by Beverly Rae
Both Jenn and Skye smiled in return and I knew my friends had come up with the same conclusion. Still, they waited for me to make the official announcement. “Girlfriends, I’m pregnant.”
Jenn and Skye squealed in delight. Skye, effervescent as always, hopped up and down in her seat, excitement virtually radiating through the computer all the way from her home in Pismo, California. “Oh, Chrissy, I’m so happy for you.”
“I bet Kaine’s on Cloud Nine. Literally.” Jenn’s eyes grew large at her near-miss. “Uh, I mean… Oh, hell, you know what I mean.”
Yeah, I know what you mean. Like a dragon who can actually fly and sit on a cloud. I shook my head at Jenn’s oh-crap shrug and rolled my eyes. “Trust me. He is. Of course, this means I’ll have to put off taking that job offer of yours, Jenn. Kaine says he’ll wait and start when I do.”
“What job is that, Chrissy?”
“Oh, uh, Kaine and I were thinking of becoming real estate agents.” I inwardly winced and hoped Skye would accept my lame answer. Fortunately, Skye didn’t question me further and Jenn pantomimed wiping her head in relief.
“No problem. I understand.” Although never demonstrative in her affections, Jenn reached out and touched the monitor as though she were trying to touch me. “That’s great news, C. Just great. I wish I was there to give you a hug.”
Tears welled up in my eyes before I knew it. Probably just hormones. Yeah, hormones and the happiness of a friend’s good wishes. “I wish you could too. Both of you.” We sat for a moment, gazing at each other through the thousands of pixels connecting us.
“Well, since we’re sharing good news, I’ve got a little bit of my own to spread around.” Skye’s dark eyes sparkled in her oval face, making her even more beautiful than she already was. At five feet five, she was a slim dark-haired beauty, with a perfect body to match. But it was her inner glow, her genuine willingness to believe the best in others that made her a special person. I’d known her since third grade, and even though we hadn’t lived close to each other for several years, we’d never lost touch.
“Really? That’s terrific, Skye.” I leaned forward, ready to take part in her happiness.
“I’m married!” Skye squealed and spun around in her chair. “Can you believe it? I. Am. Married!”
I shrieked, too, partly because I knew she expected me to. Jenn clapped her hands and grinned which was the most I would’ve expected from her. After all, she didn’t know Skye from the cat in the moon.
“Tell us about him. Where’d you meet? How long have you known him? And why the hell haven’t you mentioned him before now? Details, girl, details.” I spoke to Skye at least once a month and felt a stab of alarm in the fact that she hadn’t said one word about this new man in her life.
“I know, I know. I should have, but I only met him a few days ago.”
My alarm spiked higher and I could see by Jenn’s frown that she thought it was strange as well. “Wow. A few days? Um, I don’t want to rain on your procession—”
“Parade.”
“Whatever, Jenn.” I scowled at her and switched back to Skye. “But aren’t you moving a little fast?” Not that I was one to talk.
The brightness in Skye’s smile dimmed. “I know how it looks and you’re right.” She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “But I couldn’t help it. Dmitri’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He’s strong, handsome, sensitive, virile, daring, funny, protective—”
“Okay, okay, we get it.” I laughed. Let’s face it, her enthusiasm for her man was contagious. “He’s perfect. So where’s this Mr. Perfect from?” No one was actually from California much less the small coastal town of Pismo.
“Well, you wouldn’t know it by looking at him—” Skye held up a photo of her and a very handsome blonde surfer-dude sitting on the beach under the moonlight, “—but he’s from some place in Eastern Europe. My psychic said he has a deep red aura which means he’s very grounded and strong-willed.” Her light laughter echoed through the speakers sitting on my desk. “You know. The opposite of me.”
Jenn snorted. “And he’s a surfing kahuna from Eastern Europe, huh? Not likely.”
