"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 06 - Killing Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

much at stake, you'd think people would be more cautious.
Robert cradled her against him, and all the light had faded from her face.
She looked pale. I felt like a heel.
"The latest news was that a vampire over a hundred was sterile," I said.
"They should update their information, I guess." I meant for it to be
comforting, like they hadn't been careless.
Monica looked at me, and there was no gentleness in her eyes when she said,
"Worried?"
I stared at her all pale and pregnant and wanted to slap her anyway. I was
not sleeping with Jean-Claude. But I was not going to stand there and justify
myself to Monica Vespucci—or anyone else, for that matter.
Richard Zeeman entered the room. I didn't actually see him enter. I felt
it. I turned and watched him walk towards us. He was six foot one, nearly a
foot taller than me. Another inch and we couldn't have kissed without a chair.
But it would have been worth the effort. He wove between the other guests,
saying a word here and there. His smile flashed white and perfect in his
permanently tanned skin as he talked to these new friends that he'd managed to
charm at dinner. Not with sex appeal or power but with sheer good will. He was
the world's biggest boy scout, the original hail fellow, well met. He liked
people and was a wonderful listener, two qualities that are highly underrated.
His suit was dark brown, his shirt a deep orangey gold. The tie was a
brighter orange with a line of small figures down the middle of it. You had to
be standing right next to him to realize the figures were Warner Brothers
cartoons.
He'd tied his shoulder-length hair back from his face in a version of a
french braid, so the illusion was that his brown hair was very short. It left
his face clean and very visible. His cheekbones were perfect, sculpted high
and graceful. His face was masculine, handsome, with a dimple to soften it. It
was the kind of face that would have made me shy in high school.
He noticed me watching him and smiled. His brown eyes sparkled with the
smile, filling with heat that had nothing to do with room temperature. I
watched him walk the last few feet, and felt heat rise up my neck into my
face. I wanted to undress him, to touch his bare skin, to see what was under
that suit. I wanted that very badly. I wouldn't, because I wasn't sleeping
with Richard, either. I wasn't sleeping with the vampire or the werewolf.
Richard was the werewolf. It was his only fault. Okay, maybe one other: he'd
never killed anybody. That last fault might get him killed someday.
I slid my left arm around his waist, under the unbuttoned jacket. The solid
warmth of him beat like a pulse against my body. If we didn't have sex soon, I
was simply going to explode. What price morals?
Monica stared at me very steadily, studying my face. "That's a lovely
necklace. Who got it for you?"
I smiled and shook my head. I was wearing a black velvet choker with a
cameo, edged by silver filigree. Hey, it matched the outfit. Monica was pretty
sure Richard hadn't given it to me, which meant, to Monica, that Jean-Claude
had. Good old Monica. She never changed.
"I bought it to match the outfit," I said.
She widened her eyes in surprise. "Oh, really?" like she didn't believe me.
"Really. I'm not much into gifts, especially jewelry."
Richard hugged me. "That's the truth. She's a very hard woman to spoil."