Three words—Great-uncle Peter.
“Oh, wait. There is Peter. Last I heard, he was still shacking up with that cocktail waitress from Vegas. But we all know he hasn’t been right in the head since he bit that priest back during the Crusades. And as crazy as he is, he still hasn’t gone so far as to marry the woman. Last I’d heard they were barely sharing an email account. It’s that Mandy, I tell you. She’s bewitching your poor brother until he can’t even think for himself …” Beep.
The message timed out and my mom’s tirade ended. I sent up a silent Thank you to the CEV (Chief Executive Vampire) of Upstairs, Inc., for sparing me more misery.
I checked the phone number on the second message—so much for mercy—and hit the DELETE key before moving on to the texts.
The first was from Nina Two about five minutes before I’d discovered the bloody couch. Knock em dead 2nite.
My chest tightened and I blinked frantically. If only she knew.
I pulled up the second message, which had come through thirty seconds later.
OMG.
What can I say? Good news travels fast with my BFFs.
Number three? Miss u. Want to lick u all ovr.
Uh, yeah. She’d obviously mistaken me for Wilson, her significant other. At least I was hoping as much. While some BVs buttered their bread on both sides, I’d never been one of them. I’d take Brad over Ang any day.
My hands flew over the keypad. No lickng 2-night. How bout shopping 2-mrow?
I hit SEND and stashed my phone just as the cab pulled up in front of my place.
The renovated duplex that housed my apartment wasn’t anywhere close to the plush high-rise near Central Park that my parents kept for those last-minute city trips. No marbled foyer. No private elevator. No blood-slave/doorman named Maurice. Not even a porch light. Rather, my building had three concrete steps leading to a very narrow stoop and a single glow-in-the-dark door buzzer.
I handed the driver a ten, a DED card and a mental You’re desperately lonely and should call for a date ASAP. What can I say? She was female and, therefore, unsusceptible to my BV charm, but I gave it a shot anyway. Sexual preference was such a gray area these days and I hated to miss a prime advertising op.
“Thanks,” she murmured. Her gaze caught and held mine in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, I saw an image of the two of us playing a game of strip poker.
I was winning, of course.
I smiled and added a persuasive Call me before I climbed out of the cab and headed for the front door.
Entering the building, I power-walked five flights of stairs and headed down the long hallway that led to mi casa. Across the hall, my neighbor—an accountant who loved Thai food and cheap perfume—was just hitting the SNOOZE button. I slid my key into the lock and let myself in.
The apartment was just the way I’d left it—cat hair clinging to the rug, a pile of dirty clothes in one corner and a stack of shoe boxes I’d been meaning to organize in the other (FYI—in addition to being allergic to stakes and sunlight, I had a strong aversion to vacuums and cleaning products).
I made a few kissy-kiss sounds guaranteed to bring the average, loyal, devoted pet running to the door to greet his master. Needless to say, Killer kept his fat, furry ass planted on my couch.
“What? No love?”
I’m weak from lack of food. He blinked. I can barely lift my head.
“I fed you before I left.”
I’m even hallucinating, he went on. I took a piss in the litter box and I swear the wet spot is the spitting image of Garfield. eBay, here I come.
“You’re not auctioning off your pee and you’re not weak from lack of nutrition. I fed you Kitty Cuisine lamb and vegetables before I left.”
Is that what I yacked up all over your shoes?
“You didn’t.”
He blinked. A wave of dread rolled through me even before I turned and spied the surprise near the sofa. I contemplated tossing him from the nearest window, but that totally went against the whole born vamp creed of keeping a low profile. The last thing I needed was to wind up getting cuffed on the Animal Planet equivalent of COPS.
I glared at him. “You’re cleaning it up.”
In your dreams, sistah. He rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes. I don’t do manual labor, and I don’t eat lamb and vegetables. I already told you, I like the sardines. The imported ones that you brought home last week.
“Last week was a special occasion.” I’d been celebrating my first full week of coupledom with Ty. He’d gotten stuck working a case and I’d ended up celebrating on my own. An imported bottle of AB-for me and Italian sardines for Killer. “Those things are expensive.”
