Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  And then she adjusted her grip, braced her thighs and started to ride.

  SHE WANTED SEX.

  The realization echoed in Garret’s head as he stood in the office of Skull Creek Choppers and stared through the glass wall that overlooked the machine shop.

  A realization that had nothing to do with the fact that he was a highly sensitive, mind-reading vampire and everything to do with the fact that he was a full-blooded male.

  His heart jumped, pounding harder and faster. His muscles went tight, his spine stiff. His gut clenched and his cock throbbed as his gaze roved over the woman perched atop his latest custom chopper.

  It was a project he was doing for a high profile rock star. The lead singer for some insanely popular band. Jake hadn’t wanted to do the bike because they were already so busy and the guy wanted it ASAP, but Garret hadn’t been able to pass up a PR op. The exposure alone would be worth the added stress of getting the bike done on time.

  Even so, Garret had tacked on a hefty fee for a quick turn-around. They would make three times their usual amount on this one project. With Jake swamped, Garret had done both the design and the build. He’d put on the final touches—a silver skull gas cap and a cross-bones kick stand—just yesterday.

  The finished product had been, hands-down, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  Until now.

  He watched as Viv arched her body. Her head fell back. Her long, dark hair spilled down her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her neck arched. Her full, pink lips parted on a gasp as she slid her bare ass across his leather seat…

  Beautiful.

  The notion stuck as he watched her move. Her breasts quivered. Her nipples pressed provocatively against the thin material of her blouse. She slid along the seat again and her hands tightened on the handlebars, her knuckles going white. A pink flush crept up her neck, over the frantic throb of her pulse and higher into her face. She worked the skirt up an inch higher so she could spread her legs wider and make better contact.

  His mouth went dry, and his heart shifted into overdrive. A sliver of excitement worked its way through him, followed by a rush of whoa, buddy.

  She wanted sex, all right.

  What vampire didn’t?

  It was the nature of the beast.

  The consequence of the curse.

  And it was the only explanation for his nearly irresistible urge to stride into the room, haul her off the bike, shove her up against the nearest wall and plunge deep, deep inside of her hot, tight body.

  Where he’d been a slave to her hunger before, he was now a slave to his own.

  He sure as hell didn’t want her because he actually felt something for her.

  Or rather, because he thought he felt something.

  He’d thought a lot of things way back when. He’d thought that maybe they would get married. Settle down. Raise horses and a family. That they would spend Christmases decorating a tree and hanging up stockings. That he would work the farm while she kept house, and at night they would fall into bed together.

  But nothing had been real.

  Not her.

  Not his feelings for her.

  Not his damnable dreams.

  It had all been an illusion spawned by her vamp powers because she wanted sex from him. Energy. Strength.

  He knew, because he’d created the same illusion for the women he’d fed off of over the years. He’d mesmerized them with his charm. Swept them off their feet with his hot, wet kisses. Spoiled them for any other man with his sexual expertise. And then he’d taken from them.

  He’d done to other women exactly what she’d done to him. With one exception. He hadn’t talked of dreams and the future and a real, bona fide relationship. He’d wanted one thing and one thing only—a one-night stand—and he’d made his needs crystal clear. He hadn’t toyed with anyone’s emotions.

  It had all been about sex.

  The hunger roared to life, as demanding as ever. His groin tightened and his body trembled and he barely managed to resist the need screaming inside of him. His fingers balled and his muscles bunched as he turned and walked back outside.

  He had to get a grip.

  Resist.

  The shadows welcomed him as he moved silently around the side of the building toward the back parking lot. A few feet shy, he stopped and leaned against the cold steel.

  The amp in his head switched on, bombarding him with sounds. The chirp of crickets. The squeal of tires as someone burned rubber down the street. The tick-tick of a parking meter a block away.

  Her soft moans pushed through the blare of noise, and he knew she was close to coming. So damned close…

  He drew several deep breaths, hoping to cool the fire that raged inside of him.

  Fat chance.

  He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and did his best to concentrate on the sound of his own voice rather than her whisper-soft oohs and ahhs.

  He hit ten and kept on going.

  It wasn’t until he murmured one hundred that he finally managed to soothe his frantic heartbeat and regain his composure.

  When he could think of something other than the sexy woman riding his newest creation just a few feet away, he headed back around to the front of the shop.

  At one time, the place had been a service station. The ancient pumps were still there, still working, along with the original Davey’s Fill-r-Up ball that rotated atop an iron pole. He had a thing for vintage, and so he’d left the old Coke machine, along with a Fanta sign and one advertising Mmm-Mmm Good Moonpies. The only thing to clue anyone in that the place had been turned into a state-of-the-art chopper shop was the neon blue Home of Skull Creek Choppers that hummed in the front window and the hi-tech security pad that sat next to the entrance.

  Punching in the code (the door locked automatically every time it shut), he walked inside and went out of his way to make as much noise as possible.

  He slammed the door a little harder than usual and hit the edge of the filing cabinet. The metal rattled and shook, the sound bouncing off the office walls. He paused to shuffle papers and move a few things around near the computer.

