A Vampire Bundle

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Thank you.” Sophie repeated the title and number in her head as she walked in the general direction of the nonfiction shelves. She scanned the numbers on the ends of the shelves until she found the two- to three-hundred section, then focused on the books on the shelves as she walked toward the back of the section. “Two-twenty, two-thirty, two-forty…” When she reached the two-seventies, she stopped and skimmed the numbers on the book spines. “Two-seventy point three, point eight. Two-seventy-one…two-seventy-one point three, point seven, A, B, C…G, P. Hey, no M?” She turned her body, and while still reading the book spines, she started walking toward the very back of the section. But a brick wall stopped her before she reached the end.

  As she twisted her neck to inspect the wall, she realized immediately it wasn’t your garden variety brick wall. This one was wide, tall, hard, and yummy, with a head full of blond curls and eyes the shade of a Hershey bar.

  Those eyes traveled over her features for an instant, making her feel all goosebumpy inside, then returned to the book that was partly blocking her view of his face.

  She wondered if the rest of his face looked as good as the part she saw. Then she shook her head and reminded herself she was on the hunt for a book, not a delish man who knew how to fill out a T-shirt and pair of snug jeans properly. “Sorry,” she muttered to the wall.

  “Not a problem.” He stepped aside to let her pass. Naturally, his bulk took up a fair amount of the narrow aisleway between shelves, which meant to pass, she had to get mighty close to him. She turned sideways, her front facing him, of course—wouldn’t want to show him her less than desirable backside—and took a single shuffling step.

  As she paused, her body mere inches from his, the girly part of her—the part she’d begun to think had abandoned her ages ago—woke up from its slumber and started getting all vocal, protesting and demanding equal time as the logical part reminded her she was there to find a book, not ogle a good-looking library patron. Being she was short, his chest was at eye level—and it was the broadest one she’d ever seen. Hugged in black cotton, it was pure, unadulterated temptation. The way the thin fabric skimmed over the lines of his sculpted muscles made her toes curl.

  Okay, maybe a little ogling wouldn’t be out of order.

  “Excuse me?” the wall said. His book slid lower, blocking a significant part of those yummy pecs.

  With that lovely view obscured, Sophie went for the face, hoping it would be as pleasant as the rest of him.

  She felt her breath literally catch in her throat, like in the romance novels she loved to read. Oh my. Was it ever!

  Not quite as pretty as John Schneider back in his Dukes of Hazzard days, he had that all-American cutie pie thing going for him. But this wholesome boy next door was all grown up and one hundred percent bad boy. The angular line of his jaw and cheekbones, the coating of dark blond stubble, and the wicked glint in his liquid chocolate eyes was enough to make her inner girl swoon with delight. Immediately, without thinking, she checked his left hand for a ring.

  When her gaze returned to his face, she noted that one eyebrow had lifted in question. And one corner of his mouth had lifted in amusement, which reminded her that she’d been standing there, sandwiched between his scrumptious body and the bookshelf, for probably too long for safety—his safety, that is.

  “Sorry…” Sophie mumbled, not sure what else to say. She’d never behaved like this around a man before. Granted, she’d never seen a man this gorgeous before—at least not in real life. In the movies, yes. On TV, yes. In her dreams, oh yes. “I’ll just shuffle off to Buffalo now.”

  His chuckle hit her right in the belly, where it bubbled and tickled her insides. Her face heated.

  “I’m guessing you’re either a displaced New Yorker or a dancer then?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that made that inner girly part perk up and take notice, along with a few other parts of her anatomy.

  “Actually, neither. I’m just a secretary from Hazel Park.” Who thinks you’re yummy. Want to go check out the park down the street? I know where there’s a cozy, dark little corner where we could have some privacy, let our tongues get acquainted.

  Both his other eyebrow and the right side of his mouth joined the left in their raised positions, producing the kind of smile that could drop a girl of weaker constitution at fifty paces.

  She took another step and cleared her throat because she was sure something very large had become wedged in there somehow when she wasn’t looking. “Doing some research on religious relics. I was looking for a book called…” She tried to remember the title but realized it had slipped her mind eons ago, like the second she’d seen him. “Oh, shoot. I forgot. Something about relics and cures.”

  He held up the book he’d been reading, turned it over, and said. “You mean, Religious Relics, Icons, Visions and Cures by James Murrow?”

  “Yes! That’s the one. Oh. You’re reading it then? Were you going to check it out?”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “Oh drat! I…er…” She dropped her gaze to his toes because that seemed to be the only body part she could look at and still be able to operate her brain and took a third sidestep, which landed her a fairly safe distance from him. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me have it instead?”

  “Hmmm. As much as I’d love to see how you intended to do that, I have to be honest and say no. I really need this book.”

  “What about bribery? I’m not rich but I’d be willing to clean out my bank account to get my hands on it.”

  To his credit, he looked genuinely remorseful as he shook his head. “Sorry again. But I promise I’ll return it as soon as I’m through.”

  “Three weeks could be too late. I need to find the Roman-ick Yee-how-shoo-ah and Mawmee Dahveed before my best friend becomes dinner for his wife.”

