If you’re first reaction was “uh-oh” or “How’d she know that?” to any of the above, then you are cordially invited to a meet-and-greet dinner party, hosted by Dead End Dating, Manhattan’s number one matchmaking service for vampires, humans, and Others. Join fantabulous host (and incredibly well-dressed vampire) Lil Marchette for a night of dinner and dancing and romance in the penthouse of the Waldorf-Astoria.
Disclaimer—DED is an equal opportunity dating service that does not discriminate based on race, sex, looks (or lack thereof) or appetite. Net worth, however, is an entirely different matter—i.e. don’t forget the checkbook, debit card, and/or Visa Gold.
I propped up the framed copy of the engraved vellum invitation I’d mailed out to every appropriate single in Manhattan and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach.
I’m the Countess Lilliana Arrabella Guinevere du Marchette (Lil for short), a five-hundred-year-old (and holding) born-vampire. I’ve got super fab taste in clothes, a to-die-for collection of MAC cosmetics, and a hot, hunky, bounty-hunting boyfriend. I so have it going on.
Ix-nay the nerves, right?
Wrong.
I’m also the owner of Dead End Dating, Manhattan’s primo matchmaking service for vampires, weres, Others, and even the occasional human. As of five minutes ago, I had exactly one week to match up more than a dozen paid-in-full clients, otherwise I would fail to make good on my Find your one and only in six months or your money back! guarantee.
Since I don’t do refunds (not unless I want to return half my wardrobe and say bye-bye to my new Black-Berry), I had to pick up the pace. Pronto.
Hence, my latest super fantabulous brainstorm—the meet-and-greet dinner party about to happen right here. Right now.
I drew a deep breath (not because I had to, but hey, when in Rome…), straightened my green Roberto Cavalli dress (a floor-length, strappy chiffon number a la Rihanna), and finished setting up the hostess table. I added DED business cards, name tags, promotional pens, koozies and calendars, and even a few pics and testimonials from previous clients. I sprinkled some rose petals and debated whether or not to hand out the Viagra samples in my bag or just spike the drinks when no one was looking.
The hornier the clients, the lower the standards, the sooner everyone paired up.
At the same time, I was desperate, not depraved.
Not yet.
I stored my bag, complete with samples, under the table. What? So I’m a romantic. I freely admit it (to anyone except my Ma, that is).
“Help!”
The frantic voice drew my attention and I turned just as a frustrated blonde rushed at me.
Evie Dalton could man the phones, key in profiles, and suck down a steaming latte, all without smudging her lip gloss. She was the best assistant a vampire could ask for. She was also human, and completely unaware of my fanged-and-fabulous status.
The 4-1-1 on tonight?
She thought it was just another movie theme party. Like the toga fever spawned by Animal House and the ’50s sock hops a la Grease. Tonight’s brain candy? Contemporary monster mania courtesy of the barrage of recent horror movies such as 30 Days of Night and The Mist.
In honor of the occasion, she’d donned a silver jacket with eight sparkly “legs,” a sequined mini smock dress, and three-inch glitter sandals. She looked like Spidie’s wet dream. So good in fact that, with the exception of a fading bruise on her neck and some seriously rank breath, it was impossible to tell that just two short weeks ago she’d been possessed by a demon. And that she’d come this close to heading downtown (way, way downtown) to become Satan’s own personal bee-yotch.
I’d been so busy hiding her from the long arms of the Prince brothers (a hot, hunky trio of demon hunters who just so happened to be demons themselves) that I’d sort of let the rest of my work pile up.
The demon was now back in hell, Evie was back in the office (and munching Tic Tacs), and I was making up for lost time.
“The fangs are melting on the ice sculpture,” she informed me. “I need you to take these,” she handed me a clipboard and a copy of the invitation, “and brief Nina while I find the catering manager and get them to relocate the flambé table asap.”
“Why not just hike the air-conditioning up?”
“But won’t the guests be cold?”
“They’ll be more inclined to pair up and snuggle.”
She grinned. “I knew there was a reason you were the boss.” She handed me a small box with a corsage. “Make sure Nina puts this on, too—if you can find her.” She glanced around. “One minute she was at the bar sucking down a Bloody Mary and the next—poof—gone. Vanished into thin air.”
Or the nearest storage closet.
“I knew it,” I declared when I threw open the door a few seconds later to find the MIA Nina.
Nina Lancaster aka Nina One—the blond half of The Ninas who’d been my best friends for the past four hundred and ninety-eight years—was the daughter of filthy rich hotelier Victor Lancaster, who owned the Waldorf along with several five-star establishments throughout New York and Connecticut. Nina was rich, beautiful (big surprise, right?), and living with my middle brother, Rob. They’d been seeing each other since I’d hooked them up a few months ago. Judging by the spaghetti straps that sagged near her elbows and my brother’s untucked button-down shirt, they’d been about to see a lot more of each other in the next five minutes.
