Big Girls Don't Die

by Crystal Jordan

  Big Girls Don’t Die

  In the Heat of the Night Series,

  Book 2

  Crystal Jordan

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Crystal Jordan. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road,

  Suite 105

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Otherworld is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Cover art from iStock

  eBook ISBN 9781640630529

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2009

  Re-release July 2017

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the Author

  Discover the rest of the IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT series... Total Eclipse of the Heart

  Big Girls Don’t Die

  It’s Raining Men

  Crazy Little Thing Called Love

  Discover more Entangled Select Otherworld titles… Death Defying

  Night Demon

  Chapter One

  That damn evil hellcat.

  I was in the shower just as my day began, right at the crack of sunset, when a huge crash sounded through my teensy bathroom. I jerked back the curtain to see what the hell was going on, when Beelzebub streaked across the floor and tackled the overflowing trashcan, which spewed the contents everywhere. And still, he attacked the trash. Shit. A cold rush of dread made my stomach do back flips. Somehow, I knew he’d cornered a rodent. In my bathroom. With me trapped, sopping wet and stark-ass naked in the bathtub. This was a hell of a way to start Valentine’s Day.

  So. I had to deal with the whole mouse situation, not the least of which because he was about to slaughter the thing on my landlord’s cream-colored carpet. And who carpets a rental in cream? I hopped out of the tub and into the scattered trash. Wads of things I didn’t even want to think about were stuck to the bottoms of my wet feet.

  Since I couldn’t kill it, I had to get rid of it. What did I do to deserve this? I caught sight of myself in the floor to ceiling mirror and tried to ignore the fact that all I could see reflected back at me were my wide blue eyes. What I couldn’t see was the rest of me, the pale skin, the mile long legs and too-generous hips and thighs. The dripping black hair that was sleeked to my scalp. The pointy fangs. None of it, because I was a walking spawn of Satan.

  I tossed Beelzebub into the living room, grabbed the tallest glass from my kitchen and played tag with the stupid mouse until I finally scooped it up and slammed a plastic dish over the top. No need to let it try and escape, right? Right.

  Then I realized I was still buck-naked, and I had to toss the mouse out into the yard. After I set the glass on my dresser, I snatched my nightshirt off the dirty clothes pile and pulled it over my head. With my Winnie-the-Pooh nighty stuck to my wet skin and the mouse in a glass, I jerked the door open and launched my uninvited guest…right into the broad, scrumptious chest of my worst nightmare.

  Andre St. James, the man responsible for turning me into the undead. His large dark-skinned hand snapped out and caught the tail of the mouse. When he brought it up to his eye level, the hairy little guy squeaked in mad terror, prey before a predator. I could relate. I’d had those pale celery-green eyes trained on me enough times to know that I melted into an orgasmic puddle within a few seconds. He dropped the mouse that, like a smart little rodent, ran like hell. Unlike me, who stayed where I was with my mouth agape.

  “Cynthiana.” The way he said my name, with an emphasis on the first syllable, made it sound like something naughty and sinful. His Noo Awlins accent made everything sound naughty. The man could read a phonebook, and I’d get turned on.

  Heat flooded my body, and my nipples tightened. His gaze zoomed right in on the pointed tips. I swallowed.

  Don’t panic, girl! He’s a bad, bad man who turned you without asking pretty please first. Even if he was gorgeous and had skin like yummy milk chocolate. Even though he tasted just as good as he looked. Delicious in every possible way. Mmm-hmm. Wait, what was I thinking? Bad, bad man. Remember? Shit.

  “Yes, Satan?” I propped my forearm on the doorjamb and cocked a hip. My other hand kept a death grip on the doorknob. Right now, it was the only thing keeping me from flinging myself at him and begging him to shake me all night long.

  His full lips quirked, and I swayed toward him. “Invite me in.”

  “No.” The word escaped as a sigh.

  His long finger lifted to stroke my elbow, the only part of me that stuck out of the doorway. Hot flashes rippled out from the touch, and I wanted to rip my nighty off and run around with my panties on my head. If I had any on. Which I didn’t.

  “Invite me to come inside.”

  “Come inside me.” The words fell out of my mouth before I knew what I meant to say. Warmth rushed up my cheeks. Oh, shit on a stick. I had not just said that. I had not.

  “As you wish, cherie.” A full-blown smile spread over his face. Damn, it made his already gorgeous features just…perfect. My stomach executed a slow flip. He stepped over the threshold and shut the front door behind him.

  I put up a hand and scrambled back. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’ve always considered you a woman of your word.” He kept coming toward me. Stalked me. One step forward for him and two steps back for me. I couldn’t let him touch me again. The night would start out with a bang. Literally. That would be a huge mistake. I’d done that before and look where it got me. One-way ticket to Fangville.

  My back hit the door to the bedroom. His green eyes promised wicked pleasure, and I already knew he could deliver. Heat flashed through me, and I pressed my thighs together. My breath panted out. Wetness flooded my core. God help me. I squeezed my eyes closed, but I could smell him. His musky scent mixed with his expensive cologne and curled into my nose. It intoxicated. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him. It just wasn’t fair. Why him? Why the undead?

