The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,16
if he tossed her over his shoulder and headed for her office, Luc’s pleasant imaginings were interrupted as he watched a red-haired imp move to stand beside Sophia.
The tall fey looked a bit like Troy, but his hair was cut short and his far more bulky frame was covered by a black Armani suit instead of spandex. A smile touched his handsome face as he bent down to whisper something in Sophia’s ear.
A growl trickled from Luc’s throat as his fingers clutched the glass he was holding until it shattered.
Ignoring the Cognac that spilled over his hand, Luc prowled forward, his gaze locked on the fey who appeared unaware he was toying with death.
The crowd parted before him, the females giving tiny gasps of nervous excitement as they avidly watched him cross the room. He was indifferent to the stir of interest caused by his tight T-shirt and black slacks and the fluid grace of his movements.
He had only one thought in his mind.
Halting directly behind Sophia, he reached around her just as the fey was intending to take her hand. He grabbed the fool’s wrist, barely repressing his urge to crush the bones beneath his fingers.
“Touch her and I’ll make certain you never use that hand again,” he warned, his voice thick with his wolf.
“Shit.” Pale green eyes widened as the imp regarded him with a startled alarm. “Who the hell are you?”
“Luc.”
“You work here?”
Releasing his grip on the imp, Luc wrapped his arm possessively around Sophia’s waist, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“My only job is pleasing Sophia.”
Holding herself rigid, Sophia covered his hand with hers, covertly allowing her claws to dig into his flesh.
A tiny warning that she wasn’t pleased by his public claim.
“We’ll finish our discussion tomorrow, Andrew,” she smoothly promised the wary imp. “My office?”
“Four o’clock,” the fey murmured, cautiously waiting for Luc’s tiny nod of agreement before backing away and disappearing into the crowd.
Smart imp.
He obviously had enough sense not to piss off a Were. Especially not one in heat.
Of course, a female Were was equally perilous.
Tugging out of his grasp, Sophia turned to stab him with a furious glare.
“Are you demented?” she hissed.
“Odd.” His lips twisted. “That question has been running through my mind with growing frequency.” He nodded toward the fleeing imp. “Who was that?”
“My liquor distributor, who was giving me a very sweet deal until you came stomping over here like Conan the Barbarian,” she rasped. “What were you doing?”
Ah, now that was a loaded question.
For the past centuries Weres hadn’t been jealous creatures. The overriding need to produce children had destroyed the instinct to find that one special companion.
Was it any wonder he was as baffled as Sophia by his urgent desire to make certain that every male in Chicago understood this woman was his property?
“Have you considered the fact that you opened this club at the same time you moved into your new house?” he hastily improvised.
“So?”
He waved a hand toward the stage where yet another overly pretty Were was stripping off his clothes.
“So your mysterious stalker might be someone you met here.”
Her lips tightened, but it was obvious that she was considering his words.
“And how does pounding your chest and publicly branding me as your latest bimbo help?”
His brows lifted. “Bimbo?”
“Don’t push me.”
He shrugged. “Now everyone knows they have to go through me to get to you.”
“Great.” She didn’t appear particularly pleased by his logic. “What if they decide to lie low until you leave? Then I’m back to where I started.”
“But I’m not leaving,” he assured her, moving forward to trace the line of her stubborn jaw. “Not until I’m absolutely certain you’re safe.”
Perhaps sensing that nothing short of death was going to pry him from her side, she heaved a sigh, her gaze shifting to the horde of females who were studying him with a rapt attention that was intended to be reserved for the entertainment.
“So much for blending in,” she gave in with a sour frown.
He smiled, his finger lowering to follow the plunging neckline of her silk jacket.
“You were right to begin with,” he murmured, his voice thickening as she gave a small shiver of pleasure. “I don’t blend.”
CHAPTER 5
The human caterers had arrived precisely at eight to transform the back patio into the predictable cliché of an oriental paradise.
Paper lanterns were glowing near the pool. Black and red tablecloths covered the long buffet tables that were lined with platters of sushi. And cheesy silk fans had been placed on every