Billionaires and Bodybags: Forbidden Fangs, Book 1

by Keira Blackwood

  “See you at sunset?” he asked.

  “It’s a date.” I didn’t mean to say that. I turned and gave him a disinterested expression. “A work, bodyguarding appointment.”

  “No take-backs.”

  He waggled his brows at me. And my insides melted in the most delicious way.

  I watched him go, suppressing the desire to ask him to stay and sleep with me. I knew damned well that was a recipe for no sleep at all. And the cranky thing wasn’t just a line. It was true. The last thing I needed was to lose my cool and bite some prick who pissed me off.

  I’d save the biting and my fantasies for later, for Grayson, because apparently we were throwing all of our rules out the window.

  I woke the same way I often did, to hot fish breath on my face and a hairy paw batting at my eyebrow ring. I squinted my eyes shut, moaned, and rolled over.

  His Lordship King Snugglebumpkins made a growling purr that meant I was either about to get pounced on or licked. I didn’t know how his breath always ended up smelling like rotting tuna, because he wouldn’t even eat fish. Well, at least not at home. Maybe he only liked it when it was rancid.

  He jumped up on my shoulder, his giant mass awkwardly balancing on my uneven arm. Then he started knitting.

  Cat claws were sharp. His Lordship’s claws were weapons.

  “I’m up,” I told him, rolling onto my stomach. “I get it. It’s time to eat.”

  He licked my ear with his wet sandpaper tongue before chomping down.

  I screamed and swatted at him, but somehow the sneaky bastard saw it coming and casually watched me flail from safely across the room. He flicked his bushy tail back and forth, and twitched his tattered ear with a look of satisfaction.

  Before my first client of the day, there was time to shower and pick up breakfast for His Lordship. The longer I spent with my furry companion, the surer I became that cats were even better at manipulating people than I was.

  At the doughnut truck, Cordelia asked about the spells she’d set up, and I assured her all was well. It was true now, even if not last night. And when I returned to the shop, His Lordship was sitting on my desk waiting for me.

  “Mrrow?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I told him. “I have retrieved your breakfast, your highness.”

  He purred his pleased response, and I handed him the strawberry doughnut. He clamped his fangs around the iced pastry and ran away. For such a large animal, he was especially skilled in the art of disappearance. When cats took over the world, His Lordship would lead the charge.

  Not long after, Joe arrived.

  The sprawling grin across his face said it all. He was pleased with my work.

  “I could kiss you,” he said with a sparkle in his eye.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I told him. “Ready for pain?”

  “You know exactly what to say to a guy.” He laughed and pulled off his shirt.

  His skin was already perfectly healed, a benefit of his shifter nature. I inspected my work, and the ink held well, a risk of his supernatural nature. Sometimes the body healed too well.

  “Looks good,” I told him. “What did your date think?”

  “That the tree was beautiful, and the quote was deep. I couldn’t believe it. You’re a miracle worker.”

  “Ha.”

  “Ha is right,” he said. “So today, just work some more of your magic, pretty please.”

  I smiled at him. It was always nice to have a pleasant client. Any career working with customers was a mixed bag. They should all be Joes, not Ryans, like that guy yesterday. My client-from-hell’s name really was Ryan. Now everyone like him would forever be a Ryan in my head.

  “Lie on your stomach,” I told Joe. “Let’s get started.”

  He did as I instructed. I grabbed the black, needing to add some more shading in before starting color.

  “Do you think you could put a bird in the tree?” he asked.

  “Any particular kind?”

  “I don’t think so. Her name’s Birdie.”

  I stared at his back hoping he could feel my look of disapproval. “Have we learned nothing from douchecanoe?” I asked. “Never use your skin to immortalize a woman you just met.”

  “Okay, Mom.” He snorted.

  I set up my tools and put my hand on his back by the base of the tree where I would start.

  “Wait,” he said. “You’re not going to write idiot on me, are you?”

  “It would be better than Birdie,” I told him, and then started without giving him a clear answer.

  “Marla?” His voice went up an octave. And then another. “Marla?”

  “Chill,” I told him with a consolatory clap on the shoulder. “I will never put something on your skin that I wouldn’t put on my own.”

  He let out a slow, relieved breath. And I got to work.

  Our three hours went by in a flash. I finished all of the black, and started some details in blue and green that would complement his skin tone.

  When we were done, I bandaged him up and ran his card. We set up our next session, and he went on his way, happy as a clam.

  As I cleaned up, I heard the door. “Forget something?” I called to Joe.

  There was no response at first, then a clearing of the throat. I grabbed a pen and turned slowly, my first thought always returning to my sire and the fact that he and his minions were coming for me. It wasn’t the best of weapons, but it was better than nothing in a tight spot. And I always had my charm and my fangs to fall back on.

  Of course it was still light out, if only for a little while longer, which meant whoever was here wasn’t a vampire.

  I walked slowly toward the door, searching for whoever was here, when I heard a scratching sound behind one of the chairs. I circled around slowly, keeping plenty of space between me and the intruder.

