Samson's Lovely Mortal

by Tina Folsom

  What the fuck?

  What had gotten into her? She’d kissed him back, she’d responded to him. There was no reason for her sudden outburst. And besides, Ricky had said she did extras. As he stared at her in disbelief, she glared at him furiously, and as if that wasn’t enough, she slapped him right across the cheek.

  Bam!

  Stifled laughter behind him made him spin around in record speed. There they were: all his friends, watching him get hit by a woman. This would go down in the history books, the night Samson got slapped by a human female. What else was planned for his utter humiliation?

  “What the hell are you doing, Samson?” Ricky asked.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m having fun with the stripper you got me for my birthday.” Since when was Ricky all prim and proper? After all, this was his idiotic idea.

  “Stripper?” the woman yelled. “I’m not a stripper!”

  Ricky shook his head, and the guys behind him couldn’t suppress their stupid grins like they were a bunch of college kids and not full-grown vampires.

  “Are you blind, man? This is the stripper.” Ricky tilted his head to the woman in the short nurse’s uniform and garter belt who stood amongst his friends. Samson’s eyes ping-ponged between the nurse and the damsel in distress, then finally settled on Ricky. The truth was written on the redheaded vampire’s shocked face.

  “That” —Ricky pointed at the furious woman next to Samson—“is a seriously pissed off lady, to whom you owe a huge apology. I’d start groveling right now.”

  Good advice. Samson winced inwardly.

  “Happy Birthday,” Amaury, his oldest friend, said. If he was trying to diffuse the situation, he’d have to work harder at it, because it sure wasn’t working.

  “And congratulations,” Thomas added, grinning, but he wasn’t congratulating him on his birthday. His eyes were fixed on Samson’s crotch. Nothing could escape Thomas’ keen eyes, ever, especially when it came to a male body. Samson understood immediately, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. Eventually he’d have to face the woman he’d kissed so passionately, and it wasn’t something he felt comfortable with. Especially not with the raging hard-on bulging under his slacks. A hard-on which did not want to go down, not as long as he had her taste on his tongue.

  She brushed past him to get out of the room. He couldn’t just let her leave. He owed her more than an apology. She had healed what his shrink hadn’t been able to fix even after many months of weekly sessions. He had to do something, anything.

  “Miss.”

  She continued walking as if she hadn’t heard him. The guys parted to let her through.

  “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought you were the … I’m sorry. You must think I’m a savage. Please, Miss, let me offer you some dry clothes, something to warm you up. I’ll have my chauffeur drive you home.”

  She stopped and hesitated at the door.

  “Please.” He didn’t care that his friends were watching him beg. He would deal with them later. Strangely, all he now wanted was for her not to be mad at him. He didn’t understand why he even cared; after all, she was only a human. Finally, her shoulders appeared to drop as if the tension in them released.

  Delilah turned and looked at him. She knew it was still raining outside, and the thought of dry clothes and somebody driving her home was tempting, especially since she wasn’t quite sure if she would even find her way back to the apartment. Besides, the thug could still be lurking outside somewhere, and then she wouldn’t be any better off than before.

  Now that he was looking at her with his puppy-dog eyes, he looked warm and kind. He hadn’t looked like that only minutes ago. She had felt as if she had been his prey. He’d looked like a hunter. His kiss had been experienced, hungry, hot. And unfortunately, exactly the way she liked it, which was why she hadn’t been able to resist him and finally kissed him back.

  Delilah had felt his body pressed against hers, his hands touching her intimately. He had aroused her. She assumed it was merely a reflex her body produced, but deep down she knew that no reflex in the world could make her open up to a man who attacked her unless she wanted him.

  During his kiss she’d felt flames of hot fire shoot through her as if her blood had started to boil. Nobody had ever kissed her like that. None of the guys she’d dated had come even close to making her body melt like it did under his touch.

  But this wasn’t right. He’d just attacked her like a wild beast, because he thought she was some cheap stripper. There was no doubt in her mind as to his intentions. His erection was proof positive that had she not stopped him, he would have had her right there in the living room. It was not her idea of romance, no matter how long she hadn’t had sex.

  She glanced at the woman in the nurse’s uniform. Disgusting! Her boobs looked fake, and so did just about everything else about her. She looked cheap, and Delilah was sure the woman wasn’t just a stripper, but probably also a hooker. She could just about imagine what the tramp was hired to do.

  So he had some crazy friends who gave him an even crazier birthday present. Unfortunately he had tried to unwrap the wrong present. Could she really be mistaken for a stripper that easily, or did the guy need glasses? Delilah looked down at herself and realized only now that her white blouse was completely soaked through, making it transparent, and her latest barely there Victoria’s Secret acquisition shone through. She secretly cursed her love for black underwear. No wonder he thought she was a stripper. Maybe this was all much more innocent than she’d initially thought.

  “Dry clothes you said?” she finally asked him. Despite the warmth in the house, she felt cold and knew her nipples were uncomfortably hard, almost aching.

