Chapter Ten.

It wasn't the longest day of my life (which had occurred a few months ago and involved a murderous vampire, a missing Dead End Dating client, and back-to-back Jerry Springer reruns), but it ran a close second.

After I turned in, Ty stretched out on the sofa. My strength drained away as the sun climbed higher outside as, I'm sure, did his.

But unlike the hunky made vamp, I couldn't seem to fall into a rejuvenating sleep. Instead, I spent the next few hours tossing and turning and trying not to glance in Ty's direction. Then yet another hour with my eyes clamped shut, my mind replaying the previous night's events. Add another forty-five minutes counting designers and listening to the steady thump of Ty's pulse. Plus another fifteen narrowing down the list to my top three faves and then yet another hour wishing the rhythmic thump, thump, thump would move a little closer. (I'm superficial and weak? So sue me.) When I did finally doze off (we're talking early afternoon), it was a restless sleep, a rarity for vampires because we normally sleep like the, well, dead. But we're talking major stress, a set of Ty-scented sheets, and a pair of ruined Rossis (yes, I was still mourning the loss). Seriously, what hormone-deprived, fashion-conscious bloodsucker-or sipper, in my case-could zone out under those circ.u.mstances?

Which was why when I opened my eyes the next evening, I was too tired to breathe, much less rip off my clothes and throw myself shamelessly at Ty Bonner.

He'd pulled back the heavy drapes to reveal the floor to ceiling windows. A faint orange glow outlined the surrounding buildings.

The faint shadow of the moon was already visible despite the fact that it was just this side of sunset. Dusk crowded into the ma.s.sive room.

My gaze cut through the shadows to the man who stood on the far side of the room in the middle of the kitchen area. He still wore only jeans, but they were black this time. The denim outlined his muscular legs and cupped his (big swallow) ahem, package. Dark, silky hair sprinkled his broad chest from nipple to nipple before narrowing to a fine line that bisected his six- pack abs and disappeared into his low-slung waistband. He'd obviously just stepped from the shower because a few drops of water still clung to his shoulders. He'd combed his wet hair back away from his chiseled face. His bluer-than-blue gaze twinkled when it collided with mine.

Okay, so I wasn't that tired.

His sensuous mouth crooked into a grin as he held up what looked like a wine bottle and motioned me over.

I wasn't going. That's what I told myself. Then again, who was I kidding? I was this close to a majorly hot babe who wanted me even closer. Even more, I needed sustenance, which wasn't a possibility if I barricaded myself in the bathroom to escape temptation and repair the damage that several hours of bed wrestling had wrought on my hair.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and forced my feet toward the kitchen.

Previous Top Next"Want some?" he asked as I walked up next to him.

I swallowed. "More than you'll ever know."

He grinned and held up the bottle-an imported blood type from Garnier's, an upscale, vampire owned and operated deli on the West Side. "I was talking about a drink."

"So, um, was I."

His grin widened. "Liar." The deep voice resonated in my head.

I frowned. "That's not funny."

"What?"

"You know what."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He feigned innocence and turned to retrieve a gla.s.s from a nearby cabinet.

Okay, so maybe I could hear him and he didn't know I could hear him. Please, please, please.

"Sorry, sugar. No dice."

My frown deepened. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

He winked. "The feeling's mutual. So you like yours warm or cold?"

"Warm, please. What about you?"

His grin was slow and oh-so heartstopping. "I'll take it anyway I can get it, darlin'."

He uncorked the bottle, poured a gla.s.s, and then turned to nuke it in a nearby microwave.

"I... that's nice." Nice? Okay, so my capacity for speech was on the fritz thanks to the darlin' comment. And the grin. Definitely the grin. I gave myself a mental shake and searched for something semi-intelligent to say. "I never would have figured you for a bottle man," I said just as the microwave dinged.

"I'm not. But I keep a bottle on hand just in case. I like to be prepared." When he turned back to me, his smile was gone. His gaze glowed with a heat that upped my otherwise cool body temperature several degrees. He held out the crimson offering.

"Drink up."

My gaze snagged on the inside of his wrist and I traced the path of a thick blue vein until it disappeared beneath the muscle of his strong forearm.

I swallowed and suddenly the thought of actually touching my lips to the sweet red heat sparked a rush of panic. "I need coffee,"

I blurted. When he stared at me as if I'd ordered well done, I shrugged. "It's my evening routine. Coffee revs me up." Yeah, right. But I so didn't trust myself to drink drink right now. The hunger was fierce enough on its own.

Already, my palms itched and my throat burned and my insides felt tight and needy. At the first sip, it would grow even worse.

Overwhelming. And I feared I wouldn't be able to sate it before... Before.

"You do have coffee, don't you?"

He shook his head. "Sorry."And here I thought the guy was irresistible.

"What sort of vampire are you?"

"The kind that doesn't drink coffee. In case you haven't heard, we vampires usually indulge with something else." He held up the bottle in salute before downing a long swig for himself. His gaze grew even brighter and more intense and my stomach went hollow. "It's much better for you than caffeine." His . voice was deeper and more husky when he spoke this time.

And much more stirring.

"Diet c.o.ke," I blurted. "Do you have any Diet c.o.ke?"

He bared his fangs and gave me a semi-ferocious look. "Do I look like a man who drinks Diet c.o.ke?"

Not exactly. But when it came to pecs, he put Lucky-the shirtless construction worker in their most famous commercial-to shame.

