Emmaline Harris adjusted the snug fit of her bustier and patted her breasts to make sure everything that mattered was covered. She’d ditched her shawl in the coatroom near the door and was beginning to regret the exposure.

“Damn Monica and her costume,” she muttered. When Monica had lent her the old-fashioned Vampira outfit, she obviously hadn’t taken into consideration the two-cup difference in their bust sizes.

Emmy took another shallow gulp of air and headed toward the center of the dance floor. That’s where Monica was most likely to be.

Scanning the crowd, Emmy didn’t recognize a soul. This West Seattle tavern, next to the waterway and Elliot Bay, wasn’t the sort of place Emmy was accustomed to, but just the sort of loud, loose crowd Monica loved. They may have been friends since middle school, but they were miles apart in personality. Sometimes, Emmy figured the only reason they’d stayed friends so long was that Emmy preferred to hear about Monica’s exploits and her friend like to brag. On those occasions when she could coax Emmy into joining her, Monica liked the fact she looked thinner standing next to Emmy.

Not that Emmy resented her friend for her shallowness. Monica was an exotic orchid to her ordinary daisy. She supposed Monica had every right to enjoy what God had given her.

“Excuse me. Pardon me,” she said, as she sidled between gyrating bodies, but soon realized no one heard her apologies above the deafening music. And worse, she was the only person dressed for Halloween. “Monica is so dead. Why did I bother with an hour of makeup and this stupid costume when everyone else is wearing Dollar Store fangs?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Monica drawled into her ear.

Emmy whirled. “Don’t do that!”

“I see you made it,” Monica said, grinning. She flicked a lock of brown hair over her shoulder. “I knew the outfit would be delicious on you.”

Emmy took in her friend’s appearance and frowned. “Your fangs look pretty darn good, up close. But your blue jeans and tank are the absolute scariest,” Emmy grumbled. Then she realized Monica hadn’t even bothered changing what she’d worn at lunch before coming to the club. Monica must have been in a hurry. Must be a new man.

“Come,” Monica said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward a dark corner. “Now that you’re finally here, I have friends I want you to meet.”

Tensing, Emmy tried to dig in her heels. “When you say friends, you mean guys, don’t you? Monica, I don’t think I’m ready for this whole getting-back-up-on-the-horse-that-kicked-you thing.”

“Shut up, Emmy. My friends will love you.”
“I’m sure they will with my boobs pushed up to my chin and this tourniquet squeezing my waist to nothing. By now, I’ve lost a few brain cells to asphyxiation.” Emmy tugged, trying to free her hand, but Monica continued to pull her toward the corner. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “You should rethink this whole blind date thing. Your friends aren’t going to meet the real me. When they see me in daylight, they’ll think I exploded.”

Monica looked over her shoulder and gave her a lazy smile. “Trust me. That will never happen.”

Before Emmy could utter another protest, she bumped into Monica who halted in front of a group of young men. Emmy’s heart sank. “You know I almost thought this might be the night, but Monica—” she pulled her friend close enough to hiss into her ear, “Are you out of you mind? They’re teenagers! What are you going to do, introduce me as Auntie Em?”

“Not them, silly. Him.” Monica placed a hand in the middle of her back and shoved.

Startled, Emmy had only a moment to take notice of a black leather jacket that clothed a tall, lean frame, and then she was hugging it to keep her balance. “Sorry, that was awfully clumsy of—” She looked up into a cold, harshly sculpted face framed by dark hair that brushed the shoulders of the jacket and swallowed hard. “—My friend.”

“What have you brought me, Monica?” the man asked.

The smile playing at the corner of his lips didn’t relieve Emmy’s sense of unease.

“An appetizer,” Monica drawled, and then giggled.

“You know, I’m not the least bit hungry,” Emmy said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere that had suddenly grown dense as mud.

“I almost always am.” The man looked down at Emmy, and then leaned forward.

She screwed her eyes closed and sucked in her lips. No way is he going to kiss me. Monica, what were you thinking?

