Beauty Bites

by Mary Hughes

  “Me.” He shook his head slowly. The back of his yellow head gleamed silver in the moonlight. “That’s what your associate said. The delightful Twyla Tafel.”

  He turned, clasping both his glass and mine—in one big hand.

  I swallowed a sudden flood of saliva.

  His ever-changing smile was now regretful. “I’m sorry you made this trip for nothing, Synnove.” Again that Scandinavian lilt made my tummy shimmer. “I have to say no.”

  “That’s what you said to Twyla. But why?”

  His smile tilted. “You’re direct, aren’t you? I’m not. I prefer to say no and leave it at that.”

  “I prefer to know the full story. Why?”

  “Persistent too.” His smile subtly altered, as if, for the first time, his real interest had been engaged. “All right, then. Your charming executive Ms. Tafel is not simply asking me to create an ad campaign for your fair city. She’s determined that I visit in person.”

  “There’s a reason for that.” I extended both hands in a gesture of appeal.

  I’d forgotten the coat. I had to scramble to grab it before it did the inevitable before-sex towel-drop.

  He raised an eyebrow. My cheeks heated. I half-shrugged and bobbed my head, a nonverbal I didn’t do that on purpose.

  His eyebrow lowered and he handed me my champagne flute, nodding as if he’d understood.

  Whoa. Twyla and her significant other did the silent communication thing, but I never had. It was scary and disturbing and frankly a bit exhilarating.

  I took a slug of champagne, regretting it immediately when my eyes started watering. Sec means dry; it’s also the sound of your epiglottis being sucked down your windpipe. I rasped, “Meiers Corners is not your usual Chicago bedroom community.” Another, more careful sip helped clear my throat. “We’re a small city with our own unique flavor.” I thought of our stick-straight streets, broom swept sidewalks, ruthlessly weeded gardens. “Beyond unique. Mr. Holiday, you need to visit, get a feel for us, to get the campaign right.”

  “Call me Ric, please. I’m sure your city is delightful. But it’s too far away.”

  “I drove it in seven hours. It’s a day trip, two at most. You don’t have time for a couple days?”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. His gaze slid down my body, heating as it went, caressing the length of my legs. A twinkle in his eyes turned it from ogling into appreciation. “Would you drive with me? Just the two of us?”

  Yikes. All that male alone with me in my little hybrid scared the crap out of me. His big body filling my car, me in that scrap of a red top, or worse yet, nude but for Twyla’s too-small bra…

  His lips curved into a smile so hotly ripe with promise that it went beyond sexy and shot into screaming orgasm territory.

  Stab me with a 20G needle. I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stuff his hot, eat-me smile…between my thighs… “Many people think the quad muscles raise the thigh but actually the iliopsoas are the prime movers, whereas the muscles which pull the legs apart are…” I groaned. Years of medical school discipline, and his mere smile reduced me to a babbling idiot. “Please, if you just listen to my arguments, I’m sure you’ll see why it’s in your best interests to accept Meiers Corners as a client.”

  “Tempting.” His eyes began to glow with a feral heat. He took a step closer.

  I clutched the coat tighter.

  “But no.” The glow cooled. “It really won’t work. I have too many trips scheduled already. You’ll see yourself out? Keep the coat and the camisole. You can mail them back if convenient.” He spun and stode off the terrace.

  “Wait!” I trotted after his broad shoulders into the study.

  The room was empty.

  I slowed. None of this had gone the way I’d expected, from the moment I’d whoosh-whooshed into Holiday’s store-footed building. I felt off-balance, like I’d been clumping downstairs and landed on a missing step.

  But I’d fought off-balance before and won. Both Mr. Miyagi and med school had taught me the value of persistence. Well, Mr. Miyagi also tried to teach me not to telegraph my kicks so much. But if Ric Holiday expected me to give up and leave, he didn’t know me as well as he thought.

  I found the only cloth chair in the whole man cave and sat.

  He’d said no. But he hadn’t said why. He’d smiled and twinkled and talked but he hadn’t told me anything, nothing real at any rate. Typical ad man.