"All right, all right." I threw up my hands. "Regular c.o.ke?"

He gave me a what planet are you front? look before shaking his head.

"What about tea?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Sorry."

"Gatorade?"

"Nuh-uh." He took another long swig before he glanced at his watch. "Listen, I've got to go." He shoved the cork back into the bottle and set it on the counter next to the gla.s.s.

"You can't be full already?"

"No." His gaze collided with mine. "Not even close." Silence stretched between us for several moments as he stared at me, into me, leaving no mistake as to his meaning.

Oh, boy.

"Then again, you're probably really busy. You should go. Really." Before I do something totally lewd and lascivious.

His gaze collided with mine and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Stay inside and keep the door locked."

The moment he moved away, my anxiety doubled and I had a rush of helplessness. It was the same feeling I'd had on the autopsy table. Irrational, I know, what with me being a Super Vamp and all. Nonetheless, it was there. Insecurity swamped me and urged me to lunge forward, wrap my arms around Ty, and beg him to stay. That, or beg him for a really phenomenal o.r.g.a.s.m.

I kept my feet rooted to the spot. I do have some willpower. "What if the police show up and try to beat it down?"

Unfortunately, said willpower didn't extend to my mouth.

"They won't. They're convinced you're hiding out in Connecticut near your folks." When I stiffened, he added, "Your folks are fine. The police questioned them, but came to the conclusion that they didn't know anything. But the cops are still betting you'll turn up nearby, so they're watching and waiting."

"How do you know?"

"Sugar, I know everything."

"Would you stop doing that?"

He grinned and walked toward the chest of drawers that sat near the ma.s.sive bed. He pulled open the top drawer, and retrieved a black T-shirt. Muscles rippled and flexed as he hauled the cotton over his head and pushed his arms through.

I gathered my courage and averted my gaze, and found myself staring at the gla.s.s of red heat he'd poured for me. The scent curled through the air toward me and my nostrils flared. Need gnawed at my belly and crawled its way through my chest and into my throat. I swallowed against the rising burn and fought the urge to lick my lips. My attention zigzagged back to Ty, who'd dropped onto the corner of the bed to pull on his boots. Muscles rippled and flexed and... I swiveled back toward the blood.

Then back to Ty. The blood. Ty. Blood. Ty. Blood- Stop! Where was a Starbucks when you really needed one?

"I'm working on a few cases." He opened the bottom nightstand drawer, retrieved a large handgun and holster, and I stiffened.

Not that I was scared of the thing, mind you. I'd just never seen the need for a gun. After all, I'm a vampire. Mucho powerful.

With an extra sharp pair of incisors and a fantabulous collection of MAC lip gloss. Ditto for Ty. Minus the lip gloss, of course.

To me, guns seemed like such...

An inconvenience.

A waste of money.

A macho phallic symbol to mask an underlying fertility rating that was less than impressive.

Even more, they were an easy way to blow off a certain body part if, like my great uncle Paul, you weren't smart enough to turn on the safety before stuffing the thing down your pants. Sure, it had only been a temporary setback (we vamps have great rejuvenating capabilities), but it had still put him out of commission for quite a while. And, according to great aunt Zelda, the "incident" had been responsible for several performance issues that had prohibited them from conceiving a sibling for their one and only son, Ivan. Which meant Ivan was a spoiled, arrogant, pompous b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Then again, that just meant that he fit right in with the rest of the born male vamp population.

Ty hooked the holster over his shoulder and I heard myself say, "I didn't think you carried a gun."

"I usually don't. But I either take it with me or leave it here with you."

On the other hand, we vamps aren't exactly invincible. Superman had his Kryptonite and we have sunlight. And stakes. And any and all sharp objects capable of piercing the heart. If Ty were facing down a dangerous criminal, it would be in his best interest to have a "little friend" as backup.

"Make sure the safety is on," I told him.

He gave me an odd look, but I was happy to note that he checked the safety before sliding the gun into its holster.

He walked back toward me and retrieved his wallet, which sat on the coffee table. "Stay inside," he said again as he stuffed the leather fold into his back pocket.

"No problem. I've got tons of work to do. Speaking of which, can I borrow your laptop to check my e-mail?"

"No checking e-mail. Not until we know exactly what's going on. I want you to keep as low a profile as possible. I'm sure the cops are monitoring your online accounts. Even if they can't trace your whereabouts, they'll know you're still out there. We want to make them think you've disappeared completely from their radar."

"Like maybe I've left the country?"

He nodded. "Anything to throw them off track until we can figure out how to fix whatever's happened."

"What about the phone? Can I use the phone? I really need to call my a.s.sistant. We've got a lot of work right now and she's-"

"No. Just take it easy and forget about work."

"Excuse me? For your information, I've killed myself to gain a pretty respectable client base. I can't just forget about them for an indeterminate amount of time. Do you know what a lull will do to my momentum?"

"I doubt sitting on Death Row will help much, either."

He had a point. Still. I shook my head. "I can't not work."

He looked ready to slide his hands around my neck and squeeze. "Fine. Call her. But make sure you time it. Don't stay on for more than twenty seconds."

"Twenty seconds? But that's barely enough time to say h.e.l.lo, much less go over our scheduled workload-"

"Thirty seconds tops," he cut in. "Anything longer and they'll be able to trace the call."

"But I need to check my voice mail."

"Thirty seconds."