Honeymoon Bite (Golden Vampire Legacy) (8 page)

But was she looking for safe?

There was an obvious physical attraction between them. She had not felt this before, not since before she was made.

“Do I know you?” she asked, ignoring the comment about her marriage.

“No. Ask it another way.” The huskiness of his voice made her ears buzz, like he was brushing his lips across them, like they were in bed whispering unmentionable things to each other.

“Do you know me?” Her eyebrows rose at the ridiculous suggestion.

He very lightly nodded. “Oh, yes. I have waited a long, long time for you.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here.” Anne jumped up, her coffee in her hand. She slung her purse over her right shoulder and stormed off. He followed her outside, keeping pace like they were walking in unison. She stopped suddenly.

“Look. Whoever you are, I will call the police if you don’t leave me alone.”

“And tell them what?”

“Tell them there is a very strange male following me, bothering me.”

He groaned again. The ground beneath her feet rumbled when he did that. “I like that you say male.”

She backed up, raising her palms up and out in his direction. “Please, please leave me alone.”

“Agree to meet me here tomorrow at this time and I won’t follow you.” He smiled. “I promise.” He held his hand over his heart. Anne felt a small tug at her own.

“Alright,” she said, fully intending never to come back to this place again. “Tomorrow at four. But I will call the cops if you don’t stop this, this,
way
you are being—”

He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her close his chest. She struggled, but he held her tighter the more she wiggled. The spice on his cheeks was a familiar scent to her and, relaxed her just enough so she wouldn’t collapse entirely being so close to him. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Go for now, little one. But as for leaving you alone, there isn’t a chance in Hell that will ever happen. See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone. Just gone. Nowhere to be found. She turned around and around and there was no trace of him. No car leaving the parking lot. No door being opened. Just the normal day all around her.

She was hungry and, scared. She liked feeling both emotions equally.

She knew it was going to be forever until four o’clock tomorrow.

A feeding would take up the next hour. Only twenty-three more to go.

Chapter 8

In Robert’s 1948 Oldsmobile, and with an hour to kill, Anne cruised through the parking lot. Driving the Olds was like gliding on an overstuffed horsehair couch on wheels. She loved the green bomber and how positively ageless and invincible she was. She counted all the cars on her first pass, then did another pass and separated out the sedans and SUVs. On her third run, she counted all the red cars, then 4-wheel drive vehicles. She had a list in her mind of the other things she could count, like the number of whitewall tires, cars with sunroofs, dirty cars, top ten cleanest cars. But then she saw the man she’d met the day before drive in. He was a full five minutes and thirty-seven seconds early.

It was hard to miss his black Ferrari as it roared into the parking lot. She memorized the sleek vehicle’s very detail. She noticed things more than ever before, ever since the turning. The change her body created a compulsive need to count things, just for fun, but especially when she was hungry.

And she’d come hungry.

The man parked the low-lying vehicle and somehow extricated himself from the driver’s side. Anne thought he must have been almost supine while driving the beast. A nice, classy beast, though. Like the driver. Dark-haired men with nice cars were becoming a lethal combination, usually for the man. She wet her lips as her pelvic muscles tensed.

Anne was weighing how it would feel to feed on him when he spun around and pointed to a parking space beside his and smiled.

Let the games begin.

She aimed her old green bomber three spaces away and parked. He was there by her door as soon as she had collected her keys and her purse. He opened the door for her. That was kind of a nice touch. There were so few men who knew how to be polite these days. Too bad.

He held her left hand, helping her slide off the light brown fabric of the front seat. The old tank was so high, Anne’s small frame had to drop the remaining six inches or so until her feet settled on the ground, barely touching his. Her right knee nudged his left thigh as she slid, initiating a buzz that traveled up her spine. She balanced on his hand like a bird perched on a golden bar. His firm grip kept her steady while he looked over her shoulder and scanned the sleek lines of the vintage car.

“I like your vehicle,” he said, still holding her fingers.

