by Molly Harper
The shower was still running when I stepped into the room. Collin’s overnight case was left outside the door. I didn’t have the energy for that, so I slid on some blue plaid boy shorts and a tank top and flopped onto the stiff, crunchy tan bedspread. This outfit was not exactly appropriate work wear, but I hadn’t been expecting nighttime “company.” And I wasn’t about to sleep in jeans.
When the water shut off with a protesting squeak, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned on the lumpy bed, realizing that the bathroom door was standing open. Collin stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.
Good Lord.
Pale skin, miles of it, perfect and smooth. A little metal key hung from a slim chain around his neck. He had a swimmer’s body, lean, rangy, with long legs. His feet were slender and highly arched. Water dripped down the muscled contours of his back, toward a butt that—
That settled it. I was jealous of a towel.
I did my best to look away. I didn’t even want to admit that I wanted to look. A little flirtation at dinner was one thing, but I would not let him know that seeing him swathed in a threadbare towel was possibly the best sexual experience I’d had in more than a year. I had to maintain some dignity. He shot a startled glance into the bedroom, as if he hadn’t expected me to be there.
“Apologies,” he said, grabbing his overnight case and snapping the door shut.
My jaw dropped. What the hell? He was a vampire. Vampires did not get distracted. They didn’t just forget that there was a beating human heart pumping the scent of their favorite food into the next room. Had he left the door open on purpose? Was he trying to torture me?
I grabbed my lip balm and paperback out of my bag, knowing full well that I wouldn’t read before I went to sleep. But it was my nightly ritual, and it had to be respected. I was standing by the bed, debating whether it was grosser to sleep on the comforter or to risk bedbug bites by climbing under the sheets, when the door swung open again. Collin emerged, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, a plume of steam following him out of the bathroom like something out of a Whitesnake video.
He was wearing another suit, black this time, with a crisp blue shirt. And because I was suddenly very self-conscious about my work-inappropriate sleepwear, I yanked back the covers and slid between the sheets.
Shudder.
“So do you own a pair of jeans?” I asked.
“Why would I wear jeans and T-shirts when the clothing I wear suits me so much better?” he asked.
“Touché,” I muttered.
There was a loud thump from the room above ours and a chorus of drunken laughter. I heard the opening bars of “Gangsta’s Paradise” blare though the floor. Tiny sprinkles of ceiling dust drifted down like carcinogenic snow. As the bass line picked up, the snow flurries graduated to large flakes of paint.
I sighed and pulled the sheet over my face. “Of course.”
I made a little peephole in the threadbare fabric so I could peer out. Collin pulled the bare wooden chair away from the battered desk, wiped it clean with a handkerchief, and settled in with a book. I punched a pillow the thickness of a maxi pad into shape and propped my head against it. I pretended not to notice that he’d propped his feet on the bed, that they were inches away from own. The mattress sagged and shifted underneath me as I flopped back and forth like a fish, trying to find a comfortable position.
“I thought you were tired,” he said blandly as I fidgeted under the covers.
“I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep,” I whined, throwing the covers back and picking up my book. “This bed is like something out of ‘The Princess and the Pea.’”
“Is that a veiled request for a bedtime story?”
I wondered briefly if that meant I could crawl into his lap. Because if so, I was onboard.
“What are you reading?”
“Catch-22,” I said, showing him the cover.
“That’s a rather bleak story.”
“It’s about someone in a no-win situation of his own creation. I can relate.”
“Do you often read such nihilistic works?”
“No, I read a little bit of everything. Mysteries, fantasy, horror, romances—except for bodice rippers.”
“Beg pardon?”
I propped myself on my elbows. “Historical romances. You know, the swashbuckling pirate hero wants his lady so badly that he just rips the bodice of her gown open to access her bosoms.”
He snickered derisively. “That’s bloody ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe I said bosoms, either.”