Yeah, well, so are designer shoes.
Maybe I could use a pair of pantyhose and disguise my face before I threw him out the window. I contemplated the idea as I went in search of rubber gloves and some antibacterial wipes.
I ended up with an old pair of gardening mittens left by the previous tenants and a few hand towels. I spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning up the mess and envisioning a street full of splattered feline. Talk about an upbeat way to end my otherwise depressing night.
At the same time, I kept picturing the bloody couch, which made me nauseous, which kept me from smearing Killer’s sorry hide all over the pavement.
“You’re lucky I had a stressful night.”
And you’re lucky I didn’t yack into your handbag so it could match the shoes. He purred. What can I say? I’m just a softy at heart.
“I should spike your food.”
You wouldn’t.
I gave him an evil grin. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”
Confession time—as much as I despise Killer at times, I’ve gotten used to having him around. Which is the only reason I didn’t pour a bottle of Windex into his food bowl. Well, that and the fact that I didn’t actually have a bottle of Windex—see the above reference to cleaning products.
Instead, I dished out the last can of sardines and then headed for the shower. My head hurt and my chest felt tight. I desperately needed to wash away the past few hours.
The water poured over me, blending in with the moisture that rolled down my face. When the hot water ran out, I toweled off and pulled on a worn red T-shirt that read Santa, I can explain and a pair of fuzzy white socks. Not the typical sex dominatrix ensemble one would expect from an all-powerful vampere, but I was going for warm and comfy rather than bitchy and ballsy.
I flipped the deadbolt on the front door, checked my cell phone for any messages from Ty—did I mention that he was still stuck on said case and I hadn’t seen him in four days, five hours, and fifty-seven minutes?
Not that I was counting. Or feeling sorry for myself because my new boyfriend had pledged his devotion on Monday, only to disappear on Tuesday.
A sigh worked its way up my throat as I closed the heavy-duty blinds on my trio of windows. Climbing into bed, I burrowed under the covers and pulled the goose down over my head.
I closed my eyes, conjured my favorite fantasy and tried to forget that poor Esther might be in serious trouble.
And that it was all my fault.
It was the hottest fantasy I’d ever had.
And trust me, at five hundred (and holding) I’ve had more than my share.
I’ve had my toes licked by Hugh Jackman. My back massaged by Patrick Dempsey. My feet tantalized with a pair of one-of-a-kind python pumps with diamond-encrusted straps. (What? We’re talking Jimmy Choo.)
My latest—and my most fave—involved me, a breezy beach cabana, a mesh bikini and a certain sexy bounty hunter.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a grain of sand or a palm frond in sight. Instead, I was completely naked, spread out on a pair of pale pink Egyptian cotton sheets.
Ty leaned over me, his body silhouetted against the flickering glow of a single lit candle. His naked body covering the length of mine, his muscles hard beneath my roaming hands. I felt my way up, over his toned ass, the dip at the base
of his spine, the sinewy planes of his back, his broad shoulders. His dark silky hair brushed my skin and my eyes shot all the way open.
Everything went from fuzzy to focused and Ty’s handsome face loomed over me.
You were dreaming about me. His lips didn’t move, but his deep voice echoed in my head, reminding me of the fact that he’d drank my blood and I’d drank his.
We were connected now in a way that went beyond his-and-hers hand towels. While this little bit of FYI had freaked me out at first, I’d actually started to like it.
At least when it came to sex.
We’re talking better than a mood ring.
I smiled (all of five seconds) until I remembered that he’d bailed on me. No note. No phone call. No email.
“I sent you a text on Tuesday.” He dipped his head and nuzzled my ear. He flicked his tongue and a lightning bolt zapped me.
“To say you were working late,” I managed, despite the yummy heat seeping through me. His tongue grazed the side of my neck and electricity sizzled from the point of contact. It spread through my body, pausing in several interesting places. My armpits. My nipples. My belly button. Lower … “Late usually means a few hours,” I said when I finally found my voice again.
