She has hope. He has vulnerability. Both need each other, but reality might keep them apart.Grace spends her evenings alone, reviewing paranormal books on her blog, wondering what it takes to make a hero and if she'll ever find one. She doesn't believe vampires or paranormal beings are real, and, while she hands out harsh reviews because she can't suspend her disbelief, she meets the one man who will go to great lengths to change her mind.
Brody's a vampire. Turned into a monster by a bad transfusion years before, he's afraid of losing his grasp on humanity when the hunt for blood grows strong. Once he selects Grace to relieve his primal appetites, he's brought up short by his attraction. Her very disbelief makes him want to show her not only what he is but why he's worthy of her love. Now, if only a troublesome branch of the government would stop spying long enough for him to actually date her.
Trouble is, after being hurt from a nasty divorce, Grace is leery of giving anyone her trust, let alone her love, again. Die at his hand or live under his control? Only her heart can decide.
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Chapter One
With her fingers curled over the keyboard, a glass of ten-year-old Burgundy wine resting next to the flat screen monitor, and the faint glow of her computer lighting the room, Grace Hampton was ready to begin. Today, she'd either crush the dreams of authors or encourage them. She glanced at the PDF copy of the book she'd agreed to review, and a shiver ran over her skin—not a shiver of the good variety. This book was truly hideous.
What the hell could she say? She couldn't lie and put the rest of her reviews in jeopardy, but the book was terrible.
"Vampires in Tuxes is the story of a human-male-turned-vampire, who, along with looking to kill as many humans as he can, is hunting for love. I found this book to be . . . . Well, this book is . . . . "
She tapped a fingernail against the spacebar. I can't do this.
"Honestly, this book is as stupid as they come. The author totally dropped the ball when it comes to the plot. I mean, hello, sticking steamy scenes in just for shock value? You can't convince me a) that a woman with half a brain would willingly jump a guy's bones because he's a sexy half-dead bloodsucker, and b) that she'd do it just because he wanted her to. Where's the personal pride?"
Pausing again, Grace stared at the screen and watched the cursor blink. Actually, having sex with a random guy simply for the hell of it sounded like a damned good idea. Well, maybe not a strange man, but someone who would take the edge off. Life in romance novels always seemed so uncomplicated and easy. A woman meets a guy, rejects his paranormal hang-ups, figures out he's actually strong and wonderful, and likes him inspite of his issues. End of story.
Why couldn't she find a great guy like that?
She mentally berated herself. Of course, there were no such things as vampires or werewolves, just like there was no such thing as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. But, if that were a true statement, why did writers keep writing about them?
Grace took an overly large gulp of wine, yet the drink did nothing to calm her stress. She stood and quietly padded over the dark hardwood of her bedroom floor. Once she reached the French doors leading to the green space behind her building, she threw them open. The gentle pattering of a spring shower greeted her ears and brought with it the fresh smell of rain.
God, she loved late April in Indiana. Too bad she'd wasted the evening behind her computer screen. Now, it was too dark to enjoy the temperate air. Running her hands up and down her bare arms, Grace shivered and glanced down at herself. Maybe wearing the sheer turquoise babydoll hadn't been such a great choice for this time of year, but she'd needed something to cheer her up. Sexy lingerie usually did the trick. Especially since she could now wear whatever she wanted to bed without some damned man telling her she didn't have the body for it.
As if being a healthy size-fourteen doomed her to the ranks of the hunchback.
She dropped into the padded leather desk chair with a sigh. Somehow, being thirty and divorced wasn't as exciting as she thought it would be when the big break-up happened three years before.
It was lonely. And disappointing. She thought she'd be married forever—then, reality set in.
Obviously, she didn't miss her ex. He'd dropped her for someone younger, thinner, and prettier. What she did miss was talking to someone at the end of the day in the quietness right before sleeping. The fleeting touch of a masculine hand at dinner. The brushing against a man while maneuvering through the house. The earthy carnality of sex between two willing bodies with the promise of a deep, emotional connection afterward.
That's what she missed, the feeling of being one with another person.
Well, that and the house in their quiet subdivision. Grace snorted, and then downed the rest of her wine. Her bastard ex took that, too, thanks to his ass-wipe of an attorney. He gave her all of two weeks to pack her crap, find an apartment, and get the hell out, which she did in a mere three days, not wanting to remain under the same roof with him any longer than necessary.