  The beginning of a soft smile twisted the corners of his mouth upwards, and he nodded. “I can get you a sweater and some sweatpants. You can dry off in the bathroom.” He looked almost like a schoolboy now. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She followed him with her eyes as he stalked up the stairs, strong legs taking two steps at a time, his tight backside shifting under the fabric. All muscle, no fat.

  “I’m Ricky,” one of his friends introduced himself. “Sorry; I guess it was all my fault. I told Samson to expect a stripper. He’s normally a real gentleman. Please don’t hold this, uh, occurrence against him.” He was tall and good looking, with a boyish face of freckles and a full head of red hair. She detected a hint of an accent in his speech. Irish maybe?

  “Absolutely,” the next one chimed in. “I’m Amaury.”

  Amore? Like Italian for “love”?

  What an odd name for a man. He stretched out his hand. She hesitated, but shook it nevertheless. His handshake was firm. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately. Please forgive him.” He was a large, burly kind of guy with dark hair reaching to his shoulders. But he wasn’t a hippie. He seemed well-groomed, and his long hair suggested he wasn’t of this era. Rather he looked like he belonged in a historic novel, riding a horse to save his favorite lady. His blue eyes were piercing, his smile disarming as it spread from his lips to light up his entire face.

  Each of his friends tried to make excuses for him. They seemed to be close. A man who had decent friends like that couldn’t be all bad. Of course, Charles Manson probably had friends too at some point, and it didn’t make him a good guy. Same went for Jack the Ripper. The Zodiac Killer came to mind. And her imagination was galloping off again.

  “He’s really a great guy,” another one professed. “Thomas. Nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

  Ma’am? Now that was formal.

  His warm smile was in complete contrast to his attire: Thomas was dressed entirely in leather, his motorcycle helmet clenched under one arm.

  A fourth guy was in the back. He seemed a little shy and just nodded at her. He was dressed in the same biker outfit as Thomas.

  “That’s Milo,” Thomas introduced him and put his arm possessively around his shoulders. The presence of a couple of gay gu
ys made her feel a little safer. How bad could things get if there was a gay couple in the room? At least she got the feeling that there’d be two guys who wouldn’t hit on her and would potentially protect her.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Delilah.” She shifted from one foot onto the other, feeling self-conscious about the fact that the men could see her bra. Her eyes looked for a safe place to pin her stare.

  “Delilah? As in Samson and Delilah?” Ricky asked with a smirk on his face.

  The guys chuckled. She caught how Amaury jabbed Ricky in the ribs with his elbow, apparently trying to shut him up.

  “Yes, it’s Delilah.” What had one of the guys called her rescuer after she’d slapped him? Had she caught the name correctly? Could his name really be Samson?

  “That’s a nice name.” Amaury’s compliment sounded as if he wanted to fill the uncomfortable silence with something, anything.

  “Samson, there you are,” Thomas suddenly said, looking toward the stairs.

  Delilah lifted her gaze and saw Samson walking down the steps. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  She shouldn’t be gawking, but she couldn’t stop herself even if her life depended on it. He was tall, well over six feet, and made a very impressive figure in his black pants and figure-hugging gray turtleneck sweater. His hips were slender, his shoulders wide, and he looked like he was no stranger to a gym. His dark hair was longer than was the fashion; it gave him timeless beauty. His hazel eyes demanded her full attention.

  He glided down the stairs as if he owned the world, exuding a sense of confidence more strongly than anyone she’d ever encountered. With his every step, she felt drawn in by him even more, as if the closer he came, the less able she was to throw off the lines he was tossing out to reel her in. Yet, he was silent, not saying a single word as he approached.

  Samson. The name suited him. This deadly sexy man had kissed her? What had she been thinking, pushing him away? Was she losing her mind? Obviously. There was no other explanation for it now. She knew what those lips could do to her, what those hands had awakened.

  Just remembering those strong thighs pressed against her made her body temperature spike a few degrees. A few more seconds and she’d have a fever that was going to require medical attention. Or his attention. Preferably his attention, since a doctor could probably not help her with what she had: a severe attack of lust.

  He stopped right in front of her, his gaze meeting hers. Delilah suddenly realized that she had been staring at him the entire time he’d made his way down the stairs. She was sure he had watched her examine him. Unable to tear herself away from him, she inhaled his purely masculine scent.

  He handed her a stack of clothes, his hand accidentally touching hers as he did so, creating a spark of electricity in her.

  “There is a guest bathroom at the end of the hall. Fresh towels are in the linen closet,” he said, his voice soft and gentle.

  “Thank you.” Delilah felt her voice tremble, probably making her sound like a star-struck teenager.

  As she walked down the hall to find the bathroom, she heard the men whisper, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She glanced back before she entered the bathroom and found Samson looking at her. Those hazel-colored eyes had followed her every move.

  Samson turned back to his friends when he saw her close the door behind her.

  “You guys are such assholes sometimes. I don’t know why I keep hanging out with you,” Samson accused them before snatching his cell phone from the table. He speed dialed.

  “It’s ‘cause you don’t have any other friends.” As so often, Ricky had to state the obvious.

  His call was answered instantly.

  “Carl, please bring the car ‘round in fifteen minutes.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He disconnected the call and turned back to the gang.

