Storm's Tempest (Final Cut Miami 1)

The woman pouted, looking almost pretty when her lower lip stuck out like that. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

"You couldn't if you tried."

Her endearing pout turned into a snarl. "What are you, gay or something?"

If she thought that would insult him, she was more clueless than he'd first assumed. "Or something." He sighed and started walking again, eager to put some distance between them.

The woman followed. "Hey, hey, not so fast. Maybe a quickie in the alley? I'll give you a discount."

When had it come to this? A century ago, women wouldn't accost him on the street. He'd had to work at seducing them. Sure, there'd been prostitutes in every era, but they were bolder now, more socially acceptable. Nor was it only the hookers who waylaid him in public anymore. Just yesterday, a middle-aged, well-groomed socialite offered to blow him under the table at Starbucks.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his steps. Humanity had soured of late. The presence of women, which had once amused and delighted him, now only turned him bitter.

There wasn't a truly innocent adult soul left among them. Whatever purity humans possessed was wiped from them much too early, and they now entered adulthood fully aware of their sins and eager for more.

Storm crossed the street and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sunset's glare. A flicker of neon caught his eye. Final Cut flickered in bright letters across the top of a wooden door. We're Open! proclaimed a hand-painted sign.

"Good," he murmured under his breath. His favorite hangout -- the old bar that catered to paranormal beings -- was open once again. It would be under new management now, but that didn't matter.

He needed this tonight. Needed to be among his own kind, without having to worry about humanity's losses and the emptiness of their women's souls.

He could focus on the emptiness of his instead, and work on filling it -- one glass of bourbon at a time.

Tempest Kincaide peeled the plastic wrap off a new tube of lipstick and stared at the bright red pigment that swiveled up when she turned the bottom dial. She should have never let Lucy talk her into getting this color. She'd tried to convince her best friend to let her pick out something more subtle, like a tan or a soft pink, arguing crimson would clash with her red hair and freckled complexion. As usual, she'd lost. An hour later she'd walked out of the store with a small fortune's worth of makeup she'd never wear, as well as a gloating friend in her wake.

After all that, if she dared greet Lucy at the door with nude lips, there'd be hell to pay. She could already hear Lucy's admonition.

Couldn't you have made an effort, Tempe? Just a little one? You're not auditioning for a role at the community theater. We're trying to get you laid, here.

Tempest slid the lipstick across her mouth, pressed her lips together, then inched back to give her reflection a critical once-over. Not as bad as she'd feared. Somehow, the striking color made her lips appear plump and appealing -- giving her a sultry look she wasn't used to seeing.

Lucy would be proud.

She glanced at her watch. Where was Lucy, anyway? Of all of Tempest's friends, Lucy had always been the most punctual. They'd agreed to meet at Tempest's apartment at eight, and it was already ten past.

She grabbed the phone and was just about to punch the first number on speed dial, when it rang in her hand.

"Tempe, you're not going to believe this."

Tempest tensed as irritation simmered in her belly. "Let me guess. You're not coming."

Lucy was punctual, sure. When she showed up. Every once in a while she got a better offer, ditching her friends for some exciting opportunity she couldn't possibly pass up. These days, every once in a while was turning into all the damn time.

"I got pulled over on my way to your place."

She actually sounded apologetic, so Tempest gave her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps this wasn't one of Lucy's usual last-minute ditches. Maybe she had a good reason for not being able to make it. "Is everything all right?"

"Better." Lucy giggled. A man's unclear murmur rippled through the line, low and husky. "The cop is... uhh... well, he's got me in handcuffs."

"Good Lord! You've been arrested?"

"Nooo... not exactly. But I've been a very bad girl." The sound of a slap rang out clearly, and Lucy sucked in a breath, then gave a low moan.

Tempest shook her head. Yeah, same old Lucy. A hot guy came around, and he took priority. "Sure. I get it."

"Are you mad? I'll make it up to you. We'll go out next week, okay? Promise."

"Whatever." She hung up before Lucy could go into any more detail about her naughty cop, and the night they had planned together. Hell, the guy probably wasn't even a real officer. Knowing Lucy, she'd run into a stripper on his way to a party and had made him an offer he couldn't possibly refuse.

Tempest sighed and slumped onto the couch. The hem of her mini-skirt rode up her thigh, and she tugged at it, self-conscious despite being alone. This was supposed to be the night Tempest finally broke out of her shell. Lucy was going to take her out to one of the hottest night clubs in Miami, where they'd dance and flirt and let loose with gorgeous men, one of whom would, hopefully, come back to her place. Or they'd go to his place. Or a dark parking lot. A twenty-eight-year-old virgin had no business being picky.

"All dressed up with nowhere to go," she murmured, smoothing her skirt over her bare legs. All this effort to find just the right clothes, get her hair done, put on make-up... for what? Another Friday night spent by herself, culminating with the uber-excitement of eating out of a pizza box?

Screw that. Tempest leaped off the couch. Before she could allow her rational mind to kick into gear, she grabbed her purse, slid her feet into high-heeled shoes, and slammed the apartment door behind her.