Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (8 page)

it.”

“I’ll be waiting outside on the porch. In the rain. So if he  can come faster, I’d really appreciate it.” I’d been an actress  back in the days when “actress” was often a euphemism for  something entirely different. However, my acting skills were  enough to keep me form bursting into laughter at the repeated  innuendo.

I hung up before Miles could deliver another one-liner. I was good, but I wasn’t cocky enough to think I’d be able to hide my amusement forever.

Across the kitchen from me, Blackburn was watching me with a curious half-smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. It was almost as if he’d  heard both halves of that conversation, but  I was sure the volume on the phone hadn’t been high enough for that. The half-smile broadened into a full-out smile.

“I suppose you expect me to feel properly guilty and not  make you wait out on the porch as you  suggested to the towing  company.”

Well, yeah. If he was going to make a woman wait alone outside on a dark and stormy night, then I was going to play with my food more than usual. And he wouldn’t think my games were fun.

“Well, Mr . . .?”

“Blackburn,”  he supplied obligingly.

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What? No invitation to address him by his first name? Wife-

killer or not, he was one, hell of a jerk.

“Well, Mr Blackburn,” I started again, and even to my own  wars my voice sounded a bit brittle, “I won’t be telling everyone  about your kind heart and generosity if you make me wait  outside. However, it’s your home and your prerogative.” I gave  him a challenging stare, daring him to prove how ungentlemanly  he could be.

To my shock, he obliged me. “I’m glad you’re so understanding,” he said. “I was about to turn in.” He yawned, though I’d bet he was about as tired as I was = which is to say, not at all. “Although it is not my usual practice to leave beautiful women out in the cold, as it were, I have to get up early in the morning.  However, there’s a rocking chair on the porch, and I assure you, it’s quite comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait? I believe I can keep my eyes open long enough to brew some.”

I had the distinct impression he was mocking me, though itdidn’t show in his expression. I considered the possibility of ramming my fist through his teeth. Then I considered the possibility of killing him right there and then. But a quick death was too good for him.

“Sorry to turn down such a generous offer,” I  said, sneering  to make doubly sure he caught my sarcasm, “but I think I’ll skip  the coffee. I’d hate to keep you form your beauty sleep any  longer.” I turned on my heel and stalked out of the kitchen.  Although his footsteps were quite and stealthy, I knew  he was  following me to the door. The better to kick me out on my ass, I  suppose. Bastard.

I hoped steam wasn’t coming out of my ears as I bent to snatch my wet shoes from the doormat. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Mr Blackburn,” I said.

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“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he responded smoothly.

I didn’t dare turn to look at him as I jerked the door open and stepped outside. I was so pissed my fangs were extending.  Normally, it’s not that easy to get a rise out of me, but there’s nothing like a good-looking man behaving badly to set my blood boiling. Such a waste of good beefcake.

The door closed behind me, Blackburn not bothering with a goodbye, and moments later, the porch light clicked off. My fists clenched at my sides. Not only was the asshole  going to leave me waiting outside in the rain in the middle of the night, he wasn’t even going to leave the light on for me.

Resisting the urge to bash the door off its hinges and sink my fangs into Ross Blackburn’s despicable throat, I plopped down on the rocking chair and settled in to wait the hour it was supposed to take for the tow truck to get here  –  just in case  Blackburn had a guilt-induced bout of insomnia, I didn’t want to blow my cover story. But I hadn’t been sitting there more than about ten minutes when the lights in the house flicked off one by

one.

It’s very easy for a vampire to be overwhelmed by ennui as the years, decades and even centuries roll past. Those of us who’ve seen multiple centuries and still enjoy our lives do so by continuing to learn, grow and change, which is why over the last ten years or so I’d been teaching myself to be an Internet expert.  It also came in handy in my line of work.

I spent the remainder of my “day” (i.e. the hours of darkness) finding out everything I  could about Ross Blackburn.  Some of my methods were highly illegal, but by stealth and creative storytelling (also known as lying) I’d gotten  across  to a

61

lot of databases meant only for law-enforcement personnel, I  used those resources ruthlessly and  –  since several of them  actually cost money  –  rather recklessly well.

Through my prying, I determined that Mrs. Blackburn’s estate was probably worth about a million dollars, including the house. On the one hand, yes, that’s a lot of money. On the other hand. Blackburn was only getting half of it. It seemed like if he were targeting rich women to marry and murder, he could have found someone considerably richer than that. And with his looks, he’d be a definite candidate for the position of trophy husband. Of  course, he didn’t exactly have the personality to go with it.

But what really convinced me he hadn’t been after her money was that Blackburn himself was worth at least ten times as much. Hell, he was practically slumming. I’d wager neither  Jeffrey nor the  late Mrs. Blackburn had had any idea how much money Ross Blackburn was worth. Of course, money was only one possible motive for murder and, while I couldn’t say I’d got a very good read on his personality, there was nothing about  Blackburn that made me doubt  he was capable of killing his wife. And Mrs. Blackburn’s death did seem sudden, or unexplained. According to the autopsy that Jeffrey had insisted upon, the cause of death was complications related to chemotherapy. But that sounded a bit like “we have  no clue” to

me.

The police had dutifully investigated Jeffrey’s charges that his mother was murdered, but the case had been dropped for lack of evidence. Luckily, I had some resources  –  and some abilities  –  that the police lacked. After his behaviour earlier, I’d have been more than happy to kill Ross Blackburn whether he was a murderer or not. But I’d have a hell of a lot more fun if he

was.

