Veilers - Veiled Target Part 2

His beer gla.s.s clinked his front teeth as he clumsily pulled it from his mouth and choked down the draft. "Demon? I beg your pardon?"

Interesting. She'd meant it as a joke, but his reaction made her think they might have even more in common. Did he know about Veilers? His attempt at hiding his response faltered and she decided to press a little further.

"Don't worry. They're not really demons. Although if I seriously thought about it, there are certain times of the month when I think the devil himself is pulling their strings."

He gathered himself immediately. "Right."

"Unless, of course, you know something I don't. There aren't real demons are there?"

"I don't-"

"I mean that's impossible, right?"

"I don't-"

"You've never," she asked, her tone inquisitive, "seen one have you?"

He waited a beat. Probably to make sure she wouldn't interrupt him again. "I don't believe there are."

She looked at him for a few seconds, and then risked, "What do you believe in?"

The nervous tick Tess felt earlier seemed to jump across the table and land on Trey. He scrubbed the side of his neck. Phew. She was glad to be rid of it, and only a teensy tiny bit sorry she'd placed it on him. When he started to speak, she dipped her attention to the curve of his lips before refocusing her gaze on his eyes.

"That's a very personal question considering I've only known you for five minutes."

"Really? You think so?" She wiggled in her seat, careful to keep the neckline of her dress in place. "Because I feel like we could have met before."

She couldn't exactly explain it, or put a clear picture to it, but there was definitely something between them that extended beyond the past few minutes. The thought heated her from the inside out. Blind date or not, their paths might have somehow crossed.

"Does that line really work for you?" A genuine look of pleasure, albeit small, spread across his face for the first time since he sat down.

The back of her throat tickled. "That wasn't," she choked out, trying to stay calm, "a line. I really meant it." Good onya, Tess. She reached for her beer and finished it, praying the cold liquid would alleviate the heat inside her. G.o.d, I hope my cheeks aren't red.

Rather than reply, he picked up his beer. She could swear she saw the corners of his mouth turn up while he drank. Once finished, he placed the mug next to hers, slid them to the edge of the table and motioned to the waitress for two more.

Guess he liked the line.

As she inwardly cringed, she focused on slowing the hasty beat of her heart. This was worse than any a.s.signment. It was like she had no control over her mouth-or other parts of her body. a.s.sign her to a mark, and no matter how good looking, she never experienced an elevated heart rate, never worried a blush would cross her face. a.s.sign her to a blind date and she became a b.u.mbling idiot.

Scarier still, it felt good. Tess the eliminator had disappeared.

"I'm both glad and lucky you're sitting across the table from me. Whether we've met before or not, you look quite stunning this evening." He shrugged off his coat, ready to stay awhile. "And that isn't a line either."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Playing nice wove a bewitching thread of vibrations through her. d.a.m.n. First meeting jitters aside, the air between them no longer felt as though it might crackle-except in a good, maybe-I'll-go-back-to-your-place kind of way.

That was the only explanation she could think of as to why she let her defenses down and let a more unguarded side show. "I'm not very good or proficient at the whole dating thing."

"Because of your one-liners?" Amus.e.m.e.nt crossed his handsome features.

Smart-a.s.s.

"You arm-wrestle?" she asked.

"What?" His brows furrowed. His smile waned.

"Can you arm-wrestle?" She had the feeling she wouldn't beat him at verbal sparring, but no one could beat her at arm-wrestling. Not even a two-hundred-pound, muscle-clad, hunk of man.

The waitress. .h.i.t the side of the table with her hip, momentarily drawing Tess's attention away from the most inviting blue eyes she'd ever had the pleasure of gazing into. Beer sloshed onto the table as the waitress traded their empty mugs for full ones before hurrying off.

"Sure, I can arm-wrestle." He looked insulted that she'd even considered the notion he couldn't.

Good. She had him off balance already.

"Are you left or right handed? And be honest."

"Honestly, I'm right handed."

Tess studied him. He didn't break eye contact. Didn't fidget or scratch behind his neck. He did have a fresh scar above his left brow, the skin lighter there, the sutured line still pink.

"Cool. Me too. Let's do this left handed then."

"By do this, you mean arm-wrestle?" His eyes widened. "Me?"

"You got a problem with that?" She put her arm, bent at the elbow, on the table.

He added his arm to the mix. "No problem here. But why?"

Because it was the first thing to come to mind when he'd fl.u.s.tered her. Because she hadn't lost a match yet. Because she wanted to feel his hand in hers. She was dying to touch his skin again, absorb his warmth and anything else that went along with it. Their brief handshake wasn't enough.

"It's fun." Lame, but also true. Any challenge got her endorphins pumping.

Trey stared at her like she'd forgotten he was a good eighty pounds heavier and six inches taller. "Is there a prize for the winner?"

His likeability rating just shot up ten points. "Oh, there's definitely a prize for the winner."

"And that would be?"

"I don't know. What do you think?" She wanted his input, and planned to agree with whatever he came up with.

"Breakfast."

She choked. "I'm sorry?"

"The loser buys the winner breakfast. Pancakes, French toast, omelet, whatever."

It was tough keeping the nervous smile at bay. "Tomorrow?" she ventured.

"The loser chooses when." He wiggled his fingers, indicating impatience. At the same time, the corners of his mouth lifted into a distracting grin.

When he did that, it was d.a.m.n near impossible not to turn to mush. She let out a my-a.s.s-is-gra.s.s sigh. "Deal." Either way she was a goner.