“My . . . husb—soon to be ex-husband’s, actually. A ‘48 Olds fastback.”

The man released her, stroked the backside of the forest green metal like he was caressing a lover.

You’re in trouble if you don’t stop this.
Everything he did reminded her of some sexual play.

“Gets terrible gas mileage and it smokes,” she added.

“Ah, but makes quite a statement, doesn’t it?”

Anne shrugged, but she had to admit, that’s one of the reasons she liked driving the Olds.

He was still admiring her Olds. “I like old things. And I love cars.” His eyes sparkled as he looked down to her. He completely blocked the sun.

Anne peered around his massive frame and nodded to his black Ferrari. “You like fast cars. How many vintage cars do you have?” she asked, sure he didn’t own one like the Olds.

“Fifty-nine.” He smirked and added, “but not a single Oldsmobile. You must take me for a ride in it sometime.”

She wasn’t sure where this was heading, so she shrugged again. It was Robert’s legendary car, the one he nailed all his girlfriends in on their first date. Unfortunately, she learned this after she’d been conquest number one hundred and something. But for now, it was hers, since Robert had given the Olds to her as an engagement present. And though Anne knew her relationship with Robert was at an end, she felt she deserved it after what he had put her through. She could understand why a guy would love the roomy back seat. She did too.

His white long-sleeved collared shirt gaped open at his throat. Hard to miss the thick pulsing vein so large she could almost smell it. It was the size of her little finger. He was making it easy for her, showcasing all the highlights of his body. He seemed to enjoy the luscious look she gave his neck. She would have to be careful. Not a good idea to give this guy too many clues as to what turned her on. And she was hungry. Famished. But Anne sensed an exotic, sensual danger lurking between them. She wasn’t sure if this was dinner or a date.

After he closed her door, he stood back and gave her the once over. Apparently she’d passed the test, since his gaze fluttered slowly, lingering on parts he liked best, traveling down her whole body and back up again without missing a single detail. He smiled.

“I can buy you coffee, or we can take a drive.” Although she doubted he could hurt her in her now powerful state, she thought it unwise to go off with this strange male. And her curiosity about this meeting was taking a close second to her desire to feed.

“Coffee is fine. Just remember what I said yesterday.” Her voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Oh, yes.” He put his massive palm at her lower back again like he had yesterday, and the lead her to the café front doors. “You were telling me you would call the police if I didn’t stop . . . being this way.” The last part he had said as he leaned over, brushing her ear with his lips.

Damn but it was hard to pull away from him. Everything inside Anne wanted to lean in so she could have a proper kiss. On her ear. Anywhere.

“You invade my space before I give you permission.”

“And you don’t like it?”

Oh, God. It was hard to lie to him as well.

“No . . . n-no. I don’t.” Anne could tell he knew what she was thinking.

He held the door open and smiled. “I know what you like,” he said as she grazed his chest with her shoulder. “Go find us a seat, okay?” His voice followed behind her.

Anne found the corner with the purple velvet chairs available. She already thought of it as their spot. This was not a good sign. To vary the routine, she sat in the other chair this time. Her throat was parched but her pulse quickened with the anticipation of their conversation. Being in the proximity of this man made her feel as if she’d just fed. Her heartbeat so loud she thought anyone in the room would be able to hear it.

He walked across the floor with confidence, the object of everyone’s attention. He appeared oblivious he was attractive to both sexes. Anne wondered if he liked both men and women. But when his dark eyes flashed up to meet hers, all was answered. She was convinced he wasn’t interested in any other man or woman. He was interested in one woman only.

Me.

Being the object of his attraction was just as exciting as it was scary. She accepted the cardboard cup with its plastic hat, which was dwarfed by his enormous hands. He sat, crossed his long legs, propped his on the arm of the chair, and rested his cheek against the third and forefinger of his right hand.

With difficulty, Anne tore her eyes away. She sipped her cappuccino and looked around the room. She caught furtive glances from other women who tried to look away before they were detected snooping. But his gaze was locked onto her face. At least, when he wasn’t looking at her neck.

