CHAPTER THREE
He knew he was lurking like a villain in a bad melodrama; he did not care. He had to catch her when she came out of the restaurant. So he was reduced to watching her through the window from across the street.
Richard rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. It didn't hurt anymore, but if he'd been mortal, he’d likely still be unconscious. And hospital-bound for a stay of no fewer than two days. She hit like a Teamster. And swore like one, too.
She was stunning, really very stunning with those cider-colored eyes and that unique hair. Her crowning glory was shoulder length and wavy, and made up of several colors: gold, auburn, chestnut...even a few strands of silver. The silky strands gleamed beneath the streetlight and made him itch to touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked.
She had been fearless in the near dark of the alley, and he'd become utterly besotted. He had to see her again, take her in his arms again, hear her say "fuck" again.
Aha! After a five-course meal, here she came. And look! She had spotted him instantly, and was now stomping across the street toward him when anyone else would be clawing for the cell phone and dialing 9-1-1. Her small hands were balled into fists and her lush mouth was curled in a snarl.
"Fuck-o, you don't learn too quick, do you?"
He smiled. "You're marvelous.” There were few people on the street at this hour, but the ones who were around caught the tension in the air, and did a quick fade while pretending they were running simply because they were late for an engagement. Most mortals had zero protective coloring, but something about the proximity of a vampire put their wind up, even if they weren't consciously aware of it. "Just charming, really."
She snorted delicately. "And on heavy meds, on top of everything else. Get lost, before I belt you in the chops again."
"You came all the way over here to tell me to go away?"
A frown wrinkle appeared on her perfect, tanned forehead. "Yeah, I did. Don't read anything into it. So blow, okay?"
"Richard Will."
"What?"
"My name is Richard Will." He held out his hand, hoping she wouldn't be startled by his long fingers. Most people—women—were.
She sniffed and didn’t move. "Yeah? Well, Dick, I don't trust people with two first names." She stared at his outstretched hand, then crossed her arms over her chest.
He let his hand drop. "And you are...?"
"Tired of this conversation."
"Is that your first name or your last?"
Her lips curled into an unwitting smile. "All right, that’s not bad. You never answered my question."
"Which one?"
"What are you? Your heart..." She started to reach for him, then let her hand drop. "Let's just say you should get your ass to a doctor, like, yesterday."
"I was busy yesterday. And shall we stop dancing? You know what I am." He bent toward her, and was thrilled when she didn't back off. "In your heart, you know."
"Dick, as my family will tell you, I don't have a heart."
He rested his palm against her chest, feeling the rapid beat. "Such a lie, dearest."
“First, never try to take my pulse through my boob again.” She smacked his hand away, and sounded gratifyingly breathless when she added, "And don't call me that."
"I have no choice, dearest, as you never told me your name."
"It's Jane."
"Jane...?"
"Smith," she said rudely, and he chuckled. Then laughed, a full-blown guffaw that sent more stragglers hurrying away. "What the hell's so funny, Fang?"
"Don't you see? We simply must get married. Richard and Jane...Dick and Jane."
She gave him a long, puzzled stare and then, reluctantly, joined him in laughter.