Driftwood - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,7

tell—it was maddening not to be able to smell her emotions. And tantalizing. But mostly maddening. "So?" She whirled in a small circle.

"How do I look? Ready to call Vogue?"

"You look fine," he said, which was a gross underestimation. She was wearing one of his white strappy T-shirts, which only emphasized her small, firm breasts and the sweet dark smoothness of her skin. Frankly, the shirt emphasized that her breasts were all nipple, which made him want to pull it off to see, which made him want to—

"Fine," he repeated, wrenching his mind back on track. Trying, anyway. "You look fine."

"Well, the sweatpants were never gonna work, so I found a pair of your shorts." As it was, they came down to her knees and made her look irresistibly cute; she wiggled her bare toes and he smiled. She was still damp from the shower; water glistened in her tight cap of black curls.

He hurriedly drank more milk. Pity that wasn't what he was thirsty for.

"Well, I appreciate the clothes and the shower and the late-night snack—" She tapped her throat by explanation and he nodded. "But I'd better hit the trail, as they said in the old Westerns right before they killed all the Indians. Excuse me: Native Americans."

"Hold on. I want to help you."

"Help me out of these shorts, maybe," she joked, and he hurriedly looked away so she wouldn't realize how close she was to the truth. "Naw, I think we've bugged each other enough for one night—well, two nights. Don't you?"

"You can't do it by yourself."

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is you came here for. You're not a native, and you're not a tourist. Something brought you to the Cape. I want to help you with it."

"Why?"

Because you're beautiful. Because I was a coward. Because you know what I am and you're not afraid. Because I know what you are and I'm not afraid. Because. Because.

"I feel bad," he said carefully, "about last night."

She waved his cowardice away with one nail-bitten hand. "That? Forget it."

"Never."

She raised her eyebrows at his tone. "I mean it. I made a fuss, but it was no big. It was sweet—yet dumb—of you to jump in at all. You couldn't help your nature, any more than I can help biting people on the neck. And I quit apologizing for that about thirty years ago."

"Still, you're rogue." Like me.

"Rogue?"

"Out here by yourself. Alone. You don't have the pack to. help you. But I'll help you."

"Boy Scout, I really don't think you will."

"On my word as a former member of the Wyndham Pack, I will."

"Boy Scout, you don't want any of this, trust me."

"I left you once and it almost killed you."

She snorted. "Not even close."

"I can't leave you again. At least—" He groped for a way to lighten the moment, make a joke. What would a real person say?

"At least not until we get you some decent clothes."

"You're sweet, but you shouldn't offer to jump into something when you don't know what it is."

Patiently, he went over it again. "I don't care what it is. I want to help you. Frankly, I don't see you leaving this house without me right behind you. I'm an excellent tracker." A bluff, with her lack of scent, she could probably lose him in half an hour.

She scowled, then shrugged. "Have it your way, Boy Scout. You rang the cherries: I'm not a tourist. I'm out here for a reason.

In fact, I'm out here to find a vampire and kill him. How 'bout that?"

"Oh, murder?" He put the milk back. "That's fine with me." To his amusement, she was so shocked she sat down.

Chapter Eight

"See, the thing is—"

"It's fine, Serena."

"But see, it's like—"

"Do you want to leave now? Or do you need to, I don't know, rest?"

"Listen to me. I… we… have to find the vampire who—"

"Who sired you?"

She made a face, her dark nose crinkling like she smelled something bad. Since he hadn't taken the garbage out for a day or two, it was entirely possible. Perhaps they shouldn't be having this meeting in the kitchen. Perhaps another room. Like the bedroom. Ah, the—

"Boy Scout, you're not listening. Nobody says 'sired'; a vampire makes you or he kills you. In fact, a lot of us say we were killed, even if we were made. Are you—Was that a yawn?"

"I haven't been sleeping."

"It was a yawn! What, I'm boring you?"

"I'm just not interested in the details."

"The details like who we're going to murder."

"According to you," he said coolly,