Under Wraps (17 page)

Parker raised his eyebrows but chuckled, following my gaze to the glistening lights of the Bay Bridge outside my front window.

“I guess.”

“And vampire or not, Nina is my best friend.”

Parker grinned that cocky half smile again. “Well, okay then.”

I sat down next to him, basking in the warm fuzzy of the moment.

“So …” Parker brushed a lock of hair across my forehead, his touch and his voice gentle and sweet. “Are you going to tell me what happened here?”

Thump-thump.

I swallowed, telling myself that the beads of sweat that just pricked the back of my neck were scary-monster related and not close-to-Parker related.

“Someone was in the apartment,” I started.

Parker nodded and his hand dropped from my forehead, his fingertips casually trailing along the exposed skin on my thigh.

Thump.

“I don’t know what it was.” I was shaking my head so fiercely that I could see my red hair, in rats-nest snarls, bobbing around my cheeks. I blinked, feeling the tears start to form. “He pushed open the window—my bedroom window—but I was already out here. I heard him climb in, and he was huge—and—and—” The tears had spilled over and were mixing with snot, both dropping in big blobs on my legs.

Sophie Lawson: Badass Angel. Not.

“You said you got out your gun. Did you fire it? Are you okay?”

I pointed a shaky finger toward my bedroom door and sniffed vigorously, trying to hold back the hysterical hiccupping that always came when I cried.

Parker stood up, going toward the open door. He slid his palms along the pristine eggshell-white walls, studying them carefully. “No holes.” He turned to me, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Did you hit him?”

“Maybe,” I said slowly.

“How many rounds did you fire?”

I tasted the salty tears on my lips. “None.”

“None?”

I wagged my head and hiccupped, then buried my head miserably in the soft folds of my bathrobe. “I … threw …”

Parker came back and knelt down in front of me, both his hands warm on my knees. “You threw up? Again? That’s okay. Lots of people barf when they’re frightened. It happens all the time.” He sat back on his haunches. “Sometimes they pee. Did you pee?”

“No!” I yelled, annoyed. “I didn’t throw up
or
pee. I threw the gun!”

Hayes stood up, his eyes intense and narrowed. He bit his lip and cocked his head. “Come again?”

“I was scared. I was going to shoot. But then … I threw my gun at the guy.”

“You threw it?” Parker seemed to savor the words. “Where?”

I gestured toward the bedroom. “There.”

I dropped my head in my hands again and waited for Parker’s lecture on gun safety, but it didn’t come. I looked up, and Parker was doubled over, his hands on his bent knees. He was wheezing, and the redness from his face was seeping all the way to his scalp.

“You threw your gun at him?” He was blinking furiously now, using his palms to wipe his eyes. “You threw it at him?” he repeated.

I felt the anger roil in my chest, and my hands went into fists so tightly that I could feel my fingernails digging half moons into my palms. “I panicked!”

“Obviously!” Parker snorted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands and sniffling. “This really isn’t funny. This is serious. There was someone in your apartment and your gun could have gone off. This”—he stifled a girlish giggle—“is no laughing matter.”

I stamped my foot. “If I had it to do over again I’d shoot you!” I said, feeling indignant and embarrassed.

“Well,” Parker started, growing more serious, “being willing to actually
shoot
the gun is a step up from throwing it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I hate you.”

Hayes disappeared into my bedroom and returned with the gun. He frowned. “It’s freezing.” I kept my mouth shut while he unloaded the magazine, handing me the bullets. “Next time you’re in a throwing mood, try tossing just the bullets. They’re cheaper.”

I slipped the bullets into my robe pocket, and he handed me the gun. I snatched it from him and threw it into the freezer, slamming the door.

Parker was incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Oh.” I dug into my pocket and emptied the handful of bullets into a box of Skinny Cow Mint Dippers.

Parker pointed at the freezer. “You know, you shouldn’t—” He sucked in a sigh and shrugged, gathering his jacket. “Never mind. You going to be okay?”

I swallowed thickly, looking over my shoulder at my bedroom. “I’m pretty freaked out,” I admitted.