  No, wait. He’d said one important thing, one real thing, about Twyla being determined that he visit in person.

  But what was the problem with that? As head of an international business he must travel all the time. Right?

  Maybe Twyla had come across something in her research that could help. I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called.

  She answered on the fifth ring, out of breath. “H…hello?”

  Pump me full of Novocain. She’d been doing it again with her Happily-For-Now fella, Nikos. Nikos was big and Greek, a human Mount Olympus.

  Maybe a little more than human.

  Sometimes Nikos’s eyes turned a funky shade of brown. Like red. And sometimes his canines sprouted a mite too long. And he and Twyla giggled a bit too much about neckties when they thought they were alone. Okay, that probably wasn’t supernatural.

  Upshot was, I suspected Nikos was a vampire.

  Yes, I know vampires don’t exist. And I behave like they don’t—pending independent confirmation. Call it waiting for a second opinion.

  Besides, Nikos doted on Twyla and she was happy. That’s what counts, right? I greeted her with, “I need help.”

  “Synnove? Aren’t you supposed to be at Holiday’s party? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I made it to the party. But…” I realized her voice had echoed, electronically, like she was going through lots of relays. “Where are you?”

  “Me? Oh, the cabin.”

  “What cabin?”

  “Chipmunk Lake. Wisconsin north woods? I told you Julian is thinking of buying a summer vacation spot for his househol…I mean his townhouse residents. Nikos and I are trying it out.”

  Julian Emerson owned the set of townhouses where Twyla and Nikos lived. But it was little stutters like “househol…” that made me think there was more to the story than that. “Where are you in relation to Minneapolis?”

  “By car? A little over an hour away.”

  “What? Why in the name of my pert gluteus maximi did you send me, if you were going to be so close?” Although now I understood why she’d been in such a hurry to take off after getting me ready for the party.

  “It’s a vacation.” Twyla’s tone was defensive. “My first since New Year’s, which didn’t turn out to be a vacation at all.”

  “Hon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grouch at you. I’m happy you’re getting a break. I’m a little touchy because I have a situation here. Holiday said no, which we figured. Didn’t say why, but he did leak one thing—”

  “What? You asked him already? Synnove, it’s only ten o’clock. You must have just gotten there.”

  “So?”

  “For heaven’s sake, it’s a party. You were supposed to connect with him first. Relax a bit, socialize. That’s why we picked the party. Dressed you up.”

  I peeked under Holiday’s coat at my torn blouse. “Yeah, that last part didn’t work so well.”

  “Knowing you, I won’t ask.” Twyla sighed. “So you struck out. We all did, no shame in it. We’ll find a way. Okay, if you haven’t taken a motel room for the night, why don’t you head over here? Turns out this cabin has three bedrooms. The big guy and I are only sharing it with Bo and Elena.”

  “I haven’t given up yet. The sticking point is him coming to Meiers Corners in person. Any ideas why?”

  “Hmm. Not offhand. I’ll look into it.” Twyla paused, her silence exposing suspicious smacking sounds. “Um, first chance I get.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, before you get too distracted, answer me one more question. Do we abso
lutely need Holiday? Can’t we ask another ad agency?”

  The smacking stopped. Nikos’s dark growl sounded in the background.

  “I know, lover.” To me, Twyla said, “Unfortunately, it has to be Holiday. He’s, um, the best.”

  Um, the best. Like the whole glinting canines and stuttered “househol…”, there was more.

  Like maybe Ric was a vampire too.

  I smacked my forehead. Not having that thought. I was a med student. I’d seen my share of dead people and none of them had risen at the stroke of midnight. Until I got that independent proof, I was not filling my world with vampires. Repeat after me, Synnove. There is no such thing.

  The door’s click brought my head around.

  No such thing as a…

  An impossibly svelte, exotically beautiful woman in black eye shadow and blood red lipstick glided into the study, her clinging gown the exact blue-black of her hip-length hair.

  …vampire.

  Chapter Three

  “I don’t see why you had to zap my guards, darling,” Vampersella said. “They wouldn’t have hurt anyone. Much.”

