was mountainous: His hands curled up; his thighs tightened; his heart beat with hot blood.
    “I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” she whispered.
    His cock hardened even further, just from the sound of her voice. “It appears that we have unfinished business.”
    And it did not involve money, drugs, or information.
    “I meant what I said to you.” She brushed her hair back, as if she were having difficulty standing still. “No more spying on my part. I promise.”
    “Indeed, you have given me your word. But it seems that I miss having your eyes upon me.” Her little hiss carried across the chilly air between their mouths. “Among other things.”
    She looked away quickly. Looked back. “This isn’t a good idea.”
    “Why? Because of that human you were having dinner with last night?”
    His burglar frowned—probably at the use of the word
human
. “No. Not because of him.”
    “So he does not live here.”
    “No, it’s just my grandmother and me.”
    “I approve.”
    “Why would you have any opinion at all?”
    “I ask myself that daily,” he muttered. “But explain, if it’s not because of that man, why shall we not meet?”
    His burglar pushed her hair over her shoulder again and shook her head. “You’re…trouble.”
    “Says the woman who is almost always armed.”
    She tilted up her chin. “You think I didn’t see that bloody blade in your back hall?”
    “Oh, that.” He dismissed the comment with a flick of the hand. “Just taking care of business.”
    “I thought you’d killed him.”
    “Who?”
    “Mark—my friend.”
    “Friend,” he heard himself growl. “Is that what he is.”
    “So who did you kill?”
    Assail took out a cigar to light, but she stopped him. “My grandmother will smell it.”
    He glanced up at the closed windows of the second floor. “How?”
    “Just please don’t. Not here.”
    With an incline of his head, he acquiesced—even though he couldn’t remember ever declining one for anybody.
    “Who did you kill?”
    This was asked factually, without the hysteria one might expect from a female. “It is nothing that concerns you.”
    “Better I don’t know, huh.”
    Given that he was a different species than her? Yes. Indeed.
    “’Twas nobody you would ever know. I will tell you, however, that I had grounds. He betrayed me.”
    “So he deserved it.” Not a question; more a statement of approval.
    He couldn’t help but favor her take on things. “Yes, he did.”
    There was a period of silence, and then he had to ask, “What is your name?”
    She laughed. “You mean you don’t know?”
    “How would I have found out?”
    “Good point—and I’ll tell you, if you explain what you said to my vovó.” She hugged her torso, as if cold. “You know, she liked you.”
    “Who likes me?”
    “My grandmother.”
    “How ever does she know me?”
    His burglar frowned. “When you came before now. She said she thought you were a good man, and she wants to invite you back for dinner.” Those astonishing dark eyes returned to his. “Not that I’m advocating—what? Hey, ow.”
    Assail forced his hold to loosen, unaware of having gripped her arm. “I did not come by earlier. At no time have I spoken to your grandmother.”
    His burglar opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “You weren’t here tonight?”
    “No.”
    “So who the hell is looking for me?”
    As a vast protective urge came over him, his fangs elongated and his upper lip began to curl back—but he caught himself, tamping down the outer show of his inner emotions.
    Abruptly, he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “We go inside. Now. And you will tell me more.”
    “I don’t need your help.”
    Assail stared at her from his superior height. “You shall have it anyway.”

SEVENTY-TWO
    T rez was not used to being chauffeured around. He liked driving himself. Being in control. Choosing the left or the right.
    That kind of self-determination was not on the menu tonight, however.
    At the moment, he was riding phat in the back of a Mercedes that was the size of a house. Up in front, Fritz, as his name was, was driving like a bat out of hell—not exactly something you expected from a butler who looked like he was seven thousand years old.
    Now, given that Trez was still a little off after the previous night’s headache, he supposed he was okay with being a passenger in this