He held his hand out towards me. "Come, ma petite. Let us retire for the day."
I'd held his hand before, so why was I left standing, staring, like he was offering me the forbidden fruit that once tasted would change everything? He was nearly four hundred years old. Jean-Claude's face from all those long years ago was smiling down at me, and there he stood with almost the same smile. If I'd ever needed proof, I had it. He'd struck Jason down like a dog he didn't much like. And still he was so beautiful, it made my chest ache.
I wanted to take his hand. I wanted to run my hands over the red shirt, explore that open oval of flesh. I folded my hands over my stomach and shook my head.
His smile widened until a hint of fang showed. "You have held my hand before, ma petite. Why is tonight any different?" His voice held an edge of mockery.
"Just show me the room, Jean-Claude."
He let his hand drop to his side, but he didn't seem offended. If anything, he seemed pleased, which irritated me.
"Bring Richard through when he arrives, Jason, but announce him before he comes. I don't want to be interrupted."
"Anything you say," Jason said. He smirked at us, at me, a knowing look on his face. Did everyone and their wolf believe I was sleeping with Jean-Claude? Of course, maybe it was a case of the lady protesting too much. Maybe.
"Just bring Richard to the room when he comes," I said. "You won't be interrupting anything." I glanced at Jean-Claude while I said the last.
He laughed, that warm touchable sound of his that wove over my skin like silk. "Even your resistance to temptation grows thin, ma petite."
I shrugged. I would have liked to argue, but he'd smell a lie. Even a run-of-the-mill werewolf can smell desire. Jason wasn't run-of-the-mill. So everyone in the room knew I was hot for Jean-Claude. So what?
"No is one of my favorite words, Jean-Claude. You should know that by now."
The laughter faded from his face, leaving his blue, blue eyes gleaming, but not with humor. Something darker and more sure of itself looked out his eyes. "I survive on hope alone, ma petite."
Jean-Claude parted the black and white drapes to reveal the bare, grey stones that the room was made of. A large hallway stretched deeper into the labyrinth. Torchlight gleamed beyond the electricity of the living room. He stood there, backlit against the flame and the soft modern lights. Some trick of light and shadow plunged half his face into darkness and brought a pinprick glow to his eyes. Or maybe it wasn't a trick of the light. Maybe it was just him.
"Shall we go, ma petite?"
I walked into that outer darkness. He didn't try to touch me as I moved past him. I'd have given him a brownie point for resisting the urge, except I knew him too well. He was just biding his time. Touching me now might piss me off. Later, it might not. Even I couldn't guarantee when the mood would be right.
Jean-Claude moved ahead of me. He glanced back over his shoulder. "After all, ma petite, you do not know the way to my bedroom."
"I've been there once," I said.
"Carried unconscious and dying. It hardly counts." He glided down the hall. He put a little extra sway to his walk, somewhat like Jason had done on the stairs, but where it had been funny with the werewolf, Jean-Claude made it utterly seductive.
"You just wanted to walk in front so I'd have to stare at your butt."
He spoke without turning around. "No one makes you stare at me, ma petite, not even me."
And that was the truth. The horrible truth. If in some dark part of my heart I hadn't been attracted to him from the beginning, I'd have killed him long ago. Or tried to. I had more legal vampire kills than any other vampire hunter in the country. They didn't call me the Executioner for nothing. So how did I end up being safer in the depths of the Circus of the Damned with the monsters than above ground with the humans? Because somewhere along the line, I didn't kill the monster I should have.
That particular monster was gliding up the hallway ahead of me. And he still had the cutest butt I'd ever seen on a dead man.
22
Jean-Claude leaned one shoulder against the wall. He'd already opened the door. He motioned me inside with a graceful sweep of his hand.
My high heels sank into the deep, white carpet. White wallpaper with tiny silver designs graced the walls. There was a white door in the left-hand wall near the bed. The bed had white satin sheets. A dozen black and white pillows were grouped at the head of the bed. A fan of black and white drapes fell from the ceiling, forming a partial canopy over the bed. The black lacquer vanity and chest of drawers still sat in opposite corners. The wallpaper and the door were new. Guess which bothered me more.
"Where does the door go?"
"The bathroom." He closed the outer door and walked past me to sit on the edge of the bed. There were no chairs.
"A bathroom. That wasn't here last time," I said.
"Not in its present form, but it was here just the same."