by Heidi Betts
“Of course not. Especially if you’ve never…” Her brows knit. “I’m sorry, I admit I don’t know much about this. I don’t know how old you are or how long ago you became a, um…”
“Vampire?” he supplied.
“Yes. What were your holidays like back when you were…” Again she fumbled for the right words.
“Mortal?” he offered, filling in the blanks.
She nodded, cheeks growing pink with embarrassment. It was charming, really, watching her struggle to remain polite and professional while discussing something she was either uncomfortable with or simply knew nothing about.
“My parents were peasant farmers, long, long ago. But even though we were dirt poor, what I remember most about my childhood is unconditional love and the closeness of our family. Christmas Day meant a crackling fire, a goose roasting over the spit, my mother baking, and my father saying grace while we all clasped hands.”
“It sounds lovely,” Jillian offered, her smile coming more easily now. “So you’re looking for something very cozy and traditional, then. Very Norman Rockwell-esque.”
He nodded.
“Would you like to invite extended family or friends? Are you thinking of hosting an event at another venue, outside of your home?”
Shaking his head, he said, “No. I want something here. I want the entire house to ring with the Christmas spirit. Not just one room, not just for one day—I want everyone and everything at Drake Manor to feel like the holidays.”
“You aren’t asking me to organize a simple Christmas party or dinner, then,” she clarified, her pen rolling back and forth between slim fingers while her blue eyes remained intensely locked with his. “You want me to make the entire month of December feel like Christmas for you.”
“Yes,” he said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm as she started jotting notes, feeling hope rise in his chest for the first time since this outlandish idea had jumped into his head to begin with.
That hadn’t necessarily been part of his plan in the beginning, but now that he’d met Jillian, gotten a whiff of her own unique scent, and felt the warmth of her blood heating her skin…well, the longer he could keep her in his employ and under his roof, the better.
“I realize it’s a lot to ask. Probably not the type of occasion you’re used to coordinating, either. But if you can do it, if you feel confident that you can bring Christmas to Drake Manor…to this family of reluctant vampires,” he added with a lopsided grin, “I’d be willing to compensate you very generously for your troubles.”
She tipped her head to one side, bringing the scribbling of her pen to a rest and regarding him quite seriously. “I won’t lie to you. Something of that magnitude is going to be quite expensive. The cost of decorating a single ballroom would be daunting enough, but the entire mansion—”
“Inside and out,” he qualified.
“Inside and out. It’s going to take quite a bit of time to get it all done, and since most of my employees will be busy organizing other events, I may have to hire outside help.”
“As long as you’re here, running the show in person, you’re welcome to hire as many people to assist you as you like.”
“I can’t promise anything I do will bring your brother and sister around,” she said, making it clear that Angelina had filled her in on all of his problems, not just his lack of a Christmas tree in the foyer.
“I can hang an ocean’s worth of garland and provide the best meal money can buy, but that doesn’t mean they’ll suddenly be infused with the spirit of Christmas the way you might be hoping.”
He inclined his head, returning her grin with a half-smile of his own. “You’re not Dr. Seuss or the Ghost of Christmas Past. Understood. So I won’t hold you responsible for their reactions, as long as you don’t hold me responsible for any questionable behavior on their parts.” Arching a brow, he tried not to let his amusement slip, even though thinking about his siblings’ conduct brought out his annoyance faster than just about anything else. “They’re known for being quite disrespectful upon occasion.”
Jillian’s only response to his veiled warning was the shrug of a slim shoulder. “Since you’ll be the one footing the bill and paying my generous fees, I think I’ll be able to ignore any outbursts from those who aren’t.”
Connor’s lips quirked at her quick, yet diplomatic reply.
“Excellent response. I can see why you’re so good at what you do. And why Angelina likes you so much.”
“I don’t really know Ms. Ricci that well, but I certainly appreciate her recommendation and confidence in me.”
Hooking her pen to the top of the legal pad on her lap, she slowly closed the binder and wrapped her long, manicured fingers over the far edge. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to take a look at the house and property. If you can give me the tour yourself, it might help me get a better idea of what you’d like to see, decoration-wise. But if not, a member of your staff would work just as well.”
Pushing up from his chair, Connor rounded the desk and held his hand out to her in a silent offer to help her to her feet. Once again, he got a sweet whiff of peaches and cream, and more than his stomach growled with hunger.
“It would be my pleasure to give you the grand tour,” he told her, his voice lower and huskier than intended as he tamped down his inner beast. If he wasn’t careful, he’d give her more of a lesson on vampires than she’d bargained for—one centered on sexual preferences and extreme staying power.
As it was, she was going to get a bit of on-the-job training soon enough…provided he could convince her to take the position he was prepared to offer.
“It will give me a chance to show you the room where you’ll be staying for the rest of the month.”
Jillian nearly choked on her own tongue at Connor’s out-of-the-blue pronouncement. Her fingers tightened reflexively in his hold before she quickly loosened them, afraid he might take the automatic gesture for a deliberate—and suggestive—one.
