Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Juliet Lyons

  “You mean your witness,” she says, quirking a brow. “How are those repressed feelings going, Sir Lancelot? From that twinkle in your eye, I’d say you’ve been caving in to those illicit desires very recently.”

  I fiddle with my shirtsleeves, a flash of Mila’s blond head in my lap popping into my mind. After throwing a guilty glance about the room, I slip into one of the floral tub chairs near her desk. “The truth is, Cat, I’m out of my depth, professionally and emotionally. I know you might think I’m some Romeo, but I’m not. I’m terrified. She terrifies me.”

  Cat leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers like she’s some kind of love guru. “How? Tell me.”

  I clasp my hands in my lap, avoiding Cat’s eye. “I’ve only ever been in love once, when I was human, and it ended badly. She died.” To my horror, my throat tightens. I haven’t spoken about it in so long I’m unable to keep the emotions from spilling into my voice. “I never had any intention of feeling that way again. Ever.”

  “You mean you haven’t fallen in love since?” Cat asks, eyes wide.

  I shake my head. “I haven’t let myself. Why? How often do you fall in love?”

  Cat smiles. “I fall in love every day in London. Today, it was a green-eyed busker singing a Beatles tune outside Starbucks.”

  I cock a brow. “Seriously.”

  Her eyes roll behind the thick, black frames. “Okay, fine. Love is difficult for our kind. Why do you think I started V-Date? We could all use a helping hand.” She pauses. “What’s so terrifying about her?”

  Looking up, my eyes fall on a massive canvas above Cat’s desk. Some die-hard, trendy street artist has daubed All you need is LOVE in graffiti-style lettering. There can be no doubt—Cat is a believer.

  “Because in one way or another, I’m not sure my world will ever be the same again.”

  Cat frowns. “Go on.”

  “Everything is a mess since she came into my life,” I continue. “My apartment, my career, me. I’m a mess. I was so organized before. I had it all under control. Now everything hinges on her and her well-being. As if my life is no longer my own. I should be miserable, but I’m not. It’s like a window opens in some dark place whenever she’s around, as if she’s oxygen itself. I feel human again.” I lapse into silence, picking at a corner of my thumbnail, feeling Cat’s gaze drill into me from across the desk.

  “You’re falling in love, Vincent,” Cat says, her voice filled with surprise.

  I flinch at the word love, a stab of regret plunging into my heart like an icicle. “I know,” I mutter darkly.

  Cat releases a heavy sigh. “I’ll go and see Ronin this afternoon.”

  Chapter 11

  Mila

  The worst thing about giving your secret vampire protector a blow job in his Porsche is you can’t tell a damn soul about it. Especially not Janice, who keeps asking questions about last night’s party and why Leery O’Geary showed up to work sporting a black eye.

  It is this nugget of information that finally grabs my attention. Since arriving at work this morning, I’ve been wandering around in a lust-fueled haze.

  But I guess that’s normal for a woman who’s just enjoyed the most explosive sexual encounter of her life. I mean, my God, the things he did with his hands.

  A day ago, I considered myself to have a thorough understanding of the word orgasm. But now, the truth is as plain as the stars on a cloudless night: I didn’t have a clue. No one, in my whole nine years of sexual activity, has ever managed to push the buttons Vincent did. No one has ever given me pleasure like the avalanche of ecstasy that rained down on me in the car. He is ruining me in every sense possible—ruining me for the rest of my life.

  Jerking back to reality, I turn to face Janice. “Paul O’Geary has a black eye?”

  “A real shiner,” she announces, clucking her tongue. “He said he fell over a table.”

  Remembering the speed and ease with which Vincent flung him aside, a warm feeling of pride flutters in my chest.

  “What a shame,” I mutter sarcastically.

  For about the zillionth time today, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone to see if Vincent has sent any more texts. Nothing.

  “No word from lover boy?” Janice asks nosily, peering over my shoulder.

  “I was checking the weather app, actually,” I snap.

