Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set

by Charlaine Harris

  “You have seen all of me before.”

  Not the rear view, bare. “Yes, but intruding wasn’t polite.”

  “I don’t mind. You look upset.”

  You think? “Well, I have had a very bad day,” I said, through clenched teeth. “My brother is missing, and the Were witches in Shreveport killed the—the vice president of the Were pack there, and her hand was in the flowerbed. Well, someone’s was. Belinda’s in the hospital. Ginger is dead. I think I’ll take a shower.” I turned on my heel and marched into my room. I went in the bathroom and shucked my clothes, tossing them into the hamper. I bit my lip until I could smile at my own streak of wildness, and then I climbed into the spray of hot water.

  I know cold showers are more traditional, but I was enjoying the warmth and relaxation the heat brought. I got my hair wet and groped for the soap.

  “I’ll do that for you,” Eric said, pulling back the curtain to step into the shower with me.

  I gasped, just short of a shriek. He had discarded the jeans. He was also in the mood, the same mood I was in. You could really tell, with Eric. His fangs were out some, too. I was embarrassed, horrified, and absolutely ready to jump him. While I stood stock-still, paralyzed by conflicting waves of emotion, Eric took the soap out of my hands and lathered up his own, set the soap back in its little niche, and began to wash my arms, raising each in turn to stroke my armpit, down my side, never touching my breasts, which were practically quivering like puppies who wanted to be petted.

  “Have we ever made love?” he asked.

  I shook my head, still unable to speak.

  “Then I was a fool,” he said, moving one hand in a circular motion over my stomach. “Turn around, lover.”

  I turned my back to him, and he began to work on that. His fingers were very strong and very clever, and I had the most relaxed and cleanest set of shoulder blades in Louisiana by the time Eric got through.

  My shoulder blades were the only thing at ease. My libido was hopping up and down. Was I really going to do this? It seemed more and more likely that I was, I thought nervously. If the man in my shower had been the real Eric, I would have had the strength to back off. I would have ordered him out the minute he stepped in. The real Eric came with a whole package of power and politics, something of which I had limited understanding and interest. This was a different Eric—without the personality that I’d grown fond of, in a perverse way—but it was beautiful Eric, who desired me, who was hungry for me, in a world that often let me know it could do very well without me. My mind was about to switch off and my body was about to take over. I could feel part of Eric pressed against my back, and he wasn’t standing that close. Yikes. Yahoo. Yum.

  He shampooed my hair next.

  “Are you trembling because you are frightened of me?” he asked.

  I considered that. Yes, and no. But I wasn’t about to have a long discussion over the pros and cons. The inner debate had been tough enough. Oh, yeah, I know, there wouldn’t be a better time to have a long yada-yada with Eric about the moral aspects of mating with someone you didn’t love. And maybe there would never be another time to lay ground rules about being careful to be gentle with me physically. Not that I thought Eric would beat me up, but his manhood (as my romance novels called it—in this case the popular adjectives “burgeoning” or “throbbing” might also be applied) was a daunting prospect to a relatively inexperienced woman like me. I felt like a car that had only been operated by one driver . . . a car its new prospective buyer was determined to take to the Daytona 500.

  Oh, to hell with thinking.

  I took the soap from the niche and lathered up my fingers. As I stepped very close to him, I kind of folded Mr. Happy up against Eric’s stomach, so I could reach around him and get my fingers on that absolutely gorgeous butt. I couldn’t look him in the face, but he let me know he was delighted that I was responding. He spread his legs obligingly and I washed him very thoroughly, very meticulously. He began to make little noises, to rock forward. I began to work on his chest. I closed my lips around his right nipple and sucked. He liked that a lot. His hands pressed against the back of my head. “Bite, a little,” he whispered, and I used my teeth. His hands began to move restlessly over whatever bit of my skin they could find, stroking and teasing. When he pulled away, he had decided to reciprocate, and he bent down. While his mouth closed over my breast, his hand glided between my legs. I gave a deep sigh, and did a little moving of my own. He had long fingers.

