What did sheknow about French cuisine? What if the menu was in French? Fromagefrais was her limit on the language—and brie, that was French,wasn’t it? Not that she’d ever tried it; good old English cheddarwas her favourite. And didn’t they eat frog’s legs? She shudderedat the thought. Poor little things; frogs were funny creatures onceyou got to know them.
Harper took adeep breath. She was here now, and her date might be asophisticated vampire, but no one deserved the humiliation of beingstood up—and she would know.
She entered thebuilding, her legs made of jelly, but her head held high.
“Can I helpyou, mademoiselle?” asked a man standing behind a podium. Heoffered a kind smile, not at all stuck up as she’d feared.
“Hello, I’mhere to meet Mr…” Uh-oh, first stumbling block. “MrVer-tur-foy.” She crossed her fingers, praying she hadn’t made acomplete fool of herself, and thanking her witch sense she’dthought to google how to pronounce his name on her way here.
He nodded. “Ah,yes, Monsieur Vertefeuille is expecting you.”
Phew.Harper released the breath she’d been holding—she’d pronounced itright. Maybe her luck was in after all.
The man led herthrough an ornately carved door.
The deliciousaromas of garlic and warm bread greeted her as she took in thespacious room, transporting her into what she imagined she’d see ina chic restaurant in Paris—not that she’d ever been anywhere butthe UK. Decorated in an elegant baroque style, striking artwork ofParisian buildings and nineteenth-century gilt mirrors adorned thepanelled walls, and stunning, vibrant floral displays and bronzedsculptures dotted the room.
The crowdedrestaurant was filled with sophisticated diners; well-dressed menin immaculately cut suits and women with perfect, coiffuredhairstyles, and wearing classy, expensive dresses, their throatsand wrists dripping with jewellery, the diamonds sparkling in thesoft lighting.
She followedthe maître d’, instantly aware of the stares from the other dinersstabbing at the nape of her neck like tiny needles.
Uh-oh,second stumbling block. She didn’t fit in here with hertousled, multi-coloured hair and cheap, off-the-peg dress which hadseen better days, and now seemed tighter than ever.
Her stepsfaltered, but only for a second. She could cast a spell on thewhole lot of them and watch them feeding like pigs at a trough ifshe so chose… at least she could if she learned how to.
Shesmiled—everything would be fine if she kept smiling—and imaginedthem naked instead; it always seemed to work when her insecuritiestook hold.
Harper followedthe maître d’ as he led her towards a man sitting at a table in thecorner of the restaurant.
Her pulse raterocketed. Please let him be my vampire date.
The strikinglyhandsome guy had dark, burnt umber hair, styled to complement thesoft waves, some of which tumbled onto his forehead. Designerstubble, trimmed to perfection, peppered his angled jaw and, fromwhat she could see in the dim lighting, his eyes were even darkerthan his hair, glinting softly with something mischievous yetsurprisingly kind.
Whoa, deadsexy. Literally. She almost laughed at her own joke.
She noted hisimpeccable navy suit covering his broad shoulders—she always didhave a thing for broad shoulders—and crisp white shirt, wornwithout a tie, both of which probably cost more than she made in ayear—heck, in five years—and his demeanour was casual yet refined,the epitome of suave and sophisticated.
He sat theresurveying the room, aware of everything and everyone around him, asthough he was the king of all he surveyed. Perhaps he owned theplace. He certainly seemed comfortable here.
At least one ofthem looked like they fitted in. She fiddled with the strap of herenormous handbag, more like a shopping bag really, but she neverwent anywhere without an arsenal of paraphernalia for everyscenario.
The guy oozedcharm from every pore, and the women who sat at nearby tablesappeared aware of it too, ogling him like he was next on themenu.
An attack ofself-doubt grabbed at her, but she took a deep breath and offeredhim a smile.
Stopimagining him naked, you naughty witch.
ChapterTwo
DamonVertefeuille gawped at the woman coming towards him. Is she mywitchy date? He hoped so.
When he’dspoken to her on the phone, he’d formed a mental image of her,pretty, brunette, a little lonely maybe, but he never imaginedHarper to be so… so… wow. He snapped his mouth shut andswallowed.
He’d never seenanyone look more endearingly out of place, and yet she was pullingit off—or doing a fine job of faking it. Either way, she held hershoulders proud and her elfin chin was set in a determined tilt.And why shouldn’t she be here? Just because she haddifferent-coloured hair and a too-tight dress that showed her curvyfigure to perfection, it didn’t mean she couldn’t fit in with acrowd of rich, pretentious morons and their wannabe film-stargirlfriends.
What on earthdoes she have in that giant handbag?
He tore hisgaze away for a second, noting the looks of disdain from the otherdiners, like they had shit smeared beneath their noses. He had asudden, overwhelming urge to protect her from the kind of people hehad to endure every day of his life, because without his payingcustomers, his business ventures would fail, and failure was not inhis vocabulary.
The maître d’directed her to his table. “Your guest, Monsieur Vertefeuille,” heannounced. With a slight bow, he left them and walked across therestaurant to where the menus were kept.
Damon stood.“You’re Harper?” He cursed inwardly; he hadn’t meant to sound sosurprised.
“Yes, I’mHarper. Why, were you expecting someone else?” Her tone held a hintof uncertainty.
“No… yes. I…”No woman, witch or otherwise, had ever left him tongue-tied. Damoncleared his throat. He had a reputation to uphold and he wasn’tabout to let that slip for anyone. Flashing a confident smile andlaying on the charm, he said, “Forgive me. You look amazing.”
Her smile,albeit a shy half-smile, lit her pretty face and appeared genuine,a far cry from the usual women he dated; those who had nothing butspending his money and sex on their agenda. Not that he minded thesex—he had no problem giving them what they wanted—but that’s allit was, sex for sex’s sake. It didn’t mean anything. He’d thoughtbecoming a vampire would change things, make him happy for once,but
