Love's First Bite: Bad Boys and Alpha Vampires Boxed Set (6 book bundle)

by Eden, Cynthia

  My fists clenched. That bitch!

  I scratched my breast. Wait, I had Jonathan’s itinerary. I’d follow him around and demand an interview. Or beg. Afterward, I’d write the best damn story ever. That’s how I’d get back at Jasmine. Then I’d punch her in the nose.

  With that settled, I grabbed the laundry and the dirty breakfast tray and marched out of the bedroom.

  Jonathan glanced at me briefly. Jasmine ignored me as I passed.

  “That may be, but I’m still not granting you an interview.”

  “You would, if you’ve ever read Hot Gossip. It’s full of hearsay and trash, and the reporters can’t write.” She chuckled.

  Turning to voice my opinion, I tripped, again. The tray went flying out of my hand. A half glass of tomato juice splattered all over Jasmine and her pristine ivory Chanel suit.

  Jasmine screamed.

  I almost did too, but with laughter.

  “Oh my God! You stupid bitch!”

  Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Jasmine. “There’s no need for that. It was an accident.”

  “If she can’t do a simple task like carry a tray, she shouldn’t be working here.”

  “I’ll go get a cloth.” I ran back into the bathroom, turning on the water and soaking a rag. I hadn’t intended on that, but it rather worked out perfectly anyway. It was a good day.

  My breast itched again. As I rubbed it, the notebook fell out the bottom of my shirt. Looking down, I realized that it was untucked. I bent down to pick it up.

  “How’s that cloth coming?” Jonathan asked from the bedroom.

  I grabbed the notebook and glanced around quickly. No cupboards to hide it in. I tossed the book into the toilet and shut the lid.

  Jonathan strode into the bathroom, amusement crinkling his eyes.

  I tossed him the cloth. “You deal with her. I’m out of here.” I pushed past him.

  Jonathan followed me out. “Mak, it was an accident. No one’s going to get you in trouble.”

  I marched out of the bedroom and past Jasmine who was busy wiping at her suit. Jasmine looked up just as I hurried out the door. I could still hear them as I rushed down the hallway.

  “What did you just say?” Jasmine asked.

  “I said no one was going to report her.”

  “No, not that. What did you just call her?”

  “Mak?”

  “That little…”

  I saw her come out of the room, her fists clenched. Luckily the elevator showed up, the door opened and I escaped inside. I touched the G level button several times.

  “C’mon. C’mon.”

  The door slid shut just as Jasmine showed up. I finger-waved at her and laughed. This round was mine.

  Chapter Four

  The suitcase was bulging with strain as I shoved my favorite pair of designer shoes into it. So far, I’d managed to pack three pairs of boots, two pairs of strappy sandals, and two pairs of pumps.

  Eyeing the floor, I hoped to find those new mules I bought last week. Hmm, maybe not. They were too expensive for the country. Besides, I didn’t think I’d have any room with all my undercover gear I had to bring. Mentally checking off my list, I scanned the items already packed.

  Hazel colored contacts, check. Black leather everything, check. Triple click, boob-enhancing padded bra, padded girdle, fishnet stockings, and garter belt, check, check, check, and check.

  Serena shuffled into my bedroom, newly developed photos in hand.

  “How’d they turn out?” I took the prints.

  “Pretty darn good, if I say so myself.” Serena’s smile faded as she stared open mouthed at me. “What did you do?”

  Grinning, I fingered my newly colored hair and extensions. I was now a redhead with long curly locks that reached past my shoulders to just above my breasts. “Just a little color enhancing.” I twirled a ringlet around my index finger. “And a wicked good curling iron.”

  “Jesus, Mak.”

  “I can color it back.”

  “What happened to just wearing a wig?”

  “Too problematic. It wouldn’t be good in close encounters.”

  Serena just shook her head.

  I looked back down at the photos in my hands, shuffling through them. Taken from across the street with a telescopic lens, Serena had produced a perfect shot. Tatiana had no idea she was being photographed. So there was none with her trademark pout or her posed runway stance. In fact, she looked almost ghoulish in the waning light.

