Must Love Hellhounds

“Is it me or are we seeing a trend here?”
    A quirk of his lips. It was sexier than a full-fledged smile from any other man. “I’m leading you into sin.”
    She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Obviously, suspect number three is gay. Right?”
    “Marco Giardes.” He nodded up. “Lives above the bar.”
    “Huh?”
    “Owns the place. Bought it with an inheritance.”
    Sara shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Bother you?”
    A bit of red stained his cheeks. Her mouth fell open. “What?”
    He blew out a breath. “You’ll see.”
    “We’re going in?”
    “Yeah. He doesn’t know about me—unless he’s another spy. We’re just two hunters who heard about his place and decided to drop in.”
    Since hunters were known to do things like that to support each other, it was a perfectly believable cover. And despite the fact that it was close to four a.m., the bar was jumping. “Weapons?”
    “No problem for hunters.”
    “Then let’s go.”
    They flashed their Guild IDs and got waved in by the heavily muscled bouncer . . . who gave Deacon a thorough going-over. Sara bit the insides of her cheeks when the big, tough Slayer shifted a little behind her.
    The instant they entered the main floor, conversation stopped, then started in a huge rush. She was welcomed with smiles—there were several other women in the crowd—but the attention was most definitely on Deacon. So when he put his hand on her hip and pulled her up against him, she didn’t protest. “Poor baby,” she murmured. “They really like you.”
    “It’s not funny.” She’d never heard a blush before.
    A beautiful male with the slinky body of a catwalk model strolled over. “What a shame,” he murmured, noting their body language. “I hope you’re taking good care of him.”
    Sara patted Deacon’s hand where it curved over her hip. “The best.”
    “Will you let him dance with us?”
    Sara could feel Deacon’s horror in the absolute frozen lines of his body. It was tempting to tease, but . . . “He’s not much of a dancer.”
    Giving another mournful sigh, the blond walked away. Unable to keep it in any longer, Sara turned and buried her face in Deacon’s chest as her body shook with laughter. His arms came around her, his lips at her ear. “We’re going to a girl bar on our next date.”
    That simply made her laugh harder. Tears leaked out of her eyes. By the time she got it out of her system, the scent of Deacon was well and truly in her lungs. The man smelled delicious. A little bit of heat, a little bit of sweat, a whole lot of dangerous. Perfect.
    Hands flat on that gorgeous chest of his, she looked up. “I guess they know a manly man when they see one.”
    His lashes, long and beautiful, shaded his eyes, but she saw the glint in them. “What about you?”
    Her answer was interrupted by a discreet cough. She turned to find a man who could only be another hunter. His stance was easy in the way of someone who knew how to move in a fight, his eyes watchful . . . and at the moment, amused. “Welcome. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
    “Sara.” She stuck out her hand. “This is Deacon.”
    “Sara Haziz?” The hunter’s smile turned dazzling. “I’m so delighted to meet you. I’ve heard of you, of course. Please, come in.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pierre, prep a table.” Returning his attention to them, he gave a short nod. “I’m Marco. With the Guild but not for long.”
    “Oh?”
    He smiled again, displaying a row of gleaming white teeth. “I decided this bar is my true love after all.”
    Not many hunters retired. But it wasn’t completely unheard of. “You won’t miss the thrill of the hunt?”
    “It’s a young man’s game. I’m in my late thirties now, but don’t tell.”
    Deacon finally broke his silence. “Your bar’s doing well—we heard about it on the hunter grapevine.”
    “Some of my best customers are hunters,” Marco said, genuine pleasure in his voice. “They bring their girlfriends, mates, don’t blink an eye. I’m very glad to have been a part of that fraternity. Please, come. The drinks are on me.” With that, he turned and led them to a table on the edge of the dance floor.
    They all took a seat and drinks were ordered. Sara noticed that Deacon barely touched his—whiskey, of course—and neither did Marco. She took a sip of her cocktail and made a true sound of pleasure. “This is sinfully good.”
    “Yes, the bar’s becoming quite well-known for