Fangs for Nothing

Chapter Two IT’S A NICE DAY FOR A DOMME WEDDING

“WHO the hell would marry Saxon?” Drake shook his head in disgust as he watched the newly wedded groom chatting merrily with a man in an expensive suit.

Any idle observer would have thought the man in the suit was the groom, not the goofy-looking guy with blond hair poking out all over his head like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket earlier in the day.

“Well, he did marry a dominatrix,” Cort, Drake’s good friend and bandmate, pointed out, taking a sip from a plastic champagne glass filled with something that looked like it had been ladled out of some backwater bayou. Cort grimaced as if it tasted about as good, too. “Besides, is that how the best man should be talking about the groom? Saxon showed you the love. Where’s the love for him, man?”

Drake snorted. “Yeah, he showed me the love all right.” He gave a pointed look down at his best-man attire. Ruffles of linen and lace spilled down his chest and dripped in cascades from his wrists. “I look like Adam Ant, for Christsake.”

Cort sputtered, trying to stifle his amusement, but failed. Miserably.

“I particularly like the pants . . . you can really pull off knee breeches. And shoes with buckles. Although those look a little more leprechaun than pirate,” he said, barely getting the words out before dissolving into an outright chuckle.

“Laugh it up,” Drake muttered, and then automatically lifted a hand to call over the bartender only to drop it back to the bar when he realized all he’d be able to order was a soft drink or some of that god-awful swamp water Cort had. “If Saxon and his whip-wielding bride are going to make me dress like a goddamn pirate, they could at least have some rum for me.”

Cort actually swiped at the tears of amusement dampening his eyes, then after a few more laughs and sniffs, he managed to pull himself together.

“Besides, Saxon likes you better—why didn’t he pick you?” Drake pointed out, which wasn’t totally true. Cort just happened to tolerate Saxon’s “alternative” outlook on the world better than Drake. Saxon didn’t really play favorites. He was a bit like a not particularly bright but sweet puppy. He loved everyone.

“Well, that’s simple. You two have been in the band together longer than I have. Saxon is pretty loyal.”

Yep, definitely just like a puppy.

“Lucky me,” Drake grumbled. “He’s been in the band just as long with Johnny and Wyatt.”

“But would a gangster or a cowboy really make sense for this wedding?” Cort said, looking around at the odd assembly of people as if he were making a valid point.

“Nothing at this wedding makes sense.”

Cort didn’t even try to argue that. “Well, anyway, you know Saxon loves pirates. And I think it’s nice he wanted to take you back to your roots.”

It was Drake’s turn to snort, but not with amusement. “My roots? I was a lord, my friend. Not a lowly gangster like Johnny. Or a dusty, flea-bitten cowboy like Wyatt. I was Lord Hanover. Pristine bloodlines. Royalty.”

“You were a pirate, too, my friend,” Cort pointed out with a smirk. “Turning to a life of pillaging and plundering on the high seas? To avoid the penal colony? Because you were framed by your mistress as a thief? Ring any bells?”

Drake gave his friend a haughty look that only a true aristocrat could manage. “That is not a time I want to relive. Especially dressed like some ridiculous extra who wandered off the set of the Pirates of the Caribbean.”

Cort laughed again.

“I think you look rather dashing,” Katie, Cort’s wife and eternal ray of vampiric sunshine, said as she joined them. Cort immediately pulled the petite blonde against his side and kissed her temple.

More bitterness welled up in Drake’s ruffle-covered chest at the sight of their affectionate embrace.

Who needs this lovey-dovey bullshit all the time? he thought sourly. Sharing an apartment with Cort and Katie, who were also newlyweds—although Drake had long thought their “newly” status had expired months ago—and now being the best man at one of the most ludicrous weddings he’d ever been to was enough to make anyone cranky.

He tugged at his sleeve, and just when he would have ripped off the ruffles oozing from his wrist, Saxon’s new wife, Zelda, approached them.