“No, speaking as someone with experience, you can’t just rip bodices open,” he insisted rather indignantly. “It takes time and patience and, in some cases, a small, deftly maneuvered blade.”
“Really?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows.
“I was known to mangle a few bodices in my day.”
“I bet you did, you libertine, you.” I chuckled.
“Do you read often?”
“Whenever I can. Most nights, I can’t go to sleep unless I do.”
“It seems out of character. You’re always running, running, running,” he said. “Frankly, I can’t believe you’ve been still this long. I feel I must sit here and witness such a miracle of behavioral suppression.”
“Your plan is to sit there and stare at me until sunup?” I asked. “Not creepy at all.”
“I have a book,” he said, waving the thick linen-bound volume at me.
“It’s not a book on taxidermy, is it? 101 Ways to Display the Corpses of Humans Who Annoy You?”
“Of course not.” He opened it, licking a finger before carefully selecting a page. He added softly, “I left that particular title at home.”
I barked out a laugh, flopping onto my other side to try to evade the weird dent in the middle of the mattress. It felt as if it might drop out from under me at any—
Ker-RAANK!
The metal leg supporting the foot of the bed bent and collapsed, and I slid to the end of the mattress with a thump. Groaning, I climbed up the mattress, only to slide right back down so my feet touched the floor. Accepting that I would have to sleep at a twenty-degree angle, I pulled the blanket over my arms and made the best of it.
“Don’t laugh,” I grunted into the pillow.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
MC HAMMER RUINS AN OTHERWISE PLEASANT EVENING
6
I’d almost dozed off when the dancing started. I didn’t know people still danced to “U Can’t Touch This.” But when they did, it caused a lot of damage. The paint drifted down from the ceiling in a near blizzard. The dusty domed light fixture above my head rattled like a loose pot lid. I watched, mesmerized by its rhythmic jiggle.
Suddenly, Collin shot to his feet.
I blinked blearily at him. “What—”
He dove for me, sliding his arms under me and rolling off the bed. We landed on the floor with an “Oof!” OK, the “Oof!” was mine, after Collin landed on top of me. After the initial breathless shock of the landing, I froze. His nose was a few scant inches from mine. I could practically feel his eyelashes brushing against my cheeks as he gazed down at me, lips slightly parted. I could smell the strange mix of herbs, citrus, and mint on his skin, the cool sweetness of his breath. A rush of blood heated my skin, drawing his fangs out with a little snick as the blush spread to my chest. He seemed to be able to track its progress with his eyes, trailing down to my heart and watching it pulse beneath the skin. I squirmed under the weight of his hips wedged between my thighs.
His nostrils flared as he inched closer, a purring noise rumbling from his chest and through my own. His lips traced a cool path down my jugular, and my eyes rolled up, just catching sight of a huge black spider scuttling under the bed. Acute arachnophobia snapped me out of my hormone-fueled daze.
“What the hell?” I yelped, just as the glass globe from the light fixture dropped and shattered against the bed, right where my head had rested just a min
ute before. Collin threw his arm over my head as glass tinkled down against his shoulders, the carpet around our heads.
“It worked!” he exclaimed, grinning down at me. It was like the moon breaking through storm clouds, white and brilliant and welcome. His eyes slid down my skin to assess any damage.
“Yes, throwing me to the ground was a very effective method of getting me out of bed.”
“No, the light, I saw it—” He seemed so relieved that a tacky light fixture had nearly crashed into my head. “I saw it.”
My brow furrowed. “I’m … glad?”
He grinned down at me, and suddenly, I was acutely aware of the fact that he was sprawled between my unclad thighs. The silky fabric of his suit chafed pleasantly against my skin as his legs tangled with mine. He leaned in close, the faintest stirring of air against my lips.
He leaned down, brushing his lips across mine tentatively, then pulling my lip into his mouth.
“What are you doing?” I blurted out.
He drew back. “What?”
“You were kissing me,” I said, almost as shocked as I was amused. His mouth dropped open, and he was about to protest. “If you try to pretend you weren’t, I will lose all respect for you.”