  A moment before I was going to pounce, and possibly stab him in the eye, a shaggy head of white-blond hair popped up from behind the chair. It was just the client from hell, Ryan Harris. He’d insulted me a number of times before we’d started our session a few weeks back, tried to slip his hand up my shirt while I’d worked on his sleeve, and called the credit card company to cancel his payment.

  The guy was a total Ryan.

  He’d dropped by yesterday to try to get me to finish the work, but we were way past any chance of that happening. I considered slipping my hand behind my back and hiding my weapon, but seeing who it was, he actually did deserve a pen in the eye.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” I asked.

  “I see you shaking, quaking for me.” His lips turned up in the creepiest of grins.

  I wasn’t shaking. “Get out.”

  “Here’s the thing,” He rose to his feet and slid his hand across the top of the seat while he stared at me, unblinking. “You stole something from me.”

  “That’s rich,” I said.

  “I had a bottle opener in my pocket, a keepsake. And you snatched it, for a remembrance perhaps? Or you wanted to give me a reason to come back?”

  “Get out now, or I will make you leave.”

  “Is that a promise?” He took a step closer, and then another.

  The smart move was to manipulate the bastard, but I really, really wanted to stab him with my pen. He lunged at me. I grabbed his shoulders, kneed him in the nuts, and then stabbed the pen into his hand. Damn, it felt good.

  He screamed and cried and called me names as he curled up on the floor.

  Now I had to do the whole manipulation thing. Too bad I had to flirt to make it work.

  I ran a finger across his jaw and gave him a coy smile, even though it made me want to barf. “Look at me, Ryan.”

  He cursed and clawed at my ankles. I took a step back and knelt beside him.

  “That’s right, not at my breasts, but right into my eyes,” I told him. “That’s a good boy.”

  When he met my gaze, the sneer fell from his face, and he lay still, pacified by the calm of my voice. I sh
ould have done this the first time before he screwed me over financially.

  “You didn’t come to Forbidden Fangs today,” I told him.

  “No, I didn’t come to Forbidden Fangs,” he repeated, like a good little asshole.

  “You spent the day reflecting on your behavior,” I said.

  “I do bad things.”

  “You’re going to try to right those wrongs, starting with calling the credit card company.”

  “What about Trish?”

  “Who is Trish?” I asked.

  “I do bad things to Trish.”

  Of course he did. “Whatever you’ve done, you’re going to try to make it right,” I told him. “Do it now.”

  He grunted his agreement and stood. Then he walked out the door without another word.

  It wasn’t the kind of story I usually told people. After a guy fell for me and I had a good meal, I’d tell him a tale of how he’d found joy. Sometimes that meant he’d believe he spent the night walking through the woods enjoying the feel of the moonlight on his face and following his dreams. Sometimes it meant he believed he had crazy sex with some gorgeous out-of-towner. Whatever floated his boat.

  But I didn’t drink at work, and even if I did, Ryan would taste sour. Assholes always did.

  The cat clock on the wall started wailing. I stared at it in surprise until remembering Cordelia’s alarm—she’d linked it to my clock. It sounded like a dying cat.

  Panic welled in my chest as I searched frantically for His Lordship. He was sleeping peacefully on my desk chair, which meant he hadn’t caused the alarm to go off.

  And then my phone rang.

  I pulled it out of my bra and answered, staring at the back door and expecting a horror-movie type phone call, where the killer is in the house.

  “Hello?” I asked, pen held up like a knife in my fist.

  “Marla.”

  It was Kelly’s voice. I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Hey, I have an alarm malfunction I have to deal with,” I told her. “Can I call you back in five?”

  “No. Do not go out,” she said. “Stay right where you are. A man close to you is going to die. Don’t save him.”

  “What?” No one was close to me except His Lordship. And Grayson.

  Here I was letting myself enjoy his company, his protection, and I was putting him in danger. I couldn’t do that. I had to send him away.

  “When?” I asked Kelly, but she’d already hung up.

  I curled up in a ball next to His Lordship, the magical alarm still going off. And I didn’t know what to do, because what I wanted to do was call Grayson.

  8

  Grayson

  “So, Daphne,” I said over an informal early dinner in the living room at the front of the B&B.

  She’d made me a meal because I’d come back here after guarding Marla. I’d had breakfast, and then slept through lunch. Daphne was a cheerful, accommodating host. This B&B could make bank for both of us. With my investment and the way she ran this place, the Forbidden Bed and Breakfast might become a tourist attraction on its own.

  “Yes?” she said. “Is the sandwich all right?”

  “It’s delicious. I just wanted to talk to you about your business, if you have a minute.”

  “A minute to talk about the thing I’m most passionate about after Declan?” She winked. “Yes, I have a minute. Hell, I have an hour.”

  I pressed my plate forward, finished, but when she reached to collect it, I waved her away. “You cooked, I can take care of my own dishes.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Yep.”

  A hawk swooped by outside, catching our attention before alighting in the branches of a tall tree.

  “So you wanted to talk?” Daphne said.