I glanced at Rob. His eyes were glazed and hooded. His fangs gleamed. A hungry growl vibrated the air.
Okay, make that the next five seconds.
Anxiety rushed through me. “Can you please boff my brother on your own time?”
“I’m not boffing him.” She grinned and tugged her straps back into place. “Not yet.” She touched a hand to her mussed hair. “Besides, this isn’t your time. I donated the ballroom, so that makes it my time.”
She had a point.
I traded in pissed-off client for desperately needy friend. “But I need you to screen guests at the entrance.”
“Get Evie to do it.”
“I’m sending her back to the office on a ‘dating emergency’ as soon as the party’s in full swing.” I’d scheduled a new client this evening and I was going to pretend I’d forgotten all about it and needed her to conduct the meeting while I dealt with the party. “She’s the best assistant I’ve got. I can’t have her wind up some vampire’s sex slave, or the midnight snack for a hungry werewolf.”
Or worse, realize that the fangs I was sporting were the real deal. I wasn’t ready to break the born-vamp’s number one commandment—Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile—and come out of the closet to Evie. My mother would kill me. Even worse, I wasn’t sure if Evie was ready to work for a vamp. So far, she’d been wonderful. But it was a lot to swallow and I just wasn’t sure if she’d take me out for chocolate martinis to celebrate, or call in the rowdy villagers. I hadn’t gone into mucho credit card debt decorating my office to have the whole thing wind up torched.
“Evie won’t be here. You have to do it.”
“Who says?”
“Your best friend in the entire universe.” I gave her a knowing smile. “We’re practically sisters. You know you’d do anything to help me.”
“Which is why I loaned you the ballroom for free.”
“But I still need this one teensy, tiny favor.”
“Tonight’s my night off.” In addition to being Daddy’s Little Vamp, Nina was also the hotel’s chief hostess. “I just showed up to tell you to make sure that nobody gets blood on the white settees. Daddy will kill me.”
“I’m willing to beg.”
“I’m a born-vampire. We’re not genetically wired for sympathy.”
“Are we genetically wired for greed? Because I’m willing to pay.”
She grinned. “What’d you have in mind?”
I did a mental check of my most recent purchases, singling out the key items that I knew would melt her hard-ass resolve. “Ferragamo sunglasses?”
“Michael Kors bangle bracelets?”
“Got ’em.”
“Hermès lipstick compact.”
She shook her head. “There’s no such thing.”
“If you think so.” I shrugged a shoulder. “But I just happen to have one from the insanely small, limited edition collection purchased by a select few clients who have the right connections.” In this case, a bisexual sales assistant at Barneys that I’d glammed ages ago. I’d been scamming primo purchases ever since. “But if you’re not interested—”
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” She shrugged at Rob. “Sorry, babe. What can I say? I’m shallow.”
He grinned and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Just one of the many things I love about you.”
Awwww…
My heart swelled for about an eighth of a second before I remembered who was actually in the closet with Nina.
My very own flesh and blood brother.
Middle born son of Countess Jacqueline and Count Pierre Gustavo Marchette.
Descendant of one of the first (and snottiest) born-vamp families in existence.
Propagator of the species and all-around playa playa.
And he’d just used the L word.
Shut. Up.
Before I could find my voice, Nina grabbed my hand and hauled me off toward the entrance to the ballroom. “What color?”
Rob. Nina. Love? “What color what?”
“The lipstick case.” She nudged me, shattering my thoughts. “What color is it?”
I shook away my sudden excitement and focused on the here and now. “Hot pink with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals.”
“No way!”
“And there’s even a tiny diamond inlay on the inside mirror near the Hermès logo.”
She squealed and snatched the corsage from my hands. A few seconds later, she had a single red rose pinned near the collar of her Carolina Herrera original and the clipboard in hand. “I’m ready. What do you want me to do?”
“Just greet everyone and take invitations. No one gets inside without one.”
“What if he’s cute?”
“It doesn’t matter. No invitation, no party.”
“Well dressed?”
“Hand him a business card, talk us up, and send him on his way.”
“Rich?”
“Stick a nametag on him and send him in.” What can I say? This vamp had her priorities.
After leaving a few more instructions (pass out an extra pack of DED promotional mints to all weres, ask blood type preference for all vamps), I left Nina at the entrance and headed inside to see the end result of eight days of wicked stress and frantic planning.
The room was huge, with ornate frieze work and a marbled floor. A large dance area had been set up in the very center, the circular area surrounded by clusters of round tables covered in crisp white linens. Polished silver candelabras dominated the center of each table. Candlelight flickered, making the china and crystal place settings sparkle. Moonlight filtered through the wall of glass windows behind the small (I’m on a budget, all right?), but tasteful orchestra I’d booked for tonight. The place oozed romantic ambiance and for the first time since I’d started planning the event, I actually believed that it might work. Up to that point I’d been running on sheer desperation and crazy hope.
