The Bite Before Christmas

by Heidi Betts

  It bothered her enough that she wanted to do something about it. She wanted to wake up and have some actual fun for a change. She needed to prove to herself…and, yes, maybe a tiny bit to Will, even if she never saw the cheating bastard again…that she wasn’t a complete and total snooze fest.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t just her recessive boredom gene keeping her from jumping out of a plane or climbing Mount Everest…it was stark, pants-wetting terror. So those got crossed off her list right away, as did anything else categorized as remotely life-threatening. No speed racing, no racing toward the ground with nothing but a rubber band or shower cap to keep her from going splat.

  Being adventurous perhaps required practice and more of a buildup to the truly dangerous stuff.

  She also wasn’t in any hurry to have her skin punctured or abused, but a tattoo or body piercing was on the list of possibilities. Not high on the list, but there, somewhere around line…oh, nineteen or twenty.

  Yes, something like that would mark her as a bit of a rebel, but then she would have to live with it for the rest of her life. And what if she decided a week too late that she didn’t really want a dolphin on her ass or a silver hoop in her va-jay-jay? (Yeah, even if she went for a below-the-neck piercing, it was not going to be that low. Belly button maybe; hoo-ha, no way in hell.)

  Then Connor had insisted she move in with him. Well, not with him, but into his big, giant hulk of a mansion for the better part of a month.

  It had seemed hugely boorish of him at the time, but after she’d allowed herself (possibly against her better judgment) to agree, she had gotten to thinking.

  She was human. He was a vampire.

  She would be living with a vampire.

  Will—a human—had cheated on her with a vampire, and then accused her of not being woman enough to satisfy him. (Apparently it took razor-sharp fangs and a hundred-year-old pussy to get him off.) And to add insult to injury, he’d also had the nerve to say she would never have the nerve to sleep with a vampire herself. She was too bland, too boring, too vanilla.

  Vanilla! Her least favorite flavor of ice cream, hands down.

  So wouldn’t he be surprised—if he ever actually found out or she ever bothered to actually tell him—to learn that she’d been plenty bold enough to sleep with a vampire. A sexy, powerful vampire who could buy and sell a schmuck like Will ten times over—not to mention rip his cheating, lying, tiny-peckered throat out.

  It certainly would be a tidy little bit of revenge on her part…if she could find the courage to go through with it.

  That was where her inner Holly Hobby reared her sun-bonneted head and caused butterflies to break out of their cocoons and flap crazily in her belly.

  But she had a month to poison that freaking Lack of Adventure Barbie and prove that she wasn’t a frigid, boring, pathetic cold fish of a woman.

  Grabbing a bright yellow, oversize paperback off the shelf, she studied the title: Vampires for Dummies. Couldn’t get much simpler than that, she decided, tucking it into the crook of her arm. Then she reached for one called Living Amongst the Undead and another titled So You’re Dating a Vampire.

  If these didn’t give her at least a glimpse into the secret lives of vampires and how to get closer to Connor Drake without losing all of her bodily fluids, there probably wasn’t much hope, and she would just have to learn to live with the idea of having a dolphin on her ass.

  After making her purchases and trying not to look the clerk—who probably thought she was some kind of sick vampire groupie—directly in the eye, she left the bookstore and stood for a moment at the edge of the mall common.

  Glancing first in one direction and then the other, Jillian told herself the smart thing to do would be to turn right and head back to the parking lot, get in her car, and drive home, since she still needed to pack for her enforced stay at Castle Dracula. That’s certainly what old, boring, Will-Era Jillian would do.

  New, bolder, post-Will Jillian, however, forced herself to turn left and walk resolutely in the opposite direction. Her heeled boots clicked in time with her rapid footsteps all the way to the entrance of P.S. I Want You, a Victoria’s Secret–like shop that specialized in sexy, skimpy outer-and underwear.

  While she didn’t limit herself to plain white bras and undies on an everyday basis, she didn’t own anything really nice or va-va-va-voom, either. Definitely nothing that said P.S. I Want You. Probably more along the lines of P.S. We’re out of milk, can you pick some up on your way home from work?

  But she suspected that it was going to take a little voom and at least one va to catch Connor Drake’s attention.

  If she could actually work up the courage to wear any of it in front of him.

  But just in case, she heated up her credit card with a few sleek, slinky numbers for both inside and out, struggling not to blush as the young lady behind the counter rang her up, and then finally made her way to her car before she could chicken out and return everything for a full and speedy re-fund…including Connor’s hefty deposit for her party planning services.

  The minute Connor stepped out of his bedroom, he smelled fruit—peaches, to be precise—and knew Jillian was in the house. He took a deeper breath, holding the delicious fragrance in his lungs for long minutes. Very long minutes, since technically he didn’t need oxygen to survive.

  Vampires breathed for the same reason they ate—because it was normal; because it was a habit learned after decades of being mortal; because humans expected it and it was hard to blend in (if that was one’s intention) if you didn’t. In actuality, Connor could be dropped to the bottom of the ocean for centuries and still not die. Oh, his craving for blood would likely drive him insane and send him as close to the brink of death as a vampire could get, but the lack of oxygen would make very little impact one way or the other.

