Phoenix Fallen by Heather R. Blair

watched her painted toes do their pendulum thing for a moment. Then he reached out and wrapped one big hand around her calf, halting her motion.
    Rissa's lips parted as she took in a breath at the feel of his skin against hers. She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened.
    "I already said I was sorry. But I'll say it again, if you need me to." His words were quiet, but his eyes spoke volumes.
    She looked down at him for a second, then slumped slightly in defeat. He smiled and jumped up on stage in one, easy motion. For a big man he could move light as a cat when he wanted to. "That took the wind out of your sails, didn't it?"
    Rissa straightened, folding her arms as she thought about arguing, then shrugged instead when he moved her coffee cup and sat down on the amp beside her, his eyes twinkling.
    "Okay, maybe a little."
    "Then this is really going to bring it home."
    He handed her a small, narrow box. His expression was guarded, but there was a gleam of expectation there he couldn't hide. She raised her eyebrows. Whatever he'd brought her, he really, really wanted her to like it. Goodness.
    Her tummy trembled.
    "What is this?" She turned the box over in her fingers, her thoughts jumbled.
    It had been almost a week. She's nearly given up on seeing him again, had been reduced to hoping like hell she wouldn't read his name in the long list of vamp suicides in every evening paper. Last night when she'd gotten that glimpse of him, relief had flooded through her in a fierce, warm wave. Then he'd vanished. She'd been left pissed off and hurt. Again.
    Now here he was. With a goddamn gift in a pretty, little box.
    She shouldn't open it.
    Rissa looked at the box in her hands. It was embossed, white and pale gold, butterflies and tiny scrolled hearts, silky to the touch.
    She really wanted to open it.
    "Oh, just open the damn thing, Rissa."
    So, she did. It was a bracelet; a delicate, fanciful bauble. Graceful clusters of yellow, pink and green stones twisted together that resembled…
    "Honeysuckle." He ducked his head a little at her questioning look. "You always smell like honeysuckle to me, so…"
    Rissa couldn't look at him then. She lifted the twinkling strand from the cotton, watching it twist in the shadowy light. In her long life she'd been given many gifts by many men, but never one this sweet.
    "Thank you," she whispered. He tugged it from her numb grasp and pulled her wrist into his lap.
    He worked the fastener with surprising dexterity for a man with such large fingers, then made her melt a little further by pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand before releasing her. The soft touch of his lips had made her tummy tremble again. Hard.
    Her heart was pounding. Damn silly physical memory, but she wasn't complaining.
    "So...," he said, those dark eyes heavy on hers. "Are we good?"
    She sighed. "Maybe…. Will you come to Crave tonight?"
    The bleeder club she frequented. She couldn't let this go. He had to learn to take care of himself.
    He returned her sigh, with interest. "You really know how to press an advantage, don't you, woman?"
    "That's not an answer."
    "Oh alright…on one condition. You come to dinner with me on Saturday."
    Rissa gave a surprised smile, "A date? For real? You're kidding me."
    "Sorta. I have some friends who want to met you."
    That wiped the smile off her face. From the tone of his voice these were more than just friends. Someone very important to him.
    He'd been talking about her to someone very important to him.
    Well, double hell.
    Jules grinned at her change in demeanor. "Fair's fair."
    She closed her eyes and sighed. "Alright, but the food better be good."
    "The best."
    And maybe, just maybe, Rissa thought as she watched him leave a few minutes later, she'd get a taste of Jules for dessert.

Chapter 7
     
     
    A couple hours later, Jules stood frowning up at a dark building. It didn’t look like a club. Bleeder or otherwise. It looked foreboding and empty. Other than the strangely subdued