My gaze shifted to the huge silver fountain flowing with champagne that dominated the far corner of the room. Next to that sat a Bloody Mary bar. No, Mary herself wasn’t in attendance (not yet, anyway—my mother had sent her an invitation on my behalf), but there was plenty of AB-, vodka, and Tabasco sauce to keep the vamps happy. Next to that sat a meat lover’s buffet sporting everything from roast beef to lamb chops. The food was barely cooked (we’re talking rare) and plentiful for the weres. Add a dessert bar with everything from fudge overboard to raspberry cheesecake for the few humans who’d been invited, and there was a little something for everyone.
In fact, the entire room reminded me of one of those It’s a Small World rides at Disneyland. I had the sudden urge to sing “Kumbaya.”
Or, in this case, “The Monster Mash.”
Everything looked absolutely perfect.
Which should have been my first clue of the coming disaster. I mean, really. A roomful of vamps and weres and humans? Talk about a massacre just waiting to happen.
The first to draw blood? A hot-looking demon. At least, I thought he was a demon since I couldn’t smell him (nix vamp), nor could I read his thoughts (forget human), and he didn’t look ready to howl at the moon (so not a were).
His name was Jordan Barrett Finley and he was über hot. I wasn’t sure where he’d come from (he wasn’t on my guest list), but I wasn’t about to argue with the whopping cash retainer he presented to Nina or the fact that he was desperate to find a plus-sized made vampire. Not when I just so happened to have the perfect woman for him.
Esther Crutch was a nice, sweet, stylishly chic made vampire I’d met while getting a spray tan at my favorite salon. Unfortunately, the stylishly chic packaged a size-fourteen body and so Esther didn’t get as much nooky as the rest of her kind.
Made male vamps were so shallow.
Ahem.
Okay, so were born male vamps, but enough with the details.
Esther and Jordan. Talk about a perfect match. I introduced them and stepped back to let Cupid do his thing.
One minute they were dancing and gazing into each other’s eyes and the next…I wasn’t sure what happened next. I just knew judging by the bloodstained sofa that it wasn’t good.
“I knew someone was going to spill a drink,” Nina said as she came up behind me. “Daddy’s going to take it out of my allowance for sure.”
“Nobody spilled a drink,” I said, picking at a torn piece of Esther’s dress that had caught on the edge of a mirrored coffee table. The fabric was soaked with blood, the edges jagged where it had ripped on the table. Or where someone had ripped it.
An image flashed and I remembered Esther, a strange expression on her face as Jordan had led her out of the ballroom. I’d been five steps behind them because I’d wanted a pic to add to my wall of success back at the office. I’d stopped to calm down an overly excited were who’d been upset because we’d run out of au jus for the roast beef. By the time I’d reached the sitting area outside the ballroom, they were gone.
“Lil?” Nina asked. “If it’s not a spilled drink, what is it?”
“It’s Esther.” Goosebumps crawled up and down my arms and a strange sense of doom settled in the pit of my stomach. “I think she’s been kidnapped.” The ripe smell of fresh blood teased my nostrils. “Or worse.”
He wore a black leather bomber jacket, faded jeans, and a brown Henley. His black hair was cut short and cropped close to the head without a hint of product. Stubble darkened his jaw, circled his sensuous mouth, and crept down his throat. He had the blackest eyes I’d ever seen fringed with long, thick lashes. He was a demon (or so I’d guessed) and one of New York’s finest. He’d helped during Ty’s disappearance the previous month and I’d been lusting after him ever since.
Not willingly, of course. See, Ash wasn’t any old demon. He oozed sex appeal (rather than green slime) and women couldn’t seem to resist him. Nix your ordinary Exorcist variety. This guy was a bona fide incubus.
Which meant that said fantasies were totally NOT my fault. An incubus doesn’t just reek of S-E-X, he inspires it.
Still, let’s say for the sake of argument that I had been thinking about him, so what? It wasn’t like Ty and I had an actual relationship. I hadn’t seen or talked to him in a month. No phone calls. No e-mails. No text messages. Not even a measly comment on MySpace or Facebook. Nothing since our goodbye sex marathon.
Also by Kimberly Raye
published by Ballantine Books
DEAD END DATING
DEAD AND DATELESS
YOUR COFFIN OR MINE?
Just One Bite is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2008 by Kimberly Raye
Excerpt from Sucker for Love copyright © 2008 by Kimberly Raye
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Sucker for Love by Kimberly Raye. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
www.ballantinebooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-345-50757-0
v3.0
Just One Bite Page 23