He wanted her to stay? Here? For the entire length of her employment?
Heart beating in her chest like a conga drum, she tried desperately to regain her bearings. She was used to demanding clients making outrageous requests, but “move in with me” had never been one of them.
“No. No, no.” Okay, take a deep breath, Jillian. No need to start babbling like an idiot. “I won’t need to stay here.”
The very idea sent a shaft of cold fear skating down her spine. Stay at Drake Manor? Sleep under the same roof as a family—nest? coven? gaggle?—of vampires?
She knew she was overreacting, but she didn’t particularly care. Not when she didn’t know enough about their race of undead (technically, anyway) to know how they lived, how they functioned.
Did they sleep in coffins? Did they need blood from a fresh source? Did they possess the ability to mesmerize their prey…er, victims…er, human sippy cups…into thinking they were donating willingly?
She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
But visions of herself in a long, flowing, Mina-like white nightgown, traipsing through this big, cold house in the dead of night to the silent, hypnotic call of Connor Drake did not sit well. Neither did the thought of sprinkling holy water around her bed or sleeping with a necklace of garlic around her neck.
Apparently unaware of the panic coursing through her veins—or perhaps unaffected by it—Connor released her hand and started out of the study.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, clearly expecting her to follow. And darned if she didn’t do it, racing after him like some needy puppy dog.
“You said yourself that there’s much to be done and not much time to do it. This is a big place, with a lot of square footage in need of transformation. Not to mention the meal to plan.”
They were at the base of the stairwell now, and he started slowly up the thickly carpeted steps. “Though I have no intention of working you around the clock, you will be putting in long hours, and it won’t make sense for you
to go all the way home only to get a few hours’ sleep, then turn around and come all the way back.”
At the top of the stairs, he stopped and turned to wait for her to join him on the landing. That whole “Mina walking like a zombie into the night to meet Count Dracula” image flashed through her head again, and she felt the pulse at her throat pick up its beat.
Not such a good thing to have happen when she was within biting distance of a self-professed bloodsucker. Resisting the urge to lift a hand and cover her throat with the cowl of her sweater, she took that final step onto the landing so that she was standing eye-to-eye—well, eye-to-eye if she tipped her head back forty-five degrees—with him.
“I’ve organized any number of large-scale events without having to stay on the premises. I assure you, you’ll have my undivided attention, and your Christmas will go off without a hitch.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he answered smoothly. “But I still prefer you stay here while you work. Consider it a condition of your employment.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and continued walking.
Connor was being unreasonable, and he knew it. There was no logical reason a party planner would ever agree to move into a client’s house. No reason a client would ever even request such a thing.
But something primal was driving him to keep this woman close. Frankly, she was lucky he hadn’t grabbed her up already and kissed the reluctance right out of her, as his hands and lips and cock were itching to do.
He had four weeks until Christmas. Only four short weeks in which he would have an excuse to keep her around, get to know her a bit better, hopefully find out what made her smell so much like a basket of fresh-plucked fruit. After that, she would be off planning some other event for some other person—some other man, perhaps, who would find her just as desirable as he did.
A streak of possessiveness had his fangs throbbing and his lips peeling back in a near-growl. He tamped it down quickly, diverting the green-eyed monster by clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, not wanting to alarm her—or worse yet, scare her away.
So he would have to use his time wisely, taking advantage of every moment he had her to himself.
And what better way to ensure that she spent the majority of those forty-thousand-odd minutes in his company than to demand she move in with him?
It had nothing to do with his being a vampire, and everything to do with the fact that he was a very wealthy man, used to getting what he wanted. In situations like these, at least, it was good to be filthy rich.
“Mr. Drake. Connor,” she said, rushing to keep up with his long strides. “You can’t require me to live with you while I organize your holiday.”
“Of course, I can. The customer is always right, isn’t that the general consensus?”
He stopped, turning to face her. “This is the east wing, where you’ll be staying. And rest assured you’ll have it primarily to yourself. There’s a library in this part of the house, as well as a gym and media room. Our suites—Liam’s, Maeve’s, and my own—are located in the west wing. We also employ a full staff who will be at your disposal. If you need anything, either personally or to complete your job, don’t hesitate to ask for their assistance.”
The longer he spoke, the more Jillian’s gaze narrowed. When he finished, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts—potentially lovely breasts, from what he could see of them—and did her best to stare him down.
“I haven’t said I’ll stay here, and I think it’s extremely unprofessional of you to even suggest it.”
Without a doubt. But that didn’t sway him one iota from his objective. Nor did it stop him from using his trump card.
“Let’s be perfectly honest,” he said in a calm voice, reaching up to straighten and smooth his tie. “You’re running a very successful business on your own, I’m certain. But you’re here because you know having me on your client list is a cachet that could lift your company to the next level. Angelina’s recommendations, too, could bring you untold sums in future profits.”
One light brow winged upward. “You’re blackmailing me?” she demanded.