  The next thing I knew, the water was off and he was drying me with a fluffy white towel, and I was rubbing him with another one. Then we just kissed for while, over and over.

  “The bed,” he said, a little raggedly, and I nodded. He scooped me up and then we got into a kind of tangle with me trying to pull the bedspread down while he just wanted to dump me on the bed and proceed, but I had my way because it was just too cold for the top of the bed. Once we were arranged, I turned to him and we picked back up where we’d left off, but with an escalating tempo. His fingers and his mouth were busy learning my topography, and he pressed heavily against my thigh.

  I was so on fire for him I was surprised that flames didn’t flicker out of my fingertips. I curled my fingers around him and stroked.

  Suddenly Eric was on top of me, about to enter. I was exhilarated and very ready. I reached between us to put him at just the right spot, rubbing the tip of him over my nub as I did so.

  “My lover,” he said hoarsely, and pushed.

  Though I’d been sure I was prepared, and I ached with wanting him, I cried out with the shock of it.

  After a moment, he said, “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, lover.” The way he said “lover” was like a caress, like he was calling me by a name no other man had ever used before or ever would after. His fangs were completely extended and I stretched up to run my tongue over them. I expected he would bite my neck, as Bill nearly always did.

  “Watch me,” he said in my ear, and pulled out. I tried to yank him back, but he began kissing his way down my body, making strategic stops, and I was hovering on the golden edge when he got all the way down. His mouth was talented, and his fingers took the place of his penis, and then all of a sudden he looked up the length of my body to make sure I was watching—I was—and he turned his face to my inner thigh, nuzzling it, his fingers moving steadily now, faster and faster, and then he bit.

  I may have made a noise, I am sure I did, but in the next second I was floating on the most powerful wave of pleasure I’d ever felt. And the minute the shining wave subsided, Eric was kissing my mouth again, and I could taste my own fluids on him, and then he was back inside me, and it happened all over again. His moment came right after, as I was still experiencing aftershocks. He shouted something in a language I’d never heard, and he closed his own eyes, and then he collapsed on top of me. After a couple of minutes, he raised his head to look down. I wished he would pretend to breathe, as Bill always had during sex. (I’d never asked him, he’d just done it, and it had been reassuring.) I pushed the thought away. I’d never had sex with anyone but Bill, and I guess it was natural to think of that, but the truth was it hurt to remember my previous one-man status, now gone for good.

  I yanked myself back into The Moment, which was fine enough. I stroked Eric’s hair, tucking some behind his ear. His eyes on mine were intent, and I knew he was waiting for me to speak. “I wish,” I said, “I could save orgasms in a jar for when I need them, because I think I had a few extra.”

  Eric’s eyes widened, and all of a sudden he roared with laughter. That sounded good, that sounded like the real Eric. I felt comfortable with this gorgeous but unknown stranger, after I heard that laugh. He rolled onto his back and swung me over easily until I was straddling his waist.

  “If I had known you would be this gorgeous with your clothes off, I would have tried to do this sooner,” he said.

  “You did try to do this sooner, about twenty times,” I said, smiling down at him.

&
nbsp; “Then I have good taste.” He hesitated for a long minute, some of the pleasure leaving his face. “Tell me about us. How long have I known you?”

  The light from the bathroom spilled onto the right side of his face. His hair spread over my pillow, shining and golden.

  “I’m cold,” I said gently, and he let me lie beside him, pulling the covers up over us. I propped myself up on one elbow and he lay on his side, so we were facing each other. “Let me think. I met you last year at Fangtasia, the vampire bar you own in Shreveport. And by the way, the bar got attacked today. Last night. I’m sorry, I should have told you that first, but I’ve been so worried about my brother.”

  “I want to hear about today, but give me our background first. I find myself mightily interested.”

  Another little shock: The real Eric cared about his own position first, relationships down about—oh, I don’t know, tenth. This was definitely odd. I told him, “You are the sheriff of Area Five, and my former boyfriend Bill is your subordinate. He’s gone, out of the country. I think I told you about Bill.”

