"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 08 - Blue Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

Jean-Claude smiled. "Asher is negotiating even as we speak to try and allow
you to enter Colin's territory."
Asher was his second banana, his vampire lieutenant. I frowned. "Why me and
not you?"
"Because you are much better with police matters than I am." He threw one
long, leather-clad leg over the couch arm and slithered over it to his feet.
It was like watching a lap dance without a lap. To my knowledge, Jean-Claude
had never stripped at Guilty Pleasures, the vampire strip club he owned, but
he could have. He had a way of making even the smallest movement sexual and
vaguely obscene. You always felt like he was thinking wicked thoughts, things
you couldn't say in mixed company.
"Why didn't you just call and tell me all this?" I said. I knew the answer,
or at least part of it. He seemed to be as enamored of my body as I was of
his. Good sex cuts both ways. The seducer can become the seduced, with the
right victim.
He glided towards me. "I thought this was news to be delivered
face-to-face." He stopped just in front of me, so close that the slightly full
hem of my nightie brushed his thighs. He gave a small movement of his body and
the satin edge of the nightie moved gently against my bare legs. Most men
would have had to use their hands to get that kind of movement. Of course,
Jean-Claude had had four hundred years to perfect his technique. Practice
makes perfect.
"Why face-to-face?" I asked, my voice a little breathy.
A smile curled his lips. "You know why," he said.
"I want to hear you say it," I said.
His beautiful face fell into blank, careful lines, only his eyes held the
heat like a banked fire. "I could not let you leave without touching you one
last time. I want to do the wicked dance before you leave."
I laughed, but it was tense, nervous. My mouth was suddenly dry. I was
having trouble not staring at his chest. The "wicked dance" was his pet
euphemism for sex. I wanted to touch him, but if I did, I wasn't sure where it
would stop. Richard was in trouble. I'd betrayed him once with Jean-Claude; I
wouldn't let him down again. "I need to pack," I said. I turned abruptly and
started walking towards the bedroom.
He followed me.
I put my gun on the bedside table beside the phone, got socks out of the
drawer, and started tossing them into the suitcase, trying to ignore
Jean-Claude. He doesn't ignore easily. He lay on the bed beside the suitcase,
propped on one elbow, long legs stretched the length of the bed. He looked
fearfully overdressed against my white sheets. He watched me move around the
room, moving just his eyes. He reminded me of a cat: watchful, perfectly at
ease.
I went into the nearby bathroom to get toiletries. I had a man's shaving
kit bag that I kept all the small stuff in. I was traveling out of town more
and more lately. Might as well be organized about it.
Jean-Claude was lying on his back, long, black hair spilling like a dark
dream on my white pillow. He gave a slight smile as I entered the room. He
held a hand out to me. "Join me, ma petite."
I shook my head. "If I join you, we'll get distracted. I'm going to pack
and get dressed. We don't have time for anything else."