  It was times like these, though, that he enjoyed breathing. Appreciated the fact that being vampire heightened all of the senses, and made him feel as though Jillian were in the room with him rather than in the next room, or down the hall, or even downstairs.

  It was hard to pinpoint exactly where she was at the moment. The scent of ripe peaches surrounded him, coming from both the other wing, where her suite of rooms was located, and the stairwell, where she’d likely passed recently.

  Starting down the stairs himself, he used one of his other senses—his exceptional hearing—to track her down. Not because he had business with her, not because he wanted to check on her progress with the house, but simply because he wanted—perhaps even needed—to see her again.

  The sound of humming reached him well before he reached her. “Winter Wonderland,” if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He found her in his study, and the minute he cleared the open doorway, his heart—newly flooded with the blood he’d consumed for “breakfast”—thudded against his rib cage at the sight of her. She was perched on a small stepladder, facing the other direction as she stretched on tiptoe to tack a full, lovely pine bough garland interspersed with groupings of gold bows and shiny, round, red and gold glass ornaments along the topmost edge of the bookshelves lining the walls.

  For a moment, he simply watched her, enjoying the view. She was wearing a pair of jeans that hugged her butt like a second skin—like he wanted to hug her butt—plain but for a few glittering silver grommets decorating the rear pockets, and a long-sleeved, lightweight white top. The outfit was casual, not nearly as dressy or professional as the slacks and sweater she’d worn the first time he’d seen her in this very room, but he definitely liked these clothes better. What man wouldn’t, when they were snug enough to display her lovely figure and comfortable enough to invite a man to touch?

  Doing his best to get his libido under control, and making sure his blatant desire for her didn’t show in his eyes—in more ways than one—he cleared his throat and took a step into the room.

  In the process of reaching about three feet away from her center of gravity to measure the distance between tacks along the str
ing of garland, Jillian jerked her head around at the noise, lost her balance, and started to fall. Arms pinwheeling, she gave a little yip of fear as her feet slipped from the metal rung of the ladder, and she went over backward.

  Before the first tack pulled free, before she could even go vertical or finish her yelp of alarm, Connor was there, catching her, plucking her from the air and saving her from a broken neck—or at the very least, some very nasty bruises.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, letting her slide slowly down his body and to her feet. Her breathing was raspy, panic making her heart race and her pulse pound, every beat of which he felt like a hummingbird’s wings under his touch.

  “I-I think so,” she said, her hand going to her throat as she swallowed hard, and then slowly sliding lower, as though she was checking all of her extremities for broken bones.

  Then she lifted her head, meeting his gaze with round, fully dilated blue eyes. “How did you do that? How did you get to me so fast?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Just one of the more useful side effects of being a vampire. Super hearing, super sense of smell, super speed…able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  If possible, her eyes widened even more. “Really?”

  “Yes to one, two, and three. No to four. I could possibly lift a tall building in a single bound, though. Or maybe a small to mid-size vehicle.”

  “Wow,” she murmured, sounding stunned. Whether in awe or trepidation, he didn’t know.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again, realizing that his hands were still wrapped around her arms and she was still touching him—however lightly—from chest to hip.

  “Yes, thank you. And thank you for catching me. I can’t imagine hitting the floor from that height would have felt very good.”

  “You’d have probably broken something—preferably not your neck.” The thought had him frowning, especially since he could think of much more enjoyable things to do with her neck than trying to realign the bones and sticking it in a brace.

  “Why are you up on a ladder at all?” he wanted to know, aware that his tone came out rougher and more accusatory than intended.

  One of her pale brows arched and she took a step back, breaking his hold. He lowered his arms, already missing her warmth against his fingertips.

  “I’m decorating your house, the way you asked me to,” she informed him. Her own tone was a cross between annoyance and patience with a very small child or…someone with a very low I.Q.

  “Don’t you have people to do this sort of thing for you? I didn’t know you were going to be the one hanging from the rafters and risking your life to hang tinsel.”

  Taking another step back, she leaned down to retrieve the end of the fallen garland, looping it a few times in her hand and resting it on the topmost step of the ladder.

  “No hanging from the rafters,” she said. “I’ll leave that to you.”

  Slanting him what could only be described as a wicked glance, she added, “You can turn into a bat, can’t you?”

  Before he could stop himself, he laughed. An honest to goodness laugh filled his chest and diaphragm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud or been so genuinely amused.

  Damn, she was refreshing.

  “Sorry, no. Shape-shifting is only the stuff of myths and legends. If we all turned into bats, we probably wouldn’t last very long. Too many people are afraid of bats and are quick to call in exterminators.”

  “And people aren’t afraid of vampires?” she asked.

  “Not as afraid. Not scream-at-the-top-of-their-lungs-and-hide-under-the-furniture afraid. Or if they are, they simply stay out of known vamp hangouts and make sure they’re home before dark.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” she murmured, crossing her arms and leaning back against one of the lower rungs of the ladder.

