Page 196 of White Wolf
How long had she dreamed of kissing Roland Webb? Since that Thanksgiving with his family? No, before then. Maybe that first day, when he’d looked young, but grimly determined, holding out his hand and looking her right in the eye, not at all afraid of having a female partner. Back then, it had been an unacknowledged shiver down her back:he’s sexy; I like his broken nose. But that was the sort of shallow thinking everyone experienced. No, she’d wanted to kiss him,reallykiss him, for a while. The kind of gut-deep longing thathurt. She’d thought it would never happen. But now…
It was sweeter than she’d expected. Softer. He was careful and gentle, not pushing, just touching.
She gasped out of sheer surprise, and he froze, lips hovering over hers. Uncertain. So sweet. The big bad boxer, so achingly, tenderly sweet.
“Oh, Lanny,” she murmured, and touched his face.
“Are you–”
“Don’t stop.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Their second kiss was firmer. Bolder. He teased her lips open with the tip of his tongue, and then licked between them. A slow flex. Somehow careful. Like she was the one about to break, rather than him.
Trina eased back just far enough to meet his gaze, trying not to look at the way his mouth was wet from kissing, marveling at the way his pupils were blown.
She’d meant to be teasing, but her words came out soft. “Are you always this way?”
His brows slanted down. “Like…” A blush crept across his cheeks. “I’m trying to be – you know, I mean – you’re not just–” He was flustered, and it was precious. “You’re not just some chick I met at a bar,” he finally got out, scowling and blushing furiously. “I’m trying to be respectful, damn it.”
She bit her lip and tried not to smile. Failed. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“I’mnotsweet.”
“You’reverysweet.”
“Oh yeah?”
She laughed.
He caught her around the waist with both arms, dragged her up into his lap, and kissed her for real.
43
OPEN WOUND
Sasha wasn’t one to brag, but he knew he was one hell of an excellent bartender. He didn’t tire easily, and he had deft hands, a sense of smell and taste three times as sensitive as any human. He genuinely liked people, for the most part, and chatting with customers came naturally. He liked hearing about their days, their quietly comforting human problems – two nights ago a beautiful young woman had cried into her margarita about a boy, and within an hour Sasha had managed to convince her that she was much better off without the guy, and she was smiling when she left, leaving behind a generous tip for him. He didn’t gossip with the servers, didn’t flirt inappropriately. He was a model employee.
The only hitch had been that he was a package deal.
The Wet Whistle’s manager, Brian, had looked doubtfully at Nikita when he’d applied for the bouncer position. The bouncers already on staff were the neckless, shaved-head, amateur MMA fighter types, bulging out of their shirtsleeves. But within five minutes, Nikita had arm-wrestled all of them, and then bodily thrown one out the front door as a demonstration.
“Helluva lot stronger than you look,” Brian had said. “You’re hired. I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid you’ll crush my fingers.”
So Sasha served drinks, and Nikita gave the loud and rowdy types the boot. Sasha thought the Wet Whistle was better off for it, and he knew Nikita was. He was the sort of man who needed a job or he started to feel worthless.
Nikita was at the door tonight, checking IDs, and the club was filling up with its usual student and millennial crowd, making their way to the bar in tides before heading off to the tables and the dance floor.
Sasha set a dirty martini on a cocktail napkin and slid it across the bar to a young woman with dyed-black hair and wicked sharp eyeliner.
She took the drink with a low, throaty “thanks,” and left behind a napkin with a phone number on it.Sophie, she’d printed her name, dotted the I with a heart.Call me, the note said.
Sasha smiled a little before he tucked the napkin under the bar with dozens more like it. Something about his artfully shaggy hair, the fineness of his features, and easiness of his smile, possibly even his all-black ensemble, appealed to the young women here. He styled himself dangerous, but physically he came across kind and approachable.Puppy, he heard in Ivan’s voice, and his smile slipped away.
Maybe he’d call Sophie later. Nikita was always in want of a woman, but couldn’t seem to approach them himself.
It must have started raining outside, a summer thunderstorm he could only just make out above the pounding of the music, because the incoming customers were sprinkled with raindrops, laughing and shaking water out of their hair. He offered one girl a towel that she took with a grateful smile…that quickly turned speculating.