  Ric glided into the study after the woman. Seated as I was, he didn’t see me right away. He turned to close the door with a decisive click. “I told you when you called not to mess with us, Camille. We’re protected. Your goons got what they deserved. Now, I’ve honored your pax and let you in. What do you…” His head tipped to the side as if sensing something. As if sensing me.

  He turned from the door, color flagging his cheeks. “Excuse me, Synnove. I wasn’t aware you were still recuperating.”

  I said to Twyla, “Call you back,” and stowed my phone.

  The woman, if she was one, glided between Ric and me and put red-nailed hands flat on his gray lapels. “Yes, yes, darling, you can have fun with her later. Right now you need to pay attention to me.”

  From behind, the plunge of Camille’s dress revealed back cleavage too. As I stared at the shadow—was that blusher along the curves?—it all came together in my head, Ric’s red cheeks, him with an impossibly sexy female in the study he thought was deserted. He’d brought her here for a tête-à-tête.

  Whoops. My own cheeks heated and I rose to leave.

  Ric glanced at me over Camille’s head. She was tall, maybe my height, but he was so much taller that his eyes met mine. Something in their blue depths said he’d explain if I would just wait.

  Maybe I imagined it. Only married people talked with their eyes, or, like Twyla and Nikos, those who were married but didn’t admit it to themselves.

  But I still had business with him, so I sat down.

  “Stop looking at her, darling. That’s not very flattering. Look at me.” Camille slid her palms onto his cheeks and turned his face toward her.

  His eyes clung to mine a moment longer, then shifted down. “What do you want?”

  “To make you a very happy man.” She clamped hands on his hips and ground herself against his slacks.

  I popped to my feet again. I had business with Holiday but I didn’t have to sit here while he did his business. Or got the business.

  His gaze flicked back to me. Surprisingly, especially having seen the embers glow, they were stone cold, almost gray. “Not interested, Camille.” He spoke to her but it seemed his words were for me.

  Slowly, I sat back down.

  “Oh, pooh.” She backed off. “We both know it would be good. Why not mix business with pleasure?”

  “It makes for poor business and worse pleasure. You’re trying my patience. What do you want?”

  She sauntered away from him, toward the wet bar in the corner, cutting me a glance on the way. “I’d almost think you were Alliance, darling. They’re all enamored of their little human whores—”

  “Watch it.” His tone was flat, dangerous.

  She twirled, giving him a quick smirk. “Their little playthings.” Completing the spin she leaned over the bar and helped herself to a glass, poured amber liquid from a crystal decanter then took a delicate sniff. “Nothing but the best for you. I like.” With a satisfied smile she sipped.

  “I can afford a few luxuries. You’ve taken what patience I had. I know you’re Nosferatu’s lieut—” He glanced at me. “VP. Cut the crap. What does he want?”

  The fine hairs rose on the back of my neck. Those significant pauses, the careful word choices. The strange words, cut off, like household and lieutenant.

  This wasn’t my independent v-guy confirmation, but to paraphrase Ian Fleming’s character Auric Goldfinger, Twyla and Nikos were happenstance, Ric and Camille were coincidence. We were getting close to enemy action.

  “Not simply what Nosferatu wants, darling.” Camille smiled at Ric over her glass. “I’m an independent businesswoman. It just so happens I have my own wants.” She licked slowly around the glass’s rim. It would have been sensuous if not for the snake-like flicking of her tongue.

  Ric’s broad shoulders twitched. “If you want my advertising expertise, I’ll save you some time. The answer is no.”

  “But darling, you haven’t heard my offer.” Her tongue retreated to caress her full scarlet lips.

  He crossed his arms. “You haven’t delivered it.”

  “Well, let me fix that.” She set the glass down and sauntered back to him. From my perspective I saw red-nailed hands digging into his hair, prelude to an act I didn’t want to see. I jumped up, this time determined to leave.

  Ric threw an exasperated glance over his shoulder at me. “Synnove.” His voice was richer than usual. It echoed in my head. “Sit down.”

  My knees buckled at the command. Vampire mind control? Not happening. Gathering my willpower I shook the compulsion away, and straightened. “No.”

