by Heidi Betts
She knew her gaze was blazing, could feel the blood boiling behind her eyeballs, turning them an unhealthy shade of pink—even for a vampire. But Sean didn’t seem to notice. Instead of being intimidated, he simply stepped forward to once again close the distance between them, and resumed caressing her cheek and the side of her throat.
“I didn’t sleep with them, no. But I needed to know if I would respond the same way to any female vamp…or if it was you.”
Licking her lips, she swallowed. “And…?”
“I went to a club. A vampire club. And I met some women.”
She raised a brow, half in curiosity, half in annoyance. He couldn’t just come and tell her, could he? Oh, no, he had to draw it out, share the whole sordid story from start to finish.
“You know that saying ‘You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince’? Or in this case, princess. Well, I did. Kiss a lot of frogs, that is.”
She pictured a row of women lined up, waiting for a kiss from Sean. And then—poof—every single one of them sprouted a slimy green, wart-covered frog face. It was rather appealing, actually.
“And…?” she prompted again, getting really antsy now. The pressure behind her eyes was building and the blood in her veins was beginning to boil, prickling beneath her skin.
He tipped his head, his lips curving slightly as he stared down at her. “Frogs, every one of them. I even tried one with curly red hair and pouty pink lips who reminded me of you.”
His smile widened, and he traced the outer edge of her lower lip with his thumb. “Nothing. Looks like you’re my princess, vampire or no vampire.”
Stakes be damned. Her heart melted at his words, right there on the spot. Any signs of anger or jealousy receded, replaced by a feeling so big, so wonderful, she wasn’t sure her body could contain it all.
“That’s why I’m here,” he continued. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a wad of something red and wrinkled. “I thought you might be willing to let me stay with you again, maybe even move in. Keep teaching me all the ins and outs of this immortality gig.”
He shook his arm and the red, wrinkled thing expanded, falling halfway to the floor. It was the ribbon. The big, red ribbon, complete with sadly flattened and wrinkled bow, that he’d been wearing when she’d found him on her sofa. Dipping his head, he draped it over one shoulder and across his chest, Mr. America–style.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. “If you’ll have me.”
If she’d have him? She’d only spent the last two years lusting after him until she thought she’d go insane.
She didn’t bother with words. Couldn’t, because her throat was so thick with emotion.
Instead, she threw her arms and her legs around him, hugging him tight as she kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Light pecks along his jaw and cheekbones, harder presses of her lips to his.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled when she let him up for air.
“Yes. Oh, yes,” she told him, hanging onto his neck, held up by his hands on her bottom and her ankles locked behind his back. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been in love with you? How long I’ve waited for you to be here with me like this?”
“Yeah,” he murmured quietly, “I think I do. It just took a pesky little brain tumor and a meddlesome vampire matchmaker to help me see it.”
He kissed her this time, for a long time. A long, drawn-out kiss that melted her bones and scrambled her senses.
When he released her, his breathing was ragged and his mouth was twisted in a lopsided, self-deprecating grin. “I get it now, though. And the good news is that we’ve got forever—literally forever—to make up for lost time.”
She smiled back. Beamed was more like it. “That is one of the up sides of being immortal.”
Walking her backward toward the bedroom, he said, “I’m starting to notice a lot of up sides to being immortal. We may have to send that friend of yours a fruit basket to thank her for turning me.”
Vivian laughed. “Angelina would probably prefer something a bit fresher. And breathing.”
“A dozen ripe young co-eds it is, then,” he teased, and they both laughed as he dropped her into the center of her wide bed, then followed her down.
“I’m so glad you came back,” she said, running her fingers through his blond hair, reveling at his weight covering her like a warm, soft blanket and pressing her into the mattress. “You’re the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”
“Ditto, sweetheart. And there’s so much more to come.”
Oh, she was counting on it.
IT’S A WONDERFUL BITE
SIP ONE
Christmas Eve
The soft, instrumental strains of “O Holy Night” filled the large dining room, mingling with the sounds of voices and laughter from the guests seated at the great mahogany table. In one far corner, a giant Douglas fir just missed brushing the high ceiling with its snow-dotted angel topper, twinkling clear lights, and sparkling blue and white glass ornaments.
In the fireplace, a stack of fresh logs blazed, and pine boughs dotted with red velvet bows framed the eggshell-white mantel. A line of tall, white candles flickered softly in a straight line down the center of the long dining table, and there was even a healthy sprig of mistletoe hanging above both entryways to the room.
It was a perfect holiday gathering.
Angelina Ricci took a sip of claret, using the maroon-tinted crystal, almost as dark as the wine it held, to hide her smile. She’d done it again, and if it wouldn’t have ruined the lines of her brand-new Dolce and Gabbana gown, she would have reached around and patted herself on the back.
Granted, Connor—their host for the evening—had come to her looking for someone to help plan and execute the perfect Christmas holiday, but she had been the one to send the lovely Jillian Parker his way.