“Of course not. I’m simply trying to make you see reason. I’m also a man used to getting what I want, and am not above playing dirty when necessary.”
“So what you’re telling me is that I have to move in here for the next month while I work to give you your Charlie Brown Christmas, or you’ll take your business elsewhere.”
That hadn’t been what he was saying at all; the thought of hiring another event organizer in her place had never crossed his mind. But if it would help to sway her to go along with his obscure demand, he wasn’t above letting her think that was the case.
“I’m afraid so,” he intoned with a sharp nod, drawing his own brows together in the hint of a scowl he hoped she would see as a sign of his dogged, if haughty, resolve.
Haughty and determined, not salivating and nightmare inducing. He had to be careful, when attempting to intimidate humans, that he didn’t let too much of his vampire disposition slip through. Glowing eyes and dripping fangs tended to send people running rather than simply getting them to see things his way.
He also had the power to persuade by climbing into a person’s mind and gently nudging them where he wanted them to go. But while other vampires might use those powers freely and without remorse, Connor felt it was an invasion of privacy, and the last thing he wanted to do was hold Jillian against her will.
Manipulating her slightly when she knew exactly what was going on was one thing; jumping into her head and forcing her to do something against her will would make her nothing more than a zombie, brainlessly doing his bidding. And he liked this woman too much as she was now, standing in front of him, to want to turn her into some stiff, mannequinlike version of herself.
Seconds ticked by while Jillian seemed to weigh her options. It was clear from the dip of her lips and the daggers sharpening in her eyes that she wasn’t the least bit happy about being faced with such an ultimatum.
And used to getting what he wanted or not, Connor was already envisioning the phone calls and explanations he would have to make to Angelina and Jillian both after she told him to seek sunlight and stomped off the job.
Maybe he had gone too far. Maybe forceful arrogance was not the best route to take with Miss Jillian Parker. Perhaps he should have hired a different event firm to plan his holiday, then invited this one to Christmas dinner in an attempt to wine and dine her.
Or maybe he should have simply done the whole grab-and-growl-and-kiss thing that had been churning through his brain ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. It certainly couldn’t have gone over any worse than this.
But before he could backpedal and attempt to climb out of the hole he’d dug for himself, she dropped her arms, shoulders slumping slightly as she released a breath.
“Fine,” she said, her tone clipped and rough, and he knew it must have taken all of her effort to force the single word up her throat and past her pink-tinted, heart-shaped lips. “I’ll stay here through Christmas. And I’ll give you the best damn holiday you’ve ever had. But after that, you’d better come through with your end of the bargain, Mr. Drake.”
She said his name as though it were a particularly foul curse, and he almost chuckled. He’d gotten his way, which of course made him happy. But more than that, he’d gotten the chance to see Jillian with her hackles up, which he thought might be one of the sexiest things he’d ever experienced—and he’d been around for a while, so he knew what he was talking about.
“You have my word, Miss Parker.”
Spinning on his heel, he continued down the long hallway to show her exactly which suite of rooms she would be occupying during her visit. But even without his exceptional hearing, he clearly heard her mutter, “Fat lot of good that will do me, coming from a vampire.”
BITE FOUR
Jillian stood in the self-help aisle of her local bookstore, skimming spi
nes and covers to find what she was looking for. Not that she was entirely sure what that was. All she knew was that she needed something to bolster her courage and point her in the right direction.
Connor Drake had played the Rich, Arrogant Jerk card, demanding she move into his home while she worked to give him the Christmas of a lifetime. Which, given his immortality and how long he’d likely been wandering along the (im)mortal coil already raised the bar pretty damn high.
But as annoyed as she’d been with his highhandedness, she was now over it. Sort of. At the very least, she’d decided that taking up residence with a tall, dark, and handsome vampire might give her the opportunity to do something she’d been thinking about for a while now…if she was brave enough to follow through.
It was kind of a crazy plan, and could even jeopardize her position with Connor Drake, but she was just so tired of thinking of herself as boring and timid and—worst of all—frigid. None of which she’d ever actually thought about herself until Will had tossed them in her face as the reason she didn’t hold his interest…the reason his eye had started to wander…the reason he’d apparently found it necessary to start humping everything that moved.
Jillian didn’t believe for a minute that she was the reason her ex couldn’t seem to keep it in his pants. That was on him, one hundred percent. But he’d said enough—enough cruel, hurtful things—that a couple of them had hit their mark, and she had begun to wonder: Was he right?
Was he right that she lacked a sense of adventure? She’d never been skydiving or bungee jumping, didn’t have a tattoo or piercing below her earlobes, had never even signed up for something as mundane as an online dating service.
Looking back, she couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done in her thirty-three years that would qualify as “wild” or “daring” or “courageous.”
Which basically meant she was a thirty-three-year-old bore. A pathetic Holly Hobby type whose most exciting exploit to date was agreeing to let her hair stylist give her layers. A coma victim on Valium was more exciting than she was.