  He whipped fully around, surprise clear on his face. Camille peeked around him, her own pencil-slim brows high.

  “She’s immune?” She started to laugh. “Not another one! Where do you Alliance boys find these little treats?”

  “I’m not Alliance.” Ric ran an agitated hand through his hair. The mussing only made him appear more boyish, more sweetly desirable. In a softer tone he said, “Synnove, I don’t want you to leave before I’ve had a chance to explain.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “Please? Just give me a few moments.”

  Wow, a “please”. I got the feeling Ric Holiday didn’t say that word very often. Besides, I wanted to hear her offer too. I let myself be mollified and sat.

  “Good girl.” Camille smirked.

  “Camille.” Ric took her by the arms and physically turned her attention from me. “Leave Synnove alone.” He sounded tired.

  She snuggled into him, fusing like iron-on tape. “I will, if you work up a campaign for my amazing new business.” She puckered.

  “Last time, Camille. What business?”

  She stepped back with a pout. Seeing me watching, she turned it instantly into a brilliant smile. “Picture this.” She swept her hands in a “wow” gesture. “High stakes gambling. Glittering showgirls. Anything and everything seductive and electrifying, 24/7.”

  “You want me to promote a new casino in Las Vegas?”

  “Not just a casino, and not Vegas. I want you to promote a whole city.”

  “I see.” His doubtful tone made it clear he didn’t see at all. Neither did I.

  “The New Vegas.” She painted the air with a broad sweep of the hand. “The Vegas of the Midwest. The new den of exotic pleasures. Ta-da!” Her grin turned sharp, almost fanged. “Meiers Corners.”

  I blinked. She was proposing to market my hometown, all that was traditional oom-pa-pah, jolly gemütlichkeit and wholesome fun, as gambling, glitter and girls-girls-girls? It was the polar opposite of what Twyla wanted. Picturesque becomes Burlesque. Stark incredulity bubbled up inside me with reason-choking adrenaline, and I opened my mouth to blurt Please don’t do that.

  A switch clicked in my brain. Emotion cut off. I was a doctor. I could handle anything. Or, as my sister
Alexis put it, there was Miller Time and there was Crisis Time.

  Problem: Camille wanted Ric to kill the spirit of Meiers Corners. Solution: Block Ric from taking her offer. Problem: Patients with bad habits actively resisted good advice. Blocking Ric might only force him to her side. Solution: Motivate Ric to my side instead. Problem: How? Solution: My nipples tingled as my breasts raised a suggestion or two.

  Fuck. Somehow Ric Holiday derailed even doctor mode.

  “Come with me to Meiers Corners, darling.” Camille’s lush red lips were only inches from Ric’s. “We’ll remake it together.”

  He stiffened. “No way in hell.”

  “Pooh. Don’t say no yet.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders—and a leg around his hips, clinging like CD plastic. “Let me show you the benefits.” Then she stepped back, reached behind her neck and tugged. Her gown slithered to the floor—hell.

  She wasn’t wearing a stitch underneath.

  I slapped a hand over my eyes, but it was burned into my brain. Full, high breasts tipped with rouged nipples. Flat belly, vertical navel pierced with a glittering gold ring. Adorning her mound was a single black curl tied with a tiny pink ribbon. Red lips glistened, not the ones under her nose.

  She was most men’s wet dream. When Holiday made a choked noise, I leaped to my feet. I did not want to be here when all his sizzling sexuality burst into flames for her.

  He took two steps to my chair and grabbed me instead.

  “Wha—?”

  His mouth, landing on mine, cut me off. His hand tangled in my hair and his lips started moving, and I was suddenly immersed in male heat and gliding pressure.

  It occurred to me in the first millisecond that he was doing it for show, still for her. But then he sighed and his tongue coaxed my lips open, and my heart started thudding in excitement and I forgot everything but the scent of him, the heat of him.

  And the taste of him. As he deepened the kiss, it hit me in layers, like expensive wine. Fresh. Spicy. Male. And, at the edge, a darker, more complex note of danger.

  His hands opened on my back in a firm caress. I melted into his embrace. In the depths of his arms it was even hotter.