  “Your unfaithful former boyfriend? Whose maker was the vampire Lorena?”

  “That’s the one,” I said briefly. “Anyway, when I met you at Fangtasia . . .”

  It all took longer than I thought, and by the time I had finished with the tale, Eric’s hands were busy again. He latched onto one breast with his fangs extended, drawing a little blood and a sharp gasp from me, and he sucked powerfully. It was a strange sensation, because he was getting the blood and my nipple. Painful and very exciting—I felt like he was drawing the fluid from much lower. I gasped and jerked in arousal, and suddenly he raised my leg so he could enter me.

  It wasn’t such a shock this time, and it was slower. Eric wanted me to be looking into his eyes; that obviously flicked his Bic.

  I was exhausted when it was over, though I’d enjoyed myself immensely. I’d heard a lot about men who didn’t care if the woman had her pleasure, or perhaps such men assumed that if they were happy, their partner was, too. But neither of the men I’d been with had been like that. I didn’t know if that was because they were vampires, or because I’d been lucky, or both.

  Eric had paid me many compliments, and I realized I hadn’t said anything to him that indicated my admiration. That hardly seemed fair. He was holding me, and my head was on his shoulder. I murmured into his neck, “You are so beautiful.”

  “What?” He was clearly startled.

  “You’ve told me you thought my body was nice.” Of course that wasn’t the adjective he’d used, but I was embarrassed to repeat his actual words. “I just wanted you to know I think the same about you.”

  I could feel his chest move as he laughed, just a little. “What part do you like best?” he asked, his voice teasing.

  “Oh, your butt,” I said instantly.

  “My . . . bottom?”

  “Yep.”

  “I would have thought of another part.”

  “Well, that’s certainly . . . adequate,” I told him, burying my face in his chest. I knew immediately I’d picked the wrong word.

  “Adequate?” He took my hand, placed it on the part in question. It immediately began to stir. He moved my hand on it, and I obligingly circled it with my fingers. “This is adequate?”

  “Maybe I should have said it’s a gracious plenty?”

  “A gracious plenty. I like that,” he said.

  He was ready again, and honestly, I didn’t know if I could. I was worn out to the point of wondering if I’d be walking funny the next day.

  I indicated I would be pleased with an alternative by sliding down in the bed, and he seemed delighted to reciprocate. After another sublime release, I thought every muscle in my body had turned to Jell-O. I didn’t talk anymore about the worry I felt about my brother, about the terrible things that had happened in Shreveport, about anything unpleasant. We whispered some heartfelt (on my part) mutual compliments, and I was just out of it. I don’t know what Eric did for the rest of the night, because I fell asleep.

  I had many worries waiting for me the next day; but thanks to Eric, for a few precious hours I just didn’t care.

  7

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE SUN WAS SHINING OUTSIDE when I woke. I lay in bed in a mindless pool of contentment. I was sore, but pleasantly so. I had a little bruise or two—nothing that would show. And the fang marks that were a dead giveaway (har-de-har) were not on my neck, where they’d been in the past. No casual observer was going to be able to tell I’d enjoyed a vampire’s company, and I didn’t have an appointment with a gynecologist—the only other person who’d have a reason to check that area.

  Another shower was definitely called for, so I eased out of bed and wobbled across the floor to the bathroom. We’d left it in something of a mess, with towels tossed everywhere and the shower curtain half-ripped from its plastic hoops (when had that happened?), but I didn’t mind picking it up. I rehung the curtain with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

  As the water pounded on my back, I reflected that I must be pretty simple. It didn’t take much to make me happy. A long night with a dead guy had done the trick. It wasn’t just the dynamic sex that had given me so much pleasure (though that had contained moments I’d remember till the day I died); it was the companionship. Actually, the intimacy.