He leaned forward and put the tips of his fingers and his palms together, elbows resting on his knees. “So, here we are at last.”

“Yes. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I find it funny I am at a loss for words. There is so much I want to say.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t look like the type who usually gets scared. You look like the one who does the scaring.”

He threw back his head and laughed to the ceiling. She smiled in spite of herself. Watching his lips curl, the dimple at the left side of his mouth and the dark sparkle in his eyes as he focused his attention on her mouth, warmed her whole body.

“True,” he said in a soft rumble she could feel deep in her chest. “Very perceptive.”

Anne’s heart did flip-flops. He was so gorgeous to look at when he smiled. But her need for blood was rising. Now she wished she had fed beforehand so she could concentrate. She was about to count his eyelashes but removed her gaze from his face and instead counted the tufts of carpeting at her feet. It would be impossible to savor him like she’d planned. Her need for his blood was making her ravenous.

And horny as hell.

He held out his hand, palm up.

“Excuse me?” Anne scowled at his impropriety. “I’m not going to sit here and hold your hand. I am still a married woman.” She was beginning to convince herself some of what she said was true. There was safety in having him think she was married.

“Give me your hand, Anne. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, ever. You know this already.”

“No. You promised you would behave.”

“I am behaving. This is me behaving, believe it or not.”

“Then I would hate to see you when you misbehave.” Anne knew it was a ridiculous statement. “Don’t say a word.” She warned.

He chuckled behind a smile.

She looked around the room for help, or for any distraction to the steadfast gaze he was flooding her with, a gaze that made all of her sensitive body parts tingle. She sighed. “Oh, alright. Here.” She stuck out her hand.

He took it quickly, held it in both his, warming her cool, sweaty palm. His fingers massaged and kneaded her knuckles. His touch released tension like he knew exactly where she was stiff, like he knew every sinew and muscle of her. His hand was twice the size of hers. She could imagine those fingers working at the tops of her shoulders, down her spine. Other places.

God help her. His touch made her feel wonderful all over.

“Anne, like I said yesterday, I have waited for you a long time. Over three hundred years.” He gave a little squeeze to her hand. She took it to mean he knew it was a bit much to take in.

And it was. Anne looked at her fingers, which had become intimately entwined with his. His eyes were pure golden brown now, tethering her to him in some ancient way. Part of her screamed to run for safety. The newer part of her kept her glued to the chair.

“You going to explain this? Don’t you think I deserve it?”

“Forgive me. I thought that perhaps . . . well, I wasn’t sure how you would take this news.” He bent and kissed the backs of her fingers.

“You mean if I believed your story, which I don’t?”

“Search your soul.” Those three words felt as intimate as if she was standing in front of him naked. Did he know what was inside her soul? How?

She’d been wondering if she indeed had a soul, with all the changes coming at her so fast these days. Maybe he would have some answers. Curiosity was beginning to out-position hunger in the war for her attention.

“So, who am I . . . to you?”

“You are my fated female.”

Fated female! What the hell is that? Like I’m born and bred for him? Like I belong to him? No. This isn’t happening.

“Why are you so thick-headed? I have told you at least three times, I am married.” The more she said those words the more ridiculous they sounded, but her protestations didn’t seem to stop him. “And what does this mean, fated female?”

A couple of students reading at the next table looked up. Her voice had carried. Anne pulled back her hand and refused to look at him. But she did want to know what he was dying to tell her. She knew her life would never be the same after this conversation.

“I know what you are, Anne.”

And there it was.
“I asked you before, how do you know my name?”

“I told you yesterday, I know you.”

“But I don’t know you.”

“Then I will formally introduce myself. I am Marcus Monteleone.” He nodded his head carefully while lowering his eyes.

Something fluttered inside her chest at the sound of his name. “I’m Anne B—um, Morgan. My maiden name is Morgan.”