Polanski Brothers

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Yes, you did,” he insisted as his gaze darkened and his grip on her arm tightened.

  She searched his eyes, his dreamy, beautiful eyes, eyes she momentarily got lost in. “Did what?”

  Now he frowned, making the winkles in his forehead deepen. “Said you were like a bull in a china shop.”

  Okay, so he was cute, but nuts. The way her life had played out so far, that made perfect sense. “No. No, I didn’t.” Now back away, crazy but hot dude, or I’ll use my mighty vampire resources and kick your redwood ass.

  The hot stranger’s hard jaw clenched and Spencer watched in fascination as the muscles tensed, rippling under his tanned skin, an indication he was wrestling to maintain his cool. “I am not crazy,” he muttered indignantly. “And I’d like to see you try to kick my redwood ass. All five foot three of you.” After he spoke, he shook his head full of thick, dark brown hair, obviously as confused as she was.

  Spencer squirmed out of his grip and brushed at her suit to straighten it. This was officially a “what the fuck” moment and she wanted out. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to take care of.”

  But he didn’t move. Not one delicious inch. The solid wall of his well-muscled body covered remained firmly rooted in her line of vision. “Wait. Did you say vampire?” His deep voice raised an octave and his eyes darkened again as obviously, his words caught up with his ability to process.

  No again. She hadn’t said anything—not a word. Okay, now Mr. Sexy-McSexy was damn well scaring her. Was he vampire? Hah! As if she’d be able to tell with her bum nose anyway. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Mr.—”

  “McBride. Detective Larkin McBride, and yes you damn well do. You just wondered if I was a vampire, too.”

  He was…Was he was reading her mind? Her eyes flew open as Spencer took all of him in, from his delicious mouth, bracketed by deep grooves on either side of it, to his thick eyebrows raised in question.

  Holy Amazing Kreskin.

  “Kreskin?”

  “He’s a mind reader.” Spencer cringed, because really, why not offer confirmation and a frame of reference to the man who was reading her thoughts? “You know, the guy who says he can read people’s minds?”

  She watched as he mentally scratched his head. “Um, no. I don’t know who he is. What the hell is going on here anyway, Ms.—”

  “Polanski. Spencer, and I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I have people to tend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” She began to pull away again, mostly because he was beginning to freak her out with his intense gaze and his interrogation-like questions.

  But like a dog with a bone, the detective became insistent. “You damn well did say vampire or think it or whatever the hell I heard—it was clear as day.”

  Spencer shot him a flirtatious smile and laughed at him to cover her fear. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s just silly, Detective, don’t you think? Vampires aren’t real. What kind of a detective believes in vampires?”

  Larkin narrowed his thickly fringed eyes. “The kind that knows when someone is yanking his crank.”

  As if you’d ever be so lucky to find my hand on your crank.

  Fuck! Stop thinking, Spencer.

  His jaw tightened—a jaw with the dark shadow of stubble. “Keep your innuendo to yourself. You know what I meant, lady.”

  Spencer gave him her best bewildered look and smiled innocently with a shrug of her shoulders. “No, Mr. McBride, I have no idea what you mean, but I do have a job to do. Now, move.” Spencer kept a tight rein on her musings. “Please,” she said as an afterthought.

  Detective Larkin McBride stepped out of her way, his tall frame looming over her as he scowled with his mean-cop face.

  Spencer swept past him, feeling the hot gaze of his stare on her back as she pushed through the crowd on shaky legs, fighting her rising panic.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Well, whatever it was, don’t think about it because Detective Carved in Granite will hear you.

  “Are you all right?”

  Spencer skidded to a halt as the second hand in the course of a day grabbed her arm. Her gaze wandered up the arm attached to the hand and she found a very pleasant face smiling down at her. Kind of pretty—certainly nothing like the gruff detective. This face was lean and the owner’s hair was blond—most definitely not like the detective.

  He smiled at Spencer, encouraging her to answer by tilting his head.

  “I’m fine, thanks, really,” she replied, oddly mesmerized by his nose.