“If I was kissing you, you would know,” he said solemnly.
“You’re right, I hallucinated it,” I shot back.
Lightning-fast, he struck, claiming my mouth with his. I felt the prick of his fangs as he worried my lip between his teeth. I moaned into his mouth, the cool slide of flesh over cool flesh. My fingers curled around his nape, feathering through the soft dark hair there. I tentatively swept the tip of my tongue against his lip and tasted the tangy sweetness of his mouth. He eagerly parted his lips and let his tongue dance with mine. His hands skimmed the length of my body, resting on my hips, tilted them to match his own.
His hands slid under my butt, and he ground down. I hummed pleasantly around his tongue and felt a responding purr building in his chest. He was so cool to the touch. I expected him to be cold, hard, but this was such a soothing contrast to the heat of my own body. I flexed under him, just for the pleasure of feeling his skin slide against mine. He groaned and held me still with a quick grip of my hips.
His mouth broke away from mine. “You really are the most interesting girl, did you realize?”
I nodded. “I defy you to find anyone more interesting than me.”
He grinned again and traced my uninjured fingers over his cheeks to his lips. He pressed the tip of one between his teeth and gently bit down, drawing a bit of blood. It seeped into his mouth, and I could feel every bump of his sandpaper tongue against the pad of my digit. With each draw against the wound, a strange pulsing energy edged up from between my thighs. I moaned, throwing my head back and grinding my hips up against him. The pulsing became a rolling riptide, dragging me over the edge—
Too much, too much, too much! my brain screamed at me.
What was I doing? What the hell was I thinking? Although we were on a break, so to speak, I was still technically involved with Jason. And if I got mad at him for cheating on me “emotionally” with Lisa, I couldn’t in good conscience get all grindy with Collin.
Hell, what I was doing was worse. Jason seemed to have genuine feelings for Lisa. All I had for Collin were neuron-frying lust and the tender, green beginnings of mutual respect. Maybe this was some sort of Stockholm syndrome? I was stuck in increasingly bizarre situations with Collin, so I bonded to him emotionally? Maybe it was my brain’s way of preventing a total psychological break.
Then again, considering that it was Collin who kissed me, maybe he was having the break. What was he thinking? The man who sneered at my “limitations” twenty-four hours ago couldn’t be the same guy who pinned me to the floor and kissed the hell out of me. Why was he doing this? Did he really like me, or did my employment stories make him feel sorry for me? Was this a pity kiss?
“I think I’ll take that shower now,” I whispered, easing my fingers away from his mouth.
He frowned, looking me over. “Do you have glass in your hair?”
“No, but we’ve had contact with the carpet.” I gave an exaggerated shiver.
He smiled again and helped me to my feet. I scampered across the stained, glittering rug and locked myself in the cramped little bathroom. It still smelled like the herbal shampoo he used. It seemed so strange, after spending the last day at such a distance, to share a relatively intimate space. It was downright domestic, his Fang-Brite Mouthwash on the counter next to my toothbrush. My little bottles of toiletries in the shower next to his. I shook off these pointless musings and doused my head.
The cooling shower helped me focus my thoughts. Kissing Collin, as wonderful as it had been, was a huge mistake. Nothing good could come of it. Leaving off the complications to my already conscience-boggling relationship with Jason and the potential professional ass whipping I would take if Iris found out, it wasn’t as if Mr. Sixteen-Page Contract Rider would want anything but a one-night stand with me. And that would most likely be for the sake of bragging rights with his fellow uptight ancients: “You wouldn’t believe the walk on the wild side I took with this spazzy little human who couldn’t walk across a parking lot unscathed.”
I shampooed aggressively, which is always a mistake. I ended up with dried-out hair and an empty bottle of shampoo. I combed through my wet tangle of hair, carefully moisturizing and applying a raspberry-scented lotion.