  “Don’t come near me.”

  He ignored me. Each second brought him closer and closer until his heat enfolded me. With each of his hands braced on the doorframe, he penned me in. “How am I to come inside you then, cherie?”

  My head tilted back, my throat exposed. His gaze caressed my neck, my breasts and my hard nipples. The clingy wetness of my nightgown cupped my sex and thighs. Want twisted through me, my muscles tight with anticipation. Possessive, he looked at all of me. I should have been pissed that he’d barge in on my life after months of staying away. Even if I’d told him in no uncertain terms to do so. When he’d turned me, he’d ripped my life apart. I didn’t have to play nice about it. But all I felt right now was the need to be sexed hard. And that pissed me off.

  “Why the hell are you here anyway?”

  “I’m here for you.” Simple. Bald. And so freaking wrong.

  “I don’t want—”

  “Don’t you?” His gaze flicked to the less than subtle jut of my nipples again.

  Damn it. Totally betraye
d by my own horny body. My muscles shrieked for me to arch into his chest, press myself to him. He was right there. I wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch me. Stroke me. Fuck me.

  No. I bitch-slapped my hormones into submission. To play with this man was dangerous—

  He dipped his head to graze my neck with his soft lips. I shivered at the contact of his skin on mine, all thought fizzling away. My eyes half-closed as erotic memories flashed in my mind. Memories of us together. My head tipped to the side, and I gave him full access to my neck. Because I wanted. Damn the man. Oh, wait. He was damned already.

  The doorknob rattled as he twisted it, and the solid surface behind me disappeared. I fell back, but his arms snapped around me, and I was plastered against his chest. Yes. Even the thin cloth of my nighty was too much to separate my skin from his. Naked. That was the ticket.

  I bucked against him, the urge to be closer too strong. “Andre, I need…”

  “Oui, cherie.” His hands cupped my ass, lifted me against him, and I wrapped my legs tight around his waist. The hard length of his erection rubbed between my legs as he carried me toward the bed. Every step sent sensations screaming through me, as his hips ground against mine. My empty sex clenched hard. God, I wanted him inside me.

  We fell back against the mattress. His heavy weight spread me wide. He thrust against my naked pussy. The fabric of his slacks added friction to the movement. Tingles raced down my arms and legs. Lust burned in my belly. He rotated his hips, his hard cock grinding against my clit. Oh God. Oh God.

  “Andre!”

  “Cynthiana.” He breathed my name like a prayer as he pulled back to look at me. Peeling the bottom of my still-damp nighty up, he stripped me in less than a second and left me bare to his gaze. I shivered and dug my heels into the backs of his thighs.

  “Hurry.”

  “Say please.”

  One of his hands slipped between us. His knuckles brushed my pussy as he worked at his fly. I lifted my hips to keep the contact. He chuckled, his zipper rasped, and his fingers lingered to stroke my slippery skin.

  With a press of my fingers against his smooth scalp, I pulled him down to caress his lips with mine. I coaxed him with my tongue as it slid along his bottom lip. I suckled it and nipped the skin with my teeth hard enough to draw blood when I pulled away. “Please.”

  His jaw tilted, and I could see the arteries pulse beneath the skin. I licked him, a gentle slide of my tongue down the length of his neck. The muscles corded, and his blood called to me. Need, longing and bloodlust twisted inside me until I couldn’t tell one from the next. My fangs ached at just the thought of feeding. Yes. Now. I bit him and felt the sweetness of his lifeblood flow over my tongue. As if he’d been waiting for my bite, he thrust his cock into me so deep that he slammed against my cervix. I came hard, and my pussy fisted, repeatedly milking him.

  I braced my hands on his shoulders, threw my head back and rode out my orgasm. His hands gripped my hips while he worked me on his cock.

  He bent to suck my nipple into his mouth, then flicked his tongue over the hard tip. “Tu es belle. Je t’aime. Je pense tout le temps a toi. Mon coeur.”

  I loved when he spoke French to me, even though I understood nothing he said. The words, the accent, the heat of passion in his voice. It made me burn hotter. My nails dug into his shoulders. His fangs slid into my skin as his cock buried in my pussy over and over. I was pierced in every way.

  He froze for a long moment before his hips rammed into mine once more. Shuddering, he flooded me as he orgasmed. He ground himself against my pussy, stimulating my clit.

  “Andre!” I screamed his name as I came again. It went on and on forever. My whole body throbbed. He sank his fangs deeper into my flesh, and my eyes rolled back in my head as I fainted from the overwhelming sensations that slammed into me.

  When I woke up snuggled against him with my cheek pressed to his broad chest, my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. I jerked upright and wrapped the sheet tight around my breasts.

  His hand settled between my shoulder blades, and I jerked away. “Why are you here?”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

  “So?” I flicked a glance over my shoulder.

  A grin tugged at his lips. “It is a day to celebrate lovers. I wanted to celebrate with you.”