  His very pretty nostrils flared. “Was he bothering you?” he asked as his nose twitched.

  Spencer removed her arm from his light hold and smiled pleasantly. “Who?”

  “That man that’s staring at us. The big one.” He nodded his head in Larkin McBride’s direction.

  “No.” She shook her head. Not anymore, anyway. “No, everything’s fine. Can I help you with something?”

  His lean face split into a cool smile and a flash of white teeth. “No, not yet.”

  Um, okay. She’d had enough of bizarre encounters for tonight. “Well, then if you’ll excuse me,” she said tentatively, hoping he’d dismiss her.

  He leaned forward just a bit and took a deep breath, then motioned for her to pass. “Of course,” he said regally and Spencer took the opportunity to skedaddle.

  She headed for the bathroom on shaky legs, forgetting the blond guy but still shivering over the detective.

  Detective? Larkin McBride. An Irish detective. How cliché.

  “I heard that!” the gravelly voice said right behind her, following her down the hall and into her private offices.

  Shit.

  “Yeah, shit,” Larkin responded sarcastically to her thought when he rolled up right behind her. “Now why don’t we go sit down and figure this out?” He wasn’t asking—his tone of voice suggested he was demanding.

  Spencer stopped at the door to her office and turned to face him, once more struck by how gruffly sexy he was. His nostrils were flared and his square jaw set with determination. “There isn’t anything to figure out, Detective. You’re obviously losing your marbles.” So go clean up the scattered remains and leave me alone.

  “If I were a weaker man, I might be offended by that statement. You aren’t the first to tell me I’m a little left of center. How about you shoot for original?”

  Spencer rolled her shoulders and tried to clear her mind of all the excess stuff hanging around just waiting to be “heard” by the detective.

  Backing up against her office door, she gripped the doorknob. “Okay…original. How does go the fuck away strike you? Original enough?”

  She was never rude to a patron at Polanski Brothers, but her temper was notoriously short and if the detective found out they really were vampires that could be very bad for business. Might even get ugly. People would start showing up with crosses and garlic necklaces just like they had in the last town.

  So Dark Ages.

  Larkin’s laughter was deep and rich as it erupted from his tanned throat. “It strikes me as exceptionally rude for a funeral parlor hostess—or whatever you are. I’m grieving, shouldn’t that concern you?”

  Tilting her head up to eyeball him, Spencer pursed her lips. “I’m not a funeral parlor hostess. I’m an embalmer. I suck blood out of bodies and stitch them back up. Do you still wanna play now? Oh, and my condolences on your loss,” she offered dryly.

  “Well, if there’s any truth to your thoughts, that’s exactly what you do. Suck blood out of bodies, that is.”

  How utterly last century, Detective.

  Shit and shit again.

  Larkin crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “So let’s go into your office and sit down. Maybe then you can explain why I can read your thoughts and why you won’t admit you’re as freaked out as I am. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing, and you know it.”

  Cool. She had to stay as calm as he l
ooked, despite his admission he was freaked out. “Look, Detective. I have nothing to explain. Vampires are for people who watch too much television. I’d highly recommend you spend less time channel surfing and more time putting your detective skills to good use elsewhere.” Asshole, she thought then she groaned. Damn it.

  Larkin was no longer smiling smugly. His eyes grew dark and stormy and his nostrils did that flaring thing again. She’d lay bets he had a fantastic sense of smell.

  “As a matter of fact I do, and I’m not an asshole, but rest assured, I can be…” He let his words trail off in a warning as he reached behind her and opened her office door.

  For a brief moment, when his wide chest brushed hers, her nipples tightened. She said a small prayer he couldn’t read body language, too.

  What a random reaction to a complete stranger—even if he was a gorgeous complete stranger.

  Taking her by the elbow Larkin led her into her office and pointed to a chair. “Sit. Please.”

  His tone oozed authority, and given that there really wasn’t much choice, she decided to sit. Spencer flopped down in the leather chair behind her big desk and sucked in her cheeks, fighting to keep her mind blank. She’d “think” later about how crazy this was.