I would put a stop to this, even if it meant a return to cranky, stern Mr. Sutherland. I would be sensible, for once in my life. I would be professional, discreet. I would stop letting the client suck on my fingers.
I slipped back into the shorts and tank, combing through my wet hair and brushing my teeth far more vigorously than I usually did. Curious, I lifted the top of the Fang-Brite Mouthwash, suddenly very self-conscious about the state of my breath. I sniffed. It smelled just like any market-brand mouthwash. I took a little swig … and immediately coughed it right into the sink.
It was like minty-fresh battery acid! I cupped my hand under the faucet, spooning it into my mouth and rinsing thoroughly. I checked the mirror to make sure my teeth hadn’t melted away. They were present … and a little whiter. Clearly, vampire teeth were made of stronger stuff than mine.
Note to self: Vampire products are for vampires only.
I straightened the towels, knowing that leaving them askew would drive Collin nuts, and decluttered the bathroom before emerging. He was standing right outside the door, making me yelp in surprise and nearly slip on the wet tile. His hand shot out and caught me before I landed on my butt.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. I glanced down at the worn brown leather journal in his hand. My worn brown leather journal. He was looking through my photos again. “What is it with you and that journal? Has it occurred to you that you should ask before you go rifling through someone’s stuff?”
“It’s intriguing,” he said, holding the book open to a page showing a picture of the sunrise over the Atlantic City Boardwalk. I remembered waiting for that shot, holding my breath until the exact moment the sun rose over the water and set it on fire with flickers of gold and red. “Did you take all of the photos yourself?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the whirring and clicking I heard at the diner. Did you take my picture when my eyes were closed?”
I smirked a little and notched my chin up a bit. “Maybe.”
“You’re very good, a keen eye for dramatic composition. I haven’t seen the sunrise in more than a century, but I feel as if I’m there. I can feel the sun on my face … without the sensation of my flesh bursting into flame.”
“That’s a plus,” I agreed. I pushed past him, taking my journal with me, only to find that he had cleared out the glass-littered bedspread, propped up the bent bed leg, and put the room to rights. “Thanks for fixing the bed.”
“I called the front desk. The clerk was more than willing to let me vacuum up the mes
s myself. Unfortunately, the party upstairs seems to be a stag night for the manager’s cousin. So the noise levels won’t be lowering anytime soon. Also, the clerk mentioned something about beggars can’t be choosers? Do you know what that means?”
“No.” I shook my head, shrugging. “The noise is OK, actually. It reminds me of when I lived in Detroit, above this noodle shop and karaoke bar. Awesome mai fun. Baaaad impersonations of Britney Spears.”
I slid into the bed and tried not to think about the relative cleanliness of the sheets. Collin settled into his chair and propped his feet on the bed.
“How did you know about the light fixture?”
He pursed his lips as he turned the page of his book. “It’s not important.”
“Right,” I muttered. Unreasonably irritated by this response, I rolled away from him and pulled the blankets up to my chin. “Good night, Collin.”
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of exhaustion drag me into soft, dark near-unconsciousness.
“I see glimpses.”
My eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. I propped myself up on my elbows, blinking at him. “I’m sorry?”
“I see glimpses of the future. That’s what I meant earlier by ‘it worked.’ It’s been days since it’s worked properly. I finally got a quick impression, and it was you, getting pelted with broken glass from the broken fixture. I believe it was because you were finally still, not able to make plans or decisions.”
“One, that’s kind of a dickish thing to say. And two, thank you for saving me from a face full of broken glass.”
“You’re very welcome. I quite like your face. I would like it to remain intact.”
Lord help me, I actually blushed and struggled for something to say. All I could come up with was, “So you’re psychic?”
“Only vaguely, but over time, I’ve seen the signs of events and can interpret a larger picture. After a while, all of the possible scenarios seem repetitive.”
“And that’s how you knew to throw the coffee out the window earlier?”
He grinned. “No, you were eyeing that cup and my face in a way that could only mean injury for me.”