The bride should be the center of attention on her special day, but this woman was impossible to miss any day. Almost six feet tall in bare feet, she was an absolute Amazon in her six-inch, patent leather, thigh-high boots. Above the boots was an expanse of pale thighs encased in fishnets that disappeared under a micromini leather wedding dress. The skintight skirt cinched into a corseted top, which barely contained high, firm breasts that had probably cost her more than the whole wedding.

Especially given what they must have saved on alcohol, Drake thought bitterly. But he did almost admire that this woman dared to wear all white. Her hooha might be perilously close to being exposed to the whole reception, but she was going to wear virginal white.

“Hello, guys,” Zelda greeted them with a smile that always made Drake a little nervous. Of course it could be the cat-o’-nine-tails that had also served as her wedding bouquet, which she now absently tapped against her outer thigh. Did Saxon really enjoy whips and chains?

Drake shuddered. That had never been his thing. At all.

Sure, Zelda was hot in a statuesque, unnaturally shapely and intimidating way, but she was definitely not Drake’s style.

Out the corner of his eyes, Drake noticed a curvy brunette hurrying through the courtyard toward the cupcake buffet with a fresh tray of minicakes.

Cupcakes.

Even those irritated Drake. But the woman carrying them, on the other hand, now she was more his style—all sweet looking, with ample curves. Natural, ample curves. Soft and warm against him, offering him her sexy little body. Yeah, that was how he liked his women.

Not armed. He looked back to Zelda. That was so not his idea of a dream woman.

Of course, he couldn’t imagine anyone finding Saxon to be her dream man. Especially not as a husband.

Something about the fact that these two—a flaky vampire keyboard player and a gigantic, silicone domme—had managed to find love, depressed Drake almost as much as the lack of liquor.

Weren’t weddings supposed to be uplifting? His gaze returned to the cupcake table, but the curvy woman had disappeared.

“The wedding was beautiful,” Katie told Zelda with her usual generosity.

Zelda beamed, her wide, bloodred smile, making Drake uneasy again. Of course, the bouquet/deadly weapon was still swishing idly at her side.

“I think so,” Zelda said and the two women sank into conversation about decorations and dresses and wedding songs. Funny, even a Pollyanna-like Katie and a sniff-my-boots dominatrix like Zelda could find common ground discussing wedding preparations.

Cort took another sip of his bog water and perused the scene, seemingly quite content with the festivities, if the courtyard could be described as festive. The tables were decorated with bloodred roses arranged in black miniature coffins. Red candles burned everywhere, and the guests looked like a combination of undertakers, the dead, and the crazy-ass dommes who killed them with . . . with things like—Drake’s gaze dropped to Zelda’s bridal whip—things like that. Even the cupcakes were decorated with red frosting, black piping, and small silver handcuffs made out of fondant.

At least that part was apropos. Marriage did mean being shackled to someone else. Until death do you part . . . or until the divorce papers were signed.

Drake scanned the crowd once more, then leaned closer to Cort and muttered “You know you are at a pretty fucked-up shindig when the vampires are the cheeriest ones in attendance. And the least scary.”

Cort chuckled, still looking content to be there.

Drake tried to affect the same collected air, but the lace at his throat itched. And his knee breeches tugged in all the wrong places, and one of his hose was sliding down into his big buckled shoe.

“This sucks.”

“Shh,” Cort hissed, and Drake saw Saxon standing at his elbow.

“Hey, bestie,” the goofy blond greeted him. “Bestie man, that is. How are you digging the pah-tay?”

“I’m dressed as a pirate, where’s my fuckin’ rum?” Drake asked.

In typical Saxon fashion, he was unaffected by Drake’s scowl, or he thought it was a joke. “Dude, I think I have some butter rum Life Savers in my backpack.” He looked around, suddenly appearing very confused. “But dude, I don’t know where my backpack is.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Drake said.

Cort chuckled again.

“So have you tried one of the cupcakes yet? Zelda hired this new caterer who specializes in gourmet cupcakes, and they are supposed to be totally fab.”