  “You mean Romakh Yehowshu’a and Mawgane Dahveed?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said, er, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Close enough.”

  “Anyway, I don’t expect you to believe me, but I need to find out about those relics because I think I might need them to help a friend of mine.”

  “Your friend’s married to a lamia?”

  Sophie threw her hands in the air. “Why is it that everyone seems to know about those lamiae people but me? Well, at least I know now that Tim isn’t completely crackers or making it up.”

  “Tim?”

  “My boss. He’s a paranormal researcher and half the time you can’t believe a word he says. Good guy but if you ask me, he’s a few cards shy of a full deck, if you know what I mean. The things he believes in.”

  “Like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Ghosts, vampires, and the like. I don’t believe a bit of it but my pal’s pretty sick and although I figure a trip to a medical doctor—and maybe a vacation—would probably take care of whatever his problem is, I owe it to him to check out all the possibilities. I try to have an open mind, you see. I’ve even been to a massage therapist once. Now, that was an experience, let me tell you. But I draw the line at believing in creatures of the night.”

  He looked far too amused for her comfort. “Ah, yes. Those are pretty silly superstitions, aren’t they?”

  “Yes! Thank you. A voice of reason. Silly superstitions, unless you’re one of those weirdos who go to the dentist and pay for bonding so you can look like a vampire. To each their own, I guess.”

  “Yes. That’s a wise stand to take.” He nodded. His eyes sparkled as his grin turned wry.

  “Are you humoring me?”

  In a flash the expression changed again, this time turning all innocent. She didn’t buy it. Not at all. But that didn’t stop it from making various and sundry parts of her warm and toasty. “Who, me? Oh, no. I never humor a woman. It’s not a smart thing to do.”

  “You got that right, buster.” She gave him a playful jab in the stomach. Her knuckles struck cotton-sheathed concrete and popped. “Youch!” She shook her hand. “Spend
some serious time in the gym, do ya?”

  “I used to. Yes. Been taking it easy these days.” He tucked the book under his arm, caught her wrist in a grip that felt like steel bands, and stared into her eyes. Once again, she felt her breath catch in her throat. His gaze was intense. It seemed to delve deep into her brain. She giggled at the funny feeling inside her head, a soft tickling she’d never felt before, like there was a soft bunny rustling around in there. A flash of heat shot through her body, blazing a zigzaggy path down her torso, through her groin, and down to the ground. Then a wave of ice cold followed, making her shiver and coating her entire body in goose bumps.

  Who was this man? More, why did he make her feel like she was going to alternately melt and freeze after the most innocent touch? Normally, she didn’t get this turned on during the main event.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them over her knuckles. The inner girly part dragged out the sex toys and screamed, Let the games begin! as she fought to resist throwing him to the ground and jumping his bones.

  Ric Vogel gazed at the adorable chatterbox of a woman in stunned silence. He’d never given much credit to that whole love-at-first-sight thing, had always dismissed it as a foolish notion, something that only existed in movies and songs. But there he was, staring smack dab at it, sucker punched and reeling.

  There wasn’t a thing about the woman standing before him, gaping like a landed fish, that he didn’t adore. Her face was that of an angel. Heart shaped with high cheekbones; a little upturned nose; and big, round eyes that were a soft golden brown. A crown of matching hair fell in glorious waves around her shoulders, beckoning his touch. Her petite body was soft and shapely under her well-fitting clothes. And her scent, sweet and clean, like a meadow in springtime, drew him to her.

  He inhaled, wishing he could capture the essence and keep it forever as he brushed his mouth over her knuckles a second time.

  “I…I…I…ohhh, Sophie,” she murmured in a squeaky little voice.

  The voice in his head—a much deeper and louder voice—shouted a flurry of objections to him as he briefly considered taking the cutie pie up on her offer of bribery. He could think of at least a handful of things that could convince him to part with the book still snug under his right arm.

  His imagination took that thought as its cue and ran wild, sending image after image through his mind of the woman with the sweet scent and soft body lying naked before him, her legs parted, her eyes closed, her lips pursed, her chest rising and falling swiftly, sighing his name as he brought her to bliss and beyond. Naturally, those images stirred something else—an uncomfortable erection.

  He needed to make a few adjustments.

  He must have grimaced because the woman’s expression changed from utter awe to puzzlement.

  Still looking him in the eye, she gently pulled her hand free of his and tipped her head. “All better. Thanks,” she whispered. Her lips pursed just a tiny bit, their ripe fullness making his erection all the more urgent.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” he grumbled.

  “Hmm?” Her eyebrows rose in question.

  “I…said that’s good. Glad to hear it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”

  Damn, he liked the way her eyes glittered when she was teasing him. He could just imagine how they would shine when she was in the throes of passion.

  “So, I can’t convince you to reconsider?” she asked.

  Reconsider? What? Taking you home with me? It wouldn’t take much to convince me to do that.

  “I mean, I really, really need that book. It’s a time-sensitive issue we’re talking about. A man’s life is at stake. Honestly, would you say you need it for anything that dire?”

  Almost. My life’s at stake, and the lives of my people.

