He stared at me, surprise mirrored in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You think I became a runner for their dental plan? It would’ve made for more fun than having some guy teach me craps. That was your job, by the way.”

Kisten stood next to me, a dusting of snow starting to accumulate on his leather coat draped over his arm. His face was long and unhappy in the dim light from a streetlamp. He took a breath, and my eyes narrowed. It escaped him in a quick sound of defeat. I could feel my blood racing, and my body was both hot and cold from my anger and the cutting wind off the river. I liked even less that Kisten could probably read my feelings better than I could.

His eyes with their growing rim of blue flicked past me to the boat. As I watched, they flashed to black, chilling me. “You’re right,” he said shortly, his voice tight. “Get in the car.”

My anger flamed back. Son of a bitch … “Don’t patronize me,” I said tightly.

He reached out, and I jerked away before he could touch me. Black eyes looking soulless in the dim light, he turned his reach for me into opening my door. “I’m not,” he said, his motions edging into that eerie vamp quickness. “There are three men coming off the boat. I can smell gunpowder. You were right, I was wrong. Get in the damn car.”

Fourteen

Fear flashed through me, and sensing it, Kisten took a breath as if I had slapped him. I froze, reading in his rising hunger that I had more to worry about than the feet booming down the gangplank. Heart pounding, I got in the car. Kisten handed me my coat and his keys. My door thumped shut, and while he crossed in front of his car, I jammed the key into the ignition. Kisten got in, and the sudden rumble came simultaneously with him shutting his door.

The three men had shifted direction, their pace quickening as they headed for an early model BMW. “They’ll never catch us in that,” Kisten scoffed. Wipers going to push off the snow, he put the car in gear, and I braced against the dash when he punched it. We skidded, fishtailing into the street and running a late yellow light. I didn’t look behind us.

Kisten slowed as the traffic increased, and pulse hammering, I wiggled into his coat and put on my seat belt. He flicked the heater on high, but it only blew cold air. I felt naked without my charms. Damn it, I should have brought something, but it was supposed to have been a date!

“I’m sorry,” Kisten said as he cut a sudden left. “You were right.”

“You idiot!” I shouted, my voice harsh in the close confines of the car. “Don’t you ever make my decisions for me, Kisten. Those men had guns, and I had nothing!” Fading adrenaline made my words louder than I had intended, and I glanced at him, suddenly sobered as I remembered the black of his eyes when my fear had hit him. He might look safe, dressed in his Italian suit and his hair slicked back—but he wasn’t. He could shift between one heartbeat and the next. God, what was I doing here?