  Janice gives a smug smile, letting me know she isn’t fooled. “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and call him? It’s a slow day. I can handle everything. You can make us a cuppa while you’re in there.”

  I’m on my feet before she has a chance to change her mind, although I can’t call Vincent. By now, he’ll be too busy saving lives or whatever he does all day at Scotland Yard, but I can call Laura. She’s still the only person who knows anything about what’s been going on.

  As soon as I’ve made sure the kitchen is empty, I hit her number. She answers in the normal manner of late, a rattle of panic in her usually calm voice. “Mila, are you okay? Where are you?”

  In spite of her worry, I smile. It’s nice to have at least one person from my old life fully aware of what’s going on in the new, crazy one. “Relax. I’m fine. I’m at work.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I’m so jittery lately. I’ll feel better tomorrow when I see you.”

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, puzzled.

  “Anna’s engagement party? Tom and I are invited. I can’t wait to see Officer Hottie for myself.”

  My stomach lurches. Suddenly, introducing Vincent to a room full of people who will forever ask after him seems nauseatingly real.

  I take a deep breath. “Something happened between us.”

  She squeals louder than a kid at Disneyland. “What? Did you tell him how you feel?”

  “Well, sort of. We kissed…and stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  I lower my voice. “Third-base stuff.”

  “Oh my God. You’re so marrying this guy. I feel it. I knew it from the first time you mentioned him. It’s so exciting! We can go on couples cruises.”

  “Laura,” I hiss. “Firstly, I think you’re forgetting he’s a vampire, and secondly, you better act way cooler than this at the party tomorrow.”

  She ignores me, asking, “Is he a good kisser?”

  I sigh, falling into one of the metal chairs next to the coffee machine. “The kind of kisser who makes you feel it right down to your toes.”

  Laura gasps. “Better than Shaun Whitby?”

  “Way better than Shaun Whitby. I’ll never think of Shaun Whitby again.”

  “Oh boy, are you in trouble.”

  “I know,” I say, grimacing. “As if my life isn’t complicated enough.”

  We lapse into silence. The only sound is the drip of the broken tap and the distant drone of Janice’s voice in reception.

  “Do you think he might think I’m cheap for giving him a blow job before we’ve had sex?” I ask suddenly.

  Laura catches her breath, coughing down the line. “Oh, so it was that kind of third base.”

  “Yeah,” I say, twirling a loose strand of hair around my finger. “It just felt right. He’s so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Okay,” Laura says. “Too much information. I’m hanging up. Just be sure to use protection if you go all the way.”

  “Vampires can’t procreate in that way, remember? Now, tell me the truth—will he think I’m cheap?”

  “I’ll know tomorrow when I see you together,” she says. “This is going to be one awesome engagement party.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day drags by at a snail’s pace. When the digital clock on my monitor finally creeps to five o’clock, a mixture of nerves and excitement begin to swirl in the pit of my tummy. Every time the revolving door spins and a gust of air wafts into reception, I pop my head over the desk
so fast I almost pull a muscle. Eventually I’m rewarded with Vincent’s tall, broad-shouldered frame sweeping through the entrance. My breath hitches in my throat. His dark-blond hair is all over the place—it doesn’t look as if he’s made any attempt to smooth it down since our encounter in the car. His shirt still bears the creases of our fumble.

  I rise from my seat like a courtier greeting a king, unable to stop a massive grin from spreading across my face. With the light through the glass outlining his muscled frame, he’s nothing short of a Greek god.

  “Hello, Mila,” he says, his voice deep in his throat.

  Janice fussing around in the background and the group of clients waiting on the other side of the lobby may as well be on a different planet. It’s as if it’s just me and him in the whole universe.

  I reach down to grab my bag. “Hi, Vincent.”

  “Ready?” he asks, gaze locked on mine.

  “Yep,” I say, blushing. I’m beginning to feel more than just a little hot under the collar at the prospect of getting back into a car with him.