Instead of a kiss, he licked the side of her face.

What? Her eyes flew open. “I think I’m coming down with a bug.” Not averse to licking, but concerned they hadn’t been introduced, Emmy couldn’t stop her nervous prattle. “Licking me could be hazardous to your health. I might have Monkey Pox. I should go home and call the CDC.”

Before she could back away, she was wrapped in an embrace like a vise. “Then again,” she said, pushing against his shoulders, “maybe I should just introduce myself since Monica hasn’t seen fit.” She strained to look behind her, but her friend was nowhere to be seen. “Typical,” she muttered.

She turned back to the instant sensation of the man nuzzling her neck and emitting a growl that would have sounded incredibly sexy, except that it tickled the side of her neck. “Stop that!” Tilting her head to close access to that particular avenue of attack, she squealed when he hoisted her high in his arms.

His mouth was now level with the exposed flesh of her breasts, and there was too much breast, thanks to Monica’s bustier. Her creamy flesh was a beacon for perverts to feast on.

Only this perv wasn’t getting any. “Oh no. No breast-licking. I mean it. Or my boyfriend is going to—”

“Join us?”

Despite the deep shadows, Emmy detected amusement in the man’s expression as he gazed upward into her eyes. “Not likely,” she said, lifting her chin and sniffing. “He doesn’t like to share.”

“Is that right?” A smile stretched across his face, his teeth flashing brightly. “Tell me about him. I’d like to know my competition.”

“Well, I’m sure he doesn’t have nice pointy teeth like yours, but he’s big as a bear and jealous.” Emmy had a stray thought that she sounded like Little Red Riding Hood describing the wolf. She almost laughed, but her predicament was getting less funny by the moment. The predatory gleam in her captor’s eyes was making her nervous. “You don’t want to upset him by being here when he arrives.”

“What does he look like? I’ll be sure to call him over.”

Her last boyfriend had been an unimpressive shrimp. And he never could never have hefted her up as easily as the man holding her now. “Well, he’s big. And dark. Darker than you. His hair has a little wave, and it’s…longish. And green eyes.” She’d always wished for a boyfriend with friendly green eyes.

“Is there more?”

“That’s it.” She bit her lip and glanced toward the dance floor before reconnecting with his gaze. “D-did I tell you he’s big?”

The eyes of the devil who held her narrowed above his crocodile smile. “You know, I don’t think you have a boyfriend, least not one who sounds like he’ll give me any trouble.” His voice dropped to a sexy rasp. “You’ll have to convince me you aren’t just delaying the edible here.”

“The inevitable, don’t you mean?” Emmy blinked and almost lost the thread of the conversation when he laved his tongue along the side of her neck. “Oh, I wouldn’t try to delay anything—if you were my boyfriend, that is. Although I must say, if I didn’t have a boyfriend,” she said, her voice rising with panic, “which I may or may not have, I’d probably still not want to date you.”

“I think you would,” he whispered in her ear. “A woman who wears an outfit like this is dying for a walk on the wild side.”

A shiver of awareness crept along her spine. Alarmed because she was responding to his seduction, she tried one last time to deny him. “I’d never go out with you. You’re the dark and brooding type. And a girl knows there’s no future in a relationship with a dangerous man. I may not be the best judge of men, but even I know that.”

“Good God, does the chit ever come up for air?”

Emmy jerked toward the accented voice that sounded behind her. Craning her neck, she saw it belonged to a man who was gorgeous in a proper, stiff-upper-lip sort of way. A white dress shirt tucked into gray slacks clothed a long, lean frame—rakish, and he was blond with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Now the man standing next to him could have been tailor-made for the role of her boyfriend, because he was everything she’d described and so much more. Tall for one. Nicely muscled, if his bare arms were any hint of the corded sinew beneath his clothing. Broader—filled out in all the manly places Emmy liked to have filled out. And more dangerous looking than the scrawny ape licking the tops of her breasts. He’d do.
She smiled brightly. “Darling!”