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I follow, mind still somewhere outside my body, the taste of her still lingering in my throat.

Getting past the bouncer takes all of five seconds after Ophelia and I give him our names. As soon as we step through the doors into the dim red light of the club, the heavy beat of music makes talking at a normal distance all but impossible.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask her, leaning in close and murmuring the question into the shell of her ear.

Her spine goes ramrod straight for half a heartbeat until she remembers herself and the game we’re playing. She leans back, a languid half-smile on her face as she murmurs back.

“I don’t drink while I’m working.”

“Nor do I, at least not under normal circumstances.”

I offer the remark earnestly. Blood isn’t the only fare agreeable to a vampire’s constitution, but Ophelia mistakes my meaning as she sucks in a sharp breath. Her hand twitches, like she caught herself just before raising it to touch the mark at her throat. A pulse of something that’s equal parts desire, and regret for the unintentional innuendo, has me quickly trying to correct the error.

“That’s not what I—”

“You’re right,” Ophelia says. “We’re supposed to be acting like any other patrons. A club soda sounds great.”

As much as I like her agreement, I’d also like to go more than five minutes without putting my foot in my mouth with her. But knowing we need to continue our ruse, I take her by the elbow and steer her gently toward the bar. I stay close to her, acting for all the world like the doting lover I’m supposed to be.

It doesn’t go without notice.

Though I don’t recognize every face in the Raven this evening, there are more than a few familiar sets of eyes on Ophelia and me as we make our way across the room.

If Ophelia notices the attention, she doesn’t show it.

She settles herself onto a barstool and doesn’t flinch or miss a beat when I stand behind her. With no spare seats available, I lean over her shoulder and order her a club soda and myself a whiskey, neat. She quirks a brow, but doesn’t comment.

Compared to the low, intoxicating hum of her blood still running through my veins, the alcohol will do next to nothing to me. However, as our drinks arrive and I take my first swallow, I savor the burn. I savor the momentary relief of not having her taste lingering on my lips, at the back of my throat, coating my palate and making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As delicious as she is, and as much as some base part of me protests losing that impossibly delicious flavor, I know it’s not doing a damn thing to keep my focus where it should be.

“See anyone we know?” Ophelia asks softly, turning her head and resting her chin on her shoulder.

“Not yet.” I rest one hand on her hip, and reach up with the other to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Perhaps we’d have a better vantage point from the dance floor.”

She huffs a hollow laugh. “I think I’ll take my chances here.”

“If you’re worried I’ll step on your toes, I invite you to remember the last dance we shared. I can assure you your feet are safe.”

“Oh, believe me, that’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you—”

“We should keep our eyes open for Marcus or Philippe.”

I barely bite back my growl of frustration.

One of these days, I’m going to have a word with sweet Ophelia about letting me finish a sentence.

But it’s not a battle that needs to be fought at this particular moment, and I let my eyes stray from the elegant line of her neck and the two vivid crimson marks there. I scan up and down the bar, through the crowd milling at the side of the room, and to the tightly packed dance floor.

Still, as much as I might try to keep myself in the here and now and the task at hand, the memory of the last time we shared a dance fills my mind.

Ophelia—in the little burgundy dress she’d been wearing, hair a riot of big, wavy curls and mouth painted a deep blood red—had melted into my embrace. She’d danced with me like she could read my every move and touch, and the bloom of desire I’d scented on her hadn’t just been in my mind.

It couldn’t have been, not when I’ve just scented it again in all its lush, tantalizing glory.

Whatever else she may have been aiming to get from me, her body hadn’t lied in its reaction. Not back then, and not tonight.