  Sitting in the chair facing her desk, Larkin leaned forward, placing his elbows on the smooth mahogany, those blue-gray eyes of his intense and probing. “So?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him in an arrogant question. “So what?”

  “So what is this vampire business about?”

  “Look, who are you, Baretta?”

  “Who?”

  Okay, so he didn’t watch TV. “The cop on TV, remember? He had a bird?” Spencer watched as his face went blank. “Forget it. You’re looking for shadows that don’t exist. There are no vampires here. You didn’t hear the word vampire because I didn’t say anything—which, for the record, is the only way one can hear something. Now, I’m very busy tonight as you can see by the crowd just outside that door, and you’re keeping me from doing my job.”

  “I know what I heard, Ms. Polanski,” he said firmly, those lovely lips of his thinning with discontent. “You won’t admit it, but I heard you think the word vampire.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re just like one, Detective. Because as of right now, you’re sucking the life out of me.”

  She had to give it to him. Most people would think they’d gone crazy if they were hearing voices in their head. But not this man. This man was hunting her down like she was the one responsible for gifting him with his new ability.

  He shook his head again, the lights in her office accentuating the deep chocolate highlights of his hair. Then he gripped the arms of the chair with broad hands. “Nope, that’s not it. You distinctly asked yourself if I was another vampire. What would make you draw that conclusion?”

  Spencer tried to remain calm, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly and shooting him a bored look. “Just idle ramblings, I suppose.”

  The corner of Larkin’s mouth turned upward in a delectable tilt of sexy. “So you admit that I did read your thoughts?”

  Spencer shook her head stubbornly because what choice did she really have? Deny, deny, deny. That was the only choice she had. “No. I’m just playing nice with you because you’re a whack-job and my life could be in danger. How do I even know you’re a detective? Maybe you’re some deranged lunatic? Because don’t all deranged lunatics think they can read minds? Hear voices?”

  His wide hand dug in the pocket on the inside of his jacket. “I’m not a deranged lunatic. I’m a detective. Want me to show you my shiny badge to prove it?”

  Want me to show you my shiny fangs? Oh! Fuck, fuck, fuck. She pretended to rearrange her sticky notes on her desk to hide her goof. “Deranged lunatics carry shiny badges? Who knew?”

  Larkin pulled out his very shiny badge and held it up for her eyes. “No, Ms. Polanski, but very sane, very clearly reading your thoughts detectives do.”

  Spencer remained silent, biting the inside of her lip as they stared at one another.

  A knock on her door startled them both. Her cousin Cathy popped her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Spencer, but Mrs. Perkins is inconsolable right now. Your dad can’t seem to get her to leave the casket and from the looks of it, she really needs some rest. This is your specialty.”

  If she could sigh in relief, she would. End interrogation. “Tell Dad I’ll be right there. Would you grab a cool cloth and some water for Mrs. Perkins on your way back, please?”

  Cathy smiled as she cast a quick, questioning glance at Larkin McBride. “You got it,” she said before closing the door quietly.

  A moment of thick silence passed while Larkin McBride stared her down, his eyes intense and hot and full of questions he was determined to find answers for.

  Spencer looked away first, pushing her chair from the desk and rounding the corner of it to make a hasty getaway. “As you can see, I’m needed, Detective.” So game over. Take your crazy and leave the playground.

  But Larkin McBride was hot on her heels once more when she reached the door. “I’m not crazy, Ms. Polanski, and I’m not leaving the playground until you explain yourself.”

  Spencer popped the door open and made a break for it, ignoring the beat of his footsteps directly behind her. The click of her shoes on the marble tile seemed excruciatingly loud as she rushed to find Mrs. Perkins in the viewing room, sobbing in front of Alan’s casket.

  Spencer’s father stood off to the side of Alan’s casket with mournful eyes. He wasn’t very good at this. He hated to see anyone cry, especially a woman. His eyes reached out to hers over Mrs. Perkins’ head, sharing his discomfort and gratitude in them as he helplessly glanced at his daughter.

