Midnight Dream Girls 2: The Scent of Revenge Page 5

  That night, she found herself spending longer than usual on her makeup. Tired of analyzing her every thought and action since meeting Jonathan, Morgan decided to just chill out tonight and go with the flow. The thought of fighting all her instinctive urges didn’t seem worth it. When she dropped Joey off with Mrs. Myers, she asked if it would be okay for Joey to stay a few hours later than usual.

  “Like I said before, you pay me by the hour. What do I care what time you come to pick him up? It gives me more time with Joey baby. I’m a light sleeper, so just knock like normal when you’re ready to pick him up.” Mrs. Myers smiled down at Joey’s drooling, smiling face resting on her shoulder, then shooed her off and shut the door without sparing her another glance.

  “Well, I know where I rate on her scale of importance,” Morgan muttered to herself with a chuckle, then headed for work.

  When she pulled up into the parking lot at the Midnight Saloon at five o’clock, she was surprised to see several other vehicles already taking up part of the lot near the front of the saloon. The bar didn’t open until six…why would any vehicles besides Brianna’s motorcycle be here already?

  She entered the dim bar and was surprised to find it empty. Hesitantly she followed the sound of voices drifting through the building, past the beer cooler and Brianna’s office door, toward the back metal exit door which was propped open with a stack of wooden crates.

  “What’s going on?” Morgan asked, stopping in the doorway.

  In the fenced off alleyway between the two buildings, a round metal drum-turned-barbecue-grill emitted a regular flow of smoke from its chimney pipe. Brianna stood before it, a cream colored canvas apron tied over her red bikini top and denim jean chap outfit that constituted tonight’s Midnight Dream Girls “uniform”. She waved a metal spatula at Morgan, gesturing for her to join everyone in the alley.

  All the MDGs were present, as well as Joe the bouncer, each with a mixed drink or beer in their hands. All smiled, waved, and greeted Morgan. All except Pamela and a pixie-like ebony haired dancer named Sammie, that is.

  Ignoring their strange, unsmiling stares, Morgan returned everyone else’s greetings, then joined Brianna at the grill. “What’s the occasion?”

  “We’re celebrating your first full week as an MDG,” Brianna answered brightly. “I hope you like steak, because I’ve got a big, fat juicy one marinating for everybody here.” She waved her spatula at the stack of crates beside her, on top of which sat a large rectangular glass casserole dish holding a mountain of beef drowning in a rich brown sauce.

  Morgan took a whiff of the steaks and groaned aloud as the spices filled her nostrils and made her mouth water. “Oh geez, how long will it take to cook them?”

  Brianna laughed. “Long enough for you to have a drink. Why don’t you go back inside and grab yourself one or two? They’re on the house, at least ‘till we open for business, that is.”

  Smiling her thanks, Morgan headed back into the building to grab a beer from the glass fronted fridge behind the bar, popped the top, and returned to the alleyway. Just inside the door, she stopped to take a long swig.

  While swallowing, Morgan turned and glanced towards the grill, which Brianna had left temporarily unmanned while talking to the others lounging on crates near the brick wall opposite Morgan. All except for Pamela, who stood near the stacked crates and the dish of raw steaks. Shocked, Morgan watched the thin blonde furtively swipe two fingers over the raw steaks and quickly lick them clean.

  Trying to swallow properly so beer wouldn’t spew out her nose, Morgan lowered her beer bottle and turned to see if anyone else had seen Pamela tasting the bloody marinade juices. Brianna was just turning toward the grill, her cheeks seeming a little extra pink, but she didn’t say anything to Pamela.

  Who in the world liked to lick blood from raw steaks?

  Forcing back a shudder, Morgan tried to forget the disgusting moment. Apparently Pamela was just plain weird, which would also explain all the strange looks she’d been giving Morgan since the night she’d had joined the MDGs.

