Veronica and the Vampire

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  In hindsight, though, she should have studied his bio more closely; enough to have checked out some of the minor details, such as his age, and whether or not he’d actually had those shots.

  She figured him around thirty or thirty-two, which would make him several years older than her herself. But he emitted a worldly air that made him seem older, no doubt the effect of his European genes, which God and the agency he worked for knew were truly superb.

  Did he have flaws? At all? Veronica vowed to study him more closely when they got to a brighter light source.

  “What do you do for a living?” Christian asked.

  It took her a minute to reply, because at that precise time, she was pondering what he might be wearing beneath those slick slacks of his: boxers, or briefs? Maybe he went commando? That last thought caused blood to rush to her head.

  “I’m a law clerk,” she said. “How about you?”

  He offered up a shrug, very slight, but enough movement for his burnished auburn hair to fall in around his face, softening the chiseled edges of his truly miraculous cheekbones.

  Damned if she didn’t want to lick those cheekbones, and would have, if she were someone other than herself.

  “Oh, yes,” she stuttered. “Sorry. I guess I know what you do.” Duh. “I got the address for the agency from a friend,” she continued in a rush. “It was a last-minute deal.”

  When her escort raised one dark eyebrow, the result was so erotic, Veronica’s internal temp rose some more. She scooted her butt further away from temptation, almost hugging the car door.

  We’re on a mission, she reminded herself. Her mother would no doubt smell misguided temptation a mile away, and would be on them like a fly on a donut if Veronica were to actually crack open her thighs.

  “I thought it was a joke when your salesperson mentioned the basement,” she went on, giddily. “I mean, dead guys in the basement?”

  Her unusual date’s lips remained upturned at the corners. His eyes shone brightly in the dim light. Although this nonchalance might have been his normal behavior with a chatty client, his patience seemed a Godsend.

  Veronica’s lace-topped stockings felt exceptionally tight.

  Five miles to go. Time to fill him in.

  “I’m sure there are more important things in life than worrying about a date for my sister’s wedding, but I don’t know what those things might actually be,” she said. “Anyone who knows my family would understand.”

  Should she tell him that if her family left her alone, she would kneel down and kiss the feet of this vampire whose grin had morphed into a super suggestive smile, as if he had the ability to read her secret thoughts?

  His smile was warm. But . . . in spite of the feelings of buoyancy, Veronica’s heart suddenly Titanic’d. She’d caught a glint of something long and white peeking out from between his lips as they cruised beside some golden arches.

  No. Couldn’t be. Could it? Not really?

  Yup.

  Chapter five

  “Fangs!” Veronica gasped. Feeling like she was being strangled, she found her own hands at her throat.

  First coffins, now the canines! And she had been so relieved about the missing cape!

  After the outburst, she immediately felt guilty. The vampire thing was, after all, his job. The fangs were most likely a calling card for the agency. An inside joke.

  At first glance, with the guy’s full, sensuous lips surrounding them, the pointy teeth looked unbelievably real. Nothing like the old wax and plastic teeth kids wore on Halloween. And agency detail or not, he would certainly remove them before arriving at the church. Right?

  “Cool teeth,” she added, after a pause, thinking he surely couldn’t eat with those things on. She’d tried that once on Halloween, when she was ten. Fake teeth and Butterfingers. A real mess.

  “It’s your perfume,” Christian said. “Really, I must apologize. The teeth extend automatically when I like something.”

  Veronica swallowed hard as new questions arose. Just what else might grow when Extendo Boy got excited? Would there be a direct correlation between teeth and —? Supposing this might be true, rolling rivulets of the flames of excitement climbed up her legs toward the hem of her skimpy, skintight dress.

  “You like my perfume?” she said.

  He nodded. “It’s like a lemon parfait, and suits you well.”

  Veronica nestled her keister deeper into the soft leather to keep from inching toward him. “What do you suppose vampires actually do with those teeth? They don’t really bite things, do they?”

  They. As in other people, and not this guy. As in she knew this was really an agency thing.

  “Why else would they be so sharp?” her date asked, in turn.

  “Are yours sharp?”

  “Like razors.”

  Even when her escort’s smile widened, the fangs didn’t protrude far. Still, like razors, he had said.

  “How are you able to kiss?” she asked.

  “Oh, I manage quite well,” he replied suggestively.

  Veronica squirmed on the seat, and forced herself stop staring at his mouth.

  “Vampires didn’t have teeth like that when they were human and alive, did they?” she asked. “So what happened to make them long and sharp?”

  “You know, I’ve never thought about that before,” he admitted with another lighthearted chuckle.

  She couldn’t let it go. This seemed like decent ice-breaking stuff.

  “Maybe there were afterlife dentists. Or maybe the vamps sharpened their teeth on the inside of their coffins. On rocks. What about this: Maybe the original vampire really was part bat, and once bitten, the bat blood changed more in humans than the desire for air.”

  The man beside her licked his lips casually, as if checking the sharpness of his fangs. Or as if all of a sudden the fangs seemed somehow different. Of course, she should have asked him right then and there to take the fangs off. But in truth, she was sort of fascinated with them. She wanted to see them better. Touch them. She wanted to see if he was right about being able to kiss. She wanted a pair.

