Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [54]
13
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FINDING dress-up clothes that you can hide a gun in is a bitch. I actually hadn’t planned to carry a gun on my date with Jean-Claude. Of course, that was before the assassin. Now I wasn’t going out without one. If I’d known I’d be needing a gun tonight, I’d have worn the little black dress yesterday and saved the pants suit. But who knew, and now all I’d packed besides jeans was the dress. It was a little black dress with just enough strap to allow a bra, if you were careful. I’d bought a black bra to be safe. Flashing a white bra strap in a black dress always looked so tacky. The jacket was a deep black velvet, a bolero cut that hit me at the waist. Black beading edged the collar and hem.
The jacket was hanging on the doorknob of Richard’s closet. He was sitting forlornly on the bed, watching me put the last touches on my lipstick. I was leaning forward, peering at myself in the mirror on his dresser. The skirt was short enough that I decided to wear a black teddy under it, not for underwear but to go over my panty hose, so everything matched. Ronnie hadn’t trusted me not to end over at least once tonight. She was right. So even if I forgot, the teddy covered more than most bathing suits. I’d have never picked out something so short on my own. Ronnie was a bad influence on me. If she’d known I was planning to wear it for Jean-Claude, she’d have probably chosen something else. She called him fangface. Or worse. She liked Richard.
“Nice dress,” Richard said.
“Thanks.” I turned in front of the mirror to check the way the skirt hung. It was just full enough to swing when I moved. The black knife sheaths on my forearms actually matched the dress. The knives made a nice touch of silver. The wrist sheaths almost covered the scars on my arms. Only the mound of scar tissue at my left elbow was visible. A vampire had torn up my arm once upon a time. The same vamp had bitten through my collarbone. The scars were normal for me, but every once in a while I’d be out enjoying myself and catch someone looking, staring. They’d look hurriedly away, or meet my eyes. It wasn’t that the scars were awful to look at. They weren’t that bad—really. But they told a story of pain and something out of the ordinary. They said I’d been places that most people hadn’t, and I’d survived. Worth a stare or two, I guess.
The black straps that held the new knife down along my spine showed a little at the shoulders, but more across the back. The hilt was hidden under my hair, but I wouldn’t be taking the jacket off.
“Why didn’t you wear this last night?” Richard asked.
“The pants suit seemed more appropriate.”
He stared at me, eyes roving over my body more than my face. He shook his head. “For seeing someone you’re not going to sleep with, that is a very sexy outfit.”
I had never planned on Richard seeing the dress, at least not on the night I wore it for Jean-Claude. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I’d try. “I trust myself with Jean-Claude more than I trust myself with you, so he gets the short skirt and you don’t.” That was the truth.
“You’re saying I don’t get the sexy outfit because I’m so irresistible?”
“Something like that.”
“If I ran my hands up your legs, would I find panty hose or garters?” He looked so solemn, hurt. With everything else going down, I shouldn’t have had to worry about my boyfriend’s hurt feelings, but there it was. Life goes on, even if you’re ass deep in alligators.
“Panty hose,” I said.
“Will Jean-Claude find out what kind of hose you’re wearing?”
“He could ask, like you did,” I said.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said.
I sighed. “I don’t know how to make this easier on you, Richard. If there’s anything that would make you feel more secure about this, ask.”
To his credit, he didn’t ask me not to go. I think he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “Come here,” he said