grief. That voice. Like smooth chocolate, all rich and dark and hinting of nights and mischief. He hadn’t changed a bit.
Well, duh. He’s a vampire. He’s bloody immortal.
They didn’t tend to age. Or change. Or die, damn it.
And he was looking for her. She didn’t want to see him. She never wanted to see him. Never again. She sure as hell hadn’t expected him to walk into her bistro, looking for her.
“Oh, wow, Mr. Hottie wants you,” Terry whispered unnecessarily.
Mr. Hottie was an understatement. The man was undeniably handsome, in an intent, coolly detached way. He wore a black suit, a dark, collared shirt and no tie. With his dark hair and piercing blue eyes he looked every inch a potential dark angel. Shoulders broad, chin set at a challenging angle, he effortlessly commanded attention.
But not hers. Nope. Not anymore. She was too wise to his ways to let herself be entranced by a searing pair of stunning blue eyes and lips that suggested all sorts of steamy seduction. No, sirree.
She slid off the bar stool and turned away slightly, praying that Darren would get the message her body language was screaming, and send this particular patron on his way. She dug for her wallet and pulled out some notes to pay for her meal and drinks.
“Professor Segova? Yeah, she’s right there.”
Darren hadn’t gotten the message. Well, there went his tip for the night. She put the money on the bar and busied herself with her coat. She lifted her bag to her shoulder.
“Ooooh, honey, he’s on his way over to you,” Terry sighed before biting his bottom lip.
Once again, Natalie did her best to ignore the ghost.
“Excuse me, Professor Segova?”
She forced a politely inquisitive look on her face as she turned to face him. Well, his chest. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Wow. Had he always been so...built? She forced herself to lift her gaze to his.
Er, wow. His eyes were still that stunning azure color. Nope. Not getting distracted. At all. She pulled her lips into a cool smile.
“Yes?”
He blinked. Gaped. “You! You—You’re Professor Natalie Segova?” Recognition battled with confusion. She hoped confusion won.
Showtime. “Yes?” she inquired innocently.
“Natalie?” he repeated.
She kept her expression bland as she nodded. “Yes, I’m Natalie Segova. How can I help you?”
“It’s me—Lucien,” he said. “Lucien Marchetta.”
She continued to look at him blankly, then gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.
He gave his head a little shake. “It can’t be...”
She raised her eyebrows, her expression turning expectant. “I am Professor Natalie Segova,” she assured him politely. “Was there something you needed?”
“Oh, I’d be happy to help,” Terry said suggestively.
Natalie shot him a grim look before turning back to the hunky, gorgeous vampire in front of her.
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as though trying to make sense of the insensible. “Uh, sorry, you—you remind me of someone.”
She shrugged again. “I get that a lot. I must have one of those faces.” She slid the strap of her tote up to her shoulder and started to turn away.
“Wait—uh, Professor. Please. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions? About your studies,” he clarified in that rich, deep timbre.
God, it still had the ability to draw her attention, to suck her in and make her forget everything else around her. She remembered that voice murmuring softly to her in the darkness.
Yeah, she remembered a lot of damn things.
She started to back away from him, her expression still polite. “I’m sorry, I really have to go—but if you’d like to call my office, my assistant can make an appointment for you,” she suggested. And she had absolutely no intention of keeping it. She’d be halfway across the Red Desert before he realized she’d fled town, fingers crossed.
This time his confused gaze turned serious, intent, and he met her gaze directly. “Wait,” he said in a tone that took his voice to an even deeper timbre. “You want to talk with me. Now, as a matter of fact.”
She could feel something fluttering along the edges of her mind and her smile tightened. He was trying to compel her, damn it.
Well, that put her in quite a position. If she resisted the compulsion, he’d realize something was up, that she wasn’t the human she pretended to be, which would lead him to the next realization, that she could very well be the person he thought she was. She couldn’t have that.
She tilted her head back, easily ignoring the shadowy effect trying to cloud her brain. “I’d love to talk with you,” she lied. “Why don’t you walk with me? My place is only a couple of blocks from here.”
He smiled at her and she glanced away. He still had that sexy smile that was all mischief.
“After you,” Lucien said, gesturing for her to lead the way.
She smiled through clenched teeth. Great. She just needed to play along with this farce long enough to get to her home, to safety. Okay, she could do this. She could act normal, even flirt if she had to, if it gave her enough time to get in her front door. She slid her hand inside her bag to clutch the handle of her blade as she walked out into the cool evening.
* * *
Lucien strolled along Main Street, surreptitiously glancing at the woman at his side as they went.
It was remarkable. She looked so much like Nina—but it couldn’t be. Nina was dead. Years ago—it had made front-page news, everywhere. Besides, even if the papers had gotten it wrong, Nina would be in her sixties now. This woman looked to be in her twenties. Blond hair that fell in soft, barely-there waves to her shoulders, hazel-gray eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, and a pale complexion that was currently just the slightest bit flushed. She was pretty. Hell, she was more than pretty, but...well, it felt weird, thinking of her like that, particularly with the confusing mishmash in his mind with Nina. He frowned.
“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t really look old enough to be a professor,” he remarked tentatively. He kept his tone light, perhaps there was even a hint of flirtation, but there was also some doubt. She looked like she should be a student, not the lecturer.
Her lips tightened briefly before curling into a smile. “I’m older than I look,” she said. “Used to be a problem when I was younger and trying to get into bars.”
Her response was light, but he got the impression his remark hadn’t been received as a flattering compliment on her youthful looks.
“You