  “So, what sort of things do you bite?” she asked. “If you say necks, I’ll have this limo turn around.”

  “I try to keep them for food,” he said in a teasing manner. “Though of course I adhere strictly to an animal diet.”

  “Good to know you don’t eat people.”

  They both smiled, and it felt to Veronica as if they’d just shared a moment. Watching how his brown eyes virtually danced, she decided that if she got out of this wedding alive, she’d write on that agency questionnaire: This guy, in the flesh, did not disappoint.

  “I’m sorry if the teeth offend you. I didn’t intend to let you see them,” he added.

  Temporarily distracted by the drop in his gravelly tone, as well as the length of Christian’s eyelashes, briefly seen in silhouette, Veronica worked to keep her expression neutral.

  “Why should they offend me? If that’s what vampires do, that’s what they do. As long as they don’t do it tonight, of course. At the wedding.”

  Her rent-a-date looked her over attentively, completely tuned in. When her eyes met his, Veronica experienced another wobble. It felt suddenly as though curtain had gone up between them, revealing something relevant that had been long buried, though she didn’t know what exactly.

  She heard an audible click of whatever it was snapping into place between them, and felt the oncoming rush of an even bigger wave of heat. A tingling sensation crept up her arms and across her shoulders, with the concentrated impact of a traveling space heater.

  She looked away first, then pulled her knees so tightly together, both inner thighs cramped up.

  “Are these seats heated?” she asked a bit too quickly, too loudly, aware that her skirt had hiked up to mid thigh and that her stockings were showing lace. “I’ve heard about that. I imagine this limo has everything.”

  She yanked open a drawer in the back of the front seat to find a full
y stocked mini bar. “See?”

  “Would you like a drink?” Christian asked, politely ignoring her panicked tone.

  “No thanks. Oh . . .” Veronica glanced at him. “You don’t. Do you?”

  The truth was that she didn’t actually care about his answer, even if it were to involve the mention of veins. She really wanted this guy. She wanted those fake fangs running up and down her body. She wanted to be crushed to the front of that dapper suit. She wanted to slip her hands down into all that commando-ness, and hoped he would tease her again, make her laugh, and laugh with her. She was feeling lighter in his presence, and as if she were on a real date. All this with barely ten minutes in his company.

  But she hadn’t completely forgotten where they were and what had brought them together in the first place. She really did need to steer this conversation toward higher ground fairly quickly. They were mere blocks away from ground zero.

  “Family,” she muttered. “I have to tell you what my family is like.”

  She was so nervous now, she was slow in noticing how she had inched closer to the center of the seat, and how her left knee had accidentally bumped up against Christian’s. One brief slide of her stocking against his leg was all it took, and on came the fire. Her abdominal muscles contracted. She felt momentarily dazed.

  “Veronica?”

  Did he have to say her name that way? Make it sound like a purr? Her engine was already running, while time was running out. She was about to ask for the air conditioner, and if the limo had a fold-out bed. But they were, she guessed by the third set of golden arches glimpsed out of the window, only about four blocks from the church.

  Time to get busy. If her cunning plan was to work, she’d have to know more about her date before they parked. She couldn’t go into the battlefield knowing diddly about a boyfriend. There would be questions.

  Suddenly, Veronica felt very guilty. Christian had no idea what lay in store.

  Guilt. Guilt. Guilt!

  Shit. Shit. Shit!

  Shoulders sagging beneath the burden she had intentionally shift onto the date’s shoulders in a manner of minutes, Veronica turned toward him. There was, she knew, a pleading expression on her carefully made-up face.

  “Look,” she began.

  He stopped her with a raised hand. “You don’t have to worry about me, Veronica. I’m used to taking care of myself in these situations. And I’ll take care of you.”

  Again with the jogging inside her chest. Ditto on the inferno. Why? Because these were words right out of a fairy tale, words most women would give their eye teeth to hear. Plus, he had sounded completely sincere when he said them.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised.

  Oh, hell. With that sort of positive attitude, how could she spill the beans about the downside of his job? Explain why he had to take the brunt of negativity this evening?

  Veronica hoped to God he wouldn’t laugh at her insecurities. She hoped he wouldn’t start counting them.

  When he sat forward, beaming his melted chocolate gaze, Veronica saw something in his eyes. Something small, moving inside of the darker part. Bats? Flying in there?

  Snap! went the sound of her knees.

  Clunk! went her heart.

  She muttered a nonsensical sound, something like “Whooooo,” as her beautiful escort’s hand slipped sideways on the leather seat, toward her, his eyes holding her captive.

  “It will be fine,” he repeated.

  Somebody groaned. Her? It was hard to tell, with the flames of lust lapping. With this guy’s hand slipping onto her knee.

  Three blocks to the church.

  “My family,” she said, staring at his hand, “has made criticism an art form. I’m sorry. I hope the agency pays you well.”