  I held one up. “You can almost make out a slight paunch on her belly in this one.”

  “I think it was just her blouse bunching up.”

  “So what? Still looks like a paunch.”

  I flipped to the last picture. As I held the image up to Serena, my grin nearly split my face.

  Jasmine’s scowling face peered back at me. Serena had taken a perfect picture. Jasmine Knight at her homicidal best, snarling lips, face contorted in a murderous rage, expensive ivory suit stained with tomato juice. It almost looked like blood. At least it did to me.

  “You’re amazing. How did you get this one?”

  Serena chuckled as she settled herself on the bed. “I got it while you were running for cover in the parking lot. I was pretty close on your tail. I took it just as you dived under that silver Lexus.”

  “I think I’ll frame this one.” I pinned the photo up on my wall with a thumbtack. “Carmen’s going to love it.”

  “Mak, I think you’re crossing the line this time.” Serena pulled out a black lacy corset from the open suitcase and flipped the garter straps back and forth.

  I glanced down at the floor, pretending to search for the imaginary yellow stripe. “What line?”

  Serena threw the corset at me. “This one.”

  “If I’m going as Yvette Laurent, French vamp du jour, I must dress the part.” I shoved the racy lingerie back into my bag. “Anyway, it has proven quite effective with men who like to hide things. Remember Mayor Bleeker? I sniffed out his embezzlement schemes.”

  “Yeah, after you let him lick the tops of your exposed boobs.”

  “Yvette’s boobs.”

  Serena rolled my eyes. “You do know that Yvette’s boobs and your boobs are the same boobs, right?”

  I waved my hand. “Minor detail.”

  “Why can’t you just go as yourself? Once he meets you, he might do an interview.”

  “He hates all reporters, Serena. If he didn’t succumb to Jasmine’s feminine wiles with a blessing from his stupid ass publicist, he definitely won’t give me the time of day.”

  “I think you’re underestimating him.”

  I tucked in a long red slinky dress into my garment bag. “I don’t think so.”

  “How do you think you’re going to pull this off?”

  “Well, let’s see. I already phoned the hotel and booked myself in for the weekend. Seems there’s a writer’s convention going on. I naturally said I was a part of that.”

  Serena smirked. “Naturally.”

  “I even got twenty percent off my room.”

  “Lucky you.”

  After zipping up my suitcase, I set it by the bedroom door. “Yes, I thought so.”

  “Then what Mak?”

  “I’m going to put him under my, or should I say ‘Yvette’s’ feminine spell, and he’ll spill all his dirty secrets to me. Then Makayla Bradley will have an exclusive with Yvette Laurent who tells all about the intimate encounter with Jonathan Devane, scoundrel extraordinary.”

  “That’s really deceitful, you know?”

  “I know. It’ll make for a great story.”

  Serena shook my head. “I think you’re playing with fire, Mak. Jonathan Devane is not a man you can easily toy with. There are rumors he has a monstrous temper.”

  I plopped on the bed beside my friend and patted her leg. “Don’t worry, Serena. I’m a professional. Jonathan Devane is nothing more than a story. The only one getting burned this time will be him.”

  Serena looke
d at my eager face and shook her head. “Whatever you say, Mak.”

  “Let’s get some pizza. I’m starving.” I bounced off the bed.

  Twelve hours later, I stepped out of my rented car and into the opulent lobby of The Banff Springs Hotel. The drive had been quick but uncomfortable, especially in my tight red micro mini-skirt, constricting white Lycra t-shirt and knee high black leather go-go boots. More than once, I found myself pressing down on the gas pedal so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time in the cramped front seat of the cute little mini coupe I rented.

  As the front door man led me to the front desk, I adjusted the pageboy hat I just had to buy before I came and tried not to stare at the lush and expensive décor. Thank god, I could write this off as a business expense. Carmen would pretty much pay for anything if it got me a decent dirty story.

  I also kept my receipts for the red dress, heels, and the bikini wax I endured. It was all done for the betterment of the story. I couldn’t very well go into battle with stubble or out-of-control jungle bush, now could I?