Her fingers wiggled in return as she drew her legs up, used her other arm for leverage, and positioned herself on her knees. The table was wide so she needed to allow for a little more bend in her arm. Technique was critical in arm-wrestling.

"You comfortable?" He didn't shift an inch.

"Give me-"

"Because I wouldn't want you blaming your loss on wrong positioning."

"-a second," she bit out while settling into the prime spot for a win. "And for your information, I'm not going to lose."

"What is it they say?" he teased, taking her hand and wrapping his fingers between hers. "Oh yeah. 'May the best man win.'"

She heard his words, but couldn't register any meaning. The hand-holding sent a hot rush of warmth through her, as if she'd dipped her body in luxuriating bath oil. Comfort tinged with need settled over her thoughts, leading her to believe she'd met her match. A match she'd had no intention of encountering. How did the simple act of touching his hand do that? She didn't want to let go.

A flicker of heat in his eyes made her quiver and she hoped he didn't feel any doubt in her grip. It seemed hopeless to exert any strength right now.

And that was precisely why he looked at her that way, Tess rationalized. He wanted her off balance, hoping to gain the upper hand. Well, he'd failed. She willed the electricity she felt between them away, and got down to business. She'd learned to compartmentalize while working for P.I.E., and there was no reason why she couldn't apply it to her date.

"You'll be sorry you said that in a minute."

"On your count then."

"One...two...three."

Tess was much stronger than she looked. Left or right hand didn't matter. She wrote right handed, swung a baseball bat right-handed, but what she'd failed to mention was she did pretty much everything else left-handed, including one-arm push-ups. She watched him realize his miscalculation the second she finished counting.

"You're not"-he growled-"right handed, are you?"

"Oh, I'm right handed. But I'm left handed too."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I'm ambidextrous," she bragged.

With eyes glued on him, she took him down, their hands. .h.i.tting the table with a thump. When he immediately released her, she wished it had taken more time to win. Victory didn't feel as good as his hand did.

"How about dinner?" he asked as if nothing had happened.

"That's it? No congratulations?" She resituated herself on the seat, her legs grateful for the change in position.

"I'd be happy to congratulate you," he drawled, "except I believe I'm the winner here."

"Do I need to explain win and lose to you?" she teased, adjusting the neckline of her dress.

His eyes dipped to her chest for a split second. "I'm sure there's lots of things you'd like to enlighten me on, but I'm good on that point."

"You owe me breakfast."

"I do. And I'll let you know when."

Chapter Three.

Hugh always thought before he acted. But somewhere between Tess's clearing her throat and issuing an arm-wrestle challenge, he'd lost track of his mission: find out if she knew anything that would help him find Trey.

He'd a.s.sumed his apprentice's ident.i.ty to discover if Trey's blind date might turn up some useful information. In Hugh's mind, there was no such thing as a chance encounter.

And that notion had hit him in the gut with the force of a hurricane. Because the second he'd laid eyes on Tess, he knew his life was about to change. With pale yellow hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, smart, challenging eyes and sun-kissed skin, she was the most captivating creature he'd ever seen.

"It's only fair that I get to pick the place then. I mean I did win. I should have some say in my prize." Her eyes sparkled bluer than tropical waters, matching the color of her s.e.xy dress.

"I'll give you that," he conceded. "And go so far as to add anywhere your heart desires." He wanted to whisk her away right now. Start his vacation this instant with her along for the ride. Her floral scent seeped into his skin, and he could still feel her warmth at his fingertips. The wisps of blonde hair around her face made him itch to touch her.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Had he really just offered to fly her anywhere? This was not a real date. He didn't do women. Well, he did them. But only meaningless one-night stands. Something told him Tess was anything but meaningless. She put on a tough exterior, but he'd tasted her fear when he'd acted like an a.s.shole. He suspected beyond her guard lay a woman that could unravel him.

Her eyes grew wider. "Anywhere, huh? Within what mile radius, may I ask?"

"That depends on the rest of the date," he teased. f.u.c.k. He didn't tease. He cleared his throat. "I'm a pilot. We can fly to San Francisco. Seattle. Chicago. Cabo." Reaching for his beer, he took a long drag while she pondered his generosity. He told himself he'd made the offer only to get her to trust him, to let down her defenses and go beyond small talk. He certainly had no intention of following through.

"Wow." She joined him in a drink. "I'm glad I agreed to this blind date."

Blind date. Right. She had no idea who he was and for a split second he thought about coming clean. Because he knew how to read women-human women in particular-and Tess's scent told him he'd aroused her, her combative eyes told him he'd intrigued her. But this wasn't about the two of them, and with a shake of his head, he reminded himself he had no interest in seeing to her wants.

The churning in his stomach had nothing to do with wanting her to like him.

It had to do with keeping his distance. As alpha for the Night Runners, he was expected to mate and have children. But after his older brother, Max, had died from a broken heart, Hugh vowed to avoid attachment. That decision hadn't sat well with the pack and so he'd decided to groom Trey to take over. The younger wolfen was anxious to mate and was honored to step into the role.

"You okay?"

Tess's question shook him from his thoughts, and he let out a low grumble. No woman had stirred even the tiniest emotion from him. Why this one?

"I'm fine," he said. And then to erase the desire he saw in her eyes, he added, "Maybe I should take your demon roommates to breakfast too?"

The frown she gave him said he'd offended her by including her friends. Good. "You..."

He waited, trying not to show signs she had him on the edge of his seat. Her voice sounded fl.u.s.tered, and he imagined she was sorting out how much temperament to give away in her answer.

"You wouldn't be able to handle the three of us. Trust me."