And if all three toilets were stopped up with hand towels upon her leaving, well, she considered the resulting plumbing bill an unforgettable parting gift.
Her marriage and divorce were all in the past now. She had moved on and never looked back. However, she had been forced to pick up the part-time gig as a paranormal book reviewer, since her day job writing "how-to" pamphlets for various companies around town wouldn't make her a millionaire in this century.
So far, it'd been easy money, but now her easy acceptance had turned into jaded skepticism. Digital books about vampires, weres, and other supernatural creatures clogged her inbox—not to mention the pile of free paperback books on her bedside table.
Relationships were hard enough without dropping supernatural issues on top of them. Grace snickered. One could even say there was no such thing as a man who would commit, heart and soul, to one woman for the rest of his life. Such a man would have to be supernatural—which was why he didn't exist.
Training her attention on her screen, she typed, "The author apparently has no grasp of characterization or emotional vesting for the reader. I've read the first two books in her series, and the quality has gone down with each installment. I'll add the c) and says he clearly doesn't understand the need for fresh entertainment because this book is the same drivel she's churned out before. She merely changed the names and the setting."
Again, Grace tapped a fingernail against a key. How to end this review? She blew out a frustrated breath, ruffling the auburn bangs which swept across her left eye. "I gladly, and without regret, give this book a 54 out of a possible 100 on my Would I Die for this Hero scale." Clicking on the save button, she stood and stretched out her arms.
Like any of those creatures actually existed.
And what exactly would the authors of those books do if confronted with a real version of the paranormals they wrote about with such sexy abandon and semi-definitive authority? Would they swoon, weak at the knees, or would they throw the alleged heroes out on their aberrant asses and continue to live their own lives?
What would I do? As soon as the thought sneaked out, she thrust it away. She wouldn't do anything because vampires weren't authentic. Life was all too real with no time for indulging in whimsy or imagination. Believing otherwise was pointless, no matter how she might want to dream otherwise.
As she turned, the white lacey panels at her windows fluttered in the breeze. A furtive movement on the patio caught her attention. Shadows shifted, lengthened. The darkness grew deeper while Grace stared. Then, the form of a man stepped from the obscurity. Tall and broad-shouldered . . . she couldn't discern any more than that out of the gloom. Too bad. Weren't all the mysterious ones hot?
Cold fear shot down her spine. Her barefeet felt stuck to the floor as she watched, open mouthed in shock. How long had he been there? What did he want? Frantically, she glanced about her bedroom, wondering what she could use to defend herself. Spying her nephew's Nerf baseball bat propped in a corner, she inched in that direction, careful to keep her gaze on the intruder.
He never moved, only regarded her, unblinking, his stare a mixture of hunger and passion as the rain fell down around him.
Grace wished it weren't so dark or, at the very least, that she hadn't thrown open the doors where any creep could walk by. She couldn't see the man well enough to launch an effective offensive, but she wanted him gone. Lunging for the bat, she grabbed it and fit the handle to her palm. Then, swinging around, she ran toward the man in an attempt to chase him from her bedroom doorway.
"Shoo!" While the command worked on dogs, it didn't budge the intruder. "Get out of here!" She brought the spongy piece of recreational equipment down on her would-be attacker's head. The rain muffled the thuds as she continued to swat at him. "How dare you come in!"
"Enough, woman." The man raised his hands to ward off the attack. "This ends now." He wrenched the bat away from her fingers as if he were accustomed to disarming people all the time. "You have moments left to exercise your own free will. Choose your words wisely."
In spite of the fear that threatened to choke her, Grace eked out a laugh. "Are you kidding me?" She crossed her arms over her chest as her nipples hardened from the cold rain. "What? Next you'll tell me you're some sort of serial killer?"
A light of interest gleamed in his eyes."I suppose, in a way, that's a good enough statement since I am a vampire. That could be an eventuality." He tossed the toy away.
"Really? That's the best you've got?" Another snicker. "Do you know how cliché that is?"
"It's the truth." He stepped into her personal space. "I promise you won't feel more than a momentary discomfort." Low and mysteriously thrilling, his voice sent tremors through her body.