  Leaning on the counter, I batted my eyelashes at the young checkin clerk.

  “Good evening. Welcome to the Banff Springs. How may I help you?”

  “Yvette Laurent checking in.”

  He tipped his head. “Very good.”

  As he searched for my reservation in the computer, I gazed around. My eyes landed on a small stack of magazines on the counter corner. I took a shuffling step to the left and stretched across the counter, grabbing the top one and dragging it over. It was Friday’s edition of Hot Gossip. I grinned at the cover picture. Serena was definitely a genius.

  It didn’t take any convincing Carmen to run with the picture. She didn’t like Jasmine, either. At a luncheon for Women in the Media, Jasmine had called Carmen a dried-up old hag. Carmen had heard it from the horse’s mouth when she was using the ladies’ washroom.

  They were in adjacent stalls as Jasmine blabbed all her insulting opinions about everyone in the business. Jasmine even had the nerve to ask for some toilet paper as her roll had run out. Carmen had politely declined her request and told her to use her own fucking hand.

  The war had officially started at that pivotal moment. It had been unofficially raging when it had only been her reputation that Jasmine was slamming.

  “Ms. Laurent?”

  I glanced up from the magazine and looked blankly at the hotel clerk as he stared at me.

  “I said I have you down for three nights.”

  I pushed the magazine away and nodded my head. “Um, right. Three nights.”

  “Excellent.” He did some more punching of numbers and such, then slid a card key across the counter to me. “Here is your room key. The elevators are just around the corner.”

  I went to grab the key and it slid off the counter and plunked onto the marble floor. “Oh, damn.”

  I bent over to retrieve it. When I had it in my hand, I felt a draft on my backside and realized a little too late that bending over with such a short skirt was not a recommended act.

  As I straightened up, I caught movement in my peripheral view. I glanced over my shoulder.

  Jonathan Devane stood but four feet behind me with his pompous publicist David Beckett. Both had gazes downcast toward my derriere.

  I whipped back around, my face glowing red. Oh my God, they had been staring at my ass. I closed my eyes and swore under my breath. Why had I worn that red gstring? White cotton panties would have been more appropriate, but no, I had to choose this moment to wear my satin, cherry red gstring with the shortest skirt known to man.

  Resigned to my embarrassment, I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders. I’d turn this into my advantage some how. At least, I’d gotten his attention. Isn’t that what I had wanted to do?

  I turned around and strode past Jonathan and David, hips swaying seductively. They were still staring as I passed. David was grinning like the idiot he was.

  “Enjoyed the show, boys?” An eyebrow arched sexily, I stared at Jonathan as I spoke.

  “Definitely,” David answered, his head bobbing up and down.

  I looked David up and down and smirked. Turning on my heel, I sashayed toward the elevators. Damn, I was having fun. Giggles nearly spilled out of me. As I pressed the elevator button, the door opened, and I got in. While the doors were closing, I looked up and noticed that Jonathan still watched me. His gaze sent a delicious shiver up my back. The man was lethal.

  My room was on the fourth floor. I assumed Jonathan was staying on the seventh floor in the penthouse. Quaint and stylish, my room reminded me of country living. It even had a little table and a coffee maker.

  After tossing my purse on the bed, I jumped on the complimentary basket waiting on the dressing table. I picked up the little note card, Compliments of the Hot and Spicy Writer’s Association. I set the card down and dug into the basket.

  There were two plums and a banana arranged in an interesting way and a box of chocolates. I sighed and unwrapped the box. Chocolate, my life preserver. As I lifted up the lid, I burst into giggles.

  Inside were four delicately made chocolates, molded into anatomically detailed penises, balls attached. I picked one up and marveled at it. Whoever made these was a stickler for detail.

  I bit the tip off and wondered what I had gotten myself into. I supposed I should have researched a little about what kind of conference I agreed to attend. Oh well, didn’t matter. I wasn’t really going anyway.

  Popping the rest of the chocolate into my mouth, I collapsed back onto the bed. I needed my rest before starting phase one of my assignment: Locate the target and tickle his fancy.

