Erik Delacourt grimaced as he made his way toward the bar, which was unique in its circular design. Made of polished black onyx, it stood in the center of the floor ringed by black leather bar stools. Three bartenders, all clad in black muscle shirts and tight black leather pants, waited on the customers at the bar; a handful of waitresses wearing black tank tops and short black leather skirts took orders from those sitting at the booths that lined two of the walls. A small square dance floor took up space on one side of the club; half a dozen pool tables were scattered near the back wall. Subdued lighting offered a measure of privacy to the rich and famous who sought anonymity in the club's dark corners.
Erik found an empty seat at the bar and ordered the house special. Glancing around the room, he spotted several celebrities holding court, as well as the drummer from a popular Irish band. Unlike Erik, the drummer, who was known only as Cougar to his fans, made no attempt to hide the fact that he was a vampire. Instead, he used the inherent charisma of their kind to his advantage. Many mortals, females especially, were drawn to the air of mystery and danger that clung to members of the Undead community.
Erik sipped his drink. It satisfied his physical thirst, but he found no pleasure in it. It was like hungering for milk and being given water, though in reality, he had no taste for either.
He had just ordered a second glass when a woman entered the club. A pretty woman in her midtwenties, with lightly tanned skin and heavily lashed green eyes. Her hair, a deep reddish brown, fell halfway down her back. She wore flat-heeled white boots, blue jeans, and a long white leather jacket over a white shirt. His nostrils flared as she passed by him on her way to a vacant stool not far from his.
Erik frowned. She was human, but she smelled of vampire. No doubt she was one of the dozens of human females who frequented the club, getting their kicks from rubbing elbows with the soon-to-be famous and the infamous. Or maybe she got off on letting vampires feed off her. Drinking vampire blood was all the rage now, though only the very rich could afford it. The thought of her feeding off him stirred his desire; the thought of him feeding off her aroused his hunger. He ran his tongue over the tips of his fangs, imagined himself bending over her neck, licking her skin, tasting her life's essence.
As if sensing his thoughts, she whirled around to face him.
She was lovely, young, ripe. Erik put aside the glass in his hand, no longer interested in its watered-down contents. Not when there was a possibility he could score something better. Something hot and fresh, directly from the source.
Daisy stared at the man sitting at the bar, felt a rush of heat engulf her from head to foot when his gaze met hers with such intensity, it was almost physical. Dressed all in black, he was long legged and broad shouldered, with thick black hair and the kind of rugged countenance that made a girl look twice. But it was his eyes that captured her attention. Deep, dark eyes that seemed capable of penetrating her innermost thoughts, of probing the depths not only of her heart, but her very soul.
Shaking off her fanciful thoughts, she took a seat at the bar and ordered a strawberry daiquiri. Even though she was no longer looking at the dark-haired man, she could feel the weight of his gaze resting on her. Without moving her head, she slid a sideways glance in his direction, felt a jolt of desire sweep through her when her gaze again met his. Never in all her life had she felt such a strong attraction to a complete stranger.
Her stomach knotted as he rose smoothly to his feet and walked toward her, although walked didn't really describe the way he moved. More like a jungle cat stalking its prey. The thought made her mouth dry and her palms damp. Her gaze darted toward the exit, but it was too late to escape. He was already standing in front of her. He was tall, she thought, looking up. Very tall.
"I'm Erik."
His voice, as deep as ten feet down, raised goose bumps on her arms.
He gestured at her glass. "May I buy you another drink?"
"No, thank you." Was that pitiful whimper her voice?
"Are you sure?"
Daisy nodded. What was wrong with her? She was behaving like some teenager who had just met her favorite rock star.
His gaze moved over her face, warming every place it touched. When he smiled, her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
Pull yourself together, Daisy, she chided. It's not like you've never talked to a handsome man before. So why did this one have her tongue tied in knots?
"I suppose a dance is out of the question?"
She felt her cheeks grow hotter as she imagined being in his arms. She was about to decline when she heard herself say, "I'd like that."
He looked as surprised as she was.
And then there was no more time for thought. He held out one large, well-manicured hand. After a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand in his. A shiver of awareness coiled in the pit of her stomach as his fingers closed over hers, and then he was leading her toward the small dance floor, drawing her into his arms. Long arms. Strong arms that made her feel protected and endangered at the same time.
She had watched numerous scenes in movies where couples danced and everything else faded away--Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone, Michael J. Fox and Julie Warner in Doc Hollywood, Amy Adams and Patrick Dempsey in Enchanted. As much as she had loved those scenes, she had always found them hard to believe. Until now. She wasn't aware of the music or the other couples on the floor; she wasn't aware of anything but the man holding her close. Too close, she thought, but feeling his body brush against hers felt so good, she had no inclination to object. He was tall and dark and decidedly masculine. Being in his embrace made her achingly aware of her femininity, of the delightful differences between male and female, of the way their bodies had been created to fit together, complementing each other.
Her only regret was that the music ended too soon. Or maybe just in time, she thought, because as sure as she knew her name, she knew what was coming next. He was going to ask her to go to his place, and she didn't think she was strong enough to refuse. Just thinking about being alone with him made her ache in places no man had ever touched.
Murmuring, "Thank you for the dance," she pulled her hand from his and all but ran out of the Crypt. She knew it was only her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the sound of his amused laughter following her all the way home.
Daisy thought about Erik all the next day. In the shower. In the kitchen. At her computer. At the post office. His beguiling image seemed branded in her mind. The sound of his voice, low and sensual, played over and over in her head, as relentless as the theme from "It's a Small World" at Disneyland, although there had been nothing childish or fanciful in the way Erik's decidedly deep masculine voice had caressed her. Just thinking about him made butterflies dance in the pit of her stomach and brought a flush to her cheeks.
Admit it, Daisy thought, you're as giddy as a high school girl with her first serious crush.
She wished her best friend and confidante, Jennifer, still lived in LA, because she definitely needed someone to talk to about Erik, but Jennifer had married the love of her life last month, and after an extended honeymoon in Europe, would be moving to France with her new husband.
Daisy found herself daydreaming about a honeymoon with Erik while she did her laundry. She imagined the two of them in a romantic villa in Italy, walking along the canals, riding in a gondola, being serenaded by a handsome gondolier.
Later, she went outside to water the yard. What would Erik think of her home? It wasn't a very big place, certainly not very grand, but it was hers, a small two-story house painted white with bright yellow trim. In the spring and summer and sometimes into the fall, fat yellow roses bloomed on either side of the walkway. She didn't have much luck with other flowers, but her roses made her proud.