I arched an eyebrow at my skeptical friend, warning her to behave. “Judging by his tan, he obviously moved to California to catch the rays.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he gets his tan sprayed on. You know, for health reasons. Besides, he works from sunup to sundown. We rarely get together during the day, and when we do, we’re always indoors. But I don’t mind as long as we’re together.”
A tickle of anxiety nudged its way into my thoughts, but I firmly pushed it away. I was determined to enjoy my friend’s happiness. “So can you remember the name of this country?” Not that I’d know it since I’m geographically-challenged.
“Um, let me think. Oh, yeah. He’s from a place called Banat. It’s part of one of those countries used in the movies a lot.” Her face scrunched together as she tried to remember, then suddenly brightened. “Oh, yeah, how could I forget?” She continued, sounding like she was reading from a textbook. “Banat, located within Transylvania, is a region steeped in Romanian history and known for the beauty of its Carpathian landscape.”
I saw the color drain from Jenn’s face at the same time I felt it flood from mine. “Transylvania?” Transylvania as in Dracula’s Transylvania?
“C.” The warning in Jenn’s tone was unmistakable.
“No, you silly. I told you. He’s from Banat, not that place. Besides, all the Dracula stuff is pure nonsense.” Skye’s smile faded a little.
I shook my head and watched Jenn hurriedly scribble on a slip of paper. She slapped the note against her screen for me to read.
It doesn’t mean he’s what you’re thinking he is. Do not say anything to her. Yet.
“Chrissy?”
Skye’s worried look had me stumbling for words. “Uh, it’s nothing, Skye. Just a little morning sickness.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Skye rattled on about friends’ cures for morning sickness and I plastered on a fake smile. Jenn and I exchanged a few more looks, but she remained silent. I sat quietly, nodding at the appropriate times, numb and not hearing anything else Skye said. One thought kept repeating in my mind.
Did my friend marry a vampire?
About the Author
Beverly Rae’s witty, sexy, action-packed romances leave readers experiencing a wide range of emotions. As a multi-published author, Beverly is always working on her next book, taking the “usual” and twisting it into the unusual.
To learn more about Beverly, please visit www.beverlyrae.com. Send her an email at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! Group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Beverly: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Beverly_Rae_Fantasies.
Look for these titles by Beverly Rae
Now Available:
Para-Mates
I Married a Demon
Cannon Pack Romance
Howling for My Baby
Dance on the Wilde Side
Wild Things
Cougar
Magical Mayhem
To Fat and Back
Wailing for Love
Touch Me
What’s a nice girl like me doing with a demon like you?
I Married a Demon
© 2008 Beverly Rae
Para-mates, Book 1
Jennifer Randall ignored her instincts and rushed into a vacation-fueled romance and quickie marriage to devilishly handsome Blake Barrington. But as a Level 10 Protector with the super-secret Society, how’s she supposed to keep the man she adores happy while hunting down gargoyles, zombies and other evildoers of the Otherworld?
As if balancing work and newlywed nookie sessions wasn’t hard enough, now she’s been assigned to find the Bracelet of Invincibility before a high demon lord can claim it. And Blake seems hell-bent on distracting her at every turn.
Blake Barrington will do anything to regain his mortality and live happily ever after with
the woman he loves. Including delivering to his demon lord the one object that could be his salvation—the Bracelet. Too bad part of the contract includes killing his wife. Getting around this small glitch might be doable…if his ghoul-cursed brother wasn’t after the prize, too.
Jenn’s suspicions mount, and finally the evidence is undeniable. Her sexy spouse is a demon.
Great. Now what? Shag her husband? Or shoot him
Warning: Okay, so there’s graphic sexual language. So what? Trust me, if chopping off a few demons’ heads doesn’t bother you, why would the sex? Either way, it’s all good.
Enjoy the following excerpt for I Married a Demon:
At the exact moment I noticed him, he was only a few feet from me. Mr. Ta-DaH—my nickname for Mr. Tall and Dark and Handsome—lay sprawled like the King of the World basking in the sun, surveying his kingdom and the lowly subjects he allowed to share his beach. He held a drink in one hand and scrutinized me through dark sunglasses, his chiseled face a mask of controlled passivity except for the slight lift at the corners of his mouth.
