The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,104

laugh. “Yup, I think you cleaned it all off.”

A tissue took care of the smudging and then it was a case of carefully making a line around her mouth—while the car bumped over a road that was mostly, but not completely, even.

“Shoot,” she said, going for another tissue as she ended up with a rose-colored streak headed into her nose. “Let me try—”

Trez took her hand and brought it down. As she looked over at him, his eyes, his soul-shattering, deep black eyes, seemed to be memorizing everything about her.

“You don’t need it,” he told her. “I like you better without it.”

Selena smiled shyly. “Yes?”

“Yeah.” His stare went down her body. And came back up. “This is wonderful. You look amazing. You’re the most beautiful female in the city tonight, and when we get to that restaurant, waiters are going to be dropping their trays. But you need to know, my very favorite look on you?”

When he paused, she found herself having to swallow hard. “What?” she whispered.

“Your very best look, my queen, is the one you were born with. As far as I’m concerned, perfection can’t be improved upon by either man nor God.” Leaning in, he kissed her softly. “Just thought you’d want to know what your male’s been thinking as I’ve been staring at you.”

Selena started to smile, especially as she realized that sometimes “I love you” could be said without those particular three words lined up in a row.

“See?” she said softly. “I told you this was going to be the best night of my life.”

Riding shotgun in Manny’s RV ambulance, Rhage was eating Doritos out of the bag—and totally disagreeing with the doctor. “Nah, I’m not a Cool Ranch guy. Original only for me.”

“You are missing out.” Manny hit the directional signal to get off the highway. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are so closed-minded when it comes to a snack food staple.”

“But that’s my point. Why improve on a gift from God?”

Tilting the bag, he looked inside and wanted to curse. He was coming to the end of the big chips, nothing but the broken parts and cosmic orange dust left. Which was not to say he wouldn’t eat it all, and cap things off with a tip-up of the bottom above his gaping maw. But this was the unfun finger-dexterity part of the experience.

Munching along, he refocused on the ass of Fritz’s third-world-dictator car. That Mercedes was so big, so black, and so completely tinted, it tended to get more attention as it drove by rather than less. And for shits and giggles, Rhage imagined what the humans would think if they knew there were vampires in the back.

And that the thing was being driven by a centuries-old butler with a foot that would make Jeff Gordon get a case of the jels.

“Do we turn right up here?” Rhage asked as they approached an intersection.

“That’s a one-way.”

“Like I said, do we turn?”

Manny looked over. “Not if we don’t want to get arrested.”

“We’re in an ambulance.”

“Yeah, but they’re not.”

Oh, right. Bummer. “You know, I really just want to hit the lights on this bitch.”

Although the instant he said that, his rib cage shrunk around his lungs, and he ended up having to put the window down a little so he could get some air.

“Did you just leave nacho all over my door.”

Rhage rubbed the bright orange spot away with his forearm. “Nope.”

They kept to Fritz’s bumper tight as a stamp on an envelope, turning left, heading away from the river, going right so they were in the heart of the financial district. No dirty alleys. No Dumpsters. No slush even during the wet months. And no nasty smells from the rotting remains of cheap restaurants.

This was the fancy part of town, where people wore suits and rushed around, channeled like cattle in chutes to their places of Urgent, Important Work.

The skyscraper that housed the restaurant they were gunning for had been completed only a couple of years before, its developers touting the enormous vertical rise as the tallest building in Caldwell. Jam-packed with the headquarters of big businesses, to him, it was nothing more than a filing cabinet for humans, each of them locked into their little slots.

Snooze.

“You okay?”

Rhage looked over at the doc. “Huh?”

“What’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“Then why have you stopped eating. Bag’s not empty.”

Rhage glanced down. Sure enough, he’d left the detritus where it was—and he didn’t have any impulse to finish. “Ahhh…”

“Watching your weight?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

As he crushed the bag, he