  She smiled back at her father reassuringly before turning her attention to Alan’s mother. Her gray-streaked head was bent low, the glistening tears of her grief on her weathered cheeks silhouetted by the dim lighting in the viewing area.

  Spencer rested a soothing hand on Mrs. Perkins’ shaking shoulder. Her hands clung to the edge of Alan’s casket, frightfully white knuckled. “Mrs. Perkins?” she whispered low. “I’m so sorry. I won’t tell you how I understand your pain, because I don’t, but I do know Alan would want you to come and sit with me for a while, and share a cup of tea. Maybe we could talk about Alan? I’d love to hear all about him.”

  It was Spencer’s experience that when a family member grieved, especially a mother, sometimes part of the process of letting go and moving forward was sharing happier times with a sympathetic listener who had no prior knowledge of the deceased.

  It was about having someone to listen to whatever you needed to share without judgment, without someone to correct your memory if you were making the dead out to be something they really weren’t. She was a blind ear. She’d done it a million times, and she’d do it a million more if it eased their suffering even just a little.

  Mrs. Perkins gripped Spencer’s hand and rose from her kneeling position on unsteady legs. Spencer held her elbow and tucked it under her own arm, looking down at Alan’s mother with a warm smile. “Tea then?”

  “Tea would be nice, thank you,” Mrs. Perkins said weak and soft as her frail body moved alongside Spencer and away from Alan’s casket.

  As they made their way out of the viewing area Mrs. Perkins stopped dead in her slow tracks. “Larkin?” she squeaked, her voice nasally and scratchy from crying.

  Larkin McBride nodded, his gruffly handsome face lined with obvious worry.

  He held his hand out to Mrs. Perkins and Adelaide fell into him as the detective embraced her, his face solemn and his eyes full of concern.

  He knew Alan Perkins? Which meant he really was grieving, too, and she’d blithely razzed him about it.

  Good job, Spence.

  Mrs. Perkins’ muffled voice cracked against Larkin’s wide chest as her tears began to flow again. “Larkin, oh God, it’s so good to see you. They say Alan killed himself, but I don’t believe it.
Not for a second. You knew Alan. He was your best friend. He would never take his life. I can’t bear it. I just can’t,” she sobbed.

  Larkin stroked her slender back and whispered to her soothingly. Mrs. Perkins was obviously in good hands. Maybe she didn’t need that tea after all, leading Spencer to make a hasty escape.

  She was just about to clear the double doors when she heard Larkin whisper softly, because even if her nose didn’t have vampire sensitivity, her ears did. “This isn’t over, Spencer Polanski…”

  Chapter 2

  Spencer stripped off her suit and kicked off her shoes with angry thrusts as she stomped through her apartment in her bra and panties.

  Now that she’d had time to really think about the ramifications of her run in with the smexy detective, she was working on a good freak out.

  Damned if Larkin McBride wasn’t well and truly reading her mind. He’d heard every word she’d thought, and he’d heard it correctly.

  Spencer’s legs shook for the umpteenth time that night. How could this be happening? Sure, maybe there really were people who could read minds, maybe even humans who could legitimately do it, but read a vampire’s mind? Unheard of. How was that even possible if he wasn’t a vampire? It was impossible, wasn’t it?

  Or did she have yet another defect she could be mocked to eternity and back over? The ability to read minds for vamps of her ilk came with some scary territory.

  Life mate territory. Typically, you could only read the mind of your mate. And while she couldn’t smell a damn thing, she knew for sure Larkin McBride was no vampire.

  Sexy? Yes. Oh, yes. Undead? No. No, no, no.

  And who the hell could she talk this over with? If her mother even had a hint that a human might think they were vampires, she’d lose her cookies and most probably her mind shortly thereafter. Her mother would turn into a paranoid mess if there were one more upheaval in her life. There’d been plenty of them, and the last one had scarred them all.

  Humans could be real assholes. Spencer was all too aware of what they thought of vampires.

  The Polanskis had opened up shop in many towns, throughout many different centuries, including a town or two they might have been run out on a rail if not for some quick thinking on her father’s part.