I’m good at playing cool. I have to know how to play it cool in my line of work—both of my lines of work. But this guy’s intense scrutiny was almost more than I could handle. With my sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose, I nonchalantly spied on him, trying to appear unaware that he studied me. I tried to suck in my ass, hoping to make the dimples disappear, but knew the battle was lost before it began. How do you suck in a bottom, anyway? Is it the same as a butt clench? I sighed and hoped he liked women with junk in their trunks.
The man was perfect. At least physically, but physical was all I had to go on. His wet hair, silky and shiny black, slicked away from his forehead and curled around his earlobes. Just the right amount of matching chest hair glistened with drops of perspiration, drawing my gaze to all the right places. Notice I said perspiration, not sweat. No one this good-looking ever sweats.
I’m talking the perfect model of a man. The kind of man I’d buy if I could call in my order and have him delivered to my doorstep in thirty minutes or less. Remember how moviegoers went gaga over Matthew McConaughey when he started taking off his shirt? Yup, me, too. I was one of the hundreds, probably thousands of women, who sat through his movies, not caring about the plot. Instead we sat glued to our seats and waited for him to strip off his shirt and take the heroine to bed. Take M’s sex appeal and multiply it by a zillion times more heat and that’s what oozed from this guy.
His shoulders, wider than the beach chair he leaned against, mesmerized me and I couldn’t keep from imagining the way they’d feel. I’d have donated my whole stack of traveler’s checks to charity just to feather my fingers over them. I could see the strength in his muscular arms and sense the power he could unleash at any moment. He pressed his mouth to the highball glass, moving his square jaw, and I had to fight to keep from dashing over and licking off the tiny drop of whiskey left on his upper lip.
His eight-pack abs called to me. Come, Jenn. Come and run your hands over me. I let my gaze glide down his rock-hard abdomen. Can you blame me when my heart started pounding and my mouth went dry? Can you understand why the place between my legs overflowed with wetness?
I pondered what to do. Should I say something? Why didn’t he say something? How long could we lie here and stare at each other? What would I do if he got up and walked away? Or even more frightening, what would I do if he came over?
Then he smiled at me.
My mouth dropped open. I lifted my head from my beach towel, forgetting to play it nonchalant. Instead I gaped like a schoolgirl with her first crush. He stood and started toward me, making me oh-so-aware of his height and brawn. My examination of this spectacular specimen started at the top and moved slowly downward.
I’d never found men’s legs attractive before—I’m an upper torso kind of gal—but the black hairs on his legs, the firm tanned skin stretched over his runner’s tendons, converted me to a leg gal right then and there. My membership in the leg lovers fan club was sealed the minute he squatted next to my blanket and gave me a front row seat to the hard bulge in his swimsuit.
Granted, his first words weren’t anything particularly clever, but he didn’t need clever. He could have read me the directions on how to buckle a seat belt and I’d have thought it wonderful, riveting, mysterious and oh, yes, sexy as hell.
“Hi, there. Why are you watching me?”
Thick as molasses and hotter than the center of the sun, his warm voice traveled over my naked skin and made me shiver in anticipation of steamy nights and luxurious mornings in bed.
“Uh, no. I mean, no, I’m not watching you.” I rolled off my stomach and onto my side in what I prayed was a slinky kind of move, and propped my head with my hand.
Sliding his sunglasses to the end of his nose, he arched one thick eyebrow upward and knowing eyes twinkled the word liar at me. “Oh, I see. My mistake.” His gaze left mine to make a very slow, very deliberate trek down my thong-clad body, and the tips of his mouth tweaked a bit higher.
Thank you, oh tortuous elliptical machine.
I swallowed, trying to force the liar’s lump in my throat all the way down to my stomach. Since when had I ever felt guilty about lying? I was proud I could lie with the best of them. In my line of work—both lines of work—I have to be able to stretch the truth. Otherwise, I might not live very long—or sell a bug-ridden condo. But something irresistible about him drew the truth out of me. “Okay. Maybe I was. But I was simply returning the favor, if you know what I mean.”