  “Unless you’re married to a lamia,” she said. “I didn’t see a ring but figured a girl should never make assumptions.”

  “No, thankfully, I’m not. Married to a lamia, that is. They wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”

  “I can’t see any female not being interested in you.”

  “That’s a generous compliment, but I’m not a writer. They tend to stick with author types. Poets too.”

  “Oh. Silly me. Tim did say that…I think. I guess I’d better do some reading on the subject.”

  “You’re more likely to find information on the lamiae on the Internet. It’s not a widely researched topic,” he said as he tried to convince himself it was time to leave. Although his next class didn’t start for hours, he had some tests to grade. Since he wasn’t fond of fill-in-the-dot Scantron forms, he had about fifty essays left to read. It would take him hours.

  Still, he couldn’t seem to accept the thought of turning from the woman and walking away. It made him ache inside like nothing ever had before. While he was holding her hand, she’d let him inside her mind, for a mere few seconds, but in that time, he’d seen such beauty and intelligence. Wit, caring. She was the woman of his dreams, and more.

  Too bad she’d come to him now, when he was in the midst of such important work. He had no time for a serious relationship now.

  He slid the book out from under his arm and forced his gaze from her lovely face, knowing that would be a good start. From there, he’d take one step away, then two. He could do it.

  He watched as she combed her fingers through her hair. A long, curling strand fell over her face, wrapping around her chin. Without thinking, he captured the silky lock in his fingertips. His index finger traced her lower lip. His gaze fixed to that full lip as he lowered his head.

  “Jeesh!” cut in a high-pitched voice from behind him. “Would ya get a room already?”

  He jerked his hand away and spun around, finding the owner of the voice, a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen standing at the end of the row, wearing a typical preteen’s scowl of disapproval.

  “There’s nothing grosser than watching old people kiss. Nasty,” she said to a second girl who stepped around the corner to take her position beside her friend.

  “They were making out back here?” the second girl asked. “Darn, I miss everything.”

  “Come on. They’re done now. Besides it wasn’t exactly pretty.” The first one spun on her heels and dragged her gaping friend away.

  The woman, now behind him, laughed softly. “So, what do you do?” she asked.

  Figuring the show was over, he turned to face her, the sting of embarrassment still burning his cheeks.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Look at how red you are. You’re not a priest, are you? Did we just commit some heinous sin?”

  His gaze leapt right back up to her face. “Priest? No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “The red face for one. And the religious books, I guess. Maybe something else too, something I can’t quite name.” She chewed her lower lip as she studied his face. Oh boy, did he want to taste that lip of hers. He bet she’d taste sweet, like a ripe summer peach or apple. “You have a priesty air about you.”

  “Hmmm. Don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

  “Considering the respect my mother has for her priest, I would.”

  “Fair enough. Thank you.”

  “I know what it is!” She lifted her index finger. “It’s your soft voice and manner. You move very deliberately and don’t say much, just like Father John.”

  “Ah. Well, thank goodness it wasn’t the wrinkles and stooped shoulders.”

  She squinted, her lips pursed into a cute little pout as she studied his face for a moment. He was mighty tempted to kiss that pout, show her how wrong she was about him being anything like a priest. “Nope. Don’t see a single wrinkle. And your shoulders are a lot of things but stooped isn’t one of them.”

  “That I’ll take as a compliment.” He offered his hand, eager to know her name, just in case…in case he might like to contact her about the relics they both seemed to be hunting. Perhaps she’d even like to work
together? It would be a strictly professional arrangement. “Name’s Ric Vogel. I’m a professor of natural science at Midwestern Michigan University.”

  “Aha! A professor! Now that makes sense. You seem like the professor type.” She tipped her head down just slightly and batted eyelashes long enough to be illegal in at least a few dozen states as she wrapped her dainty hand around his.

  He really liked the way that felt. A wave of warmth washed over him. Heat settled low, below his belt. “I thought I was the priest type,” he teased, adoring the way her face lit up whenever she had a light-bulb moment. He could practically see the bulb blinking over her head.

  “I’m not too proud to admit I made a mistake. You definitely fit the professor image more than the priest. It’s your eyes. And my name’s Sophie. Sophie Hahn. It’s nice to meet you.” She gave his hand a single pump up and down and then wiggled her fingers until he released her hand.

  “Sophie,” he repeated. “I tell you what, why don’t we share this book? We can go sit at a desk over there”—he motioned toward a row of tables in a quiet corner—“and read over the material together.”

  “Wow. That sounds great but…” She checked her wristwatch and frowned. “I’ve got to get back to the office. My lunch hour’s just about over. Maybe we can meet somewhere later tonight?”

  “I have an introduction to biology class tonight from six to eight-thirty.”

  “Poop. I don’t get off until six. What if I meet you at your classroom at eight-thirty? Would that be okay? I’ll need directions. I’ve never been on Midwestern’s campus.”

  “Sure. That’ll be perfect.” He checked his pockets for something to write with but he knew he didn’t have anything. Empty-handed, he motioned toward her purse, hanging from her shoulder. “Do you have something to write with?”