Frostbite (Last Call #5) by Moira Rogers

Frostbite
    Looking for a partner immune to supernatural
seduction.

     
    Last Call wasn’t her usual scene.
    Kelsey snagged a menu from the end of the
bar and thumbed the edge as she scanned the offerings. She was used
to clubs, all right—the carefully orchestrated dance of the horny,
the line between need and desperation growing thinner with each
passing drink. But she wasn’t used to places humans couldn’t even
enter, places where five grand got you a drink and a room key.
    Both very, very special.
    She trailed one manicured nail past the
initial categories—werewolves, vampires, fae. The usual, she
imagined, for a place like Last Call. On the back, at the bottom of
the page, printed in smaller letters than the rest, was one last
heading.
    Other.
    She smiled and drained her whiskey. Amusing,
if not flattering, that she was an anomaly so rare there wasn’t
even a category to include her, just a catchall section at the
bottom of a menu, right beside the acknowledgment that parties of
six or more would be assessed an automatic gratuity of eighteen
percent.
    Frostbite: Looking for a partner immune to
supernatural seduction.
    Kelsey lingered over the
words, licking her lips. It shouldn’t be so damn hard to get laid without
having to talk, but even an anonymous bar hookup required a modicum
of conversation. If she spoke at all, her potential partner was
equally likely to follow her home, humping her leg like a dog, or
throw himself from a building to get her attention.
    Both had happened before.
    She leaned forward before she could stop
herself, sliding the menu toward the bartender with one upraised
eyebrow.
    He followed her finger toward the line she’d
pointed to, then glanced up at her, assessment in his dark eyes.
“Siren?”
    Kelsey tapped her temple and winked.
    He smiled widely. “You know how it
works?”
    She handed him her credit card and held her
breath as she glanced around the club. Half the patrons were
staring at the bartender—at her—and she suspected that even if no
one was looking for sex, curiosity demanded they watch what
happened next.
    The bartender tucked her credit card under
the counter and handed her a slim key card before reaching up to
tap the side of his earpiece. “Last Call for the lady.
Frostbite.”
    The music resumed with a thumping beat, and
Kelsey turned to watch the crowd as the bartender prepared her
drink. Some were checking menus, undoubtedly unfamiliar with the
drink’s coded meaning, but several men had already drawn free of
the crowd, perhaps wondering exactly what her brand of seductive
magic was.
    And whether they could handle it.
    The bartender set down her drink with a
murmur of encouragement. She picked it up only long enough to take
a sip—she hated cream mixed with her liquor on the best of days,
but she had to signal to the gathered revelers that she was ready
to go.
    In every way.
    A suited figure appeared at the bottom of
the steps, a stern, unsmiling man who watched her without
expression. He stood there, tall and severe, looking for all the
world like a stockbroker who’d accidentally wandered into the bar
on his way home from a meeting.
    Kelsey wondered what
he really was,
under the twill and the frown.
    Only one way to find out. She slid off her
stool and walked slowly down the steps before stopping on the last
one to study him. They were nearly eye-to-eye because of the height
difference and her heels, and this close, he looked even
harsher—
    Unyielding.
    She drew in a breath. It could work, at
least for a while...if she could get him upstairs. So she leaned
in, licked the corner of his mouth, and shifted her mouth to his
ear to administer her final test. A mere whisper. “Take me
here.”
    “ No.” The man pulled back
and studied her in inscrutable silence as the crowd behind him
watched avidly. Then he held up a hand. “Proof enough?”
    The denial alone weakened her knees, and her
cheeks heated as she offered him the card key for the