“We’re vampires,” Drake pointed out slowly. “Cupcakes aren’t really part of our diet plan anymore.”

“Right,” Saxon nodded, his goofy expression fading to one of serious reflection. “I forgot.”

Then his silly smile returned. “But they are cool to look at, too.”

Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes, and managed to say in a somewhat pleasant voice, “You know, I think I will go check them out now.”

“You totally should,” Saxon said happily.

Drake started to wander away, when Cort snagged his ruffled wrist and stopped him.

“Come on,” Cort whispered, all his earlier humor gone, “try to have fun. This isn’t about you, it’s about Saxon and Zelda.”

Drake sighed. Cort was right, damn him. He could suck it up for one night.

He nodded to Cort and wandered toward the buffet table, which was surrounded by a motley assortment of attendees. But he was focused on locating one person, the cute woman with the serving tray. One reason, she was pretty adorable, and another, if she worked in the kitchen, maybe they had some booze in there. Hell, at this point, he’d take a few swigs of cooking sherry . . . anything to make the rest of this bizarro night tolerable.

But he’d barely reached the buffet when the woman he immediately recognized as the maid of honor approached him.

“Hey there, matey.”

Shit. He had not gotten a good vibe off this chick. She’d been staring at him through the whole ceremony like she was planning on a little maid of honor/best man hookup tonight. Or in her case, more of a tie-up than a hookup. God, he hoped she didn’t have hooks.

He grimaced, but then forced the look into a stiff smile. The willowy woman strode up to him, the twinkly lights decorating the courtyard glinting off her black PVC, fetish bodysuit. This woman, while still tall in her stilettos, wasn’t as Amazonian as Zelda, although there was something just as unnerving about her. Then again, she, too, had a whip as an accessory. Not a cat-o’-nine-tails, just a mere riding crop, but Drake knew that would really sting, especially on bare flesh.

“How are you . . . ?” he said stiffly, drawing a complete blank on her name.

“Obsidian,” she answered.

How the hell had he forgotten that?

“I’m much better now that I’ve found you.” She smiled, glossy red lips curling back over small, sharp-looking teeth.

He shifted away from her. Why was it that he really did find the dommes far more creepy than the undead? Maybe because the undead posed no threat to him . . . chicks with implements of torture . . . that was another story. Pain was so not his thing.

He hesitated, not sure what to say, which gave her the opportunity to make her move. She stepped closer and ran her crop down the length of his arm.

“Have you ever been dominated, pirate?”

Something that felt akin to panic tightened Drake’s chest, and he immediately cast a frantic look around, searching for any escape he could find. As if answering his silent entreaty, the sexy caterer rushed out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of something that looked like bleeding skewered hearts.

“Sorry,” he said with a quick raise of his hand to Obsidian to halt her line of questioning, not to mention to get the riding crop away from him. Then he reached out to the curvy caterer, catching her free arm.

“Cupcake,” he said sweetly. “You are working so hard. Surely you have time to steal a moment with your beloved seaman.”

And before he thought better of it, he kissed the shapely stranger.

THIS WEDDING WAS in the bag. Josie Lynn Thibodaux felt confident about that. Creating a successful catering company was at least 75 percent word of mouth, and she needed this bride and groom to have nothing but complimentary things to say about her food, her service, and her staff. Okay, staff was a generous word. Her staff was herself and two college kids who she could only afford to pay minimum wage at the moment.

All the more reason why she needed to hustle.

So being grabbed by one of the wedding guests and kissed was not part of the professionalism she was hoping desperately to portray. Not to mention, the surprise lip-lock caused her to lose her balance on the tray of sashimi tuna sculpted in the shape of hearts and skewered with stalks of rosemary and topped with a roasted red pepper and sundried tomato puree—one of the gothic-themed appetizers she was particularly proud of.

She registered the metal tray clattering to the ground, but she was still too shocked to pull away. The lips moving over hers seemed to hold her immobile and she was powerless to break away.