  The searchlight gaze of his was back. Veronica wanted to shield her eyes. She didn’t want to focus on how her limo-mate made her feel. She refused to confront how excited her body was, just sitting so close to him. It was useless to get her hopes up. Already, with this second touch, thrills overwhelmed every square inch of her. Her mind had turned to things like:

  Did they even make coffins for two?

  Could you rent these guys by the month? Year?

  Did her credit line have an adjustable limit?

  As the vampire’s hand lingered on her knee, his body moved closer, until his mouth paused centimeters from her left cheek.

  “You allow them to get to you,” he suggested.

  Right! Like she should listen to anything a fanged man might say! Like she could pay attention with him this close!

  “Are you a psychologist, besides being an escort?” She let the cynicism shine on its own. “Because that would be a really priceless combination.”

  Christian was much too close. His hand was all too near the excitement going on beneath her napkin-sized skirt.

  Maybe they could circle the church a few times?

  “I’ve had a lot of family issues in my time,” he confided, as if he hadn’t noticed how her legs had started to vibrate, or how each strand of her hair had curled tighter.

  “I didn’t know vampires had families.” For a minute, Veronica thought she had him there. If he were a vampire, his family issues would have been over centuries ago, wouldn’t they? He would hardly remember.

  “You never forget family,” he said. “But things have a way of evening out over time.”

  Unable to help herself, and out of dire necessity, Veronica reached for his sleeve. She grasped it in her fingers, and felt his muscles ripple beneath. Like molten liquid, a feeling of euphoria, of the rightness of his company, oozed over her. The air around them seemed to shimmer — heat rising toward the limo’s partially opened moon roof.

  She was stuck to the black leather seat as though she had been sewn there, eyes closed, mouth open as she fanned herself with her clutch purse. Christian’s hand was moving, but it wasn’t that fact that had her overheated. Not this time. What she felt was the sincerity of his affection for her. His interest in her. She couldn’t have explained it. They had barely spoken a hundred words, total.

  She refrained from making the sign of the cross against ongoing hoaxes. She wasn’t catholic, and there was no way in hell she would turn into her mother!

  “So,” she stuttered as Christian’s fingers feathered over her kneecap. “What’s this thing about crosses, anyway?”

  “Old wives’ tales, for the most part,” he said, as if he could possibly have been following the path of her erratic inner thoughts. “But actually,” he added, his eyes merry in his bronzed face, and no tiny bats visible in his irises at the moment, “the fact is simply that we don’t much care for religious symbols in general.”

  We, as in vampires.

  “We’re going to a church,” Veronica reminded him.

  “Churches are all right, as long as we don’t touch anything significant.”

  “Really? What’s significant?” She barely got that out. His fingers were so completely beguiling.

  “Oh, altars, twenty-four carat statues, holy water receptacles.”

  Veronica stared at him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong with gold statues?”

  “Too gaudy. Affronts the senses.”

  He laughed outright at the expression on her face. His laughter was a deep rumble, and filled the small space like a captured storm. Genuine laughter. Good old-fashioned high spirits. Immensely contagious.

  Veronica laughed with him, and felt the ice finally break; the mental ice that hadn’t already melted from the heat of his nearness. She heard herself giggle.

  “It will be all right,” he whispered.

  “It’ll take a really good sense of humor to think so. I’m glad you have one.”

  This was punctuated by the sound of the leather seat groaning. Or had the sound come from her throat?

  Two blocks to go.

  His hand was stroking her shin slowly. Up and down. Up and down. She must have looked horrified, because he said, “Tell me about the wed
ding, and why you’re so anxious about it.”

  Could she talk? She had to. They’d just past Starbucks.

  “It’s my sister’s wedding. She and the rest of them will rub this wedding in my face.”

  He nodded as though he understood this. “Your parents, caught up in the wedding euphoria, will be wondering where your prospective husband is?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Why will your sister rub it in?”

  “Points.”

  “She wins points with your parents for the wedding, or does your sister have a personal vendetta with you in particular?”

  “Both, actually. Isn’t that sad?”

  “Marriage equals success in your family?”

  “Better than a real job.” Impressed by this guy’s insight and sensitivity to her plight, Veronica slid the final two inches toward him. Empathy seeking. Moth to the sympathetic flame.

  “It might not be pretty,” she warned. “There are more of them than just my mom and dad. All in one place, in one room, they tend to gang up. Mob mentality.”

  “You didn’t want anyone you know well to have to go through this, so you came to the agency?” Christian asked.

  “No one with true boyfriend potential could withstand this particular occasion,” Veronica confessed.

  “Then you do have someone special you’re sparing from this wedding?”

  “I’m afraid it’s just you.” She flashed him a conspiratorial grin, and he laughed again, sensationally. When he pressed his hair back from his face, Veronica wondered why his agency also wouldn’t know that hair like his was a signal that he was healthy as an ox. Not at all dead-looking. She wondered if it would be polite to ask him what kind of shampoo he used.

  “Why does your sister want to hurt you?” he asked.

  “She’s marrying someone I once dated.”

  Only three people knew this secret. Charlene, her evil sister. Ross, Charlene’s husband in less than an hour. And her.

  “Does she love this guy she’s marrying?”