  “Yes. I was curious why you chose Forbidden, of all places, to open up a B&B. It’s a small town, and not much of a tourist destination.” I sipped my lemonade.

  “Oh, a couple of reasons. One, I wanted someplace quiet and out of the way. I like to hike and I like going to the lakes, and those are close by, but the lake and trails aren’t overcrowded. And two, I didn’t have a lot of money to start with, so when I saw what looked like a steal, I snatched it up. Sight unseen.”

  I nearly spit out my lemonade. “You didn’t check the place out before buying it?”

  “Nope.” She gave me a little smile. “I’m just a touch on the impulsive side, and besides, I have enough confidence to pull something like that off. I mean, look at the place now. And look at my life. It’s a beautiful B&B, and I found my mate, to boot.”

  “So you just had faith it would work?” I asked.

  “Totally.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d never had that kind of faith in a project without seeing it first, asking all the questions, looking at all the numbers. I was a strategist. I wanted to know everything that could possibly happen, so I could create a plan for the best possible outcome in the shortest amount of time.

  “Do you have more you want to do with the place?” I asked.

  “Oh, eventually. Some work outside. Also, I’m a serial decorator, and by the time one room is finished, I’m already looking at what I can do to fix up another.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “It means the style never gets stale.”

  “That’s what I tell Dec,” she said, “but he grumbles and growls about paint swatches.”

  Any other woman might sound annoyed, but she had sparkles in her eyes while she talked about him. I had a feeling she liked his grumbling and growling.

  I stood, picking up my dishes. There was half an hour before I was supposed to guard Marla, and I didn’t know how I was going to fill the time.

  Fuck it, I wanted to go to her now.

  “Thanks for the sandwich and the chat, Daphne,” I said, taking my dishes to the kitchen and sliding them into the dishwasher.

  “You’re welcome. Will you be back later this evening?”

  “Not tonight. I won’t be back until dawn again.”

  “Hmm,” she said with a smile. “You’re keeping vampire hours.”

  I grinned back. “Maybe I am.”

  Ten minutes later, I was standing outside Forbidden Fangs, and something didn’t feel right. I didn’t hesitate before yanking open the door and storming inside. If Marla was hurt, if something had happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. I should’ve been here. I should never have gone back to the B&B.

  The alarm was meowing like a dying animal.

  “Marla?” I called, unable to keep the panic from my voice. “Marla, where are you?”

  “I’m here,” she whispered. “But you need to get out of here, Grayson. I don’t want your help anymore.”

  I followed the sound of her voice to find her hunched under the front counter. She had on a pair of skinny jeans with rips in the knees, along with a flowered, long-sleeved button-up blouse. A mix of tough and professionally feminine, which worked well for Marla. However, the fear in her eyes made her look anything but tough right now.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I no longer need a bodyguard, okay?”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Really?” I said, crouching next to her. “Is your sire dead? Is the guy he sent gone?”

  She shook her head.

  I made a conscious effort to relax my jaw. “Wait right there, I’m going to check the perimeter.”

  “Grayson,” she said, “don’t—”

  But I opened the back door. Everything was fine. I sniffed the air for a hint of vampire or blood or anything out of the ordinary. There wasn’t anything amiss. I hurried to the cat clock and jammed the nose down. The alarm went silent, making it easier to think.

  “Whatever happened,” I said, “Maybe Cordelia’s alarm scared it off or something.”

  “Grayson, seriously.” Her eyes were pleading. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  If a wom
an asked me to leave under just about any other circumstance, I would be a gentleman and go. But there was something else happening here.

  Testing my theory, I asked, “Is that what you really want? You don’t want me here?”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  Shifters could sense lies, and this was a lie. Which meant she did want me here. She was breaking my rule about lying to push me away, but I wouldn’t make it easy for her.

  “Up you go,” I said, reaching for her arm and helping her out from beneath the counter.

  She dusted off the seat of her jeans and gave me a hard look. “It’s time for you to leave, Grayson.”

  “Too bad. I’m not going.”

  “Damn you, get out of here!”

  Best way to keep her from yelling at me was kissing, as far as I was concerned. But I wasn’t about to force myself on her. Instead, I tugged her forward and bent my head toward hers.

  Her blue eyes were full of heat—and that heat wasn’t caused by anger.

  “Marla,” I said, “you don’t really want me to leave, do you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she whispered, “No. Kelly called. She said someone close to me would die. I can’t let that person be you.”

  “I’m hard to kill,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I am hard to kill.”

  “It’s a chance I’m willing to take, then,” I said. “I’m not going to stay away from you out of fear, Marla.”

  “Then you’re an idiot.”

  “Maybe. But I’m an idiot who loves you.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it like she wanted to respond, and her blue-green eyes widened into globes.

  “You don’t have to say it back,” I told her, “but I know how I feel.”

  I lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist. Our lips touched. Fire. Her mouth opened on a sigh and I sent my tongue forward, searching for her sweet taste and the delights of her body.

  She grabbed my shoulders and rubbed her body against mine. I felt the softness of her breasts on my chest, and the heat of her pussy on my lower stomach. My cock ached to be inside of her.