  He didn’t have to look through the windows to see if she’d heard him. He heard her loud and clear.

  Her surprised whimper, followed by the faint gasp of leather and the grumble of steel as she scrambled off the seat. The soft click as her shoes hit the concrete. The swish-swish of fabric as she shoved the skirt down to a modest level.

  Disappointment rushed through him, feeding the insane urge to waltz in and rip the damned thing off of her. He wanted her naked and ready and—

  Whoa. The word thundered through his head, yanking him from his ridiculous thoughts and reminding him that he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  Not Viv.

  Not ever again.

  Bracing himself, he hauled open the door that separated them and walked into the shop.

  8

  FINALLY.

  That was the first thought on Viv’s mind when she heard the door open and close. Despite the fact that she’d almost been caught having a pretty fantastic orgasm.

  Sex was a necessity. Like oxygen to the average human. She didn’t usually feel guilty over it. Or mortified. Or embarrassed.

  Not until she soothed her skirt down one final time, hooked a now damp tendril of hair behind one ear and turned toward Garret.

  He wore a soft cotton T-shirt that molded to his broad shoulders and solid chest. Worn denim cupped his crotch and hugged his muscular legs. He wore the black Stetson she remembered from the bar. The hat brim tipped low, casting a shadow over the upper half of his face.

  Her gaze collided with his and there was just something about the gleam in his pale blue eyes that said Gotcha.

  Heat flooded her cheeks and awareness sizzled up and down her spine. “I, um, was just seeing how she handles,” she blurted, suddenly desperate for a plausible excuse.

  He tossed his keys on a nearby work table. His boots thudded on the stained c
oncrete floor as he stepped toward her. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Nice.” And how. “That is—” she licked her lips, “—the handlebars felt good. Solid.”

  He seemed almost angry at her answer. His gaze narrowed, and his jaw went tense. But then she licked her lips, and his attention snagged on the sweeping motion of her tongue. Just like that, his defenses seemed to lapse, and his body relaxed just a fraction. Strong, sensuous lips crooked in a faint smile. “So you had a pretty good grip, then?”

  “Very.”

  The animosity between them slipped away, and the air charged with a sudden awareness that made her spine tingle. He was flirting with her. Teasing. Tempting.

  Because he’d seen her.

  His eyes sparkled like ice reflecting rays of sunlight and her tummy tingled. “How about the seat? How did that feel?”

  Fan-friggin’-tastic.

  That’s what she wanted to say, but she caught her bottom lip just in case she was overreacting and he wasn’t being nearly as forward as she hoped.

  “Comfortable.” Viv nodded. “Not too hard. Not too soft. Just—” she swallowed against her suddenly dry throat “—right.”

  “That’s good to know.” He raked a gaze over her, from her head to her toes and back up again. His attention lingered on several key places.

  Her nipples throbbed, and she felt the sudden wetness between her legs. Her heart pounded with excitement.

  “You know,” his voice slid into her ears and rumbled across her nerve endings, “if you really want to get a feel for her, you need to crank her up.” He hooked a leg over and straddled the seat. Large, strong hands rested on the gas tank. “You don’t want a bike that vibrates too much.” His gaze caught and held hers. “You need a nice, steady hum so you can get into a groove when you’re on the road.”

  He was flirting with her, all right.

  His words stirred a very vivid picture of the two of them zooming along, finding their groove. Moonlight spilled down around them. Her hands gripped the handlebars while his hands stroked the wet flesh between her legs.

  Despite her orgasm, she felt herself winding right back up. His scent filled her head, and the raw timbre of his voice tickled her ears. His tall, sexy body filled up her line of vision.

  She shook her head, desperate to remember her objective.

  Slow. Easy.

  “I, um, wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually ridden a motorcycle.”

  Liar. That’s what his gaze seemed to say, but he didn’t voice the sentiment out loud. Instead, he shrugged. “That’s a shame. You’re really missing out. There’s nothing like climbing on the back of one of these babies and cutting loose.”

  Amen.

  She could still feel the handlebars in her grasp, the gas tank between her legs, the cool, delicious leather rasping her—“—try it at least once if you’re going to write about it.”

  His voice shattered the memory and snatched her back to the present. “Excuse me?”

  “I said you’ll have to take at least one ride.” His gaze sparked. “A real ride,” he added, “if you really want to get it right for your article.” Suspicion worked its way into his expression. “That’s why you’re here, right? To get info for your article?”

  “Of course.” Not that he believed her. She could see the doubt in his guarded expression and the way his body stiffened. The muscles in his arms rippled and tensed. “Why else?” She went for the wide-eyed, innocent look that had rated number nine on Winona’s list.

  It was a look that appealed to a man’s baser instincts. It said poor little old me needs big strong you, and it was guaranteed to make a man forget everything—the football game, the yard work, the cute little honey washing her car next door.

  He stared at her, as if he could see the answer if he looked long and hard enough. He couldn’t. Thankfully. And so he finally shrugged. “It just seems a little too coincidental that you showed up here. Now. Don’t you think?”