  He chuckled, mimicking her crossed-arms stance. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be planning how you’re going to avoid coming into contact with the undead?”

  “Maybe. But then, I assume there are good vampires and bad vampires, just like there are good humans and bad humans,” she said, feeling suddenly like Glinda in The Wizard of Oz. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?

  “True. But just like humans, they don’t wear signs on their foreheads, so you have to be careful and trust your instincts. And stay away from some of the rougher parts of town, the vamp bars, et cetera.”

  No problem there, she thought. She didn’t make a habit of spending much time in rough human hangouts…or the subdued ones, either, for that matter. Coffee with a friend or the occasional margarita at Señor Sombrero’s with some of the girls after work was more her speed.

  Had been more her speed. She was working to change that. Maybe not by walking into the first biker bar she ran across—human or vampire—but she was taking baby steps…if moving into Drake Manor and planning to seduce Connor Drake could be considered a baby step.

  “Look,” he said when she didn’t respond, “I have to get to the office, but do me a favor—stay off of ladders. And chairs. And step stools, for that matter.”

  “How, exactly, am I supposed to get your house ready for Christmas without being able to hang decorations? By osmosis?”

  “No,” he said slowly, dragging out the word, “you can hire assistants, as I suggested. Or get someone from my own staff to help.”

  “But I don’t need assistants yet. And if I ask someone from your household to help, I’d just be standing there, issuing orders.”

  “So what’s wrong with that?”

  She tipped her head and fixed him with an assessing stare. “I’m not that kind of decorator. I have no problem hiring extra people when the situation warrants, but when I can just as easily do the work myself, I prefer to do it myself.”

  It was Connor’s turn to cock his head, but rather than annoyance, his lips were curved slightly in amusement. “And you’re adamant about this?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied, rather than telling him that there was actually a lot of wiggle room to her position.

  For a second, he remained silent, narrowed dark eyes studying her. Then he uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his sides as he rounded the corner of his desk, opened a black leather briefcase, and started filling it with folders and papers.

  “All right, have it your way,” he said, closing the attaché and flipping the latch. “You don’t have to ask anyone else to assist you, but I still don’t want you climbing things or doing anything that could be potentially dangerous. So as soon as I get home, I’ll help you.”

  He straightened to face her, case in hand. “How does that sound?”

  Jillian wasn’t sure how it sounded because she was still trying to figure out if she’d heard him correctly.

  “You’re going to help me?” she asked, hoping the shock wasn’t too clear in her voice.

  “Yes. Why is that such a surprise to you?”

  Maybe because he was Connor Drake. Connor Drake, vampire, sure, and she didn’t think vampires did home improvements. (Not that she knew enough about them to be sure.) But also because he was Connor Drake, mega-mogul restaurateur. He didn’t have to do anything himself. He could hire people to brush his teeth for him, if he wanted. (Did vampires brush their teeth? She didn’t know that, either, but she hoped they did; blood left some nasty stains.)

  “I’m not in the habit of putting my clients to work on their own party plans,” she told him instead.

  He shrugged one broad, well-tailored shoulder and moved back around to the desk toward the door. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  Yes, there was, she thought as she watched him leave. A first time for a client to decorate his own house, and a first time for her to try to lure that client into bed.

  Hopefully neither of them would end up costing her her job.

  BITE FIVE

  Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand and resisting the urge to rub a
t her dry, tired eyes, Jillian double-clicked on yet another bread pudding recipe and began comparing its ingredients to the other dozen she’d perused already. She wasn’t even sure bread pudding was the way to go for Connor’s Practically Perfect Christmas Dinner, but that hadn’t stopped her from opening sixty-seven different tabs on her laptop’s browser.

  “Found her, Maeve! She’s in here!”

  The raised voice, ripping through the silence without warning, made Jillian jerk and sit up straighter behind Connor’s wide desk. She hoped she wasn’t about to get in trouble for working here. She hadn’t asked if she could use his desk while he was gone, but she wasn’t using his computer and hadn’t touched a thing on his desk other than the blotter, where she’d set her own wireless notepad.

  Doing a quick save of some of her searches, she stood and tried to look as though she hadn’t been making herself to home, just as a heavily pierced young man with white-tipped, spiky black hair appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in black denim and leather from head to toe, had a tattoo of a small, black widow on his cheek just below his right eye and one of a skull and crossbones on his forearm. They looked so fresh, they might have been a real spider and someone’s actual skull resting on his flesh. Ugh.

  He stood there, hands on hips, looking more than a little menacing as he studied her with intensely curious hazel eyes.

  A second later, a girl of about the same age, with the same dark hair—though hers sported a bright stripe of magenta rather than peroxide tips—came to stand beside him. She, too, had multiple piercings, but her clothes were a bit more animal friendly: bright yellow spandex skirt, ratty blue high-top tennies, and a white T-shirt that said: LOVE SUCKS…AND SO DO I.

  Pulse slowly returning to normal, Jillian closed the lid of the laptop and carried it around the desk to rest on the seat of one of the striped armchairs.