"Neither will you, once my knee finds your family jewels." Retreating, she narrowed her eyes, mostly unaware she'd retreated outside to the patio. "I'm a loud screamer."
"Even better. If you don't want me to feed, I can bed you instead." He pinned her against the brick side of her apartment building. "Either way, one of my appetites will be slaked."
Most of her fear melted at the absurdity of the situation. Her next laugh came out on a wheeze. "Oh, my God, you sound like a poorly written paranormal novel." Shoving at his chest, she paused when she felt nothing but solid muscle beneath her fingertips. "Go on. Get out of here." She poked at his torso much like she'd prod a stray dog. This time, her stomach clenched at the annoyed determination that flared in his dark eyes.
"I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."
"That's too bad, then, because my blood stays with me, and I'm too tired to be seduced tonight. Go away." She ducked under his arm and had almost gained the doorway when he yanked her back with a fist in her hair. Grace cried out, anger surging through her chest. She whirled on her attacker, but he reeled her into an embrace.
He growled low in his throat and pulled her flush against his hard body. "I'm not accustomed to being refused."
An electric jolt shot through her chest from the contact. Wow. Just like a romance novel.
"Everyone meets disappointment sometime." She shoved at his chest. He captured her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one hand. Grace inhaled, stopping herself at the last minute from sighing. He smelled clean, like pine and snow in the winter. Yummy, but, damn it, he was seriously pissing her off with the rough handling.
Or else she'd been alone for too long. Either way, he was about to get kneed.
"Let me go." As she struggled, her breasts rubbed against his dark button-down shirt. Her nipples cried out from the stimulation despite the continuous warning her brain screamed.
She stifled a groan. Great. Turned on by a crazy man who thought he was a vampire. At least kicking him in the groin would be cheaper than therapy. "Hands off, buddy."
"Woman, shut up!" The command rang with frustrated rage.
In that one moment, the remaining fraction of her fear morphed into annoyance. No longer would a man tell her what to do. She made her own life, and she wasn't a doormat for a man's whims. "Make me. I dare you."
Tension crackled around them as he considered her words. Without warning, he crushed his mouth to hers, hard enough that she cut her bottom lip on a fang.
An honest-to-God fang.
Wow. How much did it cost this guy for the altered dental work? Brief insanity took control. Despite her resolve to kick him in the groin, she wilted against him as a rush of lust poured through her veins, tingling through long dormant parts. What could one kiss hurt?
* * * * *
Brody Simon's hunger grew tenfold once that first, thick drop of her blood hit his tongue. She tasted warm and sweet, like cinnamon, but with a kick of cayenne pepper. As a sort of experiment, he suckled on her bottom lip again, pleased to coax out another tiny dot.
Nothing outside of heaven or hell could taste so wildly intoxicating. Sharp stabs of pleasure went straight to his groin, and he pressed his hips harder into her body. Never before had he gotten such an intense hard-on from a simple kiss—and he needed to know why he did now.
Lifting his head, he felt his mouth water, not only for a bigger portion of her lifeblood but also for possession of her body. The greater his hunger for blood, the more intense his sexual urges, but he could only have one because the other—feeding—would kill her. This was how it had always been since he'd been turned into a monster.
It was pointless to fight, and he didn't want to. He'd long ago accepted his new destiny—now, he wanted to devour the curvy, smart-ass woman he held in a loose embrace.
Her breath was as ragged as his. Everytime her heart beat, fluttered, tumbled chaotically through her chest, he felt its cadence. He bent slightly, slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted her in his arms, carrying her through the open French doors. She struggled in his hold, but he tightened his grip.
God, when was the last time he'd slept with a woman who had flesh on her body and didn't feel like a pile of sticks? The kind of female he could really hold onto while driving into her warm core?
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The woman squirmed in his hold. "Put me down. Right now."
The sound of her voice and its Midwestern nasal twang snapped him out of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes. This woman was way too mouthy. "Gladly." Brody dropped her onto the queen-sized bed, which was covered by a thick comforter. "You represent a challenge, but then it turns me on when the prey runs."
"Sorry. I'm not in the mood to be hunted today." She scrambled across the bed, throwing pillows at him as she moved. "Get out, you crazy."
