So much relief crossed her face that he was torn between being amused and being insulted. Had she been about to invest in a silver neck brace next?
"As for things going further than kissing, you need not fret about that, either," he went on, raking her with a gaze. "I don't lack for bed partners, so I don't need to scrounge for unwilling scraps."
Her breath sucked in, those hazel eyes looking greener with her anger. It had to be a trick of the light, but again, they reminded him of a vampire's. He gave her another rake of his gaze, more slowly this time. Pity she wasn't a vampire. If so, he might forget Denise was under Crispin's protection. He might forget he shouldn't mix pleasure with business, and he might test whether she was over her grief for that poor bloke who was torn to pieces.
Spade took a step closer, something inside him flaring when he noticed her breathing change. It became faster, as did her heartbeat. He took another step and then her scent changed, too, that honey and jasmine fragrance growing stronger. With his next step, he was a foot away, able to feel her residual body heat from the air around her. Her eyes were wide, more brown than green now, and her mouth - full, luscious - parted ever so slightly. Would she taste like honey and jasmine if he kissed her? Or would she have a richer, darker flavor, like the depth of her spirit he caught glimpses of in her eyes?
Abruptly he spun on his heel. Denise wasn't a vampire, so there was no point wondering such things. They'd find Nathanial and give him to Raum. Then, once she had those demon marks off, she'd walk away from him, soon to be dead as all humans were.
And he wasn't going through that again.
"Your outfit for tonight is on the dresser," he said, and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Five
Denise took a deep breath and tried to act nonchalant. It was a good thing the heat was on in this hotel, or with what she was wearing, she'd freeze.
An attendant had taken her coat as soon as Denise entered the Khorassan Ballroom with Spade. It was a huge room, fitting well over two thousand, and yet it was still almost full. The sheer size of Spade's line was staggering. Then once her coat was off, even though she was amid so many people, heads turned.
Denise raised her chin and refused to cringe. Go on, look. You've seen more skin on a beach, it isn't that shocking.
Except this wasn't a beach, though what she was wearing looked inspired by a bikini. Her top was a diaphanous bolero, and the matching sheer pantalets looked swiped straight from the set of I Dream of Jeannie.
Vampires are perverts, every last one of them, Cat had said on many occasions. If this was standard "property" garb for an undead event, then Cat was dead right.
Denise had expected a smart-assed remark from Spade when she came downstairs in her ridiculous garb. Why wouldn't he be amused? He was the one who'd gotten this harem-girl outfit for her to wear. But he'd only glanced at her for the barest second and then handed her a coat, remarking that it was cold outside.
Of course it was. February in St. Louis wasn't supposed to be balmy. If Spade had a heart, she'd be in pants and a sweater. He wasn't scantily dressed, wearing a long black coat over a white shirt and black pants that fit him so well, they had to be custom designed. With his dark striking looks, Spade practically dripped with decadent elegance, and here she was, like a knock-off Scheherazade.
So the least he could do was take the time to appreciate how the costume he'd foisted on her looked. Or notice that she'd done her hair and makeup in a very flattering way, if she said so herself. She might be getting introduced as property, but she'd make sure people knew this property was high-end, dammit.
Yet Spade hardly looked at her then or during the twenty-minute car ride to the Chase Park Plaza hotel. He didn't speak, either, except to exchange a few words with the driver. If he hadn't opened her car door as she entered and exited the vehicle, she might have thought she'd somehow become invisible. To add insult to injury, he'd left her almost as soon as they entered this huge room. Denise had grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter so she'd look occupied, instead of just standing there like a statue.
Why do you care that Spade's being cold to you? a little voice inside asked.
I don't, Denise told it.
If it was possible to hear an internal scoff, she did. She ignored it, concentrating on the people around her instead of her inner idiot. As soon as she did, however, she realized she'd made a mistake.
So many pale faces. Those quick, deliberate movements. Cool flesh all around her. Fangs everywhere. All those glowing eyes...
A familiar panic began to rise in her. Denise tried to fight it back, but it rose without pity, choking her in the memories.
"I have to get out of here," she mumbled.
Spade jerked his head around. He'd been across the room, talking to someone, leaving her surrounded by the creatures from her nightmares. Vampires everywhere. Blood would follow. Death would follow. It always did.
The memories thickened until they consumed her. That awful howling getting closer. All those other screams. We're trapped, and they're coming. Something grabbed her arm. Denise yanked back in terror, but the cold grip didn't budge.
"Let go of me," she shouted.
"What's with her?" someone muttered. Denise couldn't understand why the person sounded so clueless. Why wasn't anyone running? Didn't they realize the things coming after them couldn't be killed?
That grip tightened and a new one clamped across her mouth. She struggled but couldn't get free. There's no hope. We're trapped in the basement, and they're coming. Any second, the door will burst open, a grotesque figure springing toward me. No. No. NO!
Cold water splashed in her face. She blinked, coughing a little, and managed to hold up her hand to block most of the second icy splash.
"Stop it."
Spade loomed over her, one hand under a running faucet. She blinked once more. The front of her was soaked and she was shivering, crouched in a ball on a bathroom floor. And she had no idea how she'd gotten here.
"Not again," she moaned.
Spade turned the faucet off and knelt in front of her. "You know where you are now." It was a statement.
She rested her head on the cabinet next to her, giving it a slight bang out of sheer frustration.
"About three miles from Crazytown with my foot on the pedal, I'd say."
Spade made a noise that sounded like a sigh. "This has happened before?"
"Not for months. Not since..."
A knowing look crossed his face. "Not since you saw me kill that bloke," he finished for her. "Why didn't you tell me you suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder?"