Macey laughed at the mental image, which somehow included a fly wearing a priest's collar, and her shoulder bumped against his.
"By God, you're it. " Grady touched her cheek with a gentle finger as he looked down into her eyes. "I've had a hard time keeping my mind off you, Macey Denton. "
"Why would you want to do that?" she replied cheekily, even as her heart thudded harder.
"I don't know," he murmured. "I must be a damned fool. " He leaned in, gently gathering her near, and settled his lips on hers.
Macey shivered lightly and pressed closer, then slipped her tongue out, teasing it over the seam of his mouth. He inhaled sharply against her and curved a hand over the back of her neck. Gently nibbling on the edge of her mouth, Grady shifted her so she was nearly sitting in his lap. The kiss grew deeper and Macey felt hot and cold at the same time. She forgot to breathe, forgot they were in the middle of a semi-public place, forgot everything but the hot, sensual stroke of his tongue and the full, erotic brush of his lips.
The heat bubbled up from her middle, flushing over her torso and along her throat as the kiss went deeper and hotter. She felt damp and moist, and the insistent twinge between her legs grew stronger, turning into a delicate little throbbing.
Then a brush of cold air whisked over the back of her neck, beneath his warm hand, raising the hair along her sensitive nape and tiny little bumps on her skin. A faint hint of nausea accompanied the chill and had the effect of yanking Macey from the depths of a hot, languid place she didn't want to leave-and back abruptly into the secret cabaret beneath the Palmer Hotel.
Where an undead was present.
She pulled away, more sharply than she intended, and had Grady smiling with chagrin. He glanced around as if to see if anyone was watching, then looked back at her. "I lost my head for a minute. " His Irish was heavy and thick, and sounded rich and musical on his tongue.
Macey was trying to steady her breathing and look around for Capone-or whoever the undead was-at the same time. She couldn't see well enough from their table, however, and much as she was enjoying herself-really, really enjoying herself-she knew she had to at least try to investigate. "Tell me again why you're here, if it's not for the booze?"
"I didn't say it wasn't for the booze. I'm Irish. I can tell a fine whiskey when I taste one. " His smile turned slow and warm, and Macey got the distinct impression he wasn't talking about spirits any longer.
She couldn't control a warm shiver. Damn, but I've got to ditch him.
"Now don't be doing that sort of thing, biting your lip like that, lass, because you're going to make me lose my head again. "
She smiled and covertly scanned the room again. "Don't you have to interview people? Or take notes for the story you're writing?"
"I have the distinct impression you're trying to get rid of me, Macey. " The warmth in his eyes eased, and he looked at her intently. "What's going on?"
"I just feel bad I ditched my friends. Dottie got us in here, and it's supposed to be the three-well, the four of us, but Flora couldn't make it. I should probably find them. "
He looked at her a moment longer, then, with a tilt of his head, nodded reluctantly. "I'd forgotten the female species tends to travel in packs. "
"Most of the time. " Then she allowed a spark of mischief into her gaze. "And then there are other times when three is definitely a crowd. "
His eyes widened just enough to let her know she'd hit the mark. "You're about killing me, lass. " But he sighed and slid out of the booth, then offered her a hand to help her do the same. "And I suppose you're about right-I'd best be getting to work. Editor got me a press pass, and he'll expect me shiver caught her by surprise, and 7V to get at least a few good quotes and do a good write-up. But don't leave without saying good night. "
"Hmmm," was all she said, but with a smile and laughter in her eyes.
Macey strolled through the crowd, keeping to the perimeter of the room while trying to appear nonchalant. In reality she was trying to "read" the chilly sensation that indicated a vampirical presence and determine who was causing it.
When she saw Al Capone standing nearby, surrounded by a cluster of dark-suited men, she veered in that direction. To her chagrin, the chill didn't ease as she made her way toward the group, and Macey was certain the temperature was becoming even cooler.
In a moment of nervous absurdity, she remembered a game she played when she was young. An object was hidden, and as she tried to find it, the hider would tell her whether she was "hot" or "cold. " This was almost the same thing, except the closer she got to the hidden object, the colder she got.
If only she could get Capone alone. But that would not only be impossible, it would be suicidal. What would Chas do if he were here?
Macey submerged another wave of discomfort. She'd ditched him too, tonight. Of course, he deserved it-the way he announced they were "going out" and to bring a stake. And to wear something that showed off her legs. The jerk.
She wondered if he'd come to her flat to pick her up, or if he expected her to meet him at The Silver Chalice. Or Cookie's. That was a good excuse, come to think of it. He hadn't told her where or when to meet him, and so she'd made other plans.
And if she could come back to The Silver Chalice and tell him and Sebastian she'd staked Al Capone. . .
For the first time, excitement spurred her. She was a Gardella, after all. A descendant of Victoria. She could do this. According to Sebastian and Chas, and even the intriguing Wayren, she was born to hunt vampires.
Macey slipped her hand inside the flap of her pocketbook and curled her fingers around the makeshift stake. She hovered near the wall, in a corner-like indentation behind a cluster of tables. A tall potted plant strung with tiny lights obscured her from the rest of the room. Unless someone was looking closely, she doubted they'd notice her.
Chapter TEN