Yeah, like he was the crazy one. "Listen, I don't know what you might have heard regarding vampires, but I can almost guarantee you it's wrong." He narrowed his eyes and used his arm to deflect the last plush missile she hurled.
In the dim light of the computer monitor on the nearby desk, he watched her pupils enlarge. Her chest heaved with the little gasps of breath she took. "You're insane."
Brody grinned. "This doesn't need to be difficult." He crawled up the bed after her. With a solid yank on one of her ankles, he brought her body close again. Her filmy negligee, already wet and see-through, rode higher on her thighs, revealing a pair of flirty lace underwear. His heart rate quickened, pulsed in time to his aching cock.
"It doesn't need to be because I refuse to give in." She flailed an arm, and her palm connected soundly with his cheek. "I don't know your name—"
"Would you like to?"
"What?" Confusion shadowed her round face. "No! I don't sleep with men the minute I see them, let alone conduct puncture-related activities without proper medical guidance. Get out." She attempted to twist for the phone on the nightstand.
He held her down. The minx had nerve. Heat built in his still stinging cheek. Most of the time, when he got to this point in the feeding process, the women had either passed out from terror or fought him off with so much adrenaline-born energy that he let them go. Not worth the effort. This one seemed to teeter on a fine line between fighting and giving into curiosity as evidenced by passion of the kiss.
"My name's Brody Simon."
Silence.
"And this would be where you'd return the favor and tell me yours. After all, you're the one who insisted on manners."
"Fine." She visibly swallowed while fear warred with interest in her eyes. "Grace Hampton."
"That's a pretty name." Females nowadays sounded like a parade of strippers: Brandi, Candi, Tawni, et cetera. He placed a knee between her legs and widened his grin when she emitted a noise that was a blend of a moan and a surprised gasp. "What's your story, I wonder? I can sense your fear but it's muddled by the beginning stages of . . .arousal."
Leaning close, he dragged his fangs over the creamy ivory skin of her neck, enough to tease but not to break the tissue. "I've been a vampire for the last five years." Unable to resist, he drew his tongue over the spot where her pulse fluttered. "Relax, cherub, you'll enjoy this more if you're not so tense."
"Cherub?" More struggling ensued. "Is that a crack about my weight? Do I look like a roly-poly, winged, and naked angel baby to you?"
"No, but you're almost naked. Does that count?" His lips twitched from amusement as he captured her wrists and pinned them to the bed. "I like curvy women, so, if you don't mind, I'd like to wrap this up and make my way home before dawn."
"Of course. Wouldn't want you to burn to a crisp in the evil sun." She struggled against his fingers. "If you are a vampire, which I still don't buy, why did you think I'd be a good blood donor? I'm not a big needle fan."
Her question surprised him. He'd never had anyone question his identity before. "Why is it so difficult to believe in what I am?"
"Oh, did I hurt your pretend feelings?" She glared. "Seems to me you're hiding your true self behind a fantasy persona. Why is that?"
"I'm not hiding. Because I refuse to hide, the government considers me dangerous." Damn. Why did he feel compelled to share anything with her?
"See, you are crazy. Why should the government care that you have a healthy imagination?"
"The government doesn't tolerate the paranormal . . . differences . . . in the city's subculture." Annoyance bubbled through his chest, spiking his hunger. "Doesn't matter anyway."
She laughed in his face. "If you're such a bad-ass vampire, bite me, because you're definitely not invited to party in my southern hemisphere, if you know what I mean."
"Only too clear." He removed his knee as she clamped hers closed.
Never, in all his years of being a fanged predator, had he been so amused with a woman he was about to feast from. Experience told him he couldn't let anyone sidetrack him. No personal relationships meant no one could get hurt, which ensured he'd spend the remainder of his half-life alone.
"I'm waiting, fang boy."
Brody shook his head. No more thinking. Assuage the hunger, and move on. As he gazed down at her, he frowned. Eyes screwed tight, her head turned to the side, exposing her neck, she represented what essentially amounted to silver-platter dining. He released his hold on her wrists in favor of ripping open her flimsy nightgown. The full mounds of her breasts beckoned. He couldn't resist fitting the hot flesh to his palms and stifled a groan when her nipples hardened from his attention.