  Call me stereotypical. I’d spent the night with a man who’d told me I was beautiful, a man who’d enjoyed me and who’d given me intense pleasure. He had touched me and held me and laughed with me. We weren’t in danger of making a baby with our pleasures, because vampires just can’t do that. I wasn’t being disloyal to anyone (though I’ll admit I’d had a few pangs when I thought of Bill), and neither was Eric. I couldn’t see the harm.

  As I brushed my teeth and put on some makeup, I had to admit to myself that I was sure that the Reverend Fullenwilder wouldn’t agree with my viewpoint.

  Well, I hadn’t been going to tell him about it, anyway. It would just be between God and me. I figured God had made me with the disability of telepathy, and he could cut me a little slack on the sex thing.

  I had regrets, of course. I would love to get married and have babies. I’d be faithful as can be. I’d be a good mom, too. But I couldn’t marry a regular guy, because I would always know when he lied to me, when he was angry with me, every little thought he had about me. Even dating a regular guy was more than I’d been able to manage. Vampires can’t marry, not yet, not legally; not that a vampire had asked me, I reminded myself, tossing a washcloth into the hamper a little forcefully. Perhaps I could stand a long association with a Were or a shifter, since their thoughts weren’t clear. But there again, where was the willing Were?

  I had better enjoy what I had at this moment—something I’ve become quite good at doing. What I had was a handsome vampire who’d temporarily lost his memory and, along with it, a lot of his personality: a vampire who needed reassurance just as much as I did.

  In fact, as I put in my earrings, I figured out that Eric had been so delighted with me for more than one reason. I could see that after days of being completely without memories of his possessions or underlings, days lacking any sense of self, last night he had gained something of his own—me. His lover.

  Though I was standing in front of a mirror, I wasn’t really seeing my reflection. I was seeing, very clearly, that—at the moment—I was all in the world that Eric could think of as his own.

  I had better not fail him.

  I was rapidly bringing myself down from “relaxed happiness” to “guilty grim resolution,” so I was relieved when the phone rang. It had a built-in caller ID, and I noticed Sam was calling from the bar, instead of his trailer.

  “Sookie?”

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “I’m sorry about Jason. Any news?”

  “No. I called down to the sheriff’s department when I woke up, and I talked to the dispatcher. She said Alcee Beck would let me know if anything new came up. That’s what she’s said the las
t twenty times I’ve called.”

  “Want me to get someone to take your shift?”

  “No. It would be better for me to be busy, than to sit here at home. They know where to reach me if they’ve got anything to tell me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “If I can do anything to help, you let me know.”

  “There is something, come to think of it.”

  “Name it.”

  “You remember the little shifter Jason was in the bar with New Year’s Eve?”

  Sam gave it thought. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “One of the Norris girls? They live out in Hotshot.”

  “That’s what Hoyt said.”

  “You have to watch out for people from out there, Sookie. That’s an old settlement. An inbred settlement.”

  I wasn’t sure what Sam was trying to tell me. “Could you spell that out? I’m not up to unraveling subtle hints today.”

  “I can’t right now.”

  “Oh, not alone?”

  “No. The snack delivery guy is here. Just be careful. They’re really, really different.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, still in the dark. “I’ll be careful. See you at four-thirty,” I told him, and hung up, vaguely unhappy and quite puzzled.

  I had plenty of time to go out to Hotshot and get back before I had to go to work. I pulled on some jeans, sneakers, a bright red long-sleeved T-shirt, and my old blue coat. I looked up Crystal Norris’s address in the phone book and had to get out my chamber of commerce map to track it down. I’ve lived in Renard Parish my whole life, and I thought I knew it pretty well, but the Hotshot area was a black hole in my otherwise thorough knowledge.

  I drove north, and when I came to the T-junction, I turned right. I passed the lumber processing plant that was Bon Temps’s main employer, and I passed a reupholstering place, and I flew past the water department. There was a liquor store or two, and then a country store at a crossroads that had a prominent COLD BEER AND BAIT sign left over from the summer and propped up facing the road. I turned right again, to go south.