  “So, looks like things are looking up,” Thomas remarked pointedly, grinning from ear to ear.

  “She’s human, you idiots!” Samson cursed under his breath, but loud enough for the gang to hear.

  And the hottest thing I’ve ever touched.

  “Well, we didn’t send her here.” Ricky threw up his arms in defense. “So, who is she?”

  “How the hell should I know? She almost broke my door down, asking for help.”

  “I can play that, if that’s what turns you on.” Samson doubted the stripper’s claim and ignored her.

  “Okay, everybody to the kitchen, and leave me alone with her for a few minutes.”

  “With me?” the stripper purred.

  No chance. Samson frowned. “No, with the human woman, damn it.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  He watched them as they disappeared through the dining room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. Amaury’s palm had already connected with the woman’s ass. Samson shook his head. His friend hadn’t met a woman yet he didn’t like.

  If he left the guys alone for too long, they would probably drink him out of house and home. He could see his blood supplies dwindling by the minute.

  Samson went to the wet bar and poured two glasses of brandy. He had gotten used to the taste of brandy and liked the warming feeling it caused in his chest when he tossed back a shot. Apart from that, it would pass through his system without effect. Being able to deal with human drinks was helpful whenever he met with humans in social situations.

  Vampires mingled freely with their human counterparts who were oblivious to them being different. Some people were merely considered more eccentric than others. San Francisco was the perfect place for their kind. Practically everybody was a little weird, and nobody really gave a damn.

  Vampire high society in San Francisco operated very much in the same way as the human high society of the city did. There were balls, the opera season, the symphony, gallery openings, ballet performances, recitals, and premieres of plays to be attended. Everybody who was somebody wanted to be seen.

  Tonight Samson had something to celebrate. His hydraulics were working again; in fact, even better than before. His cock had been as hard as granite when he’d pressed his body against hers and had kissed her. How it had happened, he didn’t know and didn’t care, but at least he knew he was back. Damn, it felt good!

  Samson turned to the door when he heard her steps. She wore one of his sweatshirts and sweatpants. Both were too large for her, but she had turned the sleeves over several times to make them fit. Damn, she looked cute. She had towel dried her long dark hair.

  “Please, come in. Sit here. Warm yourself.”

  She inched forward into the room, her movements hesitant, her eyes clearly watching him to determine if it was safe to approach. “Thank you.”

  “Brandy?”

  He handed her one of the glasses he had poured earlier. She reached out. Samson brushed her fingers with his when she took the glass from him. Cold. She sat down on the armchair closest to the fire and took a sip from her glass.

  “Apologies; I haven’t introduced myself to you. I’m Samson Woodford.”

  She looked up at him, and he realized that he was still standing. He took a seat opposite her to be eyelevel with her.

  “Delilah, Delilah Sheridan.”

  Delilah? A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. A beautiful human woman.

  Off limits.

  Would she be his undoing just as the biblical Delilah had been his namesake’s downfall? Yet another good reason not to touch her again.

  “I must apologize. I’ve been rude, and it’s inexcusable.”

  Inexcusable, yes, but arousing nevertheless. He wanted to feel it again: the heat, the arousal, her body. Even now, dressed in shapeless clothes several sizes too large for her, she looked more tempting than any female vamp he’d ever set eyes on. Her scent teased his senses, threatening to overpower his good manners once more.

  “It was a misunderstanding. Your friends explained.”

  She seemed to be warming up. Her cheeks looked rosie
r now, probably from the warmth of the fire and the brandy she was sipping. If he could only lick the droplets of brandy off her lips, maybe his body would be appeased.

  “How’s your foot? I’m so sorry.”

  “It’ll be fine. Not to worry.”

  If you kiss it and make it better.

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Goes without saying. Again, I’m truly sorry for having acted like a complete jerk.” Samson ran his hand through his hair. He recognized his gesture for what it was: indicating his nervousness, when he should have no reason to feel such a strange emotion.

  “Where are your friends?”

  Was she afraid of being alone with him? He had obviously scared her. He couldn’t blame her. Being alone with the man who’d attacked her, kissed her passionately and ground his erection against her, could not be a situation inspiring confidence. Could she see that his cock started twitching again, readying itself for her? Samson shifted in his chair and crossed his legs.

  “I’ve sent them to the kitchen to get the party started. I assure you, they will hear you if you feel the need to call for help. There’s not one among them who wouldn’t come running to help a woman in need of protection.”

  “Oh.” Her surprised look gave him pause, as did the sudden blush on her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t feel threatened after all. “I’m sorry I interrupted your birthday party. I should be going.”

  She made a move to get up, but he stopped her. “I’ve called my driver. He’ll be here in a few minutes to take you home.”

  Delilah made a feeble attempt at rejecting his offer. “That’s really not necessary. I can take a taxi.”

  “Please, allow me. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve put you through.”

  She gave him a gorgeous smile. “Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

  “Tell me what happened out there.” He tilted his head toward the window, looking out at the darkness.

  She swallowed hard. “Some guy came after me in an alley. I ran and slipped, and he grabbed me. And then I ran, and he followed me. He was so close behind me when you opened the door.”