Fangs for Nothing (The Fangover #2)(17)
Author: Erin McCarthy

The pirate stopped rotating his shoulder and looked at her. “Whoa now, who said anything about orgies? Why would you think we had an orgy?”

She lifted her hands and looked around the room, ending her tour on him and his lack of attire.

He shrugged. “Okay, I can see where you would conclude something sexual happened last night, but if we all did have a forgotten orgy, it would be my first.”

“So what happened again?”

“I think someone must have drugged us.”

“Drugged us?”

How could he stand there, his penis hanging out for all the world to see, and calmly tell her that he thought they’d been drugged?

“And do you and your friends get drugged often?”

“No,” he said with the same nonchalance. “But it did happen once before.”

Josie Lynn stared at him, trying to stay calm. “And do you know who did it?”

“The first time?”

She nodded slowly, starting to wonder if he could possibly be serious, or if maybe he was just nuts.

“Yeah, we know who did it the first time,” he said, again amazing her with his matter-of-factness. “But I highly doubt he’d do it again. It was an accident.”

Okay, yeah, nuts seemed like the most likely explanation here, but before she got the chance to tell him that, the other man, who thankfully had clothes on, called to him.

So this other guy knew the pirate. And, she realized as she looked closer at both the man and woman, they were handcuffed together.

Of course they were handcuffed together. Yeah, this was effin’ nuts.

* * *

LIZETTE WAS HAVING a rather pleasant dream of riding in a hot air balloon over the French countryside after the Parisian World’s Fair back in 1889, when she had the sensation of being tugged, accompanied by an irritating rattling. She wanted to suggest to whoever was creating the ruckus to please cease, but she was alone in the balloon.

Then a scream cut through the air, ripping her balloon and sending her basket plunging to the ground and her certain death.

If she wasn’t a vampire, that is, and if she wasn’t dreaming.

Lizette jerked awake and shot her gaze around the dim room, not recognizing her hotel room. This was not the Royal Sonesta. This was not her room. Where on earth was she?

She realized what had woken her up was a woman she did not recognize screaming at the top of her lungs as she stood in the middle of the room, looking down at her rather unusual outfit, which consisted of a puffy blouse and nothing else. Lizette frantically looked down at her own attire, and while she was still wearing her skirt, her jacket was gone, and her blouse was unbuttoned almost to her navel. Her bra was showing.

Letting out a little squawk herself, Lizette moved to rebutton it.

But when she pulled her right hand toward her br**sts, a man’s hand came with it.

Lizette swallowed hard and stared in bewilderment at the faint dark hair on the back of the callused hand, not entirely sure what she was looking at.

Hand. Metal. Oh my.

Her sluggish brain processed the fact that she was handcuffed to a man. The silver ovals encased both of their wrists, and his hand was now flopping on her lace bra. This was not a good sign. Her gaze shot to her right as she shook her hand, trying to force the man’s hand off of her, which as much as she would like it to be, was not in fact dismembered.

It did belong to a living vampire, possibly the last vampire she would like to be chained to in a dark room that she didn’t recognize.

Oh dear. It was Johnny Malone who was handcuffed to her.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said with a half smile.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I have no idea.” Johnny swept his free hand through his short hair. “I was actually hoping you had some idea of what happened last night, because I don’t. Never once have I blacked out, and yet . . . nothing.”

She didn’t remember anything either, and frankly, that was terrifying. “I don’t remember a thing! This is awful. Where are we?”

“Zelda’s dominatrix dungeon.”

“What?”

“And no, that’s not a fetish game show. We’re at the bride’s house, in her special soundproof room.”

Bride. That’s right. Lizette had gone to the wedding of Johnny’s friend to confront Johnny for missing their appointment and removing his drums from the apartment before the investigation had been concluded. Or had even really started, frankly. She remembered arguing with him, feeling a bit faint, drinking a horrible-tasting punch. Then mostly nothing.

“Did I dance with you?” she asked him in horror.

Johnny gave her a rueful look. “I think we danced together and then some.”

Oh dear. Did he mean . . .

Lizette’s head was throbbing. Her eyes were gritty. Her shoulders and legs were stiff.

But those were not the only parts of her that were sore. As she sat on the carpeted floor of Zelda’s dominatrix dungeon, she stared at the handcuffs attaching her wrist to Johnny Malone’s, and had the horrible suspicion that he was the party responsible for the unmistakable well-loved sensation between her legs.

She wouldn’t have slept with him. She couldn’t have. Except there was no denying a few particular facts.

She was handcuffed to him.

A quick shift confirmed she was no longer wearing panties.

And despite the way her head ached, whenever she glanced over at him, there was a sizzling awareness between them, like their bodies remembered what had happened even if neither of their brains did.

“I don’t know what to say. I am mortified,” she told him honestly. “I have never blacked out from drinking. Ever. I would have declined the toxic punch if I had known it would result in . . . this. Whatever this is.” Overcome with the sudden desperate need to get out of the room and distance herself from Johnny and the knowledge that she had behaved like a complete wanton, she tried to stand up.

Only to wind up falling down on her backside when the weight of Johnny’s attached limb pulled her straight back down. “Stand up!” she snapped.

“Fine. Jesus. How was I supposed to know you were going to stand up? I’m not psychic,” he mumbled. “On the count of three, we’ll stand, okay?”

She nodded, realizing he was right.

“Un. Deux. Trois.”

He spoke French. Amazed, Lizette pushed off the floor with him as they stood together. He didn’t look like the type of man who would know a second language, whatever that might look like. She realized that this could work to her advantage, because she remembered a key piece of information. “Saxon’s new wife is mortal, yes?” she asked quietly.