“Please do.” She extended the strap to him.
His warm, large hand covered hers. Her gaze met his intense stare as he yanked. “All clear.”
“If the car is under warranty, they will replace a faulty seatbelt latch.” She set her purse on her lap.
He leaned back, darting a look at the belt’s locking mechanism. “The dealer assures me it’s fixed.”
For peace of mind, he might want to get it replaced, as it gave him a fair amount of concern.
Vaihan smiled. “You were about to tell me of your week.”
“Ah, yes. A friend of mine, someone I’ve known a long time, named Rowley.” His expression appeared unchanged. “He was very upset about me going on a date with you.” She bit her bottom lip and held her breath waiting for his reaction. A knot twisted in her gut.
Vaihan pushed the lock button on the door. “Did you reassure him you only agreed to see me to prove how different we are?” His hand slid to the handle, then went back to the steering wheel.
Had he just checked the locks? Probably not. Get a grip.
He pulled onto the road. “With no long-term potential. Did you note how soon our date would be a distant memory?”
She had attempted to assure Rowley that it was just one date. “No, as that would be untrue and if it were my reason, I would have canceled because I wouldn’t lead you on. I enjoyed your brief yet memorable company, and I want to see if that continues.” She had to give him something, and most of it was true. Peter’s freedom was on the line. It didn’t hurt that Vaihan’s presence brought her a measure of happiness. Her emotional state hadn’t driven Vaihan away. And he was using her to get to Peter, so what did she have to feel guilty about?
“This friend’s approval matters to you?” He pressed the lock button again.
Something was definitely up with the locking and relocking. “Yes, he is important to me.” The truth was, Rowley was imperative to Peter’s future.
The heat of Vaihan’s touch moved up her arm to her neck, and a flush burned her skin. Her lips trembled as she forced a smile. His touch affected her, and she barely knew him.
“Then I shall work to gain this individual’s respect.” He reached over and took her hand in his.
If only that were an option. “That isn’t possible.”
Withdrawing his caress, he returned to steering. “I’m going to need to build up your faith in my abilities.” Vaihan smiled, warming his expression.
Her lack of faith was in no way a reflection of Vaihan’s skills, but rather an evaluation of Rowley’s hatred for undead. He’d founded the Coalition of the Living, COTL. An organization with the sole purpose of ensuring zombies weren’t welcome in America as they were in the rest of the world.
“I’ve lost you in those deep thoughts of yours.” Vaihan pulled up in front of the restaurant entrance.
The valet opened his door. Vaihan strode to her side and held his hand out for her.
Le Mouton was one of the few establishments that catered to both living and undead patrons. These types of restaurants had two kitchens–one for making human food and the other for making zombies’ fare.
“Good evening, Mr. Louchian, your table awaits.” The elder doorman cleared the way.
Despite the fact that she was a case to Vaihan, he’d brought her to a place he frequented. Was it because... No, she refused to spend the entire night analyzing everything he did.
“Just over here.” Vaihan looped a hand around her waist, fingers resting on her hip.
Warmth shot up her core. Her nipples hardened and she gasped. What wondrous power he had over her! There wasn’t anything wrong with her, enjoying being wined and dined. He was the government agent, not her.
The cozy corner booth by the river’s edge was bathed in soft lighting. The round oak table glowed. Outside, large snowflakes cascaded from the sky and the moon peeked through dark clouds.
Leera stepped up onto the elevated vacant rear section then removed her coat, which Vaihan handed to the doorman. She slid into the high-backed, caramel-colored leather seat.
“First snow of the year.” He smiled, sitting next to her.
She nodded. “It’s very pretty.” Romantic, for a first date. Not that he controlled the weather, but somehow it gave the evening an added layer.
A waiter approached with two menus in hand. “I’m Aaron. I’ll be looking after you this evening. I’ve brought our human menu, which is the red for the lady, and the blue for Mr. Louchian. I’ll give you a few moments to go over the selections and come back for your drinks.” He turned and moved to a table in the lower main dining area.
Most other tables had multiple undead with a human. Lust twinkled in the humans’ half-mast eyes. What did they know that she didn’t about undead?
“Is everything all right?” Vaihan tilted his head to see what she’d been staring at.
Heat burned Leera’s cheeks as she opened the menu. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Would he press the matter or back off?
“A certain curiosity piqued in those beautiful dark eyes. Is there anything I may be of assistance in clearing up?” His dimple peeked, softening his demeanor.
Sooner or later he’d find out how little she knew of his kind. “I’ve never known anyone who’s dated an undead, and yet, this place is filled with mixed couples.”
“Not all couples. Some are trios and other quartets.”
Quartets? Menages were complicated enough to understand. Wouldn’t she be stuffed from rim to brim? A table at the other end of the room had three undead males and a woman whose gaze sparkled with joy. The undead next to her had his hand pressed between her thighs. For the first time since Jean’s death, Leera wondered if she’d ever feel a connection beyond physical when being touched.
“Haven’t you heard, once you go undead, you never go back to the living?” A hint of mischief warmed his intense eyes, softening him.
She bit her bottom lip. A similar phrasing was told to her some years ago, but not in relation to undead.
“An undead’s primary focus in bed is his partner’s or partners’ pleasure–meaning orgasm.” He scanned his menu.
Should she interject a response or leave his mind to ponder what she thought of his comment. Heh. More fun to have him reflecting on it.
A wide selection of wines, spirits and ales covered the first page. Maybe drinking wasn’t a good idea. “You work for the White House, don’t you?”
“No, the president. My office is in the west wing on the second floor, at the back.”
“Of course, Special Advisor to the President...what does that mean exactly?”
“It