Connor might be a vampire, and Jillian might be exceedingly human—at least at the moment—but it hadn’t taken long for sparks to fly from more than a faulty string of lights. Literally. They had known each other only a matter of weeks before Jillian had moved into Drake Manor in more than just a party-planning capacity. Connor had even allowed her to bring her cat, which was a sure sign he was feet over fangs in love.
And the fact that Connor’s two younger siblings were sitting at the table with them this evening was another testament to how well Jillian fit into the Drake family. Not only did she accept their undead qualities, but she’d managed to win over Liam and Maeve, who until recently had seemed to make it their eternities’ work to drive Connor into an early coffin.
Since Jillian’s arrival, however, they’d come to get along with their older brother better, as well as moving out of the family mansion to pursue interests of their own. Interests other than partying and causing trouble, that was.
Liam, it turned out, was an excellent cook. Ironic, given he didn’t need food to survive, and because he’d so often mocked others’ need or enjoyment of the stuff. But it had been Connor’s success at running a string of five-star restaurants of his own, both nationally and internationally, that had caused the young man to hide his talents in the first place. Liam hadn’t wanted to be compared to his older brother, especially if he set out on his own.
But while Connor hadn’t handed anything to Liam on a silver platter, he’d made it clear he would support his brother in every way possible—starting with a job at one of his own downtown Boston eateries. At the moment, Liam was merely a sous chef, working under and taking orders from others. But from what she’d heard, he was well on his way to becoming an executive chef, and one day possibly even opening his own restaurant.
Maeve had gone in a completely different direction. She’d moved into an oversized apartment in a renovated warehouse in the harbor area and turned it into a home/art studio, where she created paintings and sculptures that were already getting a bit of buzz in the art world. Her first gallery showing was scheduled for the new year, and word had it her pieces were b
eing marked in the high thousands.
And at least for tonight, both siblings had foregone their obsessions with leather and torn clothes, piercings and tattoos.
Maeve wore a short black skirt and ankle boots with a youthful red shell and sweater set. She looked for all the world like a bank teller or school teacher—except for a few bits of large, unique jewelry Angelina suspected she might have designed herself, and the random streaks of pink in her black, upswept hair.
Liam wore a casual black suit, his dark hair only moderately (much less than usual!) gelled and spiked. In addition to wicked cooking skills and a great head of hair, the young man also had a great sense of humor, as evidenced by his wide blue tie with a giant image of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer on it—complete with a tiny lighted bulb to showcase the cartoon character’s glowing sniffer.
And the meal, everything a traditional Christmas Eve dinner should be, had also been generously prepared and provided by Liam. Angelina got the distinct impression he was showing off a bit, but Jillian hadn’t stopped singing his praises since they’d sat down. Not only had his willing participation been part of the “perfect Christmas” Connor so desired—and that Jillian had promised to do her best to provide, both as a professional events planner and his shiny new girlfriend—but having a close family member take responsibility for tonight’s dinner had freed her up to focus on other things, like decorations, invitations, and seating arrangements.
Yes, indeed, Angelina was the Queen of Matchmaking. True, her official dating agency, Love Bites, mostly worked to pair up vampires with other vampires, but she wasn’t above putting her skills to use when she saw human/vamp match potential.
Connor and Jillian and Vivian and Sean hadn’t even been clients of Love Bites. They were simply friends in need of a little romance, and she’d managed to work her magic yet again. Just in time for Christmas.
The last strains of “O Holy Night” trailed off and the first notes of “Silver Bells” began just as the Drake Manor staff cleared away everyone’s dinner plates, serving decadent slices of chocolate sformato for dessert. Oohs and ahhs went around the table at the sight of the baked pudding disk with almonds and Amaretto whipped cream. Liam’s cheeks brightened at the bevy of praise directed his way, but Angelina suspected he was secretly delighted with the shower of compliments.
Digging into her dessert more slowly than the others, she considered her fellow dinner companions. They all looked so happy. And that was good. The love matches she’d made were solid ones. Many of the plans she’d put in motion (some more stealthily than others) seemed to be moving along at just the right romantic pace.
But while she was exceptionally proud of all her work and loved her job, she couldn’t claim to be truly content. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to anyone…not even under threat of direct sunlight or a pointy stick.
How could she be happy or claim to be an expert on romance, though, when her own lover of more years than she’d been alive was only that—her lover? Ian Hart might be brave and strong and ruggedly—yes, ruggedly—handsome. He might even be better than chocolate and a jackrabbit vibrator in bed.
But he wasn’t her husband.
And was it so wrong that she wanted to be married? That she didn’t want to go the rest of her undead life being merely boyfriend and girlfriend?
It sounded pathetic. And for them, the rest of her life could be ten millennia.
Vampire or no vampire, she was still a woman. She still wanted the man she loved—and whom she was certain loved her—to declare his undying (ha!) love and make a commitment to her. More than simply living together. More than simply agreeing to a devoted, monogamous relationship.
She wanted more, dammit. The kind of more that came with a sparkling diamond ring and the exchange of heartfelt vows…maybe even a full-blown, old-fashioned wedding ceremony, if she could talk Ian into it.