  I wave a casual goodbye to Janice as I step around the desk and take his hand, my heart fluttering as his warm, rough fingers close around mine.

  Janice mutters, “Christ, get a room,” under her breath and Vincent chuckles. He drops her a nod as he leads me across the shiny floor to the exit.

  Once we’re outside in the Porsche, the tension returns, the memory of what happened just a few hours ago as thick and consuming as quicksand.

  “So, here we are again,” Vincent says, eyes crinkling around the edges.

  Without thinking, I reach over, brushing strands of blond hair from his forehead. His Adam’s apple bobs visibly in his throat.

  “Mila,” he whispers, rubbing a bristly cheek against my palm. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop this time.”

  I drop my hand, and he quickly covers it with his. Long, tapered fingers curl around my wrist, a callused thumb tracing lazy circles across my knuckles.

  Trying to ignore the ache pulsing between my legs, I say, “My evening class. I do have to go.”

  “I know,” he says. “Which is why I brought you some dinner to eat on the way.”

  He releases me, reaching behind him to pluck a Harrods bag from the backseat and handing it to me. “I figured if there’s food in your mouth, then nothing else will be.”

  My jaw drops in mock horror. “Vincent!”

  He bursts into a deep rumble of laughter. “I’m kidding. Can’t a musketeer make a joke these days?”

  “You would make a good musketeer,” I say, eyes narrowed. “God knows you’re sexy enough.” I slap a hand over my mouth. “That was supposed to stay in my head.”

  “After what transpired this morning, I was kind of assuming you find me sexy anyway, so…”

  “We should stop saying the word ‘sexy,’” I say, leaning closer, practically drowning in the scent of expensive cologne and fresh linen that rolls off him in waves.

  He cups my face in his hands and I hold my breath as he presses his lips to mine, forgetting that we’re parked on a street in rush hour, forgetting everything but his gentle kiss, the rasp of his stubble on my skin.

  “What? No tongues?” I tease when he draws back.

  Smiling, he starts the engine. “Later, there will be plenty of tongues. For now, we should concentrate on getting you to job number two on time.”

  I pull a pasta salad out of the bag. “Fine. I’ll just eat my sexual urges.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head as he maneuvers the car into the traffic. “Mila,” he says, “never stop being you.”

  * * *

  Although the offices of Wilkin Morris aren’t far from the university, it takes ages to crawl through all the early-evening commuter traffic. The sun has broken through the clouds, turning the smog-filled air hazy with sunlight and exhaust fumes. I wind down a window as we pass the Gherkin, getting an unpleasant lungful of black belch from a taxicab in the lane next to us. This relentless traffic usually makes me irritable and ratty as hell, but sitting here, eating Doritos next to Vincent, enjoying the play of muscle and tendons beneath the skin of his smooth forearm every time he changes gear, I’m filled with contentment.

  “I haven’t brought any books with me,” I realize aloud, as we merge into the busy stream of cars and buses thronging the Holloway Road. “What will you do while I’m teaching?”

  Vincent glances over, a breeze from the open window lifting the hair from his forehead. I stare into his chiseled face, marveling at his otherworldliness. He belongs on some exotic mountain road, driving an open-top car beneath an azure sky. Not here, ferrying me around a smoke-clogged city.

  “I’ll make some phone calls, surf the Net. I won’t be bored,” he assures me, reaching across to squeeze my knee. The touch sparks the memory of his fingers between my legs, and when he moves his hand, I cross them in a bid to stem the steady ache building at my core.

  It’s as if a million years have passed since I last walked through the university halls with him. We were awkward strangers then. Now…well, I’m not sure what we are, but it feels nice when he opens doors for me, smiling and ghosting a hand on my waist as I step through ahead of him.

  When we reach the door of my damp-smelling classroom in the basement, most of the students are already seated. I whip around to Vincent. “Don’t listen to me teaching, will you? I won’t be able to concentrate if I know you’re out here listening.”

  He grins, holding his laptop up. “Internet surfing, remember?”

