I swallowed. “It’s none of your business.”
“Do you know what happens when they drink blood? Is that the reason he’s off somewhere hiding his face right now? Is he embarrassed at showing you his dirty little secret? Or maybe he’s off doing the same thing to another victim.” He shook his head. “I admit I ended a lot of vamps that didn’t deserve it,
but some of them do. I’d forgotten. After everything that’s happened to me, I’d forgotten that some vampires deserve to die. There is a reason there are vampire hunters, Sarah. To kill the bad ones. The ones we’re at risk of becoming if we don’t get enough blood. The ones the old ones become if they get too much. It’s a fine line we walk now.”
I stared at him. “Thierry’s not like that.”
“Maybe,” he said, drawing closer to me. “Maybe not. I follow my gut, Sarah. And my gut tells me something is seriously wrong. You’re at risk being involved with him. But I won’t let that happen. I won’t let him hurt you.” He grabbed my hands and brought them to his lips.
My cheeks felt warm. “Quinn, what do you see in me? There are better girls out there for you. Trust me.”
He managed to grin at that. “Well, for starters, most girls would have listened to my little tirade just now and then given me the finger and taken off.”
I gave him the finger.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“Yeah, I am. Mostly because I still want to learn a few moves.”
He drained his beer. “But you didn’t let me tell you what I see in you. You want to hear?”
“Not particularly.”
“Too bad. Okay, so what I like about Sarah Dearly, by Michael Quinn. You’re funny.”
“I do try.”
“You’re pretty. That dark hair you keep tucking behind your ears, and those big brown eyes with that glint of mischievousness. I like that.”
I shook my head. “I’m no Veronique.”
“No, you’re not.”
I frowned at him and he started to laugh.
“That’s actually a compliment,” he said. “Veronique’s too . . . tooVeronique . If that makes any sense at all.”
“You barely know her.”
“Now you’re defending her?”
I shrugged. “She’s not a bad person.”
He leaned back against the edge of a table. “Do you know why we stopped seeing each other?”
My ears did their Barkley perk-up. “No, why?”
He pressed his lips together for a moment before he spoke. “Because I may have called her by your name at a very . . .inappropriate time.”
I stared at him. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “She wasn’t all that impressed.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“To prove a point. To show you that just because you mistakenly chose the other schmuck doesn’t mean that this schmuck wasn’t still thinking about you.Inappropriately .”
I cleared my throat. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
He grinned. “Fine. I like that you get embarrassed over small stuff, but all indignant over the big stuff. I like that you believe everything’s going to be okay even when things look really bad. I like that you aren’t afraid to ask for help. I like that you can handle your liquor—”
I shrugged and glanced over at the bar. “Vamps can’t get drunk unless you’re drinking blood at the same time. Believe me, tried, tested, and true.”
“I like that you never stop talking even when somebody else is trying to speak.”
“Some people might find that annoying.”
“I’m not some people.” He moved toward me and reached up to catch a lock of my hair between his fingers. He smoothed it behind my ear.
“No, you’re not some people,” I agreed.
“And I’m not Thierry.”
I broke away from him. “No, you’re not.”
“You never answered me. What do you see in that guy? He’s dangerous. My gut tells me he’s more than that. What makes him so damn special to you, anyhow?”
I stared at him but said nothing. What was I supposed to say? Rattle off a list of things I liked about
Thierry? Depending on the hour of the day, that would be either a very short or very long list. But is that the proof of somebody’s feelings for somebody else? The ability to list a bunch of qualities they admire in the other person? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.
Was I supposed to tell him that despite knowing everything about him, even the things that scared me and made my blood run cold, I still loved him so much it hurt? How can you explain something like that?
Even to yourself?
“Teach me some moves,” I said quietly. “Or I think we’re finished here.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then finally said, “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He moved back a few steps. “Attack me like you mean it.”
Surprisingly, I wasn’t as gentle this time. I threw punches, kicks; Quinn blocked them all. He showed me in slow motion how he managed to block them. How to break free of a chokehold. What parts of the body I should aim for that would do the most damage to my attacker.
We continued the lesson for a good half hour before I started to feel like I was getting it. Then he became the attacker, and I was the victim. It wasn’t much of a stretch.