  * * * * *

  That night, every hour on the hour, Jonathan ordered a body shot from Morgan, until even Brianna was teasing him on the mike. He seemed to take the ribbing from Brianna and his fellow patrons well, smiling and waggling his eyebrows suggestively at all their jokes, then taking his sweet time sneaking in little flicks of his tongue over Morgan’s taut stomach beneath the screen of her long black hair. Other than the permanent bulge he sported beneath the fly of his jeans, Morgan wasn’t entirely sure how much the body shots affected him. But she damn well knew how they were affecting her.

  After the fifth body shot at one in the morning, during which both his tongue and thumbs were sneakily employed against her sensitive skin and the top of his head brushed her nipples into hard peaks, her hands were so shaky she had trouble gripping the liquor bottles. She was also pretty sure her counts were off while pouring mixed drinks.

  “You’ve got to stop,” she said with a laughed when she found him at the bar again just before last call. “I can’t pour drinks worth a crap tonight because of you.”

  “Good. My strategy’s working. Now, will you please have breakfast with me after you get off?” Jonathan leaned on the bar with a soulful pleading look with his eyes, the effect of which was ruined by his lopsided grin.

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Morgan stared at him with a smile. “Will you stop ordering body shots from me if I do?”

  Brianna stopped in mid-stride behind Morgan. “Oh, I didn’t just hear you encourage a customer to stop ordering anything from this bar, did I?”

  Morgan felt her face blanch until Brianna laughed and walked away.

  “You’re going to get me fired,” Morgan leaned across the bar from him and grumbled. “Okay, I’ll have breakfast with you after we close tonight. But I’m taking my own car.”

  “Fair enough,” Jonathan replied with a smug grin of victory. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  He walked off, confidence evident in his body’s every move as he wound his way through the packed room until his navy blue button up shirt finally disappeared amid the throng.

  Morgan let her breath out very slowly. What had she gotten herself into with this one? But no, she wouldn’t think about it. Go with the flow, Morgan, she reminded herself..

  After helping to close down and clean up the bar, Morgan changed into a pair of uncut jeans and a short sleeved, form-hugging lavender tank top in the ladies’ restroom. She nervously exited the saloon, glanced around, and jumped when she discovered Jonathan casually leaning against the dirty red brick wall. He looked too sexy with his arms crossed over his solid chest lined in midnight blue silk and his faded denim clad legs crossed at the ankles, making her wonder again at her decision.

  “So, where’re we headed?” she asked bravely.

  “Well, there’s a great all night diner a few blocks from here that’s pretty good.” He shifted away from the wall and walked toward her.

  She unconsciously took a skittish step back, then laughed nervously. He smiled, tucked his hands into his pockets, and stopped a couple of feet away, apparently to give her some comforting space.

  “Sounds good. I’m over here.” She started toward her trusty but rundown four door car beneath the building’s bright security lights.

  “I’m over here,” she heard him say behind her.

  Curious, she stopped beside her car and looked back to see what he drove, then almost wished she hadn’t. Of course he’d drive a little black Mazda Miata. Yep, definitely a rich guy.

  While following his taillights the three blocks to the brightly lit chrome and crimson diner, Morgan wondered for the hundredth time just what in the world was she doing. He was way out of her league. What in the world was he doing wanting to date someone like her?

  One way or the other, she was determined to find out soon.

  Chapter Five

  At the diner, Jonathan got out of his car first, walked over to Morgan�
�s, and opened her door. Unused to the display of male manners, Morgan smiled nervously and got out.

  “Uh, she’s old, but she’s a trusty steed,” Morgan joked, patting the roof of her rusty car.

  “It’s the engine that counts,” Jonathan said with a smile. Then he held out his elbow for her to take.

  Uncertainty made her movements jerky as she held the inside of his upper arm with one hand. The guy must work out, she decided, noticing how hard his muscles were.

  He led her into the bright flooding lights of the diner and to a booth in the nonsmoking end of the eating area. At this hour of the morning, the only other customers were a couple of crusty looking truckers sitting on red stools at the chrome countertop.