But finally good sense kicked in, and she shoved at the man holding her. She looked up into a pair of intense, dark eyes and was lost again. Wow, he was good-looking. Like ridiculously good-looking.

Once more, common sense took effect when she noticed several of the guests staring in her direction. All the dazed desire clouding her thoughts disappeared, replaced by much more distinct irritation.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

The man, who she now saw was dressed as a pirate—damn, this is an odd wedding even by New Orleans standards—smiled. A roguish smile that suited his attire.

“I’m sorry to catch you off guard, cupcake,” he cajoled. “But I couldn’t resist a quick moment with my lady.”

Then he jerked his head slightly and his dark eyes shifted in the same direction.

Josie Lynn frowned. Was there something actually wrong with this guy? Maybe he wasn’t quite right. Some of her anger subsided.

Then he did it again, a little more adamantly this time, and she realized he was silently gesturing to the tall, latex-clad woman next to him. So the kiss had been for this chick’s benefit. Although from the sour frown on the woman’s heavily made-up face, benefit might not be the right word. She looked pissed. And she had a crop.

Josie Lynn took a step away from her, slipping on some of the slimy sashimi.

The pirate reached out and caught her elbow to steady her, but she jerked out of his hold.

Okay, now Josie Lynn was truly pissed, too. She so did not need to be a part of this guy’s drama. He could use someone else to make the plastic-encased woman jealous, or scare her away, or whatever he was doing. She didn’t care. She did, however, very much care that she was now standing in the middle of over a hundred dollars’ worth of sushi-grade yellowfin.

She started to open her mouth to tell him so, but caught herself. If he were just some random drunken jerk, she probably would have socked him in the gut and given him a very sharp, very pointed piece of her mind. But this wasn’t just some drunken jerk; this was a guest at the wedding.

Assaulting one of the guests, physically or verbally, was not going to get her the stellar reviews she needed from the bride and groom. Presumably they liked this guy, since they’d asked him to be a part of their special day, and complaints from him could be the kiss of death for this job, literally. So, even though she wanted to gag on her own smile, she forced a wide, charming one toward the pirate-turned-kissing-bandit.

“You know I love our moments, too, but not while I’m working, sugar plum,” she cooed, mocking the ridiculous endearment he’d used, then dropped a pointed look at the mess around her. “It makes me clumsy.”

She couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of her voice, even as she continued to smile.

“I am sorry about that, cupcake,” the pirate said, his dark, intense eyes twinkling with amusement. He was enjoying this.

God, she hated men.

He started to crouch down to clean up the mess, but Josie Lynn placed a hand on his arm; she noted the feeling of his bicep, bulging lean and hard, under his puffy shirt.

“No, honey bear, I’ll get it,” she said, annoyance clear in the tightness of her words, but this time directed more toward herself than at him. How could she be thinking about his damn muscles when profit was scattered all over the floor and stuck to the bottoms of her shoes? She might have blown this whole gig.

No, he might have blown it. Damn men.

But he stopped and stood, towering over her.

She dropped her hand from his arm, flexing her fingers as she did so, as if that would banish the memory of his lean strength and how much she’d liked the feeling of him. It didn’t work, but she gathered herself enough to wave over Eric, one of the college kids that worked for her.

“Get a broom and dustpan,” she told him, her no-nonsense demeanor somewhat returned. “And a mop.”

Eric nodded, but didn’t rush off quite as quickly as she would have liked. Making minimum wage only earned minimum speed.

So, even though she wanted to get away from this man as soon as possible, she had to wait, not wanting to leave the mess unattended. All she needed was someone slipping on raw fish or getting puree on their fetishwear.

She shot a glance to the woman in the shiny PVC catsuit . . . of course, the puree would wipe right off of that.

“I can wait here until he returns,” the pirate said, and this time when Josie Lynn met his gaze, she saw what looked like flashes of remorse in his dark eyes. That wasn’t much compensation, however.