  I smile back. This lesson can’t go quickly enough.

  My students greet me warmly as I scurry inside and shut the door. Ten minutes into our introductions, Karolina arrives. The Ghanaian brothers immediately straighten in their seats. One produces a small comb from his top pocket and jabs it at his hair a few times. Karolina, as always, is oblivious. A person at her level of beautiful must be used to making waves each time they enter a room.

  Despite my constant awareness that a sex god willing to do dirty things to me is waiting outside in the corridor, the lesson moves at its usual speedy pace. The only difference this evening is Karolina. She keeps gazing at me with a frown on her face, as if I’m a caterpillar she’s just found in her salad. When the lesson ends and everyone says their goodbyes, she hangs back, watching me with a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

  “Is everything okay, Karolina?” I ask, meeting her black, limpid-eyed gaze. “How was Milan with Fernando?”

  She flicks a wrist dismissively. “So-so. Asshole still in Guatemala, so I no happy.”

  I nod in sympathy. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon and then you can—”

  “The guy outside,” she cuts in.

  I jerk a little, not because she is about to broach the subject of the hot blond waiting outside the door, but because for the first time since Karolina has been coming to class, she looks nervous. She doesn’t meet my eye, fiddling with the brown leather strap of her designer shoulder bag.

  “What about him?” I ask, a knot forming in my stomach.

  “Do you know he’s a vampire?” she asks, eyes flashing like black, burning coals.

  “Yes,” I say slowly, wondering where she’s going with this. “I know.”

  She nods, her perfectly French-manicured nails still toying with the bag strap. For the first time, I notice a brightly polished silver ring on her left hand—a five-pointed star, its lines interwoven like a Celtic knot.

  “Humans and vampires,” she continues. “They are not good mix. Too much sacrifice. You are better off seeing nice, normal man.”

  The trouble with that is, there are no nice, normal men.

  Not wanting to be rude, I say, “Thanks for the advice.”

  She nods before throwing her bag onto one of the desks and rummaging inside. When I look down, I see a tiny purple card clutched
between her elegant fingers.

  “Here,” she says, handing the card to me. “I don’t tell the others what I do, but if you ever need anything, call me, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling.

  It’s only after she’s swept from the room that I read it. There, emblazoned on the front, is the same five-pointed star as her ring. It reads Karolina Dobrescu, Witchcraft & Psychic Services.

  I’m still standing, frowning, when there is a soft knock at the door. Vincent is there, a shy smile at the corners of his mouth. “Is the prettiest teacher in town ready to leave?” he asks.

  I grin, slipping the card into a front pocket of my bag. “I think she works up on the second floor, but I’m sure if you hurry, you might be able to catch her.”

  His smile widens and we stand for a few seconds, staring at each other.

  “Did you know you have a vampire in your class?” he says finally.

  “Really?” I ask, my thoughts immediately going to Axel. If Axel isn’t a vampire name, I don’t know what is.

  “The tall, dark-haired woman who arrived late,” he continues.

  I screw my face up in disbelief. “Karolina?”

  Vincent nods. “I noticed when she arrived. The absence of a heartbeat, you see? It’s something I always pick up on. Though I didn’t the first time I was here. But then, I was too distracted to see or hear anything but you that night. I even missed the smell of a dead rat.”

  My heart thuds beneath my rib cage, a blush climbing my neck. “I couldn’t exactly think straight either. I still can’t.”

  “Me neither,” he murmurs. “Shall we go?” He pulls the key fob to the car from his pocket, spinning it expertly around his index finger.

  My stomach flutters as we trail out into the corridor. Now there’s nothing but a car journey standing between us and the empty apartment. Feeling nervous, I wipe sweaty palms on my work skirt.

  Vincent flashes me a reassuring smile. His eyes are rounded, as if he can read my thoughts. “So you had no idea about this Karolina?”

  I shake my head. “She gave me a card tonight that reads ‘Witchcraft and Psychic Services.’”