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After a restful day’s sleep, I made my way back to  Blackburn’s house with a fresh set of false pretences at the ready. I was annoyed to find the lights off when I arrived. The nerve of the guy, not to be home when I wanted him to be! I parked my car and, while I was debating whether I should wait, come back later or take a look around the house in its owner’s

absence,  a black BMW turned into the driveway. The headlights  illuminated a “FOR SALE” sign in the yard. Either I’d been  terribly unobservant last night, or Blackburn had just put the  place up for sale today. Interesting.

I waited ten minutes after the lights in  the house went on before I slid out of my car and headed for his door. I preferred for him to not know I’d been stalking his house, even though my pretext for the evening was that I was a private investigator.

He took his own sweet time answering the door. I fumed a bit, just because it felt good to fume. But when the door swung open. I almost forgot what I was fuming about.

I’d halfway convinced myself that he couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as I remembered, but he was. His thick black hair was still damp from a recent shower  –  perhaps explaining his delay in opening the door  –  and he smelled of ivory soap and minty toothpaste. His white shirt was untucked, his feet were bare and I doubt he could have looked any sexier had he tried.

There was still that  personality problem, though. He didn’t say a word, just stared at me with raised eyebrows and a faintly mocking grin on his lips. I waited a beat to see if he was going to at least say hello, but he didn’t.

“Remember me?” I asked  –  rather inanely, I’m afraid.

“Indeed. How could I forget?” He was still grinning.

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“May I come in?” I asked with a smile that was supposed to

be pleasant. I’m not sure it was.

“What would you do if I said no?” he responded, and for a  moment I had the crazy thought that he was  on to me. But no,  that really
 
was
 
crazy. Normal people don’t even believe in  vampires, much less think there’s one standing on their  doorstep.

“Probably something really childish, like ring your bell for  four hours straight. Or maybe toilet paper your yard.” Among  other things.

“Well by all means then, come in.”

He stepped back, making a sweeping invitation with one arm. Corny as hell, but I refrained from telling him that. I noticed that, while he’d left enough room for me to come in, he wasn’t exactly  being generous with the personal space. Even when I stepped forwards and crossed the threshold, he was uncomfortably close and didn’t back away.

It wasn’t until he’d closed the door behind me that I noticed it. Hidden beneath the strong, minty toothpaste.  The faint scent of blood.

I felt my heart speed with sudden panic. If I could smell blood on his breath, that meant I wasn’t trapping myself inside this house with a helpless human after all. It also meant that  Jeffrey was right, and Ross Blackburn was a  murderer (says the pot calling the kettle).

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart. He could no doubt smell my fear and, unless he’d figured out what I was, he’d have no good explanation for it.

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Could he have figured it out? Had he smelled it on  my breath last night? Had he noticed my hesitation crossing the threshold?

All these thoughts flitted frantically through my head in the half second it took for him to close the door, then suddenly whirl on me. Before I could dodge, he’d grabbed hold of both my arms and shoved me face-first against the wall. I let out a gasp of pain as he then wrenched one of my arms up behind my back.

All my superior vampire strength was doing nothing for me.  Ross Blackburn was flat-out bigger and stronger than I was, and my being a vampire didn’t change that. Dammit!

His manhandling did have one positive, if perhaps paradoxical, effect:  my fear dissipated, being replaced by anger.  I forced myself to stop struggling.

“I thought you were just an asshole,” I said, somehow

breathlessly. “I didn’t realize you were a psycho too.”

He pressed his body against my back, pinning me even more firmly to the wall as he chuckled in my ear. “Brave words for a woman alone in a house with a presumably hostile psycho,” he said.

He trailed his nose against the length of my neck, and I assumed he was taking in the scent of my blood. It was going to hurt like hell if he bit me, but I knew it wouldn’t kill me. What I didn’t know was if he’d be able to tell from the taste of my blood that I wasn’t human. I intentionally bit my lip, hard enough to draw a little blood. Perhaps not smart, when  Blackburn would be able to smell it, but too late to turn back now. I swirled the single drop of blood around my mouth, trying to determine whether I tasted human or not. I thought so, but then perhaps my own blood was too familiar.

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“I’m waiting for your witty repartee,” Blackburn said,

nudging my arm up a little higher behind my back.

I hissed at the sudden flare of pain, but he must not have been much of  a sadist, because he immediately backed off on

the pressure.

“I’m wittier when my face isn’t mashed up against a wall,” I

said, wondering why he didn’t just get on with it and bite me.

He laughed softly and, this time instead of his nose sweeping over my  carotid, it was his tongue. It should have been a disgusting, slimy feeling, but I found it vaguely erotic. I tried to tell myself it was just vampire mind-tricks. But those weren’t supposed to work on other vampires.

“Tell me why you’re here,” he said.  “If I like your answer, I

might just let you go.”

And wouldn’t that be a shame
, a little voice whispered in my head. I was appalled at myself. This was
 
not
 
a sexy situation!

“Did you kill your wife?” I found myself blurting. So much  for playing the part  of the smooth, sophisticated private  investigator.

“That’s why you’re here?” he asked incredulously. “To find

out if I killed my wife?”

I tried to nod, but that was hard to do in my current position,

so I mumbled a “Yes,” instead.

“And what were you going to do if you found out that I

did?”

I figured, “Kill you,” probably wasn’t a good answer.

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“Call the police,” I said instead.

He snorted. “A likely story. Is that why your ‘towing

service’ asked if I was going to die with a smile on my face?”

Oops. I’ d forgotten that with his superior senses, he would have heard both sides of my conversation with Miles. No wonder he hadn’t let me hang around the house afterwards. I frowned. Why hadn’t he killed me  –  or at least
 
tried
 
to kill me  –last night?