Parker leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I take you somewhere? Friend? Boyfriend?” He grinned. “Steve’s place?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Parker’s left cheek pushed up into one of his trademark half smiles. “Oh, I get it. Fine.” He stepped back into my apartment, pushing the door shut behind him. “I’ll stay.” He slinked out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “You know, you could have just asked.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to concoct the story. But the gun throwing”—he wagged a finger—“good effect.” He disappeared into my bedroom. “Coming?”

I rammed my fists against my hips and stomped after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Parker’s eyebrows shot up in innocent arcs. He jerked a thumb over his finger toward the bed—
my
bed—and yawned. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow … er”—he glanced at his watch—“today.” He looked back at my bed. “Looks comfy,” he said with a big, goofy-guy grin.

“It is. For
me.
”

Then Parker Hayes dropped his pants.

I sucked in a shocked breath and clamped my hands over my eyes, making sure to spread my fingers just wide enough to peek at Parker’s tight quad muscles flexing underneath his
SpongeBob SquarePants
boxer shorts.

He peeled off his socks and snuggled into my bed, a big, satisfied grin on his face. “Mm, comfy.”

I gaped at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Parker pursed his lips and then sat up. “Right.” He whipped his T-shirt over his head and dropped it onto my floor. “It’s going to be hot tonight.”

I stepped onto the bed and planted my heel firmly against Parker’s butt cheek—his very, very firm butt cheek—and started to push.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Bed!”

Parker opened one eye. “Shh, Lawson, I’m trying to sleep. And can you get the light, please?”

I flopped down beside him. “Parker, you are not sleeping here.”

Parker rolled over, looking deliciously comfortable framed by my fluffy down comforter, his head cradled on my baby-blue pillow. “Didn’t you want me to be here for your protection?” he asked.

I blew out a resigned sigh, eyeing the silky skin on Parker’s naked shoulder, ripe for nuzzling.
But who’s going to protect you from me?

I pulled an extra pillow and a blanket from the foot of the bed, then gestured toward the open bedroom door. “I think it’d be better if you protected me from out there.”

Parker kicked off my blankets and stood up, brushing past me, grabbing the blanket and pillow as he went.

“Fine,” he said, yawning. “Call me when the creepy crawlies show up. Better yet”—he reached down, picking up a sneaker—“throw that at them.”

Parker slammed the door behind him, leaving me standing alone in my darkened bedroom.
It’s better this way,
I told myself as I climbed into bed. There was a murderer on the loose, my boss was missing, and someone just broke into my house. The last thing I needed was a hot, half-naked detective lying in my bed.

Right?

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up with a start, and Nina was sitting cross-legged on my windowsill, her bone-white back pressed up against the window glass.

“Who’s the tasty morsel on the couch?” she said when I opened my eyes.

I yawned. “That’s the detective from SFPD.”

Nina opened her mouth, the tip of her pink tongue touching one of her razor-sharp incisors. “I thought he smelled familiar!” Her red lips curved up into a sly grin and I shot her a look. Nina held up both hands and wagged her head. “Reformed, remember? Whew.” She checked out her cuticles. “I knew you loved him.”

“I don’t love Parker Hayes,” I said, kicking aside the covers and standing up. “And what are you doing in here anyway?”

Nina shrugged. “Dirt was dead. The general manager took off about a week ago—and their bloodstock is going low. They only had O pos on tap. And, there’s a man-lump sleeping on our couch. Where else was I supposed to go?”

I rubbed my eyes and stared at the dawn as it broke outside my bedroom window.

“Is Vlad here?”

Nina shook her head. “Nah. He met a two-hundred-year-old fifteen-year-old girl. Last I checked they were staring morbidly at each other and talking about how everyone sucks.”

“Sounds fascinating. Ugh. I need coffee,” I mumbled.

I carefully opened my bedroom door and tiptoed into the living room, where Parker was sprawled on the couch, his breathing a low whoosh in the dim, silent room.

“He’s cute,” Nina said, grinning over my shoulder.

I looked back at Parker, at the blanket wrapped around him.

“Coffee,” I said again. But I was having a hard time stopping my eyes from wandering back to Parker, to his chiseled chest, toward the blanket twisted over his …

Wasn’t he wearing anything?

“Really cute.” Nina was licking her lips in a delicious snack kind of way, and suddenly my dry mouth started to water.

I could make a meal out of Parker Hayes myself.