He reached out to take a wayward strand of my hair off my cheek. Yet instead of putting it behind my ear to join the rest of my ponytail, he played with it, rubbing the strand between his two fingers as if he’d never experienced the texture of hair. I found myself wishing I’d spent the extra bucks for a salon-quality conditioner.
“I do and you’re right. I apologize.”
Huh? “What for?” I suddenly envisioned those fingers playing with my nipple instead of my hair. Forget the conditioner, think scented body lotion. The image was so intense, I wanted nothing more than to take his hand and bring it to my breast. How I kept from grabbing his hand, I’ll never know. “Why are you apologizing?”
“For staring at you. I apologize for my rudeness.”
Unnerved by his words, I sat up and tried to position my body as I’d seen countless swimsuit models pose in glossy magazines. Yet instead of stretching my torso and legs in an alluring way, I ended up sitting cross-legged like a big kid. A real turn on—not.
“Oh, were you?” Argh! Stupid comeback, especially since I’d already accused him of staring at me.
“Yes, but you can hardly blame me.”
“I wasn’t blaming you, but I’d be interested in knowing why I can’t. I mean, since you’re apologizing.”
He took off his glasses and, like in all those cliché romance books my mom used to read, our eyes met and a sizzle passed between us. “The answer is very simple. What man could not look at such a tantalizing sight?”
Sure it was a corny line, but I fell for him right then and there. Off the deep end, over the cliff, dived in head first and all those other sayings people use when they fall in love at first sight. As if he could read my thoughts, he leaned closer and placed a feather-light kiss on my lips. Yet, although his touch barely brushed against my mouth, the result rivaled the explosion of a nuclear bomb between my legs. My body’s temperature jumped sky high, matching the burn of the sun on my shoulders.
“What are you doing tonight?”
I knew a leading line when I heard it and I heard this one loud and clear. “The same thing I’m going to be doing in about fifteen minutes.”
His eyebrows dipped toward his nose and he cocked his head to the side. “And what would that be?”
“Having the best sex of my life.”
Spartans do it with discipline.
The Bite of Silence
© 2009 Mary Hughes
Times Square on Ne
w Year’s Eve. A million partiers chanting the final seconds. This year, it’s a countdown to death.
My name is Twyla Tafel and I’ve uncovered an insane plot to unleash berserk vampires on those unsuspecting revelers. I have to stop it, armed only with my great admin skills, my useless art degree—and Nikos, a severely hot vampire who I’d love to photograph as a Spartan king roaring his muscular challenge at the Persians.
But Nikos has issues, if you know what I mean. Roadblocks in his psyche that say stop when all I want is go-go-go. See “severely hot”, above.
Although if I finally break through Nikos’s reserve, I may get more than I bargained for. He’s seriously big, seriously built, and more than just a tad dominant. Still, it’s time to push my limits and find out who I really am, so I’m willing to try…I think. I’m sure. I’m mostly sure. Until he starts stalking me with those sable bedroom eyes and long, sharp fangs—!
Material Safety Warning: Contains 50% high-voltage sex by volume, 10g seriously hot Greek vampire, 4g curvy, competent heroine, 7g explosive action and gritty language. Some light bondage may occur during handling.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Bite of Silence:
Nikos led me through a space marked “Private” into an underground parking area. A stretch limo with mirrored windows was waiting. He shoveled me in.
And promptly positioned himself on the other side, barricading himself with crossed arms. The limo moved out.
I was upset, most of it disappointment in not getting any with Nikos. I lashed out. “If you don’t want me, just say so.”
“I want you.” The flat, angry look in his eyes contradicted him.
“Sure you want me. You’re so all over me. Been practically my second skin since day one because you want me so much. Oh, no wait. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have my reasons.” The limo started crawling through Queens traffic.