  “Not really. Stranger things happen all the time.” Before he could say anything else, she rushed on, “You’re right. I definitely need to take a real ride if I want to write about the activity with any enthusiasm. But since I’m out of my element I’d really like to get some background info first.” What was she saying? If the man wanted to give her a ride, then all the better. But a ride and a ride were two different things, and if they got that close, she could forget slow and easy. She would take the lead and be the aggressor and that would surely kill her chances at an orgasm.

  Better to slow down for now. A little small talk and his guard would ease. He would go back to flirting with her, and the situation would escalate from there. “I’d really like to snap a few pictures right now.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were scared. But then you’re a vampire, and vampires aren’t scared of anything.” He meant the comment as a dig. A reminder of how she’d deceived him so long ago.

  But she didn’t need any reminders. She lived with the guilt every day. She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m a big sissy when it comes to sunlight. And wooden stakes. And reality TV.”

  The sudden tension between them seemed to melt and his mouth hinted at a grin. “Whatever happened to sitcom re-runs?”

  “You obviously don’t have cable. They’ve got a channel for that. They’ve got a channel for everything now. Thankfully. Otherwise, how else would we keep up with the times?”

  “Car and Driver.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s how I keep up with the times. I read a lot of Car and Driver. And Hot Rod. And Motorcycle Mania.”

  “Maybe I’m dense, but I don’t see how that keeps you up on popular culture.”

  “Then you haven’t read an issue. See, the actual machines keep me up on technological changes. And the car girls…” His smile was slow and wicked and fueled with enough innuendo to make her heart stop. “They keep me updated on popular culture.”

  “How so?”

  “Take Daisy, for instance. She was the centerfold in the last issue of C & D, along with the latest eco-friendly Porsche that just rolled off the assembly line. She was wearing a recycled string bikini and sipping a fruit smoothie. One glance at her and I knew green was in.”

  “One glance at the TV Guide, and you’d know that. There are at least a dozen recycling shows on and QVC has an entire hour dedicated to environmentally friendly cosmetics. And neither contributes to the exploitation of women,” she added.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” His grin widened. “But then vampires don’t get jealous any more than they get scared.”

  It wasn’t a dig this time. Just a simple fact that reminded her that no matter how much she wanted Garret, she didn’t like him. Not genuine, ’til-death-dous-part like. Maybe a long, long time ago. But even then it hadn’t been the real thing. There’d been too many lies between them for the emotion to have been genuine.

  She dismissed the strange jealousy niggling at her and said, “I can see how Car & Driver would have its benefit for someone in your line of work.”

  “I don’t get a chance to watch much TV, so it’s the magazines or nothing else. I stay pretty busy with my choppers.”

  She eyed the motorcycle skeleton sitting atop the center table. “New project?”

  He nodded. “Just one of a dozen on the schedule for this week.”

  “Sounds like business is good.”

  “Very. We’ve got this new software that saves us not only money, but time—”

  “Wait.” She motioned to him before reaching for her purse. She retrieved a small, hand-held tape recorder from her bag and tried to ignore the hunger yawning inside. Punching the record button, she set the device off to the side. “In case I miss something.”

  While the article was just a cover to get her here with him, she was still responsible for turning something in to the travel mag who’d fronted her the money for her trip south.

  She motioned to him. “G
o on.”

  “We can design, build and finalize a bike in a third the time it used to take.”

  “We?”

  “Jake McCann, Dillon Cash and yours truly. Jake does the design, I do the actual fabrication and Dillon handles overall operations. We don’t just handcraft made-to-order custom bikes,” he went on, “we’re also doing several spec choppers. They’re selling like crazy, and so we’re getting busier by the minute. This is one of a dozen we’re doing for a bike shop in Austin.” He hit a button on a nearby computer screen and a 3-D image appeared. “This is what it will look like on completion.” Another few buttons and the layers of the bike started to peel away. “This is where we are right now.”

  “Seems pretty high-tech.”

  “It is. At the same time, it’s still good old-fashioned hard work that makes each bike come to life. We shape everything by hand. The computer software just gives us accurate specs and a list of supplies so that we don’t make any costly mistakes along the way.” He eyed the recorder. “You sure you want to hear this stuff? I can’t imagine you’ll include it in a travel article.”

  “Maybe not, but it gives me an overall handle on the business, which will help with the writing.” Hey, it sounded good. Besides, she liked hearing him talk. That had attracted her to him almost as much as the sex. He’d never been one of those men to roll over and fall asleep. He’d pulled her closer into the crook of his arm, rested his head atop hers and talked. About any and everything. About nothing.

  She missed his voice almost as much as she missed the toe-curling orgasms.

  Almost.

  “I need as much information as possible when I write,” she went on. “Even information I might not end up using. So how long have you been working with Dillon and Jake?”

  The easy rapport they’d lapsed into seemed to melt away, and the tension pushed back in. He grew wary, as if he didn’t like her bringing up his coworkers.

  He didn’t. She could see the hesitation in his gaze, the tensing of his muscles as he fortified his guard.