Not that she had ever so much as broached the subject with him. It had seemed silly, given their current living arrangements, and she sort of wanted him to be the one to think of it, to ask her, to make a Grand Romantic Gesture.
But now, looking around the long dining table at some of her closest friends, who were paired off and beginning their own personal happily-ever-afters, she thought a memo or two might not be such a bad idea. Especially since Ian, who was extremely smart about some things, wasn’t exactly Employee of the Month in the romance department. She loved him dearly, but in all the time she’d known him—and he had turned her, so they were talking a considerable number of years—he had never brought her flowers or planned a surprise party or gifted her with a piece of jewelry just because.
Another hour passed while dessert plates were cleared away and coffee was served. While guests carried their delicate china cups and saucers into the library to gather around yet another beautifully decorated Christmas tree.
This burgeoning Douglas fir was twelve-to-fifteen feet tall if it was an inch, with a brilliant gold star at the top. Strands of blinking, multicolored lights sparkled amongst the dark green needles and small red and gold glass bulbs.
It took some wheedling, but Jillian was finally able to convince everyone to sing carols until the clock chimed three, when the party started to break up because all of the guests needed to get home before sunrise or risk having a very un- Merry Christmas and zero chance at a Happy New Year.
They said their good-byes and thanked their hosts for a lovely evening while Ian helped her into her long, cream-colored woolen coat and shrugged into his own short leather jacket. A second later, cold air slapped them in the face and Angelina shivered as they stepped from the cozy warmth of Drake Manor into the dark December night.
Since the weather had been questionable even before they’d left for the dinner party, they’d opted to take Ian’s black Chevy Suburban over her sleek silver Mercedes. Always the gentleman, Ian opened the passenger-side door and lifted her in, then went around to climb in on the driver’s side.
Angelina didn’t speak until they’d gone a few miles down the road and the heat blowing from the vents on the dash had the inside of the SUV toasty warm. Sliding off her gloves, she laid them carefully on her lap.
“Well,” she said quietly. “That was fun.”
“Yeah.”
A man of few words, that was her Ian. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, stuck one between his lips, and lit the tip. It wasn’t a habit she encouraged, but since it wasn’t going to hurt either one of them, she didn’t bother pestering him to quit.
“Dinner certainly was delicious.”
Another short, one-syllable reply. “Yep.”
She slanted a glance in his direction. “You just want to get home so you can get out of that suit and tie, don’t you?”
He cocked his head, taking his eyes off the road for only the fraction of a second it took to shoot her a cocky grin. “Yep.”
She chuckled. Oh, yes, she knew him so well. And still she loved him. Still she wanted to be with him for their version of forever.
Only a handful of minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of the large, three-story Victorian they’d been sharing for the past decade. They’d refurbished it themselves—or most of it, anyway—and had a grand time doing it.
Given her taste in designer clothes and shoes, and her love of all things high style, from regular mani/pedis to biweekly visits to the salon, she knew the simplicity of her home would surprise many of her acquaintances. They probably thought she would settle for nothing less than a penthouse apartment overlooking Boston proper, or a large, affluent home on Beacon Hill with state-of-the-art everything.
But though it was old and creaky, and parts of it were still in disrepair, this house suited her. Partly because it was so much like Ian—rough around the edges, but solid and reliable and attractive in its own unique way.
Not waiting for Ian to come around, she opened her door on her own and met him at the front of the Suburban, where he waited and offered his arm
to see her safely up the slick brick walk.
“Connor and Jillian and Sean and Vivian seem happy together, don’t they?” she murmured as he unlocked the front door and let her pass inside before him.
“Uh-huh.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over one of the hooks on the coat tree in the corner of the small entryway. She handed him her coat and he hung it next to his own.
Sigh. Had she mentioned thickheaded? He could be extremely dense—sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.
She wasn’t sure which was the case at the moment, but suspected she was going to have to drop much larger hints before Ian caught on to what she wanted from him in the very near future.
Typical of his evening routine, Ian trailed through the house, double-checking all the door and window locks. Angelina had never seen the need to be so security conscious, given that very little could harm them and the chances that they would hear a burglar trying to break in before he ever actually got in were extremely high. Heck, on a quiet night, they could hear silverware clacking as their nearest neighbors ate dinner half a mile away. But the cop in him couldn’t go to sleep in the morning until he’d made his rounds and made sure everything was safe and sound.
When he was finished, they walked upstairs together and started getting ready for bed. As usual, he flipped on the TV and started surfing channels while he loosened the tie at his neck. A second later, he set aside the remote control and some very distinct Jimmy Stewart dialogue filled the room.
“It’s a Wonderful Life?” she asked from half inside her walk-in closet, already knowing the answer. It was one of his favorites, and he watched it every time it was on.
“You know it.”
“Every time a human screams…”
“A vampire gets its fangs,” he finished.
She turned to find him grinning at their little Wonderful Life inside joke, flashing his very own pointy white incisors.
He’d ditched the tie, tossed his suit jacket over the back of a chair, and was now working to undo the buttons down the front of his dark green shirt.
