Whoa! Holly's pulse tripped in her throat, fueled by the urge to be near Alessandro and a desperate need to back away. "Who made you my watchdog?"
Alessandro's eyes glittered, but he left her challenge alone. He put one hand on her hair, his fingers combing through its length. Holly shivered. He was beyond crossing the boundary they had carefully kept between them. He was five miles down the road.
His hand drifted to her hip. "I would stay, but I'm needed elsewhere. Come with me. Let me take you home, where it's safe."
Safe? Being alone with Alessandro was definitely not safe. Holly felt the brush of his fingers low on her spine, making her hot and weak with longing. Dangerously needy. It was taking a supreme effort to think. "Why don't you trust him?"
Alessandro blinked slowly. "You would not understand."
Yeah, I do. It's one of those guy things. Two tomcats in one backyard.
She took a deep breath, doing her best to resist the electricity that seemed to flicker between them, skin to skin. "Big, bad witch here. If I can handle the Flanders house, I can handle dinner with the detective." More than I could handle being alone with you.
He nodded, his expression guarded. A burst of sound came from the kitchen, probably a blender. They both relaxed, welcoming the cover of noise.
She blew out a sigh. "So what was that phone call?"
The corners of his mouth pulled down. "The smallest possibility of a lead."
"Aren't you going to tell Macmillan?"
Alessandro shrugged, lifting his eyebrows. "I don't think so. The suspect we have would literally eat him alive."
Chapter 14
Without meeting Holly's startled gaze, Alessandro turned and left. Frustrated lust climbed up her frame, heating every muscle along the ladder of her bones. Holly pressed her palm to her forehead. Her skin felt prickly, her cheeks burning.
Men.
Vampires.
I suppose it would seem strange if I asked for a cold shower before dinner. Fortunately Macmillan seemed too absorbed in his culinary extravaganza to notice her distraction.
The dining room was more formal than the rest of the place, as if he put more importance on that room. The carpet had a dark gray and plum Afghani pattern, the chandelier a sleek, modern design in pewter. The table and chairs were black. By contrast, the green salad looked positively startling.
They began with a light seafood bisque, then medallions of lamb in rosemary sauce, accompanied by peas and couscous. Halfway through her plate Holly was full, but it was too good to stop stuffing herself. If Macmillan quit the force, he had a future as a cook.
They ate with such gusto they barely spoke at first. "I don't get vampires," Holly finally said.
"Who does?" Macmillan replied with a shrug. Now that they were alone he was much more relaxed. "Your friend showed up on my doorstep and refused to budge. This after dodging my calls for two days. He gives me absolutely golden information on the case and then takes off without a word. It makes it hard not to wonder what the hell he's up to."
Protecting his interests. "I think he was called away."
"Probably that queen of theirs. From what I hear he's her local go-to guy."
"He never talks about her."
"No surprise there. Omara's a piece of work. About as big as a saltshaker and rules the vampires in a third of the continent. I saw her when she came by to see the brass at the police station downtown. If nothing else she knows public relations, how to schmooze the suits. But if you catch her off guard, her eyes say you're nothing but a bug."
"A vampire's existence is about hunting and territory. Probably the right analogy is livestock."
Macmillan laughed, the light catching the dark waves of his hair. "Y'know, I get that. After working a few cases that involve the supernatural, I think I've stopped taking growing old for granted."
Holly savored another bite of lamb. "Speaking of winding up as someone's dinner—and I know this sounds very clichéd—it is unusual to meet a man who cooks so well."
"I like food. I really love cooking, but I don't have time to do it much."
"Where'd you learn?"
"My mother was a terrible cook. I learned out of self-defense." He gave his fleeting smile, but it lingered in his eyes. "She worked in a land developer's office. She used to own this place."
"Any siblings?"
"Nah, my dad died not long after I was born, but I have plenty of aunts and uncles and cousins. I think I'm related to half the city. The Scottish half, anyway."
He set his fork down, a slight tensing of his body signaling a change in mood. "I'm glad you came, because I really need to talk to you. Going over the case was great—it was actually really helpful—but there's this other thing I needed to ask you about."
"The personal thing." Holly felt her senses go on high alert.
"Yeah." He sat back, turning his face to the window. "Something really weird happened to me last night. Given what's been going on, that's saying something."
Holly put down her fork. "So, Detective, what could be stranger than killer slime?" Did I just say that?
"Call me Mac." Rising, he took the plates into the kitchen, as if he needed a break before he continued. He returned a moment later with parfait glasses filled with chocolate mousse. He set one in front of her with the air of Michelangelo unveiling his David.
"Omigosh," was all she could say.
It had layers of dark, light, and medium chocolate topped with melted fudge and mint leaves. He set a long-handled silver spoon beside it. "This is my party piece. Enjoy."
"It looks amazing." Holly thought about how stuffed she was, but knew she would eat every bite. "How come you're not either married or four hundred pounds?"
"I don't eat like this often," he replied. "And I do have serious character flaws."
She took a spoonful, speechless as the chocolate melted on her tongue. He watched her reaction with obvious pleasure.
"How serious are those flaws?"
He looked down at his dessert, showing long, dark lashes. "I like handcuffs."
"Oh, yeah?" Holly took another spoonful of parfait. She remembered parfait meant perfect in French. "Fur lined or regular?"
"Negotiable." This time he smiled enough to show strong, slightly crooked teeth.
"Sorry," she said, mentally backpedaling. "Chocolate brings out the flirt. You were going to tell me about the weird thing."
He sat back, all the humor gone. "I've been home today. Some sudden bug."
Holly set the spoon down. She hadn't actually believed his sick-day story. "Yeah?"
Macmillan's gaze drifted away. "Maybe it was food poisoning. I dunno. I went back to work after dinner last night. I got into a completely stupid argument with my supervisor. Then I got deathly ill."
"Any ideas why?"
"I went for dinner and met this hot girl. Her name was Jenny."
Holly's eyebrows went up. "And this is a problem?"
"She kissed me."
"Woo-hoo," she said flatly. Definitely not dinner-date conversation.
Macmillan gave her a level stare. "I think she did something to me. It felt weird. She felt weird. I felt weird after."
"Can you elaborate on the weird part?"
"Angry. Hollow. Sick to my stomach. Sort of like I'd lost my life savings and been pumped full of toxins at the same time. I don't think it was ordinary, y'know, science-based stuff. It was worse. Bad magic."
"But you're okay now?"
"Yeah, by the afternoon I was starting to come around." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "The only aftereffect is that I'm hungry all the time. Starving. Probably why I went on this cooking binge."