“Not in my line of work.” Another flick of his tongue and a few nibbles and he pulled back to stare into my eyes. “I’m on a tough case that’s still wide open. I shouldn’t be here now, but when I got your message, you sounded so upset…” His voice trailed off and I didn’t miss the brightening of his eyes. “I needed to see you.”
I touched his face. Rough stubble rasped my fingertips, dispelling any lingering notion that I was dreaming.
I wasn’t sure if it was the stress of the past few days spent worrying and wondering if he’d changed his mind about us or the stress of the past few hours, but I had the sudden urge to throw my arms around his neck and burst into tears. He was here now and while I knew I didn’t need his comfort (I was the ultimate badass, in de pen dent, single and successful vampire), I still wanted it.
He kissed me then, effectively distracting me from the crazy realization. My brain zeroed in on his tongue and the way he stroked mine and, well, who could think with all that going on?
“I’m sorry about the frantic phone call,” I told him when we finally came up for air and I had a twinge of conscience. “I was pretty stressed.”
“I wish I could have helped.”
“That’s okay. Ash took care of things.”
“I heard.”
I didn’t miss the flash of jealousy in his gaze and warmth spread through me. “He thinks Esther’s off having a wild, passionate affair and that I’m freaking for nothing.”
He nodded. “It’s possible.”
I shook my head. “She wouldn’t just disappear like that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But worrying over it won’t help one way or the other. Wait and see what Ash turns up. Then you can freak.”
“He said it would be at least twenty-four hours before he knows more. I don’t think I can wait that long.”
He grinned. “I can think of a way to pass the time.” His expression grew serious and his eyes blazed bright and fierce. “I really missed you.”
A smiled played at my lips. “I missed you, too.” I pressed my body against his. “And I missed this.”
“Ditto.” He pressed his thigh between my legs and rubbed against my slit. Sensation bolted through me and my entire body shook.
His lips captured mine again and his tongue plunged deep. His pulse beat echoed in my head, keeping time with the frantic ba-bom-ba-bom-ba-bom of my own.
I clutched at his shoulders and opened myself to him, but he held back. Instead, he teased and stirred until I just knew I was going to lose my mind.
I exerted a little BV strength, rolled him over and straddled him. My gaze locked with his as I slid down his hard, hot length. He throbbed deep inside me and pure ecstasy gripped me. Every nerve in my body started to buzz. To want. Suddenly I couldn’t feel him deep enough. Fast enough. I rode him hard then. Taking and giving and … there. Right… there.
My orgasm was fierce, slamming over me, picking me up, shaking me around. Until I stopped thinking and worrying and I simply felt. Ty inside of me. Surrounding me.
My body bucked and my head fell back. He pulled me down to him then, his hips lifting as he caught my nipple with his mouth. He sank his teeth deep and started to drink, and I plunged over the edge.
I gripped his head and held him to me as the convulsions ripped through my body. One after the other. Each more fierce than the last. My body sucked at his cock the way his mouth drew on my nipple and it went beyond anything I’d ever felt.
My own hunger stirred then, gripping and twisting until I felt my fangs against my tongue. The urge hit me then and I couldn’t help myself. I gripped his hair and pulled him up until we were face-to-face.
I kissed him then, tasting my blood on his tongue. It was warm and sweet and the hunger roared inside of me.
Now. The deep command echoed in my head and the next thing I knew, his head was tilted back and my mouth was on his neck. His blood pulsed past my lips, drenched my tongue and slid down my throat.
Sweet.
Succulent.
He gripped my hips and came then. His body shook and a growl vibrated in my ears.
I drank a few more seconds while he bucked and trembled. I released his neck, licked my lips and melted against him. He held me tight then, not moving or speaking. Just holding.
At that moment I stopped wondering if he loved me. I felt it. Deep in my heart. My soul.
Unfortunately, the feeling lasted all of an hour.
