Johnny took her hand and stroked her cool skin gently. He spoke softly, awed by her strength, her tenacity for the last several hundred years. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that was like for you. I understand completely why you feel the way you do.”
“Thank you. It is important to me that you understand, because I do care about it. I do wish to live a life that is more spontaneous, but without unnecessarily risking my own safety or that of those I care about.” Tears glistened in her eyes, true vampire tears of blood and pain. “I do not want anything bad to happen to you.”
“It won’t,” Johnny assured her, humbled and experiencing a deeper sense of admiration for her than any woman he had ever met. This was what Stella and Wyatt were talking about. There was no urge to run, no need to fear commitment, when you had such a deep, impenetrable respect for the person you were with. “I am going to lie low for a while, and fix things with Benny and Raven. I’ve got some growing up to do, and if you’re okay with it, I’d like to do that here, in Paris. With you.”
That was throwing it all out there. She might laugh, reject him in two seconds flat, or feel sorry for him. But you know what? He had flown halfway across the world, so he might as well go for broke. He may be maturing, but he was always going to be a risk-taker.
“I think that perhaps I would enjoy that,” she said.
Oh, so French. She wasn’t about to gush on him or squeal with delight. But Johnny could see it there, in her eyes. She was both excited and relieved. Just like he was. “Is there room in your pint-sized Paris apartment for an Irish drummer or should I find myself a hotel?”
Lizette gave him a smile that reminded him, discreet or not, the French were the inventors of some of the world’s greatest love acts, starting with kissing with tongue and ending with the ménage. It was in her blood, and he wanted a bite of her.
“Oh, there is definitely room here for you. Shall I model some of the garments you were so kind to bring for me? Or should I start with the oral sex I would like to give you?”
Um. The choices boggled the mind, but he’d be a fool not to go for broke. “I’ll take door number two if you’re down with it.” He kissed her. “And thank you, by the way. For being so amazing, for being so you. I think we’re going to have some serious fun over the next few months.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Lizette bent over and unzipped his jeans.
Then Johnny discovered what the meaning of eternity really was as her head descending at an agonizingly slow pace.
But it was worth the wait.
Chapter Eighteen
I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOUR LOVE TONIGHT
DRAKE played the guitar solo of “Talk Dirty to Me” like he had exactly seventeen times since the night Josie Lynn had disappeared. He’d played “Sweet Home Alabama” fifteen times. “Long Train Running” fifteen, too. “Jessie’s Girl” eighteen times, because they always got more than one request for that one in any given night. And he’d played “Your Love” nineteen times, because that one was also a fan favorite. Which never really made any sense to him, since the band had really only been a one-hit wonder, and if you asked anyone if they knew The Outfield, the band that originally performed it, most people would probably say no.
Until Cort started to sing that first line, “Josie’s on a vacation far away . . .” and the crowd roared in recognition night after night.
Drake had tried to pretend that was all it was. Josie was gone on vacation and she’d be back any day now. And unlike the song, he had no interest in hooking up with some other woman in her absence. Truth be told, he didn’t have much interest in anything.
The bar was pretty quiet tonight and even a Poison song couldn’t pull the crowd in if there was no crowd. It was a Sunday and hot as hell. Most smart people were staying in places that had efficient air-conditioning, unlike this place. Of course, heat and cold didn’t affect him. Because he was a freakin’ vampire.
There had been plenty of times over the decades he’d wished he were still human. But none more so than now. He wished he could go find Josie Lynn as a simple man and tell her he loved her and he’d grow old with her. He knew that was all she wanted. A man she could trust and love.
Instead she’d met the ultimate bad boy. Her worst nightmare.
And what had he really been thinking anyway? That he’d eventually tell her and she’d just say, “Oh, you’re a creature of the night. Groovy.”
The band finished up the Poison song, and Cort announced they were going to take a short break.
“You were behind on that whole song,” Cort said as he walked past him.
Drake yanked the plug out of his guitar and glared at his friend. “Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was that idiot on drums.”
Cort raised his hands to show he didn’t want to fight. “I’m not making an issue about it. I’m just letting you know, that’s all. I know your head hasn’t been in the music lately. And I get it. But don’t blame Benny because your heart is in shreds. He may not exactly be a genius but he’s adequate, and you know we needed to do something to guarantee he keeps quiet about our special blood-drinking habit. So don’t piss him off.”
Cort’s words irritated Drake even more. It was bad enough his heart was in shreds, he didn’t need everyone knowing it. He set his guitar on the stand with more force than necessary—honestly, with more force than he would have ever used before this funk. His guitars used to be his babies. They used to be enough.
Oh shit, he was turning into one of those musicians who thought of their guitars as women. Or compared them to women.
This sucked.
“Dude, you okay?”
Oh no. He couldn’t take this again. What was coming now was even worse than Cort and the other band guys’ sympathy.
“I’m really sorry, Drake. I should have thought before I spoke, man. But you know how I am.” Saxon gave him one of his puppy-dog looks.
Saxon had tried to apologize at least a dozen times and in a dozen different ways since Josie Lynn had taken off, and while Drake appreciated that his friend regretted what happened, he couldn’t take any more acts of contrition. He felt shitty enough without worrying about Saxon feeling shitty, too.
“Listen, Saxon, it is what it is. I’ll get over it, but honestly I don’t want to talk about it or her. It isn’t helping.”
Saxon nodded, then his eyes widened and he opened his mouth, and Drake knew more words of regret were coming, despite what Drake had just said.
“Seriously, Saxon, I can’t take any more of your apologies. I know you are sorry. Enough said about it.”
“But—”
“No,” Drake said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear it. Please.”
“But really,” Saxon said, the woeful puppy-dog look gone. Now he was grinning. From ear to ear. “You’re gonna wanna hear this.”
Drake stared at him, wondering why he was even questioning his odd little friend’s behavior. Saxon was nothing if not odd.
“Really. You are going to want to hear what I have to say.”
Drake sighed. Clearly he was going to have to suffer through another explanation so he could finally just go get a shot and hopefully numb himself a little.
“Josie Lynn is here.”
Drake stared at Saxon, not understanding. How was this an apology? In fact, this was the worst—and perhaps cruelest—attempt to help yet.
“Alright, Saxon, thanks for trying to cheer me up. In your own weird way.”
“No, man, for real.” Saxon pointed past him.
Drake turned, still expecting this to be another of Saxon’s cockamamie ways of trying to help. But then he froze.