Home > Fashionably Hotter Than Hell (Hot Damned #6)(8)

Fashionably Hotter Than Hell (Hot Damned #6)(8)
Author: Robyn Peterman

"Quite," I replied.

"You suuuuure you no want our help? You might beeeeee one of the prettiest Vampyres me ever seen, but you no smart," Beyoncé added as she blew me loud kisses.

"I really don't think I need any help."

"Me really think you do, but it be your hot pink bloodbath," she added gleefully.

I was mute as I had no clue how to reply to that one. The Baby Demons were odd little creatures. It was definitely time for them to go.

"Don't do anything we no do," Abe screamed as they poofed away to the strip club. I chuckled and shook my head. This day needed to end, but I had still had one more thing I needed to do.

As I made my way back into the gathering, I saw her and stopped in my tracks. Raquel was poured into a sexy black halter dress that made her pale skin and red hair exquisite. My gut tightened and every instinct I had was wildly inappropriate. She was surrounded by her entourage of Vampyres from her European Dominion. All men. All entirely too close. Especially the red headed one who couldn't take his eyes off her.

The American Vamps were paying respects—literally falling over themselves to get close to her. Raquel was both gracious and beautiful. She held the crowd in the palm of her hand. I observed jealously as she smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the besotted group of Vampyres. I ground my fangs and fought my desire to barge in, take her in my arms and lay claim. She shouldn't be here. She should be in Europe. Who in the Hell was running Europe while she was away? Only one way to find out.

The band had started and the music was slow and sensual. The thought of holding her in my arms without being decapitated was appealing. It would be in bad taste for her to turn me down in front of an audience and worse for her to attack me. Win—win.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as I approached and I hoped my tux jacket hid the growing bulge in my pants. The Vampyres stepped back out of respect for me and I grinned at the alluring blush on her cheeks.

"May I have this dance?" I asked.

"No, you may not," the red haired goon, who had a seriously annoying French accent, said as he stepped in front of Raquel.

The gasps and titters of our audience only served to deepen her blush. Her normally golden eyes had narrowed to slits and blazed green.

"Interesting," I said in a deadly quiet voice as the idiot guard dropped his gaze from mine. I could destroy him in a second flat but knew that really wouldn't go over well. "I don't believe I asked you to dance. You're not my type."

The titters were now full blown laughs.

"My Princess does not dance," he insisted as he raised his eyes back to mine and glared.

Part of me admired his vigilance. However, he was in the way of what I wanted, which was not working for me.

"I find it fascinating that Raquel can't answer for herself," I said softly as I stared her down. "She was quite vocal this morn… "

"Enough," she snapped. "It's fine, Jean Paul," she assured her henchman as she touched his shoulder. "I shall give him one dance."

"Are you sure, my liege?" he asked doubtfully as he glanced up at the skylights. "It's almost time to leave."

Raquel followed his gaze and gave him a curt nod. "It will be fine. One dance," she informed me as she placed her hand in mine. "Only one."

"That's all I asked for, Princess," I said smoothly as I led her to the crowded dance floor.

Her small hand in mine and the feel of her hip beneath the other was almost my undoing. Although, it was her scent that made my head spin—like a spring breeze mixed with desire.

"It's quite ballsy of you to ask me to dance," she said as she stared hard at my mouth with displeasure.

I grinned and pulled her tighter against my body. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Well, I assumed from that shade of lipstick you're wearing that you’ve already been quite busy with someone else," she said.

What was she talking about?

"Or you've become a metrosexual jackassmonkeydouche. You know, hot pink really isn't your color. With your dark hair you could easily pull off red," she explained with wide eyes, clearly surprised that she’d taken Astrid’s advice on creative profanities. “Sorry about that jackdouche thing, it slipped out. However,” she continued caustically, back to her lovely self, “I have a difficult time with red because of my hair. I do have a few tubes I bought hoping I could make them work. I'd be happy to give them to you.”

"What the Hell are you talking about?" I asked as I stopped dancing and pulled her closer, making it impossible for her to run or knee me in the balls. The appalling insult was funny the accusation—not so much.

"Your lipstick. It's simply the wrong shade or you're actually a man whore." Her eyes spat fire and she tried to pull away.

Not happening.

God damn it. I should have listened to the Demons. My hot pink bloodbath was the leftover lipstick from Christina's kiss. Not good form. The insane lip smacking now made sense. I quickly swiped my lips and made a mental note to listen to the ass-obsessed menaces next time. However, Raquel’s obvious jealousy made my pants even tighter.

"Overzealous greeting," I muttered with a shrug.

"Right," she said with a discreet elbow to my gut.

I deserved that. "So I assume you'll be leaving for Europe in the morning," I said, praying I'd removed all of the lipstick and desperately seeking a change of subject.

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