All too soon, Ty crawled out of bed, pulled on his clothes and left without one word (a kiss on the lips does not count).
Luckily, I was half-asleep and so relaxed that I didn’t fly out of bed and open up a can of whoop ass on him. Or worse, morph into a blubbering idiot and blurt out how much I loved and adored and worshipped him.
Wait a sec. Did I just say worship?
Press rewind and forget that last one. I might be a sucker for love, but I so wasn’t a sappy idiot.
Anyhow, back to blurting out my love and adoration.
Not happening. At least not until I was absolutely, positively sure that he felt the same way.
Of course, I wasn’t worrying about any of that right now. Or whether or not the meet and greet party was going to pay off and save me from massive refunds. Or Esther and the bloody couch.
Especially Esther and the bloody couch.
Rather, I was basking in the glow of wicked hot sex.
I pulled Ty’s pillow on top of my head, drank in his scent and pretended all was right with my world. In a matter of seconds, I was fast asleep.
Hey, sometimes it pays to be a vampilicious optimist.
When I cracked open an eye late that afternoon, I fully expected to find the bed beside me empty.
What I didn’t expect was my mother, live and in color, looming over me.
“Ma? What are you—” The words stalled in my throat as I cast a frantic glance at the tangle of sheets next to me just to make sure I hadn’t imagined Ty going AWOL again.
Sure enough, the bed was empty.
Thankfully.
Not that I wanted a one-sided relationship with a made vampire who couldn’t commit. But we were still in the honeymoon phase, so I was willing to hang in there and see where things might lead. Just because, you know, I’m the curious sort who likes to experience afterlife and all that it has to offer.
All right, already. I’m the hopeless romantic sort with a weakness for happily-ever-afters, particularly my own.
I simply could not live with myself for the next trillion or so years if I didn’t at least give him a chance. Even if I did have the unnerving feeling that I’d latched onto a bona fide commitment-phobe.
On top of that, I was born and he was made, and Ash was one hundred percent right. My mother was going to freak
in’ freak.
But not just yet.
While I wanted my mother in-the-know when it came to my relationship with Ty, finding out about the man your only daughter is boffing and actually catching them en boff were two very different things.
I gathered the sheet up under my arms, struggled to a sitting position and tried to look innocent.
My ma could sniff out the dreaded G faster than a werewolf could locate the nearest barbeque joint. I drew a deep breath (hey, it helps the average human) and tuned out the Ack! She is so going to kill me! I ignored the heat creeping up my neck and focused on the zillion questions inspired by my ma’s sudden appearance.
Why?
What?
When?
Where?
Cartier?
My gaze snagged on the pearl and diamond choker that encircled my mother’s slim neck. I forgot my mental inquisition and drank in the vampire standing beside my bed.
Jacqueline Marchette was rocking it in a pair of gray Armani tailored pants, a black silk shell and a fitted red Marni jacket that accented her tall, svelte figure. Her long dark hair was swept back in a chic ponytail. Dark eyeliner rimmed rich brown eyes framed with perfectly arched eyebrows. High sculpted cheekbones, a delicate nose and flawless skin betrayed her pure bloodline. She smelled of cherries jubilee, Chanel No. 5 and determination.
Uh-oh.
“How’d you get in here?” I blurted.
“I’m a vampire, dear. I have ways.”
My gaze ping-ponged toward the heavy-duty blinds to my left. “You levitated through the window?”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t levitate when I’ve got a perfectly comfortable pair of Jimmy Choos to walk in.”
“You used your super-strength to break the lock on my front door?”
“And risk a three hundred dollar Belgian manicure? Darling, please.”
“You morphed into a whiff of smoke and seeped through the cracks?”
“And risk smelling like the inside of your father’s favorite pipe? Stop being overly dramatic, Lilliana. I slipped your building super a few fifties.” She held up a key. “It’s a capitalist society, dear. Money trumps vampire magic every time. Provided you have money, of course.” She fingered the edge of my bedsheet and stared down her perfect nose. “Cotton poly blend?”
Sucker For Love Page 3
