He rolled up on an elbow and looked down at me, his brow furrowing. “And... that reminds me of yet another of the many things I should have thought of before now, and didn’t. Have you ever been to the ocean before?”
I shook my head. “The closest I’ve been is Nigellus’ place in Atlantic City. Why?”
The corner of Rans’ mouth twitched down. “Because I’m relying on saltwater to keep us safe, without first having checked if it’s safe for you as a demon hybrid. But for what it’s worth, the ship’s swimming pool will almost certainly use filtered seawater. We can have you dip a pinky finger in to make sure it doesn’t burn your skin.”
I reached up and kissed him. “You worry too much. I’ve been eating salt on my food all my life, which includes measuring it into my hand sometimes for cooking. Not to mention handling the salt daggers with no problem. I’ll go for a swim to prove it if you like, but it’s fine.”
He relaxed. “All right. That’s good.”
I lifted a wry brow. “So does that mean if a demon shows up, the three of us are going to do a synchronized swan dive off the deck and into the ocean to get away?”
“Hopefully not,” he replied in the same tone. “No promises, though.”
“Well,” I told him. “That’s certainly reassuring.”
* * *
After a joint shower that only involved a modest amount of groping and kissing, I found a sundress and a pair of gladiator sandals that weren’t too terribly impractical. When I was done, I sat on the bed and watched in appreciation as Rans donned a fresh trousers-and-vest combo, this time in navy blue with a lighter shirt that was more or less the same shade as his eyes.
Fortunately for my ability to focus on other things besides sex, this vest didn’t have corset lacing up the back. However, it didn’t help the state of my raging libido when he left the shirt unbuttoned at his throat and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.
“I never had you pegged as a clotheshorse before now,” I said, eyeing him up and down. “Guess I probably should have, though.”
“A clotheshorse? Please. Consider it camouflage—nothing more,” he replied. A hint of irony crept into his tone. “Besides, someone has to keep Prada and Versace in business, or where would the world be?”
“Lacking important bits of eye candy, I suppose,” I admitted, before shaking myself free of the distracting levels of pretty currently on display. “Are we ready, then? Do you have the extra keycard for Guthrie’s room?”
He flashed it between two fingers like a magician doing a card trick before pocketing it. After ushering me out of the suite, he closed the door and we headed toward the Seventies Bordello Suite of Doom. It was almost eleven a.m.—a respectable time of morning for even a freshly turned vampire.
Rans knocked on the door. “Guthrie. It’s us, mate. One late morning, as requested.” Without waiting for a response, he swiped the card. The lock clicked open.
At his gesture, I strode past him into the room, only to come to a halt so abrupt that Rans had to steady himself with a hand against my shoulder to keep from plowing into my back.
“Umm...” I said, my eyes fixed on the four figures sprawled across the monstrous hot pink expanse of the heart-shaped bed.
The three women were... very pretty. They also weren’t wearing much in the way of clothing. One was darker-skinned than I was, with short dreadlocks bleached to a coppery blonde color. One was pale with long, raven hair, and one was tanned with a platinum pixie cut. All three were lying motionless in a tangle of limbs with Guthrie at its epicenter.
My grandfather-who-never-asked-for-the-title sat up, a thunderous frown furrowing his brow. Silk sheets slid down to reveal a build that, yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed from seeing him clothed. Apparently, the well-appointed gym in his St. Louis penthouse wasn’t just for show.
I made a ridiculous squeaking noise and covered my eyes, whirling to face the other way and nearly tripping over my own feet in the process.
“Oh my god,” I whispered to Rans. “Please tell me those women aren’t—”
“Suffering from a serious iron deficiency?” Rans finished. “No. They’re fine. Although, based on the empty bottles and the variety of drug paraphernalia scattered around the place, their hangovers are going to be truly epic.”
Apparently, Rans wasn’t overly concerned with the psychological trauma I was undergoing at having unexpectedly walked in on this scene. This was despite the fact that as a vampire, he could hardly have missed the way every ounce of blood in my body had just made a concerted rush to my cheeks.
“Well,” he continued in a voice that was deceptively mild, “I’d say I was sorry I missed the party, except I was quite enjoyably engaged myself last night. Still, you didn’t think it might be wise to have a bit of backup available before locking yourself in a room with three humans?”
“Stop playing nursemaid.” The irritation in Guthrie’s reply was obvious. “I drank a couple of blood bags first, and I was careful not to drain any of them seriously.”
“Maybe not of blood,” Rans said, and I had to resist the urge to lower the hand covering my eyes so I could smack him.
The covers on the bed rustled, presumably as Guthrie extracted himself from last night’s sexual carnage. I absolutely did not turn around to look.
“Go to hell, Rans.” The words came from a different part of the room, hopefully because Guthrie was getting some freaking clothes. “I gave them the private party they wanted, hypnotized them not to remember anything after the third bottle of post-coital tequila, and took a small amount of blood from each so I wouldn’t accidentally weaken any of them too much.”
“There’s quite a bit of information being shared in this