A tiny moan escaped her, but she didn't look at him or do anything except lie there. Grace was now as lifeless as a sack of rice. He smirked. Now, who was the cliché?
Damn it. The thrill had gone from the conquest, as much from her actions as her mocking words. He refused to take awoman, in bed or by his bite, who wouldn't enjoy it—instinct told him Grace most likely would be a feisty bed partner when she was a willing participant,and she might just make a great feeder. He glanced at her unmoving form. Not only was her passivity a blow to his pride, but there was no challenge in seducing a woman who had all the enthusiasm of a bean bag chair. He might as well jack off in the privacy of his own home.
Even that option didn't appeal at the moment.
Annoyed, and hugely disappointed, Brody slid his fingers into her long hair that appeared the color of rust in the gloom. Forcing her head forward, he smiled as she opened her eyes. "I'm giving you a reprieve." The problem with being a vampire was constantly chasing down prey for life-giving sustenance became tedious after awhile. Whatever happened to acceptance and taking a woman to dinner just for the conversation?
"What, without sex to sweeten the deal, you can't bring yourself to drink my blood?" Grace's heavy sigh warmed his cheek. "Story of my life, I guess. I'm not good enough for human males, so why would an alleged paranormal be any different?" She beat her fists against his chest. "Let me up."
"I thought you'd be a bit more grateful I'm letting you get away." He removed his body from hers, but not without running his hands slowly along every one of her curves. The shiver that covered her skin with goose bumps told him she wasn't as immune to him as she pretended. His cock twitched. Maybe there was a chance—
"Get the hell out of my room right this instant, or I'll do something you'll regret." She scrambled from the bed, standing near a nightstand with the tattered remains of her nightwear hanging from her shoulders. "Now!"
Maybe not.
"What is your problem? I spared your life and your virtue." He slid to his feet and raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. "You don't know how unprecedented this is."
"My virtue? Did we fall through a time portal to Victorian England?" Her glare strengthened. "And my problem?" She grabbed a few paperback books. "One minute you're all over me like you haven't had sex for months. While I can understand the motivation, seeing as how I haven't had sex for . . . years. I honestly got a thrill from the thought. Stupid me. Then you pull away the minute you see what my body really looks like, telling me you're granting me a pardon? Are you some sort of supernatural governor?"
Brody snorted. "I don't have time for this high-maintenance crap."
"What did you just say?"
The atmosphere in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "I meant—" Holy hell. He'd never had to work so hard to just talk to a female before, not even when he was fully human.
"Get. Out."
He ducked as she chucked a paperback novel across the bed. Another one flew in its wake. Brody dodged, but his victory was short-lived when a third clocked him on the forehead. "Get a grip, woman. I'm leaving." Despite what he was, he still retained his grip on humanity, and he desperately wanted to keep it that way.
"Good." The book in her fingers buckled as she squeezed it. "If I get a grip on you, I'm hauling your breaking-and-entering self to the nearest police station and telling them you tried to murder me."
And don't forget attempted seduction. He wondered why she left out that violation. It didn't matter. Slowly rounding the corner of the bed, he held her gaze. His eyes tingled as he let her see them unveiled. He hated to do it and hadn't used his enthrallment power for months, but Grace was a difficult case.
He needed to think.
Sleep. You want to sleep . . . and forget about me.
Her brows drew together with her frown. "What are you doing to me?" Confusion wavered through the whisper. She swayed and dropped the book.
Brody caught her as she fainted into deep slumber. Pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he laid her on the bed, and then ran a fingertip along the sweep of her cheek. She stirred and murmured something unintelligible but didn't awaken.
And she wouldn't until late that morning. Such was the drugging effect of his power. Too bad she'd think the events of the night were merely a dream—one she'd forget as time marched on.
The thought chilled his heart as he quickly exited the bedroom, pulling the French doors closed behind him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be understood and accepted by a woman for what he was. He was tired of the fear, the hunger for blood, the one-night stands.
He wanted normalcy—or at least as much normalcy as he could get in his condition—and the one woman who'd kept his shaft hard the entire time he'd interacted with her thought he was a mockery, a figment of her imagination.
Life sucked. In more ways than one. Above all, he wanted her to believe.
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