  Chapter Five

  After a long luxurious bath in the clawfoot tub, a slathering of cocoa butter and strategically placed perfume, I sashayed into the hotel’s bar with a mission. I wore black leather pants with fashionably enhanced hips and a low cut sweater twin set that displayed more fashionably enhanced products like the triple click cleavage bra. God bless Victoria’s Secret.

  I quickly scanned the crowd but didn’t see Jonathan. I didn’t know if he’d be in the place, but I had to start somewhere. I took a stool at the bar and ordered a Pink Lady. As I took a sip, I stared at myself in the facing mirrored wall behind the counter. I ran a hand through my hair and fluffed it up. After trailing my tongue over my plump painted lips, I winked at myself. No man could resist me. I was a temptress, a seductress. An old star harlot like Brigitte Bardot. Jonathan didn’t have a chance.

  But what then? I’d entice him, flirt with him, ply him with drinks, and then what? I didn’t have a clue. I obviously didn’t think that far ahead. Would I actually step over the line of journalist ethics—yes, I had a line—and sleep with him for a story?

  The moment I spotted Jonathan in the mirror as he walked into the bar and sat down at a table, all the blood rushed from my head down to my crotch. He looked absolutely edible in his soft blue chambray shirt and tan Chinos. His hair was parted and slick to the side. It still looked wet as if he had just stepped out of the shower.

  I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth as I thought of him just stepping out of the stall, his body slick and wet, the fresh scent of soap on his hard flesh, and a sexy playful grin on his chiseled face.

  Little quivers of desire rushed over my thighs and there was a quickening of things in between. Yes, I might just cross that line.

  Taking another sip of my drink, I tried to compose myself. I was a professional and this was my assignment. Jonathan Devane was just a story and nothing more. I’m not sure why I was feeling so anxious about him, so unnerved. He was just a man and not anything out of the ordinary.

  After flipping back my hair, I swung around on the barstool, crossing my legs seductively as I did. I pretended to scan the crowd, a look of boredom etched on my face. At least, I hoped it was boredom and not pent-up sexual frustration.

  It was getting more and more difficult to rein in my lust with Jonathan so near. He was like a pheromone nuclear b
omb. No one within a twenty-mile radius was safe from the hormonal fall-out.

  As my gaze moved over his table, I was caught in his piercing blue laser sighting. My heart skipped a beat as a smile slowly spread across his perfectly structured face. Those damn dimples winked at me again. I licked my lips, afraid that drool had escaped past them. His smile broadened as he probably thought my tongue made an appearance just for him. So what if he was right.

  I breathed deeply and pulled away from his entrancing stare to return my gaze safely back to my drink. I took another sip and turned back on my stool. Contact made. Now I would wait and see if he answered the call.

  I finished my drink and was about to order another when a fresh Pink Lady arrived unexpectedly in front of me. I glanced up at the bartender. He smiled.

  “From the gentleman at the table behind you.”

  I raised my gaze to the mirror and caught Jonathan’s eyes. His head was titled mischievously, his eyebrow arched in interest. He raised his glass in salute. I didn’t return the toast. I grabbed a passing waitress and set the drink onto my tray.

  “Could you please tell that man, that I can’t possibly accept this unless I know the motivation behind it? I’m not some floozy he can pay for with one drink.” I slid a ten-dollar bill onto the tray beside the drink. The server grinned and went over to Jonathan’s table.

  I watched in the mirror as the waitress set the drink down in front of Jonathan, bent down, and repeated what I had said. I watched his face go from surprised to amusement. He nodded to the server, and she wandered away to fill more orders.

  I wasn’t sure what Jonathan was going to do. But I was clearly not ready when he picked up the drink and walked over to where I sat at the bar. My heart sped like a car at the Indy 500 as he moved closer. I had to swallow down the little gasp as he slid in next to me and set the drink down at my elbow.

  “Good evening.”

  I had to clear my throat before I could speak. His rich male scent floated over me like a euphoric fog. The man smelled so good, I wanted to lick him all over his neck and face like an ice-cream cone.

  I glanced at him casually, pretending disinterest, but not too much. I didn’t want him to give up the chase. “Yes, it is.”