I eyed Parker’s blanket, partially rumpled over his nearly hairless chest, as it rhythmically rose and fell. The sheet dropped open at his naval, exposing a delicate trail of black hair, and then was rumpled and folded again, covering him up.

Nina narrowed her eyes. “Stupid blanket.”

“Ahem.”

Nina and I both jumped, and Parker blinked sleepily at us, his face breaking into an amused smile.

“Oh. Parker,” I said, looking at Nina. “This is my roommate, Nina.”

She wriggled her fingers in greeting. “I remember you!” she sang.

“We were just—and you were just—” I stumbled.

Parker arched up on one elbow, his shoulder and pectoral muscles flexing. If Nina had any breath, I’m sure she would have sucked it in like I did.

“Do you want some breakfast? What do you like to eat?” I turned on my heel and raced for the kitchen, pawing through the cupboards. Finding nothing, I yanked open the refrigerator and stared in there. “Nina can help me cook. Right, Nina?”

“Mmm.” Nina’s lips were pursed, her eyes locked on Parker.

I went back to rummaging through the fridge.

In my imagination our refrigerator was stocked with farm-fresh organic eggs, whole-wheat bread, thick-cut bacon, and fruit salad. In actuality, there were several bottles of blood, a soggy-looking box of baking soda, and two pudding cups.

“Uh-oh,” I mumbled.

I looked over my shoulder at Nina, who had inched away, but was still staring intently at Parker. I joined her, and from the safety of a potted plant we both watched Parker stand up and stretch, the blanket falling away and revealing those
SpongeBob
boxer shorts.

“Rats,” Nina hissed under her breath.

“Whatever you have to eat is fine,” Parker said, stepping into his jeans. “But I really need some coffee.” He yawned heartily. “Do you two always get up at the crack of dawn?”

Nina’s head swung toward me, and she grinned, snagging a bottle of blood from the fridge. “Don’t forget to put the coffee on,” she told me, one eyebrow raised slyly. She disappeared into her closet/room while I put the coffee on and grabbed a couple of mugs. I was about to bring them to the table when I turned and ran full-force into Parker.

Smacked, into Parker Hayes’s naked chest.

“Oh, my,” I heard myself mutter as my nipples sprung to delighted attention.

“Indeed.” Parker was eyeing my pajama top and I hugged my elbows tightly, my cheeks pulsing hot with blood. “I’m going to go get my sweatshirt,” I said.

I tossed on a sweatshirt and fixed my hair, swabbed on a bit of deodorant, and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I could probably do without the sheet creases on my pink cheek, but other than that, I didn’t think I looked half bad.

When I walked into the kitchen, Parker was leaning against my counter, shirtless. His jeans hung low on his slim hips, his legs were crossed at the ankles, his feet bare. He studied me from beneath lowered lashes and sipped his mug of coffee, looking very
GQ
very man-I’d-like-to-roll-in-the-hay-with. I swallowed hard and did a mental finger shake, reminding myself that Parker Hayes was my partner and my workmate and therefore completely off-limits.

Mostly.

“Morning, sunshine,” Parker said with a grin.

“Good morning
again,”
I said.

“So, where’s the fabulous spread you promised me?”

I opened the fridge and knocked over Nina’s Blood Light while snaking the two remaining pudding cups. I offered one to Parker.

“I’m afraid this is as fabulous as it gets this morning.” I raised my coffee mug and smiled. “But at least there’s coffee.”

Parker took the pudding cup and the spoon I offered. “Chocolate pudding. The breakfast of champions.”

We stood in the kitchen eating in silence for a moment until Parker said, “So Nina. She’s the vampire?”

I nodded, licking my spoon. “Uh-huh. And Vlad, of course.”

“Isn’t living with a vampire—or vampires—a little weird, though?”

“Oh no,” I said, leading Parker into the other room. “Nina is the best roommate I’ve ever had. I never have to worry about waking her up, she never hogs the mirror, and best of all”—I raised my pudding cup—“she never eats my food.”

“I don’t know,” Parker said, slumping down at the kitchen table. “I couldn’t sleep if I knew the vampire was there. I’d be sure it was just a matter of time until she ate me.”

“All you breathers are exactly the same!” Nina shouted, stomping into the living room, pale nostrils flared.

“She’s also super quiet,” I said, licking the chocolate pudding from my spoon.