  A brunette waitress with a severely wrinkled face and neck that spoke of hard living approached with a friendly smile and took down their order. Not too hungry, Morgan decided to have a single pecan waffle and a cola. Jonathan ordered a three egg garden omelet, a side of sausage and bacon, and a short stack of pancakes.

  Morgan shook her head in disbelief after the waitress left with their order.

  “What? A guy’s gotta eat,” Jonathan said with a grin.

  “You must work out pretty often if you eat like that.” Needing something to do with her hands, Morgan grabbed a pink packet of sugar and turned it round and round.

  “Yeah, I try to stay in shape. That, and I tend to forget to eat sometimes, like today.” Jonathan rested both forearms on the table, loosely laced his fingers together, and studied her face. “So, Morgan Fremont, tell me about yourself.”

  Morgan laughed. “I feel like I’m at a job interview. What do you want to know?”

  Though he smiled at her, his gaze remained steadfastly locked on her face. “Everything. What made you decide to work at the Midnight Saloon? Do you like working there? What do you do with your free time? What’s your middle name?” His voice trailed off softly.

  Deciding to force her initial nervousness aside and search for answers, Morgan took a deep breath and copied his body posture, the cold of the Formica table a shock to the still heated skin of her forearms.

  “My middle name is Leanne. I wanted to work at the Midnight Saloon because I heard the MDGs made really good money and didn’t have to take their clothes off. And yeah, I like working there. They threw a little grilled steak dinner party for me tonight to celebrate my first week. Not many places do that for new employees.”

  Remembering the warmth she’d felt in that narrow brick alleyway earlier in the evening, Morgan smiled to herself. Then she remembered Pamela’s strange penchant for raw meat, and her smile slipped to a frown.

  Jonathan reached up and slowly trailed a fingertip down her left check and along her jaw line. “What’s the frown for?”

  Lips parted as her heart suddenly kicked into overdrive, Morgan allowed herself to look directly into his eyes, then had to look away after the resulting punch to her gut. His eyes had a soft curiosity to them that was hard to look at, as if he could see her innermost thoughts.

  “Nothing. Just…one of the MDGs seems a little…off. I’m sure it’s just one of those personality differences, you know? But she does some really strange things sometimes. I mean, who in the world likes to lick the bloody juices from raw meat? But, to each his own, right?” Morgan laughed and leaned back against the padded booth, making the red vinyl creak.

  She glanced at him, and noticed he was no longer smiling. Her own smile faded. “What is it? Was that rude of me? Oh wait, I know. You like raw meat, too?”

  Jonathan quickly smiled and shook his head, but his chuckle sounded a bit forced. “No, you’re right. That is…strange.”

  “Okay, so it’s your turn to play twenty questions.” Feeling more comfortable with the spotlight finally turned in his direction, she leaned forward and searched his eyes. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living? Where’d you grow up? Why do you go the Midnight Saloon so much? Don’t you have a hobby or a family?” Or a wife or girlfriend, she added silently.

  Jonathan stared back at her, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “No, no wife or girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She blushed, but didn’t look away. He opened his mouth to continue and then seemed to hesitate, which prompted her to ask, “What?”

  After another brief hesitation, his eyebrows lifted and he sighed, as if he’d come to some sort of decision. “To be honest, I usually tell people I’m a consultant. But the truth is that…I’m a writer.”

  “Really?” Her first instinct was to blurt out that she was a writer, too. But on second thought, she hadn’t told anyone about her erotic romance writing. And she definitely didn’t know Jonathan well enough to tell him her secret. “What kind of writing do you do?”

  “Nonfiction.” The corner of his mouth lifted again in the semblance of a smile, but his eyes remained serious, as if he were waiting for her response. “I write about scary stuff. Vampires, to be exact.”

  One of Morgan’s eyebrows arched of its own volition. “Uh huh. And you write nonfiction? I assume you debunk the myth, then?”

  “Nope. I interview people who claim to have actually seen them, then write down their stories into anthologies.” He continued to search her face, but his smile faded a bit.

  He couldn’t be serious. “Well…uh, that’s certainly an interesting job. Do you see the inside of insane asylums much?”