  “We aren’t lovers.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You can beg all you want, but we’re people who have fucked twice, not lovers. This isn’t love.”

  “Cynthiana—”

  “Don’t say my name. Just don’t say anything. Please go.”

  “What?” His voice went soft, dangerous.

  “Go. Leave. I know you speak English.” Yeah, so I sounded like a raging bitch. He hadn’t done anything I hadn’t asked for, but now I wanted him to leave. That should be a move he had down pat.

  I hauled myself to the edge of the bed and stomped into the bathroom. I would take my shower, and he could take himself off. Maybe I could wash that guy right out of my hair and try not to dwell on the fact that I was a moron who slept with him again.

  …

  Brushing a hand over the embroidered ice blue silk of my very short dress, I made sure everything was presentable. It was my own design, like everything else I wore. I used to model. Plus-sized models exist, I swear. So if anyone could show off my clothes to their greatest advantage, I could. If I won’t wear my products, why would anyone else? I’d busted my ass for years, but my career as a clothing designer had finally begun to turn enough profit that I could quit modeling over a year ago. Not that I’d ever be rich. I just didn’t have to work two or three jobs anymore. Good thing too. The whole can’t-see-myself-in-the-mirror or on film issue would be something of a career killer for a model.

  I stepped through the door of Eclipse, the most notorious club for things that went bump in the night. Smart humans didn’t come near the place. But I wasn’t human anymore. Thanks to a certain annoying, sexy, rude, great in bed, undead vampire bastard who shall not be named. Damn it.

  My best friend Candy and I planned to meet up for an anti-Valentine’s Day drinkathon tonight. Neither of us had a love interest—Andre so, so did not count—so, we intended to see how long it took before one of us worshipped the porcelain god. I would bet she out drank me and I did the psychedelic yawn way before her. She’d probably stand behind me in the bathroom and pretend to be supportive, while subtly mocking me for being ten feet taller than her and a total lightweight. We had a well-refined relationship at this point.

  The door swung open behind me, and a rush of cool night air slid over my skin. “Hey, babe.”

  I turned to see Candy enter. The lupine grace of the werewolf race made her look taller than she was. She looked good in my designs, too, when she didn’t have on Gucci or Prada. And her Dior purse made me drool.

  “Hey, hot mama.”

  As a vampire, I wasn’t supposed to be friends with her, but fuck that. Candy was my girl. I didn’t give a flying rat’s ass whether werewolves and vampires hated each other’s guts. So there. The wicked-nasty fighting between our two races forced every kind of magical creature—fairies, demons, witches—out of the closet about ten years ago, and the world hadn’t been the same since. Of course, the new werewolf Alpha in L.A. had made some major changes in vampire-werewolf relations recently, so I’m guessing Candy got way less flak for hanging out with me than she used to. I’d never been hassled much, and I’m not sure if it was because I’d metaphorically flipped all vampires off or because Andre had stepped in and stopped them. I didn’t like to think Andre had ever done anything I should be grateful for, so I shut down that line of thinking and followed Candy across the crowded room. She nodded to her acquaintances as we approached the bar. I only recognized a few of the people present.

  Jerrod, the werewolf bartender, flashed an easy g
rin. “Cyn and Candy. My two favorite flavors.”

  I snorted. “Whatever.”

  “Blow me.” Candy propped both hands on her ample hips.

  Jerrod leered at Candy’s cleavage. “What’ll you have?”

  “Jack Daniels. A double, please.” She rolled her eyes. While Jerrod liked to flirt with the customers, he was happily mated to two women. He and his mates had made some waves in the werewolf community by having more than one mate at once. That was a new thing for the hairy ones, apparently.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll have a strawberry margarita.”

  Candy turned to me. “Uck. How can you drink that fruity shit for wimps?”

  “Sticks and stones.”

  “How old are you? Five?”

  “Compared to you, yeah. Old hag.” Candy just had her thirtieth birthday, and since I was still twenty-nine I took every opportunity to rub in her over the hill status. It was what I got in exchange for my inability to hold my liquor. At least she wasn’t as old as Andre. He was turned way back in the 1850s.

  Hey, I did go out on one date with him, and stayed for a one-night stand that became the undead nightmare. Sucking a girl’s blood without asking is such a party foul.

  Candy’s mouth opened to blast me with a snarky comment when her gaze flicked over my shoulder and her eyes widened. “Incoming.”

  Andre. Had to be. Why did he have to be here tonight? “Oh, fuck me sideways.”

  “I’m sure he already did.” A knowing grin pulled up the corners of her mouth.

  “How—”

  She tapped the side of her nose. “I can smell him on you. Want me to kill him for you?”

  Okay, for half a second I was tempted. Candy might be short and curvaceous, but she was feisty as hell, and could probably take on both of us without much effort. His big hand closed around my bare shoulder, and I shivered. Not because I was cold, but because just having him this close made me horny. Wet. Turned me into a raging, ready-to-have-sex-in-a-public-bathroom kind of slut.

  “Excuse us for a moment, Candace.” His fingers slid down to cup my elbow.