Huffing an exasperated breath, she focused on the overhead signs, looking for baggage claim. Not that she had any bags to claim, but that's where the limo driver had promised to meet her. Following the general flow of the crowd toward the down escalators, she was struck by how all airports looked alike. No matter the supposedly unique architectural details they touted, it was still the same endless, long corridors filled with hard floors and wide open spaces that bounced all that noise around until you could barely hear yourself think, much less make out the latest garbled boarding announcement. She blew out an exhausted breath as she finally stepped onto the escalator, her gaze falling on a sign that welcomed her to Bush International Airport. What was it with politicians anyway, always rushing to put their names on everything? She couldn't think of a single politician who deserved his name on a sewage treatment facility, much less a major airport where everyone had to look at it all the time.
Geez, what a grouch! You need a drink, Cyn. No, what she really needed was a good night's sleep, one untroubled by dreams of a certain vampire lord. So what was she doing in Texas, about to undertake a job for yet another of the so-called undead? When the call had come two days ago, all she could think of was getting out of L.A., at least for a while. Putting a state or two between her and Raphael had seemed like a good idea, since nothing else seemed to work. Besides, half of her work as a private investigator was for one vampire or another. Most of it was pretty tedious stuff, tracking down old bank accounts and young relatives, but this new case had possibilities. Maybe it would be interesting enough to wipe away the lingering memories of sparkling black eyes and a slow smile. She sighed. Probably not.
A man approached as she stepped off the escalator, his plain black suit, white shirt and black tie screaming “limo driver” as clear as day. “Ms. Leighton?” he asked.
Cynthia gave him a somber assessment, a little surprised that he recognized her. She'd expected a sign, not a personal greeting. “Yes,” she admitted. “How did you know?"
He smiled, a fleeting flash of teeth that changed his face completely for a brief instant. “I didn't, not for sure. Mr. Asim gave me a description, but he was pretty vague.” He shrugged. “You looked right."
"Who's Asim?"
That obviously surprised him. “He works for Lord Jabril Karim, I thought—"
"Oh. We spoke on the phone, I guess.” Which didn't explain how he knew what she looked like, but then nothing about dealing with vampires was ever simple or straightforward. “Okay,” she said. “So, how do we get out of here?"
"This way. Can I...” He reached to take her backpack.
She shifted so it was out of his reach. “No, I'll carry this. You can take the suitcase, thanks. How far to the hotel?"
The driver collapsed the handle on her small suitcase, picking it up instead. “About thirty minutes, but Mr. Asim directed me to take you right out to the estate."
"Did he? How nice for him.” She smiled to the take the sting from her words. “Unfortunately—” She paused. “You never told me your name."
"Scott."
"I've always liked that name—my first crush was a Scott—so I'll tell you what, I don't want to cause problems for you, but I got up before dawn this morning to catch my flight, after which I spent nearly two hours getting through check-in and security only to find myself trapped in a narrow metal cylinder with a f**king lawyer who was bleating directly into my ear for over three hours. I'm tired and I'm cranky and I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. So I'm going to the hotel, but I'm perfectly willing to take a cab if that gets you off the hook.” She didn't mention that she was also set on going to the hotel because a package would be waiting for her there. A package that included her weapon of choice, a 9 mm Glock 17 handgun. Cyn had no intention of visiting a strange vampire unarmed.
She pushed through the door and sucked in a lungful of filthy airport air. “Perfect,” she muttered and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Scott. “So, do I need cab?"
He blinked at her for a moment, as if he hadn't yet caught up with her rapid fire diatribe. “The Four Seasons, right?” he said finally.
"Yes.” She smiled.
"The car's right over here."
As they pulled away from the curb, Scott caught her reflection in the mirror. “You should try a sleeping pill,” he said.
Cyn met his eyes. “I have. I've tried them all. My doctor won't give me anymore, which is saying something in L.A. You can get pretty much any pill you want out there; all you have to do is ask."
"Meditation, maybe,” he suggested, his attention on the long line of cars passing them by.
"There's an idea,” Cyn said absently. “Find myself a guru.” She didn't need a pill and she didn't need meditation. She needed Raphael to get the hell out of her life. Not that he was exactly in her life. Not anymore. Oh, no. Lord Raphael had taken what he wanted and run as far and as fast as his considerable money and power could take him. She'd thought it was love. Turns out it was simply a roving buffet with her as the entree du jour. She closed her eyes against the too familiar pain of loss and knew it wasn't that simple. Raphael hadn't left her because he didn't want her. He'd left because he did. Hundreds of years old and he still hadn't evolved past the male fear of commitment to one woman.
Of course, the full truth was probably even more complicated, but that was the nub of it and there was nothing for her to do but get over it. Over a month had passed since she'd seen him, since he'd walked away without looking back. She'd never been in love before; how long did it take to heal a broken heart?
Cyn leaned her head back against the soft leather and closed her eyes. In the front seat, Scott took the hint, popped a mellow CD into the player and let soft music fill the silence until they reached the hotel.
* * * *
She rolled over in her sleep, the hotel's soft bed adjusting to her movements, cradling her in its warmth. A weight settled behind her and she smiled, catching the scent of his aftershave—a hint of spice, barely there. She felt the glide of his skin as he stretched out next to her, as he reached to pull her close and tuck her within the curve of his big body, making her feel safe, protected. He was the only man who had ever made her feel that way, like someone worth fighting for, someone to cherish. His cheek was rough against her face, his lips soft as they explored her jaw, nipping at her ear lobe before kissing a path downward to linger over the curve of her neck. She stirred, her body responding to his touch as strong fingers slid between her legs and began to stroke gently.
A small moan passed her lips as he bent her leg forward and slid his c*ck down the cleft of her ass into the wetness between her legs. With the first stroke of his shaft inside her, she gasped, arching her back to open herself further, welcoming his intrusion, beginning to move with him. His rhythm gained urgency and he seized her hips, holding her firm against him as he drove ever deeper within her slick folds. She reached down and covered his hand with hers, pressing hard, crushing her clit, feeling his thick sex sliding in and out, opening her wide, stretching her tight around him. He groaned with hunger, bending to the curve of her neck once more. For a split second the warmth of his breath brushed her neck and then his teeth slid into her vein. She cried out, her orgasm sudden and overwhelming, rising from a quiet pool of need to a tidal wave of ecstasy in the space of seconds. She screamed as it swept over her, carrying him in its wake, leaving his roar of completion to vibrate in her very bones.
She lay within the circle of his arms, flushed with the passion of their lovemaking, her muscles relaxed, her desire sated. For the moment.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he chuckled low and sensuously, his breath soft on her cheek. “Sweet, my Cyn,” he murmured. “So sweet."
* * * *