But rather than respond to him, she remained rooted in the middle of the mess and scanned the courtyard for the bride and groom. As long as they still appeared happy, she should be okay. No harm, no foul. Aside from being out the pricey cost of the tuna. She could hardly charge them for an appetizer no one got to eat.

“I am really sorry, cupcake,” the pirate said from closer beside her, his husky voice no longer dripping with the syrupy-sweet quality he’d used earlier.

Josie Lynn stopped her search of the crowd and raised an eyebrow at him, not quite believing his apology. Men like this only said they were sorry when it furthered their cause. She’d seen it a dozen times . . . the last time less than three weeks ago.

Damn, men were bastards. Especially the good-looking ones like this guy. With deep, intense stares and roguish smiles. And who kissed a woman until she was senseless. And who probably made love to a woman as if she were the only one in the world who’d ever mattered to him.

Dear, freaking God, what was she doing? Imagining how this man made love? She needed to get a grip. A very serious grip.

Fortunately, her employee finally moseyed up—with only a broom and dustpan, but it was a start. And she could get away from this jerk.

But she couldn’t resist having the last word.

“No worries, sugar pie,” she said to the pirate, her voice taking on all the sickening sweetness his had lost.

Then, on an impulse, she sank her fingers into the cascade of ruffles on his chest and dragged his lips down to hers. She kissed him hard and thoroughly.

“Enjoy the rest of the party, sweet cheeks,” she cooed, before turning to head back to the kitchen, not needing to make direct eye contact with her employee to know he was sporting a bemused expression.

She didn’t slow her departure even as she slipped slightly on a chunk of tuna still stuck to her shoe.

Of course by the time she reached the kitchen, she wasn’t feeling so self-righteous. Why the hell had she done that? Really? After the mental lamenting about needing to be nothing but professional? Why would she potentially cause another round of raised eyebrows? And what if rubber-bound Barbie with her crop and black lipstick trotted over to the bride and groom and told them their caterer was busy playing kissy-face with the wedding pirate?

“And this, Josie Lynn, is why you are destined to be the Queen of Bad Decisions,” she muttered to herself. She needed to use the damn brain God gave her.

And not for evil.

She pulled in a deep breath and tried to focus on the chaotic kitchen. She couldn’t take back her behavior—or his, but she could finish this wedding with a bang. And that didn’t mean banging a pirate.

Even though she could imagine it. His body had felt really nice against hers. And surprisingly, he sort of smelled like the sea, fresh and manly and a little salty.

She felt her body react, nipples hardening, moisture gathering between her thighs.

Enough! She shook her head. “So, the Queen.”

“Huh?”

Josie Lynn turned to her other employee, a slender, pretty blonde who was sadly reinforcing all dumb blonde jokes. Apparently minimum wage got her minimum speed with Eric and minimum intelligence with Ashley. And as soon as she noticed what Ashley was doing, all thoughts of kissing pirates and poor decisions vanished.

“Ashley! What are you doing?”

The blonde made a startled squeak and dropped the food syringe she was holding.

“I—I’m filling the éclairs with cream.”

“No,” Josie Lynn said slowly, “you are filling the éclairs with a crawfish and crab cheese sauce.”

She snatched up a pastry bag filled with vanilla bean and Grand Marnier crème and shoved it toward Ashley. “This is the right filling.”

Ashley gave her a pained look, but Josie Lynn barely acknowledged it, instantly counting the number of desserts ruined beyond repair.

Only a dozen. Thank God.

“I’m so sorry, Josie.”

“No worries,” Josie Lynn said, realizing that response was becoming the mantra of the night. “Just do the rest with this filling.” She pushed the metal bowl filled with more crème toward her employee. “Please.”

“Of course,” Ashley said. “I’m so—”

Josie Lynn raised a hand to stop her apology. “No worries, just finish the rest and I’ll finish the minicrepes.”

Which are filled with the crawfish-and-crab cheese sauce, she finished silently. And sarcastically.

“You can pull this off,” she said quietly to herself, determined to make this her new mantra of the night. “You can pull this off.”