hazelnut filling, a vanilla bean gelato, a peach tartin, and a miniature root beer float served in an espresso cup."
I burst out laughing.
"Careful, Minnesota," Jessica murmured, looking down at her napkin. "The straw in your hair is showing."
"I'll have the crème brulee," Nick announced. "Money is no object — he's paying." Jerking a thumb in my husband's direction.
"Can I have the gelato except served as a milk shake?" I asked, when steel pincers clamped down on my forearm and I yelped.
"We are not lingering over this table."
"O-kay, can I have my arm back?"
"Mrs. Sinclair, do you want to press charges for spousal abuse?"
"Don't call me that, Nick, you rotten bastard, and I do not. I'll take that gelato to go," I added to the waiter, who was unabashedly goggling. And I'd always heard nothing fazed New York waiters.
"We'll take it in our room," Sinclair said shortly, standing. "Along with another bottle of the Cabernet. Charge the dinner to our room as well. Jessica. Detective Berry. Good evening."
And with that, I was unceremoniously hauled out of one of the toniest dining rooms in Manhattan. I would have given Sinclair a kick to the shins, except I caught a glimpse of Nick's nasty grin and decided I was more pissed at him than my husband.
Chapter Four
Our door had barely snicked shut when Sinclair started in. "This is intolerable and I will not —"
I decided to distract him the best way I knew how. I jumped on him, wrapping my arms around his neck and my ankles around his back. I pressed my mouth to his and licked his teeth. The alternative was engaging him in a lively discussion about that day's Wall Street Journal.
"Do not think," my husband gasped, as we staggered around the room together, knocking over lamps and pictures and such, "I am unaware of your motivation."
"Shut up and fuck me."
"Oh, I will. I just wanted you to understand I know what you're up to."
"Who cares? It's our honeymoon. Now boink!"
He snickered into my mouth. It always slew him when I used the B word.
"And stop laughing at me!"
"At once, my wife."
"You liar," I said, swallowing a giggle of my own.
He tugged at my clothes, and I tugged at his, and we got about two thirds naked and decided that was plenty. Then he was lowering me to the floor.
I couldn't stop kissing him; his mouth was original sin, and the wine had made his breath sweet and spicy, like the peach tartin I hadn't ordered. I couldn't blame him for rushing us out of there but I sure wish I'd been able to order dessert — argh, focus, Betsy!
Let's see, what's he doing? Oh, yes! We were more or less naked and I could feel his hands on my inner thighs, spreading my legs apart, could feel his sharp teeth on my tongue.
He entered me and I rose to meet him, pulling his shoulders, pulling him as close as I could. His hands were buried in my hair, pulling, stroking
O Elizabeth my Elizabeth I love I love I love
as we thrust against each other
And I love you Eric my husband my very own husband
and kissed and licked and bit.
love I love I love I love
I scrabbled to get even closer, bracing my legs against the wall
Oh Eric that feels so good don't stop don't stop don't WHAT THE HELL?
He stopped. And I was so surprised I barely noticed. "What's wrong?"
"I —" I was looking right at it and I still couldn't believe it. "I stuck my shoe in the wall!"
Carefully, he looked over his shoulder. My left leg was in the air (as was my right), but when I'd shifted to get better leverage, my super vampire strength had plunged the heel of my sandal right through the wall, where it stuck fast.
Sinclair looked back at me.
I tried to think of what to say. Stupid vampire strength! "I-I —"
Sinclair burst out laughing. I started to laugh, too, though I was slapping his shoulders and saying, "Stop it! Stop it! It's not funny! I can't get down! Help me, you asshat!" and in the end we left the shoe where it was, stuck about four feet up in the wall.
Chapter Five
We slept until sundown, and woke to a message from Jessica inviting us to the joint around the corner for dinner — her treat. Of course, since we couldn't eat solid food, we were cheap dates, but still. The offer was out there.
We debated it. "This is our honeymoon. It