  Jonathan laughed. “No. Don’t worry. You’re not the first skeptic I’ve come across.”

  Their waitress came back with their food, skillfully balancing the three plates on the insides of her forearms. Morgan made eye contact with the woman when she told her thank you. Her mother was a waitress too, and she knew how hard and thankless the job could be.

  Morgan closed her eyes and sniffed deeply, letting the aroma of pecans and melted butter fill her nose and wake up her stomach. Then she reached for the glass syrup container, which sat in a small metal basket on the table against the wall. As she poured a generous amount of the sticky sweetness over her waffle, she felt Jonathan’s gaze on her.

  “What?” She glanced at him.

  “You must work out a lot in order to look so good and eat like that,” he teased her with her own words.

  Morgan laughed, ended the pour, and gestured with the container and a questioning lift of her eyebrows. Nodding, he reached forward to take the container, and their fingers brushed. They both froze unsmiling and stared at each other. So it was back to the undeniable physical chemistry between them.

  She broke contact first, letting him have the container and focusing on cutting her waffle into little bites. When she realized she was automatically cutting them into toddler-sized pieces out of sheer habit, she laughed through her nose at herself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Her head popped up in surprise. There was no reason for him to know about Joey. “Uh…nothing. Just laughing at myself for cutting my food up so small without realizing it.” Hurriedly she thought of something else to ask him. “So, um, back to your writing.”

  “We don’t have to talk about that. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m nuts.” Jonathan dug into his own omelet with gusto, taking a huge bite. She noticed, however, that he used both a knife and fork to eat with, and that the way his long fingers held the utensils seemed to speak of refined eating manners. The expensive leather watch on his left wrist with its rectangular face trimmed in what appeared to be real gold added to his appearance of wealth.

  “No, it’s fascinating, actually. Does your family finance your research trips, or do the sales from your books actually earn enough to cover your costs?” She took a bite of pancake, and watched his face for telltale signs that he might be lying when he answered.

  Jonathan swallowed and stared right back. “Both. The investments I inherited from my father keep me afloat pretty well, but you’d be surprised at how many people are really into reading about vampires.”

  Her food suddenly seemed rather boring,
not nearly as interesting as the man just two feet away. “Really? I guess you have some method for tracking down these, uh, vampire sightings?”

  “Yeah. Got a techie friend who runs a website and an online network for me. People contact him with their claims, he weeds through their reports, and tells me about the ones that appear to have at least a potential for truth in them.”

  Morgan frowned. “How do you investigate what these people tell you in their interviews? Or do you just write down their stories as a type of urban legend and not worry about separating fact from fiction?”

  Jonathan’s eyes seemed deep and fathomless, making her wonder what secrets he knew about a mythical world she’d only seen glimpses of in movies. “Oh, trust me. I’m only interested in finding the truth.”

  While they continued to eat, Jonathan entertained her with stories about vampires he’d tracked across the globe, as well as some of the more exotic places he’d visited. Though he could tell from the expression in those pretty eyes of hers that she didn’t necessarily believe him, her laughter and curiosity were genuine. Then she asked a question that made him remember that the real purpose behind this dinner date wasn’t to entertain her or learn more about her real life.

  He was supposed to be learning more about her boss, Brianna Cochoran, and the Midnight Saloon.

  “So Jonathan, you never told me why you go to the Midnight Saloon so much,” she reminded him, setting her fork and knife on her partially empty plate.

  Careful now, he reminded himself. “I heard some rumors about the Midnight Saloon, and thought I’d check them out. I’m sure the rumors were probably just from some friends of your employer’s pulling my leg, though.”

  “Why? What’d you hear?” Morgan appeared curious, yet unconcerned. Good. He had to handle this carefully, or she might repeat part or all of their conversation to Ms. Cochoran.

  “Oh, you know, vague stuff, like the fact that Brianna might be friends with a vampire named Kilo.” He added a smile and chuckle to keep things light, as if it were all just a great prank. Yet he studied her every response for clues.