Blood Vow (Black Dagger Legacy #2)(57)

Resettling next to Boone, she crossed her legs and leaned back in the slick, padded wraparound. Why in the hell anyone would put greased-pig fabric on something drunk people were supposed to sit on was a mystery. Then again, like Peyton, this particular club was more about appearances than anything else. The wait line had been like tryouts for The Bachelor—not that they’d had to bother with it thanks to Peyton—and there had been a Manhattan dealership’s worth of Mercedes in the lot out back, and if she saw one more Scott Disick wannabe hitting on a fake tan with DDs, she was going to—

Holy shit.

She was boring herself with her own internal conversation. So why didn’t she leave?

The answer to that was just across the shallow, carpeted pit. And of course, Peyton wasn’t looking at her.

No, Peyton was leaning forward, and looking around one of his silk-suited buddies—and in spite of the fact that he was wearing his blue-tinted glasses, and even with the laser beams spearing through the fogged-out air, it was obvious who he was staring at.

Obvious what he wanted.

Paradise.

And the longer Novo watched the male look at their fellow trainee, the more Novo had to own up to the fact that that obsession was part of the fucker’s appeal. After all, he was everything she didn’t find attractive, and yet she always ended up knowing when he came into a room and when he left it. Knew what clothes he was wearing. How he was fighting. What mood he was in, and whether he was eating or drinking, and anytime he was on his phone. She noticed when he’d had his hair cut and when it was getting shaggy. When he was injured, tired, or hadn’t slept.

Knew when he banged human women in the bathroom at the end of a club night.

It was like he was some kind of homing beacon—except the damn thing kept calling her to a house she didn’t want to even enter, much less move in to.

So, yeah, with him rocking his full-scale addiction to Paradise, his elusiveness had to be the explanation for the attraction.

Had to be—

Paradise sat forward and said something to Peyton … and he fucking loved whatever it was, throwing his head back, laughing like the female was a cross between Louis C.K. and a resurrected George Carlin.

Novo drank half of her Scotch.

When she brought her head back to level, Peyton was standing in front of her. “Hey, we’re gonna go. See you in class tomorrow night.”

He clapped her on the shoulder and walked right by, the three look-alike friends in his wake like water-skiers behind a flashy boat.

Boone got up and stretched. “I better head, too. Have a good night.”

“We’re going as well.” Paradise smiled as she took Craeg’s hand. “Enjoy yourself.”

Annnnnd then there was one.

One advantage to being totally self-sufficient and independent was you didn’t care if you were left alone. But for some reason, tonight, it dawned on her that none of them would have done a toilet flush like that to Paradise.

Not that Novo resented the female or thought the object of Peyton’s affection was weak. It just seemed … weird. Or something.

Whatever.

Novo stared past all the empty seats to the humans that mingled on the far side of the sunken area. There were probably three hundred guys she could fuck if she wanted, including Mr. Four a.m., the bartender. Just as many women if she were in that kind of mood, too.

Too bad not one of them seemed appealing—

Peyton popped into her line of sight from out of nowhere—to the point where she wondered if he wasn’t a hologram created by her brain.

“Forgot my phone.”

Oh, so this was real—because a hologram wouldn’t have to justify its existence.

But instead of going over to the sofa where he’d been, he stayed where he was.

“Yes?” Novo drawled.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a load off.” She indicated the seating area. “I would think that’s self-evident.”

When his stare drifted down her body, she narrowed her eyes. “The question more is … what are you doing here, Peyton?”





TWENTY-TWO


Elise had the hard building at her back and Axwelle’s even harder body at her front, and there was no place she’d rather be.

Especially as he started to kiss her.

He was just as hungry and demanding as she’d fantasized, his mouth crushing hers, his hands rough, his erotic greed the kind of thing she knew would make a meal out of her—and oh, God, she went with it, arching her breasts into his chest, holding on to his shoulders, giving herself up to him.

The kiss was everything that she’d thought it would be and more, the cold December night disappearing, consumed by the heat between them.

But what the hell had he said to her? About wanting her to see Troy again?

She pushed at him until the contact was broken. “I don’t understand.…”

Axe cupped her face in his big palms and rolled his hips against her, his massive erection stroking at her belly because he was so much taller than she was. “Why are we stopping to talk here?”

Good question. If slightly offensive.

“Why would you want me to go out with Troy again?”

She had spent the meal forcing herself to focus on the human, follow his conversation, ask the right questions at appropriate moments, laugh when she was supposed to. But the entire time, she had been completely distracted by Axe sitting down in the far corner of the mostly empty steakhouse, his looming presence like the most beautiful thundercloud she’d ever seen off in the distance.